In 2007, American duo the Howling Wind ended their debut album, Pestilence & Peril, with the appropriately named track, "The Inevitable Conclusion". A sinister expanse of ghosted voices and impenetrable squall, that kicker sounded a lot like Locrian, the Chicago ensemble that cuts the attack from harsh noise and heavy metal until all that's left seems to be an atmosphere of decay and disorder. As a closer, the piece offered not only a clear contrast to the album's bulk of primal, claustrophobic black metal but also an arrow of sorts, a signpost saying that guitarist Ryan Lipynsky and drummer Tim Call hoped to push past their own Panzerfaust predilections. Basic black metal, they suggested, wasn't enough.
Five years later, on their latest and best album to date, Of Babalon, the bicoastal pair finally finds that promised transcendent identity, even if it's in unexpected fashion: Aside from the prelude or postscript segments that bookend several of its tracks, Of Babalon actually eschews all of the post-metal experimentation that the Howling Wind once looked to espouse. Rather, with a closing cover of Hellhammer's classic "Horus/Aggressor" and eight originals that hit hard, fast and often, the Howling Wind's third album retrenches in its black metal dependence, much like 2010's half-there Into the Cryosphere. "Abominations and Filth" moves with sheer two-piece willpower between mid-tempo thrash and blast-beaten bursts, scabrous vocals uniting it all; "Beast of the Sea" opens with terrifying aims, as Lipynsky shrieks over Call's roiling tumult in a way that suggests the cover of Transilvanian Hunger. What's more, the album's muse, Babalon, is the leading lady of Aleister Crowley's theology, a complicated character rife with questions about sexuality and fertility, sexism and feminism; maybe apart from the devil himself, and for all their mysticism and symbolism, Crowley's subjects and sermons make for some of the most able black metal fodder. Here, the Howling Wind treats the topic with convincing enthusiasm. Lipynsky finally sounds like a great frontman, bold and unwavering in his admonitions.
Of Babalon's mark of distinction, though-- really, what makes this album one of the year's most noteworthy black metal bunches-- is the way in which Call and Lipynsky wedge a lot of activity into a rather limited space. Though there are plenty of stretches here that suggest the primacy of prototypical black metal, the Howling Wind subtly splice enough odd elements into their tracks to keep that definition applicable but churning. "Graal", for instance, is the album's triumphant masterpiece and a study in sustaining momentum for nearly six minutes. It feels almost like Krallice in miniature, fitting since that band's Colin Marston recorded this LP in New York. Lipynsky's tessellated guitar splits every seam of Call's relentless drum line, spilling over the sides in enormous washes and waves. The twin solos during opener "The Seal Upon the Tomb" are exhilarating, with spires of notes wrapping around themselves and twisting skyward so as to suggest some album-rock apex. Neither Lipynsky nor Call sit still as players, either-- Call delivers mid-tempo builds alongside all-out blasts, while Lipynsky emerges as a more assured and dynamic guitarist. He switches between a doomy bellow and a serrated yell, a range that allows the Howling Wind to insert and capitalize on stylistic surprises.
As good as Of Babalon is, the Howling Wind still seem very much in development-- a statement both of criticism and hopeful expectation. Each of their albums have shown that this duo is still undecided as to how best to skew black metal, or how best to revitalize something old in an already crowded scene. Of Babalon is certainly the closest they've come, but it's difficult not to wish that this were more than a side project for either member. In the past, Lipynsky, who lives in New York, has kept busy with the shapeshifting of Unearthly Trance and the grim burl of Thralldom. Aside from this duo, he now growls the lead in Serpentine Path, a supergroup so overstocked that its official biography fails to mention the Howling Wind at all. Meanwhile, Call lives in Portland, Ore., where he plays in at least three other outfits, including the unflinching, audacious doom experts Aldebaran. So what would the Howling Wind be as a full-time, touring concern, where the mass of ideas Call and Lipynsky have explored during the last five years served as a substantive foundation instead of fragmented moments captured quickly in a given studio?
