Tanner Anderson barely has time to end his guarantee of our collective mortality—or that "the same fate comes for us all," as he roars halfway through "Anlace and Heart"—before his guitar begins to exalt the proclamation. His squealing solo takes a simple riff for a short, jubilant ride, as if he’s a glam-metal headliner leaning back with his eyes closed. He pushes notes together and pulls them apart, the carousel-like movement of the melody suggesting delight in the face of death. Like most of Aria of Vernal Tombs, the captivating second album by Anderson’s metal-and-medieval-music amalgam Obsequiae, "Anlace and Heart" explores cycles of birth, death, and rebirth. Greek gods battle with nervous mortals. Seasons shift, so that needles drop from tired tamarack branches. People weep as once-happy homes succumb to senescence. Jumping between black metal and doom, death metal and delicate interludes played on a medieval harp, the music animates all of these ideas, turning centuries of dark thoughts into 44 bright, momentous minutes.
Anderson appears to be invested in intersections, or what the lessons of the past can say about the present and what seemingly disconnected forms of music (metal and otherwise) can afford one another. He has clocked nearly two decades in the metal underground, that time split between the grim doom act Celestiial and Obsequiae precursor Autumnal Winds. Recently, he’s been playing harp and assorted acoustic instruments in Hiraeth Eschar, the eerie soundscape project of Agalloch bassist Jason William Walton. At last, Aria of Vernal Tombs aggregates and unifies all those experiences, synthesizing them into songs that fold Anderson’s passions into singular sweeping motions. Obsequiae’s previous album, Suspended in the Brume of Eos, aimed for a similar end, but it often felt self-conscious and separated, its rigid parts coexisting on a record rather than cooperating. (It’s symptomatic of that record’s try-hard approach that Anderson and the band’s former drummer took the names of prominent 12th-century musicians in the credits.) But on Aria, where most tracks interlock with their neighbors, the vivid black metal of "Wilweorthunga" flows perfectly from the triumphant solo that closes "In the Absence of Light" and into a pensive, dense instrumental meditation. That sequence captures the sprawl of Anderson’s interests in less than 10 minutes.
Metal has a dirty habit of embracing bygone eras and appropriating historic symbols and stories without actually incorporating how those times might have sounded or felt into the music. It’s easy and alluring to slap a painting of a Viking feast or an ancient battle scene on a record cover or a name in a song title, more sophisticated and subtle to make those elements a dynamic and vital component of the finished product. Obsequiae plunders the past, of course. The cover of their debut featured a detail of a 15th-century fresco, where a regal woman posed among unicorns and other strange, smiling beasts. Likewise, Aria of Vernal Tombs offers a gorgeous scene of ruins at the gloaming. And a third of Aria’s tracks are atmospheric harp solos, augmented only by the glow of echo.
But the real power of Aria of Vernal Tombs stems from how deliberately and diligently Obsequiae integrate these elements into the main event—that is, the metal. Anderson’s methodical grammar, antiquated vocabulary, and rich reference library offer the impression that you’re opening an ancient, sealed text. It’s no coincidence that the liner notes come printed on stained paper that appears to be centuries old. Sure, that sounds pretentious, but the same principle actually makes the music thrilling. The guitar solos, for instance, often mirror the action of the harp, and vice versa. At the opening of "Anlace and Heart", Anderson’s pace and polyphony suggest the interlocking melodies of Vincent la Camera Mariño’s harp interludes. The album opens with a harp piece, the notes piling into thickets and then spreading into thin strings. When a bell tolls after three minutes and the grand anthem "Autumnal Pyre" begins, it seems less like a new song and more like Anderson and drummer Andrew Della Cagna have simply replaced Mariño. Anderson sings through refracted black metal shrieks. The drums swing between blast beats and an unwavering march. Topped with arching, heroic guitars, however, the music is of a piece with its instrumental predecessor, a modern update of several classic obsessions. The past becomes more than a sales pitch.
Despite Anderson’s longevity, he and his bands have existed in relative obscurity to date. But Aria of Vernal Tombs should help change that. Its deft reach across multiple metal aisles and resplendent, refined sense of presentation and production recall the recent successes of Agalloch and Chris Black’s assorted projects. Such gradual movement and improvement dovetail well with Anderson’s philosophy of slow, almost ecclesiastic change. Obsequiae have matured into a great band, Anderson a brilliant leader. It’s as though being very aware of an inevitable end helped him make Aria of Vernal Tombs count.
