Isis's elegant fourth full-length, In the Absence of Truth, comes packed with surprises. As might be expected following their 2004 breakthrough and subsequent big-time tour with Tool, the Los Angeles quintet expands the template solidified (and some would say mastered) on Oceanic and pushed to the outer limits amid Panopticon's sloshy trenches.
I**n the Absence of Truth goes further than those albums, but without ditching the signature elements-- sharp, delayed/chorused guitar notes (the underwater bunker sound), swirling and ambient keyboards, crisp and dynamic drum and bass, Aaron Turner's meditational chants and drowning-man growls. Everything's more expansive and exploratory here, and fresh off Blood Mountain, Isis's regular recordist Matt Bayles buffs each of the nine tracks with some hazy gauze, lodging a truly sleek, sumptuous, fathomless recording. In fact, the set's so finely wound that on the first few listens it seemed like the steady diet of Tool had perhaps transformed Isis into an emaciated, innocuous version of their older selves. Not at all, kneejerks-- these songs just require close (and repeated) listening to initiate an unravelling (It took me two months before I felt the background music become total immersion). The band's never been ham-fisted, but In the Absence offers fewer crowd-pleasing quiet-to-loud dynamics-- though they are there-- and there are plenty of unexpected inversions: Excellent opener "Wrist of Kings" displays a three-minute tension-grabbing intro that slows and swivels instead of cresting, allowing Turner to soar, almost a whisper, over math-y drums. Smashing expectations, a few minutes later the crush and vocal growl emerge, long after the initial build has recoiled.
Isis continue to embrace the epic-- this is their longest outing, the majority of songs in the seven/eight-minute range. There are also techy upgrades. Injected with a dose of croon, Turner's broadened his vocal approach (and Bayles mixes the growls more smoothly). He seems less afraid to just sing. Sure, he gets a tad alt at the start of "Holy Tears", but the song finds redemption in its complex arpeggios, monster outro, and pretty, breathless keys. Or, to see a more interesting moment in his development, as well as Bayles' increased array of vocal effects, look at the psychedelically waterlogged "1000 Shards", which builds to a sloshy mosh part and some powerfully hoarse scowls, before sinking into whispers and the instrumental set piece "All Out of Time, All Into Space"'s distorted wind, flange, and aquatic firestorms. Not every expansion's a hit, however. Named for Hassan-i-Sabbah's garden, "Firdous E Bareen" is a montage that ostensibly approximates the feel of an acolyte coming to in the mountainous faux-Eden, thinking he'd died and been reborn: dub percussion, electro, backwards spinning tape, tribalism, bird sounds, acoustic strums, sitar, hand drums collide. It's a tad like Isis from the Oceanic Remixes / Reinterpretations album, though they're adding the extraneous elements themselves. Recovering the gravity and beauty of the rest of the album, the final, longest track, "Garden of Light", starts with a pleasing languor and moves to that blue-tinted Panopticon rock, before ushering in an uproarious Disintegration shoe-gaze-- Heaven truly attained? For those who chaff at these sorts of shoe-gazer references, listen to the last few minutes of "Garden of Light" and then download some Ride. I'll wait here a few minutes.
Conceptually, Hassan-i-Sabbah, the 11th/12th Century Persian mystic, shows up throughout these pieces. Pig Destroyer (and countless other rockers) have recently reminded us, "Nothing is true. Everything is permitted," but it is interesting to watch how far (and personally) Turner takes it. Plus, folks usually discover the idea with William S. Burroughs-- Turner unearthed it in Mark Danielewski's postmodern staple, House of Leaves. There is some WSB: "All Out of Time, All Into Space" shows most famously, to this young punk geek at least, in "The Last Words of Hassan Sabbah" (and, uh, can you guess the real Sabbah's supposed last words?). From a different side of the bookshelf, note the romantic resonances of "Dulcinea", named after the apple of reality-blind Don Quixote's eye (or that old Toad the Wet Sprocket record). In interviews Turner has also mentioned Borges' Labyrinths (which includes a character rewriting Don Quixote) and the Bible among other textual inspirations.
These intertwining references might be fun, but despite that "heady metal" tag, they aren't integral to the experience. If Turner was just opening his mouth and spitting empty syllables (which may be the case!), In the Absence of Truth would still prove one of the year's most compelling, moving listens. Really, despite a couple brief dull spots, the ingredients are so carefully selected and masterfully performed that the collection creates a pretty endlessness, existing at its best as one long take of dark-n-stormy post-rock. You should be in quiet awe, not destroying the moment by running to Wikipedia.
