In this moment of added indie rock consonants, dropped vowels, and coy spellings, you might mistake Abzu-- the title of the latest onslaught from the long-roaring Texas black metallurgists Absu-- as a dull joke. And for the first 15 seconds of album opener "Earth Ripper", when the trio erupts with the sort of squeal and devilish rock beat that suggest the bridge of Van Halen's "Hot for Teacher", you might even believe it's true. But neither Absu nor the albums they make allow much room for levity. Rather, Abzu is the second part of a planned trilogy that began with 2009's Absu, the band's first album in eight years and an ambitious, relentless meld that acknowledged and then blasted beyond most every metal covenant. The trilogy is due to end with Apsu, yet another spelling of the several dwellings associated with Enki, the Sumerian god at the center of Absu's saga. But Abzu doesn't need to be funny to be fun. With 36 minutes of stylistic ricochets, speed-metal slingshots, and momentum oxbows, that's exactly what it is-- breathless, focused, and fun.
Absu have long operated under a central slogan: "Absu arrogantly executes mythological occult metal." It's a sign of how self-serious and topically obsessive they've always been. Drummer, principal songwriter, and singer Proscriptor has never been reluctant to talk about the band's backstory or intentions, either, treating his own art with the sort of historical exactitude scholars reserve for the ancient mythologies he in turn renders as albums. In an early interview, he diligently explained, "After the immaculate indulgence in the Necronomicon, Voudon Gnostics, Thoth Magick, and Sumerian/Mesopotamian mythology, the name was altered to Absu, in reference to 'abyss' or even the 'blackened Earth.'"
With Abzu, he takes the next step, providing a detailed historical, theological, and personal synopsis of each song in the liner notes. Lyrically, after all, Absu songs are intricate webs of first references, context-less backstories, and shouted spells. It's multivalent stuff. "Skrying in the Spirit Vision" lasts only four minutes, but digging into its themes and allusions-- "Travelling: the Radix of vibration/ Projections: in gale of the Ninth," reads half of one verse-- means pausing the song every other second to research another term or concept. Proscriptor's explanations are similarly dense with mathematical equations, "teachings of Enochian Magic(k)," and expositions on already elaborate theories. His own simplifications require either a highly functioning knowledge of Mesopotamian mythology or an inordinate amount of patience.
All that likely (and deservedly?) sounds pretentious, or at least like a lot just to enjoy some heavy metal. But Absu's unwavering subservience to their ideals is part and parcel of what makes Abzu so enjoyable. For Proscriptor, this is the equivalent of liturgical music, meant to be played with the kinds of energy and enthusiasm that the complete belief in any system or story can create. These esoteric and involved histories compel Absu to incredible conviction and resolve. They twist through intricate structures-- first verses reused as the coda, repeated bridges, impromptu acoustic impasses-- in four-minutes bursts. Occult or no, they move with a Pentecostal spirit. The band's big return, 2009's Absu, was a guest-heavy, 13-track, hour-long sprawl of ideas, a perfect reprise after such a long hiatus. Abzu keeps the crew tight, though, with new guitarist Vis Crom and bassist and vocalist Ezezu only joining Proscriptor and Mayhem's Rune Eriksen, the former Mayhem guitarist whose kinetic leads also lined moments of Absu. Part two misses some of the adventurism of its predecessor, but it makes the most of its concision, packing a lot of parts into convincing little packages.
Again, they've got motivation: As Proscriptor writes: "Ontologically, It Became Time & Space" concerns the origins of those two crucial concepts, "or the relationship between metaphysical nihilism and the 'physical' origin of one abstract occult concept." What's crucial for the listener, though, is that this debate is the basis for a perfectly restless roar-- an irrascible string of swells, collapses, blast beats, pauses, downshifts, and sprints. The complicated subject material matters only insofar as it makes the music compelling. Absu have been exploring various belief systems on tape for the better part of two decades, but knowing the difference between Enki and Ea isn't essential for enjoyment. It's once again only the catalyst for an end product that works well as a piece of music-- and maybe mythology, too.
