Hull don't squander opportunities to make first impressions. Sole Lord, the Brooklyn quintet's 2009 debut, offered a promising extension of the ambitiously psychedelic doom legacies of Neurosis and Isis, simply caked in the residue of stoner metal record collections. Moments of atmospheric drift, mathematical twist, and belligerent march tied together into the suggestion that this was a band to watch. Hull's sprawling follow-up, Beyond the Lightless Sky, appropriately opens with "Earth From Water", an 11-minute triumph of that potential and one of the best gambits you're likely to hear all year. "Earth From Water" not only synthesizes those earlier qualities-- a pensive instrumental break here, a crusty mid-tempo stomp there-- but adds seemingly conflicting moments of hardcore maul and melodic bursts memorable enough for modern rock radio. What's more, "Earth From Water" is deftly built, with impossibly exhilarating moments of lift added at precisely the right moments, whether through a spiraling solo or a bass-thick, full-band roar. No moment is wasted, no idea is idle: This is the longest track in the band's catalog, yet it doesn't seem quite long enough.
"Earth From Water" serves as a sort of manifesto for the rest of Beyond the Lightless Sky, an unabashed attempt to increase both Hull's scope and scale. While Sole Lord felt mostly like a collection of related tunes, Beyond the Lightless Sky is a deliberate sequence of songs and segues. Hull attempts to replicate the push and pull of "Earth From Water" throughout these 57 minutes by splicing an often-meditative instrumental between each pair of roaring, full-band numbers. "Earth From Water" exits with the sort of full-spectrum thunder that makes headphones hurtful, and the title track pirouettes open with a serrated guitar line and a restless drum rush. But "Just a Trace of Early Dawn", which separates the two, rises slowly from an electronic din into a Six Organs of Admittance-style smoky haze, drums tapping lightly behind a circular acoustic guitar. Like the opener, "Fire Vein" and "False Priest" both set their aims for triumph, dividing throaty declamations and malevolent moments with distended solos and elaborate bridges for nine minutes at a time. But they're distinct enough not to require "Wake the Heavens, Reveal the Sun", the intercalary passage that wraps an interesting sample of primitive chants in needlessly ponderous guitars and drums. Of the four shorter passages meant to bridge the album's five proper songs, only the last one, "A Light That Shone From Aside the Sea", stands for greater consideration. Suggesting a more rigorous Pelican indulging in restraint, the brief piece reveals yet another, more nuanced side of Hull-- as the suggested coda falls into a fade-out-- one capable of denying gratification.
That quality is consistent with and complementary to Hull's ostensible aim on Beyond the Lightless Sky-- to make a colossal and cohesive statement that moves beyond the bounds of simply being a good rock record. This is, after all, a concept album about two Mayan brothers struggling with their separate and conflicting destinies. But the antiphonal approach between surging, complicated epics and complacent, ruminative tone pieces not only squanders Hull's hard-won momentum, but also renders an album full of misdirection and surprises sometimes indistinguishable from one side to the next. (Over time, a landscape of high hills and beautiful valleys eventually becomes just another landscape.) Still, at their best, Hull join a rare but growing class of bands resurfacing doom with new influences and expectations. Beyond the Lightless Sky doesn't meet recent high-water marks set by the Body, Rwake, Baroness, or Thou, but it does seem like the next stepping-stone for Hull. Two years ago, they proved they had the songs. Now, they've proven they have the ideas, aims, and skills. Given the depth and delivery of the best moments here, it's intimidating to consider how Hull might sound when they get it all right at once.
