Let us save you the trouble of checking an online dictionary: Calcination is the first stage of alchemy, and it essentially means "purification by fire." It is tied in with astrology, and in those terms, it's basically a humbling process that spurs the introspection and self-evaluation necessary for transformative growth. With that in mind, the title of Scout Niblett's sixth album is rather appropriate. She truly sounds like a woman willing to suffer through anything, to burn away what doesn't work, in order to gain strength and wisdom. Her music has always been lonely, introverted, and anguished, but the stakes seem much higher on this album, like it's a do-or-die scenario. To some extent, listening to The Calcination of Scout Niblett is more like bearing witness to a ritual. Even if the music is often arresting and engaging, it's not for us so much as something Niblett obviously needs to do for herself. This is a very uncompromising work of art, to say the least.
Scout Niblett is a woman who takes astrology and alchemy very seriously, and over the course of her career, these themes have become central to her songwriting. I realize that may sound kinda crackpot and off-putting, but it's important to note that you really don't need to be as invested as she is in those ideas to get something out of this music. This isn't dense, overly mystical nonsense. Niblett draws on these archetypes and iconography for their metaphorical value, and she consistently places the emphasis in the songs on anticipation and catharsis. Her compositions typically alternate between a heavily distorted thud and brittle, minimal passages that serve as lulls. Percussion comes and goes, and some of the loudest moments are without the clatter of drums, resulting in an eerie, hollow noise.
On a surface level, this music can resemble PJ Harvey on Rid of Me or Nirvana on In Utero, both of which were also engineered by Niblett's collaborator Steve Albini. The substance is closer to Cat Power's Moon Pix and the early albums by the reclusive songwriter Jandek. Like them, Niblett has a way of making you hang on her every note, and making her guitar strings sound like some kind of fragile tether to sanity. Her voice is expressive and raw, shifting between wounded soulfulness and unhinged fury. Her songs are not uninviting, and tracks like "I.B.D." and "Duke of Anxiety" have strong, memorable melodic hooks, but the starkness and intensity of it all makes for a very difficult and challenging record. However, on the occasions when the music connects, it is mesmerizing and uncanny whether you are directly relating to her or having a more voyeuristic experience.
The extreme intimacy implied by the recording is both fascinating and uncomfortable, but that isn't necessarily a complaint. This is an excellent document and a successful expression of something that is clearly personal to the artist. Our comfort level and patience is beside the point, but not unimportant. Niblett's music is very much an acquired taste, and there are few ways to enjoy this other than on her terms. She's not oblivious to this, and she has a sense of humor about it. The black and white photograph on the cover is a sly, on-the-nose bit of dark comedy: She's standing there waving and smiling at us as she holds up a welding torch, presumably about to set herself on fire. It's her odd little way of welcoming an audience to what she describes on the title track as her "self-made sweat box." It's grim and indulgent, but not lacking in style and wit.
