"Horse Thieves" is the final and best track on An Ache for the Distance, the second album by Chicago's distorted doom squadron the Atlas Moth. It opens with a pit-of-hell black-metal sigh: Vocalist/guitarist Stavros Giannopoulos sounds as malevolent as Malefic once did on Sunn O)))'s Black One, when the Xasthur leader infamously recorded his vocal parts from inside a coffin that was itself inside a Cadillac hearse. Appropriately, Giannopoulos sings of the end with apocalyptic imagery, a would-be horseman requesting that a "divine mare" help him spread an unspoken plague. "Our light has been eclipsed, the tides washing ashore," he screams, his voice so serrated, his tone so saturated, that the words are barely decipherable. The sound is threatening enough, with words or not. Indeed, even during what turns out to be a fairly indelible chorus, "Horse Thieves"'s voices vacillate between dark, darker, and darkest. It's like a seven-minute history of the progression of black-metal vocals from the basements of Oslo 20 years ago to, these days, high-end recording studios.
But the Atlas Moth aren't a black metal band-- at all. Rather, they're one of a growing legion of bands to use bits of that form-- and, really, everything from stoner metal to psychedelic rock, free jazz to electric blues-- to make militantly adventurous heavy metal. In fact, when Giannopoulos is howling his imprecations during "Horse Theives", he's backed by a slow, stubborn, swaggering blues riff and a rhythm section that has more to do with Mono's escalating brood than Mayhem's shrieking ferocity. Jamie Branch streaks the song's bridge with trumpet hiss, while Andrew Ragin puts down his guitar to add eerie piano jet wash. It all sounds like some awesome, evil vaudeville after-party that, after an impasse, somehow erupts into a sludgy sing-along about a serpent's tongue and staying alive.
Such patent unpredictability and versatility fuel the entirety of An Ache for the Distance, a dense, 45-minute listen that never seems to stop revealing new aspects and assets. The Atlas Moth are an excellent three-guitar quintet as capable of heroic, spiraling leads (see the start of "Coffin Varnish") as they are thick, interlocking lines that serve more as a working matrix for the lyrics, as with "Your Calm Waters". Giannopoulos takes the lead on that track, crying out for a commitment of assistance should he not make it out alive. "Before you climb off, check the pulse/ Bring me back to life," he yells. His call is actually answered by David Kush, the Atlas Moth's sort of hook singer (the liner notes credit him with "clean vocals"). Throughout Distance, he and Giannopoulos trade lines and parts, occasionally creating conversations between hope and despair.
Lyrically, Distance is anchored on old-fashioned worry for the future; as with those blues guitars and rock'n'roll drums, Kush's hooks, which strangely split the difference between Hawkwind and Hot Topics, create tension for Giannopoulos' protestations. They make his bleak seem that much bleaker. What's more, Kush's singing prevents the album's one collaboration from seeming out of place. Mark Solotroff is best known for his work in power electronics as Bloodyminded, but on "Courage", he sings like Mark Kozelek fronting Jesu. The unlikely ballad offers a perfect respite for Distance's general roar and, once again, reveals another capability of the band without squandering too much of the album's propulsion.
The divide between advocates for purity and post-everything blends feels particularly polarized right now-- not just in metal or even music, but in entertainment at large and politics. The Atlas Moth certainly falls into the latter category, churning ideas sometimes considered mutually exclusive inside one relentless package. Importantly, though, it feels neither like a pastiche nor like a pretense. On only their second album, the Atlas Moth have successfully captured a signature, singular mix of ideas and impulses, quickly covering a distance that others waste careers trying to match.
