Balancing the weight of everyday existence (thunder-y bass, distorted guitars) and the unboundedness of open space (electronic threads, chorus, reverb), it's undeniably doomy. The set still has a pop pull, hypnotic fuzz-waves splashing over Allison “Sunny” Faris’ plaintive voice but Not Here Not Gone is a bittersweet, sexy, seductive listen, a cool melding of the celestial and infernal.
The band’s last LP, 2021’s Silence/Motion, explored the shimmery side of sorrow (crystalline and echoey arpeggios) as much as or more than the totalitarian side of fate (black riffs/power chords). With their EP from last year, If Only You Knew, however, they strived (largely succeeding) to reconcile these stylistic trajectories. The integrations accomplished on If Only have, in turn, been honed and, at times, perfected on Not Here Not Gone.
“How Will You Feel?” interweaves grating guitars and metronomic drumming. Electronically rendered notes are dangled over the roil, enhancing the contrast between the airy and earthy, the spacey and hyperreal. “Involuntary Haze” similarly traverses a metal-edged yet liminal field, Faris addressing a relationship in limbo. Mikayla Mayhew on guitar claims a distinct timbre with her grinding yet flypaper sound, existing somewhere between classic shoegaze (Loveless-era Kevin Shields/Bilinda Butcher), 90s grunge (think Noel Hogan on The Cranberries’ “Zombie”), and a static-y blackgaze roar (à la Deafheaven).
On “Bodies”, thorny guitars emerge from a buzzed-out, space-y sprawl. Rhythms are well-anchored, even drone-y, soon morphing into prog-ish progressions. Faris sounds like a fatigued Kristina Esfandiari/Chelsea Wolfe on Codeine or Tramadol. “Fade” similarly makes use of vacillations between clean and downright scurrilous sounds. Faris’ wounded-angel voice floats above the throbby (mischievously demonic?) instrumentation. Heaven and hell indeed.
“Spades” features the band diving uninhibitedly into the apocalyptic. Faris’ voice is battered by lurching guitars that pivot into aggressive refrains. Midway, Faris steps more committedly into bardo-realm, inching from wrinkled-brow pensiveness into a full-blown dissociation, complemented by guitars that stir anxiety, doubt, paranoia. This is Blackwater Holylight at their most nuanced, Faris’ overwhelm and the band’s assertiveness creating a memorable juxtaposition.
Closer “Poppyfields”, carried by Eliese Dorsay’s drum rolls and twitchy transitions, launches with a portentous sound, AI dystopia meets a Middle-Age showdown. Faris stands atop an icy bluff in a witchy gown, looking serenely disturbed (think Louisa Livingstone on the cover of Sabbath’s debut crossed with some of Kristin Hayter’s wide-eyed PR shots).
Marking their rangiest and most integrated foray, Not Here Not Gone is a doom, 'gaze, and stoner speedball. There’s an existential space here we all know. Beauty mixed with heartbreak, dejection infused with swagger, transcendence compromised by pesky preoccupations (bills, health, the fate of democracy). Blackwater Holylight, like most of us, are not ultimately of this world, though very much in it.
