For better and worse, audacity is an essential aspect of Aluk Todolo. After all, for the bulk of the last decade, the French trio of black metal veterans has attempted an unwieldy mission-- to set the dark sounds of their past to the typically kaleidoscopic expanses of krautrock. That task actually seems feasible for a band with enough gumption to lift its name from an ancient, ritualistic religion practiced by a third of the people in a mountainous region of Indonesia, or an act that insists its music is a way to leave he world behind. "The requested conditions to play our music," drummer Antoine Hadjioannou said in a 2007 interview, "is to get in a trance and forget everything... when the musician finally disappears behind the forces he does summon."
But the nerviest thing Aluk Todolo have done to date is to record and release their latest album, an 85-minute, double-disc set of eight continuous and intricate sprawls named Occult Rock. The title itself is an albatross, a double-barrel promise that becomes a burden in much the same way as Demdike Stare's claim to "occult beats." Perhaps nearly 90 minutes is sufficient for a ritual, but it's also a very long time to "rock" without pause; at least Mahavishnu McLaughlin knew enough to call his band an orchestra.
The trio, though, largely delivers. They emerge undaunted, opening with 10 tantric minutes of black metal sustain, an infinite breakneck beat providing a platform for sheets of noise and the perpetual rise and fall of one wintry riff. The decay leaks into the next track, which builds from a start of bleeding riffs and broken beats into a sudden fleet rumble. Hadjioannou is a master of tension here, somehow wiring his rhythm with the feeling that the band is always on the verge of explosion or implosion. Guitarist Shantidas Riedacker and bassist Matthieu Canaguier do sometimes converge in outbursts of volume, but they mostly slink at the edges of the drums, fortifying the anxiety with unresolved guitar and basslines; it's like tech metal walking a compositional tight rope.
Given the sources of musical inspiration Aluk Todolo tend to cite, from the great spans of Ash Ra Tempel to the claustrophobic melee of Ildjarn, neither post-rock nor post-metal are tags on which they likely have their sights set. During "IV", the voice of Brian McMahan talking about shipwrecks always seems just around the corner; "III" delivers both the groaning textures and deserved, overpowering climaxes of Mogwai's "Like Herod". With its surges through feedback and barreling rhythm section, "VI" splits the difference between those progenitors. Connected as they are, however, these tracks sometimes feel excessive and unedited, like thoughts from open-ended improvisations that were never whittled down to their necessities. When Aluk Todolo repeatedly cycle through riffs and valleys, that audacity starts to become an onus, turning what should be an adventure into a rote marathon.
Such post-rock maneuvers only dominate the middle half of Occult Rock. Aluk Todolo appropriately revert toward their touchstones for the last two tracks. "VII" is the album's true kosmische beauty, with starts, stops, and slow builds that suggest Neu! augmented by the guitar spires of Manuel Göttsching at both his most dense and gossamer. For all those references, it's actually a refreshing update on a familiar sound, thanks in large part to the trio's aggressive play. That is, they treat this like heavy metal musicians. The inverse holds for the closer, "VIII", a doomy monolith of cascading tones and unison chords. Behind it, Hadjioannou keeps the beat, forcing the pulse up through the vortex of sound. If you're into drone metal, it might inspire a slow, steady head bang. If you're coming to Aluk Todolo from jazz or progressive rock circles, you might call it a head nod. Either way, the unwieldy mission is mostly accomplished.
