Chaos: perhaps the most oft-misused word in the musical lexicon. The term, meaning a state of intense disorder or confusion, is commonly applied to loud bands who offer a somewhat masochistic listening experience. Load Records is an unfortunate victim of this naive branding. While many of its bands are excruciatingly loud, few fit the true definition of chaos. Even Lightning Bolt, one of the most unrepentantly ear-splitting groups ever, are far from chaotic: Their compositions weave in and out of rigidly preordained constructs, stretching the taut skin of rhythm to maximum tension, yet never breaking it. Noxagt are certain to be smote by the term in the wake of their second LP, The Iron Point, yet while many of the Norwegian trio's songs may be deafening, they're also often downright sublime.
Continual high-volume pummeling can be quite soothing, particularly when a band is content not to overstuff their songs with breakneck changes and spitfire riffage. One more than one occasion, I've blasted this record on car trips, and the music has a surprisingly sobering effect. While an epileptic band like The Locust certainly isn't the best thing to drive to, Noxagt's behemoth soundscapes are easy to become immersed in: The Iron Point moves as one sprawling, ambient suite, albeit composed for glottal bass, metallic drums and palsied viola.
While Lightning Bolt construct minimalist masterpieces by distilling the adrenal essence of rock, Noxagt's song structures are more finessed, and thus lose some of their intended potency. But such gracefulness and attention to detail isn't always a hindrance. "The Hebbex" is as anthemic as it is jarring, the stylistic double whammy that makes Lightning Bolt's music so toothsome. "Acasta Gneiss" stutters on a spasmodic bassline, replete with tremolo-heavy viola and primal tom-bashing, creating a textural kaleidoscope that makes for one of The Iron Point's most interesting moments. "Regions of May", another standout, shows a more sensitive band influenced equally by Loveless-style noisemaking and more dire hardcore and metal acts.
"Thurmaston" illustrates the potentially hypnotic effect of exceptionally loud music. Beginning with a spliced viola whine that sounds redolent of a weedwhacker gone haywire, the song features an unflinching drum rhythm that starts entropic, before being finally pinioned by a dirgeful bassline. From there, the track gradually builds momentum, as the subtly mutating viola line provides the sole melodic underpinning. Four minutes later, not much has changed, but it's hard to imagine where the time went: Like the best ambient and drone music, "Thurmaston" seems to bend time, disintegrating our physical relation to the world around us. The primary difference between this and, say, Selected Ambient Works II, is the instrumentation and volume.
A stringently singular coherence might be both this record's greatest asset and detractor. While appreciable as a whole, the songs on The Iron Point often blend into one another, offering no significant difference in tempo, instrumentation or volume. Additionally, some of the more searing numbers-- especially "Blood Thing" and "A Blast from the Past"-- seem like throwaways: Not only do they languor in the album's sequence, they're downright tedious in and of themselves. Still, The Iron Point has plenty of beatific moments within its just-right 33-minute runtime. Like the jagged, sun-drenched slab of granite that adorns its cover, the album poses a striking dichotomy that limns an unconventional beauty.
