Wyllt, Black Math Horseman's debut, is a fascinating compendium of the last 30 years of rock. Many bands are retro-aware-- see Bigelf, as well as most of Black Math Horseman's labelmates on Tee Pee-- but few embody the past yet avoid merely wearing its clothes. Retro awareness usually involves blinders to the present, which Black Math Horseman do not wear. One school of thought says that everything that can be done has been done. If so, Black Math Horseman have sharp filters. They've funneled the best parts of rock's giants into a richly idiosyncratic entity.
Black Math Horseman = Led Zeppelin's bombast + Black Sabbath's rhythm section + 1970s psych rock dilation + Isis' minimal-maximal dynamics. This is a horrible description, I know. But when listening to Wyllt, it's impossible not to hear decades of record collecting riffling by. Parts of "Deerslayer", for example, could have been on Badmotorfinger (Soundgarden chaneling Sabbath), Ritual de lo Habitual (Jane's Addiction channeling Zeppelin), and, of all things, She Hangs Brightly. Sera Timms' mostly cool-tempered voice suggests Nico on 4AD, complete with ghostly reverb. The gauzy "Torment of the Metals" recasts the Doors' "The End" as Krautrock. But though this record was raised on radio, no cuts are obvious singles, especially with Timms haunting the back of the mix. A college party soundtrack this is not.
For all the references this record evokes, it feels elusive. The band seems like it's working from deep within its influences. Songs are layered yet minimal. No jam sections here-- every note is in its place. The result is a studied diligence that's appealingly austere, yet frustratingly restrained. Black Math Horseman have potent ingredients, but they cook them at a simmer. That makes Wyllt a smooth listen, but it rarely boils over. Most attempts to do so merely raise bubbles.
The one exception is "Bird of All Faiths and None/Bell from Madrone". This 11-minute behemoth closes the record with a vocal performance on par with early PJ Harvey. Timms cuts through her reverb, sonorously elongating syllables, bending blue notes to the hilt, and howling with feral abandon. Janis Joplin would approve. Here, Black Math Horseman access the dark mojo of Black Sabbath; Timms accesses pure animality. More like this, please. Classic rock was scary once; Black Math Horseman could make it scary again.
