From the Bauhaus-influenced record cover, to the dead thuds that pound every corner of The Soft Moon, there is something imposing and stark about Luis Vasquez's debut record. It casts a bleak shadow, like a graying tower block. The record heavily recalls the industrial and goth 1980s, eras of music bathed in blackness, yet beneath the squall and the otherwise monolithic sound poke out some impressive moments of clarity.
The record announces itself on "Breathe the Fire" with a Joy Division-like beat and creeping synths, Vasquez's vocal-- as on much of the record-- never rising out of a whisper. When it finally does on the tense single "Circles", it's wordless and yelping, sounding more like a pagan chant. That tense song eventually builds to a visceral, satisfying release of noise; it's a trick repeated a few times on the album, but Vasquez's timing and restraint make it just as gratifying each time.
These fleeting moments of release lend some grounding to a record that-- with its slightly phasing bass lines and watery guitar-- is often hard to pin down, a perception only enhanced by the obscured vocals. The icy exterior of The Soft Moon might make it a little inaccessible, but it's never willfully obtuse, and the sequencing neatly frames one of the albums high points, "When It's Over"-- a moment of beauty peering through the darkness that surrounds it. It's a natural centerpiece for the record, and Vasquez here allows space to surround the drums for the first time, while a fragile guitar and bass underpin glacial shifts. There's also a rare moment of transparency for the vocals as Vasquez's post-apocalyptic narrative is articulated and given a heart.
That "When It's Over" is the sole escape from the claustrophobic drums and frosty static elsewhere makes it seem even bleaker. It's as though the only respite comes for Vasquez when the world is over. While goth was always melodramatic, something about the wordless, faceless dread invoked on The Soft Moon seems distinctly of its time and place, a world in which we're often reminded of our doomed course via out-of-reach financial barons and rogue, nation-less aggressors. That The Soft Moon carries the look so well here does the same trick as many of Goth's best moments-- it makes oblivion seem like an enticing prospect.
