In 1991, Earth reinvented heavy metal. Extra-Capsular Extraction, the debut EP by the Washington state duo, made riffs slow, oppressive, and, perhaps most important, solitary. Suddenly, that clever little device rock bands had used to hook kids for decades was more than an accessory; it was the main event, and it was mean. "Ouroboros Is Broken", the 18-minute monster on the B-side, spewed its riff through distortion, baring claws over the industrial thwack of a drum machine before slowing down and stretching out toward forever. It was loud, punishing, and new; drone metal, the genre, followed.
In 2005, Earth reinvented themselves. After a nine-year hiatus, Dylan Carlson returned with a bigger lineup and, this time, a surprising sound. The slow motion was still there, as were the winding, deliberate riffs. But on Hex; or Printing in the Infernal Method, Earth's monolithic blast had given way to furrowed blues, the volume reduced to a gentle, living-room purr. Two years later, Earth re-recorded "Ouroboros Is Broken" for Hibernaculum, a short album that smartly recast four tunes from the first iteration of Earth in Carlson's new, infinitely arid style. That eight-minute reworking was a revelation, suggesting that not only were Carlson's riffs wonders-- maximum volume, or minimum-- but so were his control and patience. Above a steady drum trot, he bent that old theme with careful diligence, sometimes repeating notes, sometimes omitting them, sometimes letting them radiate. The metalhead knew his jazz and his Jerry Garcia. Here, he wielded those influences perfectly.
The second iteration of Earth has now been recording and touring longer than the first, foundation-shifting phase of the band. You'd be excused, then, for assuming that it's time for Carlson to slip back into the shadows or to again push restart. Rather, on Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light 1, he returns for his fourth LP with drummer Adrienne Davies, whose tasteful, robust, and slow swing has provided essential ballast for Carlson's thinly etched guitar since 2005. Carlson and Davies do make two personnel changes, though, and they prove essential: The K Records polyglot Karl Blau replaces longtime Earth bassist Don McGreevy, while the swelling organ and horns of Steve Moore are swapped for the much more versatile cello of Lori Goldston.
These shifts don't turn Earth into a new band, but they do provide a fresh context for Carlson's guitar. On the brilliantly winding "Descent to the Zenith", for instance, Goldston plays against him ever so gently, pushing against his pull, emphasizing the way his lines keep chasing their own tails. Moore's organ used to make Carlson's ideas sound bigger; here, by contrast, Goldston makes them sound smarter. On the album-closing title track, the quartet makes torpid circles for 20 minutes, the guitar, bass, and cello revolving separately around a melody. It's as mesmerizing as an early Earth marathon, just that much more intricate.
"Father Midnight" is a tease in tension, with Carlson repeatedly sliding back and forth along a melody and Davies occasionally leaning into her snares and cymbals with added oomph. It suggests that Earth are about to break character, to roll suddenly like a rock band, to get loud. They, of course, never do. Goldston and Blau are essential to that feeling, as she runs knotty strands of dissonance through Carlson's staggered figures. What's more, Blau plays bass like a songwriter, meaning that he makes choices and takes chances a simple sideman might miss. On "Father Midnight", he's the tension-baiting free radical. Blau sometimes steps with Carlson, thickening his leads and keeping it simple; but he often steps out of that role with stray notes in spots that don't necessarily belong or truncated progressions that let the band slip past. For a unit recording together for the first time, this Earth makes complex, counterintuitive choices.
It might be tempting to dismiss Angels of Darkness as a showcase for one of the electric guitar's best craftsman. Carlson's finesse, after all, has never been better than on these five tracks. A master of tone with an ear for clarity and subtlety, he makes his rests as evocative as the notes themselves. And given the band's recent, steady gestalt, it's also tempting to dismiss Angels of Darkness as just another new album from the second Earth-- you know, the quiet band that's metal only by legacy and label. This isn't a radical reinvention as much as it's a refinement; the backing band and its leader have never been better. But when has Earth's music not been about hard-fought rewards and slow revelations? In the 90s, Earth's heavy metal offered an escape, a massive shelter of volume and drone. But the intricacies of this Earth-- Carlson's harmonics and harmonies, Davies' careful builds, Blau's unexpected bass maneuvers, Goldston's adventurous versatility-- demand attention and immersion. That is, check in, not out, and you'll rarely hear four players with as much quiet command.
