Style over substance, mood over meaning, Isis isn’t spectacularly different from their peers, especially those who wriggle into the bromidically named subgenre of post-metal. Even with a lyric sheet in hand, the songs read as cerebral and prog-ish manifestos of indulgent sprawl, or as some may cheekily coin, mental masturbation. Shuddering waves of textured melodicism and explosive distortion aerobics are actually intertwined, belaying the formula that quiet and loud must be separated by slender margins. I can only assume that the purpose here is to disorient with rarely matched foreboding beauty because you can’t understand what Aaron Turner sings and remains indecipherable on the page—a swirl of arch and bruised anti-poetry that might make you pine for Dan Brown. None of this matters, though, because Wavering Radiant is a swamp, a sinkhole and a glittering grey ocean stretching to infinity. You get stuck in it no matter how hard you struggle and it swallows you whole for some fifty-four minutes. Don’t bring a diving cylinder, though—you want to drown.
The band’s been around long enough now so that experimentalism can’t capsize them because their technique has been honed razor sharp. But they’ve also followed a career path similar to fellow arty metal legend Tool. After an EP and debut full-length, both acts peaked, finding the perfect correlation between their grasp of spacious melody and love for good crushing riffs and Thor hammer percussion. Since that point, both groups have churned out consistently commendable work (each with one outing that challenged for supremacy), but as they progress, we recognize that there aren’t great new tricks in their arsenal, just different ways of doing what we already know. Staleness is a disease, especially in a genre that is typically monolithic like metal is, but we kinda wish they’d quit itching to indulge their experimental side.
A lot of fans trumpet Isis’ decision to forgo the more traditional route towards song payoff—slowly building, turning the soup into a stew, and finally landing on a climax that can level a mountain. The fact that the songs are generally anti-climactic appeals to them, as most post-rock fans brag about (this album could almost be considered a cousin to latter-era Mogwai). But “Threshold of Transformation” delivers the conclusion we crave; it’s the closer, so it better end with a bang instead of a whimper. This one reminds us of the tougher and meaner days of Isis, one built for satisfying action instead of ponderous murk. The material becomes restless without answers and no matter how appealing long sections of the album are, the ominous tone needs more threat.
At the outset, these long waves of undulating tempos and rippling fields of droning guitars and synth fills are appealing because they seem to point ahead. “Hall of the Dead” is a strong opener, densely composed of churning but unbalanced riffs and lush vibrations circling around behind them. But by the time we reach the nearly eleven-minute “Hand of the Host” (and a two-minute instrumental after that which is really just an outro) the mind starts to wander. Metal, no matter how motivated, artful or forward-thinking it can be, should never be labeled as “background music,” and yet it begins to drift. “Stone to Wake a Serpent” lurches us from the approaching slumber (appropriately named, no?) by re-introducing some punishing walls of guitar. Cleaner than ever, the crystalline distortion could definitely use a little more sludge, but even at their brightest, they inspire a nod of the head (and, occasionally, a fully extended “bang”).
The second half is definitely the more muscular side, and not surprisingly, is the better of the two. The second song, “Ghost Key,” simply reinforces what we already enjoyed from “Hall,” but insists on laboring instead of driving. Compare that to the second-to-last track, “20 Minutes/40 Years,” which contains some of their best quiet-chime guitar tones buoying over echoing synth washes, but they spike the affair with some of the most spine-tingling heavy riffs they’ve produced in several outings. I normally prefer Turner’s singing voice as opposed to his hoarse yelp, but on that occasion, the death snarl was mightily powerful. And that transitions into the thunderous “Threshold,” which closes everything out very strongly.
With all of the carefully nuanced intricacy and imaginative progressions, Isis has never much appealed to those just looking for a little bash-and-crash into their day. But when a band specializes in seven-to-eleven minute epics, the murky passages have to lead to satisfying conclusions. There’s no doubt that they have crafted an album that strives for greatness regularly, but commendable or not, we are struck with complacency more than awe. Since every outing since Oceanic has been labeled as the band’s most accessible, this one is being advertised as the Isis record that should finally see them sell to their potential. But accessibility has never been Isis’ strong suit and this one’s really no better or worse than their last two. Wavering Radiant may have deserved the name Wavering Gradient, since there are plenty of shades here. It’s nice that they’re not defined by the black and white, but sometimes in the mix, you can wind up with bland tones.
