Over the 12 years we’ve presented music on this site, there hasn’t been a lot of opportunities to write about love songs. So many of the sub-genres we cover barely, if ever, touch the subject, and the times when it does come into play, it feels like it’s been a blip on the radar. But love is a very human thing, and there is no reason for heavy music to shy away from it, so let’s dive in headfirst.
Long-running noise/punk/hardcore institution Oxbow never have done things conventionally over their 35 years together, and that continues on “Love’s Holiday,” an album filled front to back with love songs. No, you’re not going to have a candlelit dinner or slow dance to any of these songs (people still do that, right?), and you’re not staring a slew of sappy ballads in the face. Instead, the band—vocalist Eugene S. Robinson, guitarist/pianist Niko Wenner, bassist Dan Adams, drummer/percussionist Greg Davis—gives love all kinds of sonic treatment from stabbing bursts to longing-filled dirges to heated outbursts when the heart is about to bleed its last. Kristin Hayter of Lingua Ignota lends her unmistakable voice to parts of the record, a full chorus adds depth and texture, and a group of other players add oboe, clarinet, violin, and other sounds to a record that is impossible to classify. It’s also damn near impossible to shake off, making this one of the most immersive and emotionally charged Oxbow record yet.
“Dead Ahead” slices in with snarled and stretched vocals from Robinson, who sounds like no one else, and the chorus of, “Knives in the sink,” pulled from the verses is instantly intoxicating. “Believe it, heed it, this god of love destroys and creates,” he calls as the playing jostles, teasing and pulling, turning into filth. “Icy White & Crystalline” comes in direct, landing shots, twisting your mind, guitars jangling with exhaust. The playing is undeniably catchy as Robinson prowls, “I’m up your stairs, banister like a barrister for the prosecution, on the charge of prostitution,” the synth pulsating. Things get murkier, noise shakes, and the final slices to your flesh burn harder. “Lovely Murk” is immersive, gentler musically, feeling like a misty night. Synth spreads as the song gets heartier but darker, guitars sprawling. Hayter’s voice swirls in the fog as Robinson continues to scratch out the tale. Orchestral flourishes rise, sorrowful melodies get weightier, the shadow slipping out of the room. “1000 Hours” feels like a lull-a-bye at first, choral singing coating, the pace taking up the immersive pain. Robinson flexes a bit, croons in other places, “Life has lost its taste,” he calls in agony. Vulnerable and broken, the song continues through bloody drama, the chorus swelling, devastation and heartbreak making the heaviness impossible.
“All Gone” starts with choral calls, piano falling in sheets, the pall stretching, Robinson’s speak singing plotting the way. The singing turns to whispers, the guitars tease fire, the keys ice, Robinson pleading, “Close my mouth, give me breath because how can I bear the ghost of you here?” Fuck, that line is a dagger. The haunting continues as the guitars rush, the keys feel like tears falling into forever, and the emotion leaves you choked up and gasping. “The Night the Room Started Burning” opens with acoustics, the tempo pumping, the choruses again layered with majesty. “It was dark, it was me and you,” Robinson calls as power chords jar. Chimes attempt to salve wounds, but there’s no turning away from the burning, punches come harder and in places you don’t expect, and finality is numbing. ““ “” is a brief interlude with acoustics, sounds swelling, and ice pelting, moving into “Million Dollar Weekend” that slowly melts, Robinson prodding, “Our secrets were not so secret, and we were not so nearly sober,” as the atmosphere surrounding increase the moodiness. Power jolts, guitars slide, and the deep expression makes this feel like a sultry evening, the clothes sticking to your body from the heat, solemnity poking in its head and deciding it’s better off not involved in any of this. “The Second Talk” punches in, swampy guitars stinging, Robinson’s screech matching the thick air, poking with, “Fucking is a dangerous game.” The singing gets more intense as he reaches for the upper rafters, the playing follows suit and provides grit, making this the most straight-on rock song on the record, a damn fucking good one at that. Closer “Gunwale” gives the chorus a final spotlight, the slow burn of the song making things feel liturgical and dangerous, poetic lines slipping through the waves. The haze is heavy enough to taste, guitars muscle through the brine, and it feels like a spirit that won’t rest. “Can you believe us? Will you believe us? Will you come and see? You and me and the sea,” Robinson wails, angelic haze enveloping, sounds bending and marring, the final strange visions a slurry beast, crawling its way into some sort of rest.
Oxbow always have been a band that has remained at arm’s length for some people, but when their music clicks and connects, there’s nothing quite like it. “Love’s Holiday” is unlike anything they’ve done before, but you can say that for most Oxbow records, can’t you? Still, this one stands out in an impressive history of heavy music that knowns no boundary, no rules, nothing they ever were afraid to add to the mix. These love songs hurt, twist, bleed, scathe, and never flinch from showing vulnerability and pain, defining heaviness in both sound and emotion, making this something you won’t forget.
For more on the band, go here: https://www.facebook.com/OXBOW/
To buy the album, go here: https://www.blixtmerchandise.com/collections/ipecac-recordings
For more on the label, go here: https://ipecac.com/
Meat Mead Metal 