If you were to put on a record with the foreknowledge that the music you’re hearing almost tore the band to shreds, you sure as hell would want to get that indication from the art itself. There have been plenty of records that ended bands, but how many can you name off the top of your head that became a part of your musical DNA? I’m sure there are some decent ones somewhere?

When it comes to Los Angeles wreckers Sprain, that whole idea is stretched to the maximum as they were put to the test with their latest creation. Their new record “The Lamb as Effigy,” known in full as “The Lamb As Effigy or Three Hundred And Fifty XOXOXOS For A Spark Union With My Darling Divine,” is an experience. If you’re easily rattled by music that’s bluntly honest and exposed, you might want to consider your surroundings before tackling this. Trauma is front and center, the words can pierce your flesh, and the music feels like a living, breathing organism that was made up on the spot, which makes it feel so damn spontaneous. It’s not a metal record, though the band—vocalist/guitarist Alex Kent, guitarist Sylvie Simmons, bassist April Gerloff, percussionist Clint Dodson—does weave a nice amount of doom into the mix. Slowcore and post-hardcore, loosely, can be used as descriptors, but this goes beyond adjectives. It’s a full human display that often goes very off track, needling you and eating into the fragile brain you refuse to acknowledge as such. This is therapy.

“Man Proposes, God Disposes” opens with strings taunting and making the unease sink in like an injection, the sprawling talk-singing coming off like a mentally wounded person wandering the halls. Swollen basslines and angular guitars scorch as Kent howls, “I will be your target, I will stand here like an idiot with an apple on my head.” The rant continues, guilt crushes, and the tirade of, “Animals eat animals, et cetera, animals fuck animals, et cetera,” lets the unraveling continue, pulsating and scorching, noise swirling and threatening, melting out but refusing to leave. “Reiterations” has wild howls and jarring singing, a pace that eases by, but the tension beneath is impossible to ignore. The playing quivers as the vocals ache, the strain feeling more cumbersome, drums rumbling and strange talking making it feel like your own mental health is cratering. “Privilege of Being” creaks as guitars rain, noises curdle, and the singing warbles, feeling mightily unsteady as the track purposefully deteriorates. Things begin to feel dirgey, the strings enveloping, drama stretching, and the power slowly dripping into oblivion. “Margin for Error” is the second-longest track by a single second at 24:37 and one that lets time snake into oblivion, organs ringing, and Kent’s croon doubling over. Liturgical turns take things into darker, gentler territory, and then the sounds build and swarm, your guts swimming in your stomach. The power jolts and spirals, the guitars crush with a heavy gaze, and a doom sheen spreads, the sounds making an engine-like whir, melting and then unexpectedly calming.

“The Commercial Nude” runs 10:55, and guitars scorch and create a laser-like blast, acoustics rush in as sounds blip, and then the power churns as the vocals turn smoother, more elegant. Guitars bustle and bash, the drums leave blisters on your face, piano drips and layers the fog, and the melodies feel lonesome and pained. That settles over the horizon, devoured with the setting sun. “The Reclining Nude” stretches for 12:56, pianos wailing, sounds crashing, an emotional swell taking over as the torment spills over the lid. Drums jar as the keys bring echo and darkness, and then things soften, the drums pattering and weaving, the guitars awakening and agitating. Calm tries to wedge between the tense moments, piano trickles through the blood streaks, and everything slowly fades into dirt. “We Think So Ill of You” immediately digs in, metallic wires frayed, the drums bashing and crushing wills to continue. It feels part horror house, part mental deterioration, Kent’s direct singing feeling like an accusatory finger in the chest. The words warble as shocking jolts tear down your spine, electrifying your cells, Kent scathing, “And you just kill me off in the film you’re directing.” The spite is undeniable as is the pressure that increases. All wires are tangled, paranoia spills over in strange visions and fears, and the direct blasts leave spattered flesh and bone behind. Closer “God, or Whatever You Call It” is the longest track, running 24:38, letting guitars confound and confuse, speed blasting unexpectedly, everything causing central nervous system trauma. Singing chortles as the scars create tributaries, forceful explosions feel like warped promises, and the band creates an off-the-cuff atmosphere, seeming like everything you hear surprised them as much as it does you. It’s a cacophony, almost a summary of the madness you encountered before this stretch, the jangling playing and lucid dreaming uniting. The final minutes are the most concerning as the sounds calm and often disappear entirely as Kent stutters, shakes, and contorts, at one point walking away from the mic and howling in the background, “I can’t sing if you’re looking at me!” He then manically counts, gasps, tries to regain composure, and then the music magically rejoins him like golden beams from the heavens, washing him and the listener in warmth, crashing out and finally embracing rest after days and days awake and falling apart.

In no way is “The Lamb as Effigy” an easy listen. It’s hard to get through, a challenge mentally, and a true marathon of psychological pain and darkness wrapped into an unpredictable, often stabbing, sometimes serene hour and 40 minutes. There’s also no question Sprain created an incredible document you’ll not soon shake or forget, as the eight songs here find a way to take root and tear through  your body. It almost ended them. This is an experience as much as it is an album, a naked exposure of minds in pain, wounds not healing, and the only way to cope being to throw every bit of ache at the wall and hoping it crashes down and consumes you whole.

For more on the band, go here: https://www.facebook.com/spraintheband

To buy the album, go here: https://nowflensing.com/collections/sprain

For more on the label, go here: https://nowflensing.com/