Veilcaste Stream New Album Precipice in Full; Out Friday
On Friday, Feb. 10, Indianapolis five-piece Veilcaste will release their new album, Precipice, through Wise Blood Records. It is their third album somewhat retroactively. Formerly known as Conjurer and begun in 2010 under that name, the five-piece became Veilcaste in 2020 (didn’t we all?) and the seven-song/40-minute Precipice is their first long-player with the newer moniker following a split last year with Tusk, also on Wise Blood. The downer sludge metal crux of the record is near immediate, and from the first “ough” in opener “Asunder Skies” which is followed promptly by “I said, ‘ough'” — quite literally the first words on the first song — the album lets you know you’re in for a walls-closing-in crunch.
The guttural barks of “aurora” in the chorus from vocalist Dustin Mendel — it becomes “uh-ruh-ruh” — backed with growls by guitarist John Rau cross genre lines between death-doom, sludge and a kind of underground late ’90s groove metal, reminiscent of the self-directed wretchedness of Pissing Razors or Skinlab but here transposing that disaffection onto the weighted tones of Rau and Brian Wyrick‘s riffs, the depth in Gabe Whitcomb‘s bass and the midtempo plod in Chris Cruz‘s drums to which the entire album seems to march.
Bookending with closer “Empty Hell” (the longest track at 7:10), “Asunder Skies” is a grim beginning for describing something so mindbogglingly beautiful — i.e. aurora borealis — and that’s not the last time Precipice surprises with its point of view. “Dust and Bone” is dude-regretful from its held-out verse riff to its dejected chorus — “I’ve never believed I’m anything more to you/Than wasted time,” sung in a cleaner delivery — and “Drag Me Down” answers immediately with more severe chug, lead guitar positioned over a chug that lives up to the title it’s been given, dense and consuming.
A heads-down groove is locked into place after the midsection solo, filled out by deceptively floaty lead lines, pushing everything into that chug and reminding a bit of some of -(16)-‘s slower intensities, but soon shifting into more extreme fare with low-register melodic vocals, seeming all the more metallic ahead of the distraught agonies of centerpiece “For Us,” which manifests an even-more outright misery. It is the shortest inclusion at 4:11, but gets its point across in even less time than that, with an intensity of emotion set to a crash-laden nod, tense like the fist you didn’t realize you were keeping closed until your fingernails dug into your palm, and ending suddenly into the deeper thuds and rumble at the outset of “Relapse in Reason.”
As Precipice — and to be sure, by this point we’re well over the edge — lumbers forward in its sadness, disaffection and mostly-inward aggro loathing, the back and forth between songs on either side of six minutes, longer, shorter, longer, shorter, longer, shorter, longer, lends momentum to the proceedings in such a way as to underscore the collection as more third full-length than first, as much as the uptick in production value (the band recorded at Earth Analog and with Carl Byers at Clandestine Arts Recording, who also mixed; Collin Jordan mastered) gives fresh vibrancy to so much death. “Relapse in Reason” is particularly consuming, bordering on hypnotic in its middle as it rears back to unleash its repeated title line almost like a chant with deep-mixed echoes filling it out and some flourish of guitar melody.
They kick into a kind of harsh meander for a bridge and end with a few punkish lines as though to remind everyone where the sludge comes from before the penultimate “A Gasp of Air” seems to call out YOB circa 2005 in name as well as chug. A mounting intensity is bolstered by the backing vocals behind Mendel, and the turn to a more angular breakdown is made that much smoother with the fluidity of the two guitars driving it, working their way into and through winding crashes en route to an instrumental stretch that, if it doesn’t have organ — that is, if it’s guitar effects or some such — certainly sounds like it.
“A Gasp of Air” finishes suddenly, as it would, and the arrival at “Empty Hell” is announced by standalone guitar and an unfolding into a massive but more patient procession, opening in the verse and allowing space for the shouts that emerge there before the okay-that’s-definitely-organ returns alongside a layer of soloing guitar in the chorus, Veilcaste almost sneaking in melody where they can amid all the crush. Are they offering hope? Not really. I mean, the song is called “Empty Hell,” and it crashes out after four minutes into a kind of group-chant, drawling, zombie anguish, what one imagines the dead sound like on the other side of the wall to the Dry Land in Earthsea.
At the same time, the guitars, drums and bass push into a part that’s an apex more emotionally than in raw volume, but clearly what earned “Empty Hell” its spot as the finale, likewise mournful and angry, before turning back to a last, heavier, darker pummel, ending with one more slow-spit fury and a heavy silence after. Through its various turns of purpose, the songs are pulled together by tone, by the vocals and indeed by the emotional expression that coincides with the heft on display. Weighted, dense and aggressive as it is, Precipice isn’t so much mad at you as it is pulling you into its viewpoint of a world that isn’t what it should or could be.
No argument there, but it’s worth considering that “Asunder Skies,” the opener so many despairing moments ago, was agape at a natural phenomenon. The problem, then, is anthropocene. No argument there either. There is a kind of omnidirectional anger in the material — one always wants to shout that the real problem is capitalism, especially for US bands — but whether it’s an airier lead line or a quick break ahead of the next onslaught, there is a dynamic at play around the central, core grim impression of the songs. One way or the other, Precipice reads like a fist to the brain and, with little actual fanfare, pretense or bullshit, creates an atmosphere no less extreme than its most bitter despondencies. And one way or the other, Veilcaste are impressively pissed off and able to write songs about it without coming apart at their foundation. That is not nothing, considering.
Some comment from the band, preorder link and PR wire info follow the full stream of Precipice below.
Please enjoy:
Dustin Mendel on Precipice:
“Our last album, Sigils, was roughly about amateur occultists and magick users and the consequences that come from misunderstanding or getting their info from unreliable sources. Basically they didn’t do their homework and it bites them in the ass. Our new album, Precipice, is the other side of that coin. It’s more about taking your time, learning from a master, real grimoire, and having an actual understanding of the science of magick. Their intentions are true and their techniques tested and perfected. That doesn’t mean their end goal is always good, but they succeed in their endeavor rather than the cosmos nearly destroying them for misuse. This record is also the most personal in terms of lyrics. We drew from what’s been going on in our lives over the last 4 years and all of the changes we’ve gone through in that time.”
Pre-Order on Bandcamp: https://veilcaste.bandcamp.com/album/precipice
Wise Blood Records presents “Precipice,” the new album from Indianapolis doom titans VEILCASTE. World-ending heaviness for fans of emotive sludge (Yob, Neurosis), crushing doom (Electric Wizard, Conan), and even death/gloom like Mother of Graves and Tiamat. Recorded and mixed by Carl Byers at Clandestine Arts. Mastered by Collin Jordan, who has worked with Yob, Cough, Windhand, Pelican, and Apostle of Solitude.
Originally formed as Conjurer in the winter of 2010, the band changed names to Veilcaste in early 2020. After releasing Veilcaste’s split with Tusk in 2022, Wise Blood is proud to work with them on this exceptional record. The stunning cover art by SoloMacello is going to look amazing on Vinyl and Jewel Case CD. Veilcaste’s riffs are heavier than dying stars. Venture into the darkness and press play.
Recorded at Earth Analog & Clandestine Arts Recording
Engineered & Mixed by Carl Byers at Clandestine Arts Recording
Mastered by Collin Jordan at The Boiler Room
Layout by John Rau Design
Cover Art by Luca Martinotti/SoloMacello
Photos by Gary Cooper
Veilcaste is:
Chris Cruz – Drums
Dustin Mendel – Vocals
John Rau – Guitar & Vocals
Gabe Whitcomb – Bass
Brian Wyrick – Guitar
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Tags: Indiana, Indianapolis, Precipice, Veilcaste, Veilcaste Precipice, Wise Blood Records
Super gnarly album. Looking forward to spinning this on wax. \m/