Review & Full Album Premiere: My Sleeping Karma, Atma
Posted in audiObelisk, Reviews on July 28th, 2022 by JJ Koczan
[Click play above to stream My Sleeping Karma’s Atma in full. Album is out tomorrow on Napalm Records and available here: lnk.to/MSK-Atma/napalmrecords.]
If you believe in a soul, the music of My Sleeping Karma could hardly come from anywhere else. The German instrumentalists have gone to lengths to position Atma — the title derived is Sanskrit, translated roughly as the non-physical totality of a universal self in Hinduism; recall the YOB album of the same name in 2011 — as their most emotive offering to-date, which in the 16 years since their self-titled debut (discussed here) and the works they’ve released in the interim is saying something. Atma collects six tracks that break evenly across two vinyl sides, marked by the smoothness of groove and production that has in no small part defined their work and their distinctive approach to progressive heavy psychedelia, post-rock and weighted density of fuzz, and repositions the band from where they left off with 2015’s Moksha (review here), their most recent studio LP, which they followed with Mela Ananda — Live (review here) celebration of their 10th anniversary in 2017.
The four-piece of guitarist Seppi, bassist Matte Vandeven, drummer Steffen Weigand and synthesist Norman Mehren (credited, as always, with “soundboard”), pull back on some of the fleshed-out arrangements of the last album — so far as I can tell there are no horns on Atma — in favor of a more direct approach. And while the narrative — blessings and peace upon it — is about the emotionality of the material and that one way or the other the band has put five years of work into making this record, the truth about My Sleeping Karma‘s music is that it’s evocative and resonant enough that if they put the power of suggestion into telling you it was a story about flying to Saturn, there would be no choice to believe it; like all of their output, Atma is at very least a journey somewhere.
But in the context of the outbreak of war in Europe (which happened after the record was done, but still serves as an example), the pandemic era, a rise of political extremism, climate crisis, and health and other personal concerns within the band, and perhaps even just the apparent slog of building these tracks themselves over such a stretch of time, a wistful sensibility is easily read as the nine-minute opener “Maya Shakti” quickly nestles into its volume trade patterns over its first two minutes, and that aspect holds true across the song and record that follows.
All of which is to say, as My Sleeping Karma are out there saying Atma is driven by emotion, the music backs that up.
“Maya Shakti” takes place over three movements, the last of which is one of the album’s most expansive stretches, the melody of the guitar, bass and keys pushed forward by Weigand‘s drumming, his snare cutting through the mix in a way that will sound high enough to stand out as jarring by the time the subsequent “Prema” hits into its more swinging second half — though I’m not sure that’s not on purpose; aural punctuation as grounding effect amid so much float, perhaps, or even a spiritual wake-up call — but ultimately finding a balance with the other elements at work as “Mukti” unfolds soft and ethereal, its memorable keyboard line set to a backdrop of hypnotic guitar and breadth of atmosphere.
The Sanskrit title, as the band has said, refers to the notion of letting go and finding peace in all things. Maybe that’s what’s happening with the krautrocking synth before the more driving finish of the track, and if it’s some semblance of existential freedom being obtained as the heavier thrust to the end — that snare again marking the path — then fair enough. As ever, they make it difficult to argue.
Side B’s “Avatara” is a mirror to “Maya Shakti,” stretching over nine minutes long and setting the ambience of the two songs that follow. There’s a tension in the line of organ, drums and bass in the song’s middle-third, and that does pay off after the quiet break in the ending, but true to Atma as a whole, “Avatara” is more about the act of going than getting there, though they do dare a bit of prog-as-funk in the guitar late and that is especially satisfying on a record that’s so weighted in mood. With purposeful drift at its finish and what seems to be a gong, they stick-click into “Pralaya” and pointedly leave behind the quiet introductions that each of the four songs before and closer “Ananda” still to come have proffered in favor of a more immediate takeoff.
There are two subsequent comedowns and launches, and taken together they highlight the dynamic of My Sleeping Karma and their interaction with various post-heavy genres as well as the individualized take on sonic meditation that has made the band so influential in their time. If an understated one compared to some of what surrounds, it’s reasonable to call “Pralaya” a highlight, and its last crash and thud seems specifically meant for a live stage.
So be it. One wonders if the denser riffing that emerges early in the eight-minute “Ananda” is intended as an answer to that as well, as it feels imbued with a similar energy, but Atma‘s finisher ultimately has different plans, pulling back to quiet synth and guitar right around three minutes in to establish the bed for the album’s last build.
And it is a build, where much of Atma has been about the band lulling their audience into a trance and then snapping them out of it either by the sudden entrance of a sweeping volume surge or some other twist, the progression of “Ananda” — keyboard notes like water drops throughout — is a more even flow, still dynamic and quite heavy by the time another three and a half minutes have passed, but seeming to find resolution and catharsis in its last wash, letting the album go on a quick fade, reminding of the impermanence of all things, including ourselves.
I will not pretend to know the totality of what My Sleeping Karma have been through over the last seven years since Moksha was released. True to the storyline, Atma is sad, longing almost for a better world, but by no means void of hope, and if the band are laying themselves bare musically, they’ve captured the expressive beauty that’s always been at the heart of their craft. That combined exclamation of soul. It is easy to feel powerless, overwhelmed, to wake up every day and know that defeat is coming to such a degree that it’s already there. It’s harder to turn that into something that speaks to a possibility for more, and that is precisely what makes this return from My Sleeping Karma so vital. Someday I’ll see this band live.
