Album Review: Candlemass, Sweet Evil Sun
Posted in Reviews on November 22nd, 2022 by JJ Koczan
The decades-spanning legacy of Swedish doom metallers Candlemass is largely unmatched outside of the band’s main point of inspiration, Black Sabbath. Fueled as ever by the songwriting of bassist/founder Leif Edling, with membership dating back to the mid-1980s in guitarists Mappe Björkman (rhythm) and Lars Johansson (lead) and drummer Jan Lindh, the genre-defining outfit stormed into a new era with 2019’s The Door to Doom (review here) in reuniting with Johan Längquist, who was never actually in the group but nonetheless fronted their landmark 1986 debut and arguably one of the most important doom records of all time, Epicus Doomicus Metallicus, though he’d also joined the band for special live performances as well in the long interim.
A crucial moment, the advent of Längquist as actual-frontman for Candlemass was somewhat overshadowed by the guest appearance of Black Sabbath‘s Tony Iommi on one of The Door to Doom‘s tracks — subsequently nominated for a Grammy — but it was the pivotal change that actually allowed that record to be such a success, the tenures of Solitude Aeturnus‘ Robert Lowe and Mats Levén (who’d worked with Edling in side-projects Krux and Abstrakt Algebra, and featured in a ton of other bands as well) having proved sustainable even if the latter never actually sang on a full-length, only studio EPs. Given the results and reception to The Door to Doom, going in a different direction was clearly the right choice for the band at the time, even if what they were doing was working.
That leaves Sweet Evil Sun — their 13th full-length — with a significant challenge as the follow-up. Apart from vocals on “When Death Sighs” contributed by Jennie-Ann Smith of the Edling-adjacent melodic metal unit Avatarium, and keys by Rickard Nilsson (also Avatarium, among others) there are no guest spots throughout the 10-song/53-minute offering, and alongside producer Marcus Jidell, who also plays in Avatarium and featured in the shelved Edling project The Doomsday Kingdom and as recorded Candlemass since 2016 (he was also in Soen, Evergrey and a slew of others), the band send a clear message throughout the new collection that they’re back to the business at hand of crafting their particular brand of epically riffed doom metal that has influenced more than one generation of acts across the last 35-plus years.
Their intention in this regard is telegraphed clearly in the signature nod of album-opener “Wizard of the Vortex,” and as the CD/three-sided 2LP (there’s also a 3LP version), plays through its brief-at-3:40, hooky title-track with a groove reminiscent of records like 1989’s Tales of Creation and their more dug-in approach generally, before moving into the lumber-into-chug of “Angel Battle,” which is classic in style mostly because of the work Candlemass did in making it that way, topped of with a spoken word piece performed by the actor Kenneth Anger (whose credits include 1972’s Lucifer Rising, a title the band took for an EP in 2008); the full written version of the narrative is in the CD tray, presumably somewhere in the LP layout as well. And as they continue into the Sabbath-referencing “Black Butterfly,” full-on epic doom, their main point of reference indeed seems to be Candlemass. As a band, they’re perhaps taking influence from themselves more than anybody.
Particularly in light of where they’re coming from in answering back The Door to Doom, this feels purposeful, and Sweet Evil Sun emerges as a strong declaration of purpose and a statement of who they are, reminding in that of their then-reunion album in 2005’s self-titled (discussed here) that reignited their career and set them on a path toward reverence from a new generation of fans. There are shades of classic metal throughout, and the reaches toward accessibility in the single “Scandinavian Gods,” “When Death Sighs” and the aforementioned “Sweet Evil Sun” are complemented by the grand dirges of “Devil Voodoo” and “Crucified” — a good bit of headbang fodder in the latter as well as a standout performance from Längquist — so that Sweet Evil Sun carries something of a rocker’s vibe even as it does not shy away from tolling a funeral bell.
This leaning to one side or the other of the established tenets of Candlemass‘ sound gives Sweet Evil Sun a steady flow from one song, one side to the next, and so the record carries a a sense of movement as it heads toward the culmination in “Goddess,” which takes iconoclastic cues from “Wizard of the Vortex” and mirrors the opener’s point of view lyrically in examining who has power and why. “Wizard of the Vortex” is a bit more blatant, asking “Did you surrender, when the demon rose?” where in “Goddess,” it’s “You’re not my goddess, no face of religion.” For all I know the one could be about fascism and the other about divorce, but they’re both using escapist lyrical metaphor to speak about something more terrestrial.
Further to the lyrics, every track on Sweet Evil Sun contains some derivation of the word “sun” in its lyrics except for “Wizard of the Vortex.” The first line of “Angel Battle” says it, “Happened on a Sunday.” In “Devil Voodoo,” it’s, “The evening sun inside my bones,” and so on. It’s too much to be a coincidence, and maybe that’s part of what Candlemass are allowing the listener to process as the bass begins the instrumental outro “Cup of Coffin” — I see what you did there — before the quick epilogue riff and a last bit of applause, somewhat jarring because of the otherwise polished presentation of the album. It’s a quizzical finish, but one might read it as the band saluting their fans, and fair enough. 40 years on from Edling‘s first assembling what was called at the time Nemesis and became Candlemass a couple years later, and particularly in light of the last few years of confusion and tragedy, some of which is portrayed here one way or the other, you could hardly fault the band for expressing appreciation to their dedicated fanbase. That is, ultimately, what has sustained them.
Sweet Evil Sun succeeds in pivoting away from The Door to Doom, which honestly is the bulk of its task. Its tracks will speak to fans old and new, and the work as an entirety carries them into the post-pandemic era as the kings of doom that they are. Their presence, their stately delivery, and Edling‘s style of composition, are largely inimitable, and Sweet Evil Sun — familiar in many respects, but welcome in how it speaks to the band’s history and what they’ve already accomplished in this era — reaffirms that in a universe of infinite possibility and a seemingly infinite swath of bands, there’s only ever been and only will be one Candlemass. Long may they reign.
