Friday Full-Length: Kryptograf, Kryptograf
Posted in Bootleg Theater on August 12th, 2022 by JJ KoczanReleased through Apollon Records amid the anxious hopelessness of June 2020, Kryptograf‘s self-titled debut was and is a deceptively complex outing. It runs a straightforward-enough eight songs and 38 minutes, and on its surface it’s something one would hear starting out with “The Veil” and probably classify the Norwegian four-piece as vintage-minded heavy rock and consider the matter settled. “The Veil” is among the clearest expressions of its own intentions in its new-generation-coming-up interpretations of earliest Witchcraft and Graveyard, but even in that song’s bridge riff, there are shades of doom, and later on, the easy plot essentially gets thrown out the window in favor of a tambourine-laced frenzy solo shove, loosely Graveyard-informed, but more raucous in Eirik Arntsen‘s (also vocals) cymbal work and more definitively fuzzed in the guitars of Vegard Strans and Odd Erlend Mikkelsen (both also vocals). Oh, and by the way, it’s also only about three minutes long.
And yeah, on paper that’s a tempo change, but like in (conceptual more than sonic, but a bit of that too, naturally) Sabbathian tradition, the tempo change does more for the song in the actual listening experience, informing subtly that one song isn’t necessarily going to be one thing, and as Eivind Standal Moen‘s bassline introduces “Omen,” the outward procession creeps forward with now-via-then flourish, reminding distinctly of Copenhagen’s Demon Head on the six-minute track as they proto-doom roll and nod their way toward the nine-minute “Seven.” There are a couple genuine twists as the Bergen-based unit move through their first record, and “Seven” is well placed as one of them. The only way it might work more to shift the listener’s expectation is if they’d put it as the opener instead of “The Veil,” but it gets the job done in contrasting that and “Omen” just fine, and unfurls with flourish born of a yet-unrevealed heavy psychedelic underpinning.
There are flashes of prog as well — largely unavoidable anytime you’re breaking out a mellotron — but the keys and guitars mesh together with a fluidity that hints toward the jam to come, and the band depart earth’s atmosphere with little fanfare and much hypnotic guitar work, spanning channels here and there while the drums and bass join the freakout, gradually parachuting back into the more structured riffing. The effect the departure has is to make the rest of the
song feel more open, and as it pushes to the finish, the residual resonance carries over into the ’70s-future-synth that begins “Crimson Horizon,” a still-far-out atmosphere soon crashing into an earthy riff and one of Kryptograf‘s most memorable progressions, a purposeful regrounding on the part of the band that pins down the multifaceted nature of their craft. They can be both these things on their debut, and more besides, since the steady nod and lush vocal melody of “Crimson Horizon” — like a mellower take on modern stoner riffing — leads into the more garage-doom, post-Uncle Acid harmonized hook of “Sleeper,” which is a standout for the album as a whole with its chorus and vague air of danger.
The depth of vocal arrangements is something Kryptograf continued to explore earlier this year on their second album, The Eldorado Spell (review here), but it remains one of an apparent multitude of stylistic assets at their disposal, and as impressive as the playout of “Sleeper” is, it’s not by any means a full summary of the band’s strengths then or now. One could probably fill another post entirely with flowery (floury, if you’re thinking of it as baking bread, which I’m not; carbs) descriptions of the progression of material across side B of this self-titled, with “Crimson Horizon” acting as an album-leadoff-worthy introduction before its upbeat swing or the clarion stretch of standalone guitar that rises out of the crash circa four minutes in, reaffirming the groove they’ll ride to the song’s finish and the start of “Sleeper,” etc., but even in that regard, distinguishing side B from A, the last three tracks of the Kryptograf seem to have a mission of their own. “Ocean” begins with contemplative acoustic strum, Zeppelin-ish, but only because they made it shimmer, and a watery layer of vocals accompanying, taking cues more from the prog rock that took hold after Floyd than from Floyd themselves while lasting only 2:40, the shortest of the song-songs on the record.
In terms of value to the overarching listening experience of the album, “Ocean” and its placement in the tracklisting shouldn’t be discounted just because “Seven” is more than three times as long. The effect of giving the audience a chance to breathe, appreciate what’s just taken place across “Crimson Horizon” and “Sleeper,” while getting set up for “New Colossus” still to come, is crucial. Further, it claims an entire unplugged sonic spectrum as fair game for Kryptograf‘s future work — a notion the band wouldn’t wait long to pay off on opener “Asphodel” from The Eldorado Spell — and offers another avenue through which their longer term growth may or may not manifest. That doesn’t mean they have to do an entire unplugged release at any point however long their tenure may go, but if they wanted to, you wouldn’t be able to call it unprecedented.
But “Ocean” further works alongside the instrumental outro “∞ (Infinite)” to surround “New Colossus” and give that penultimate inclusion a presentation that feels duly earned by its marching early fuzz riff, spacious vocal melody — reminds me of Acid King, if faster — and cymbal-crashing proto-burl groove later as the band touches a bit on a Sleepy nod delivering the title-line, builds and crescendos in a tidy sub-five-minute course. The hums and psychedelic ambience of “∞ (Infinite)” afterward feel like and likely are an afterthought — and actually, if one discounts “∞ (Infinite),” it makes “Crimson Horizon” the centerpiece, which kind of makes sense in terms of how the record plays out front-to-back — but the subdued ending further adds to the scope of Kryptograf‘s Kryptograf, and presages future exploration that, two years later, is already underway.
Throughout this year and probably next and the one after and for however long I keep this site going, I’ve been going back and digging into albums that, because I apparently spent the whole year in a bunker, I didn’t get to review at the time. Kryptograf‘s self-titled was something I kept feeling like I needed to be writing about right up until the second LP was announced. I’ll say sincerely that having now dug into it thusly, I feel like a weight has been lifted. Fortunately I know a god record to put on for that kind of party.
As always, I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading.
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Alarm went off at four, kid up at five. I woke up without any real sense of how today was going to go, which is far from a personal preference. To a certain extent, every day brings some invariable degree of chaos, today just more. Family stuff. A lot of it. This afternoon. I’m told it involves bowling.
I could use a shower that lasts as long as I’m thinking watching The Pecan bumper-bowl through however many frames will go, but it’s been a couple days and I’ll settle for whatever I can get. Summer of Pivot. I have pivoted to stink.
Ups and downs the week, usually within like 25 seconds of each other. I’ve informed The Pecan that I’m leaving next week for a few days — that’s Psycho Las Vegas, which I’ll be covering in my addled, harried fashion — and that he’ll be on his own taking care of mommy. He pretty much expresses any emotion, positive or negative, through some manner of violence right now, whether it’s pinching, punching, kicking, headbutting, biting, pushing, etc., so how he actually feels about me going is anyone’s best guess, but I’d say probably he’s less than pleased. Coming home from Freak Valley in June was a fucking disaster, on every level emotional and practical. I’m hoping this goes smoother but not holding my breath.
Precisely the same thing might be said of living into 2023 and beyond.
Speaking of the things we do to survive, I guess going without the antidepressants is going okay? Not great? Not terrible? It’s kind of just life, which is how I think it should feel about a week out from stopping the daily pills. I talked about this last week if you’ve no idea where it’s coming from. I haven’t been crying — except at that one episode of Bluey where Chili’s sister is infertile; that one sure hit home — which last time I tried to go off meds I definitely spent a good portion of the time doing, so that feels like a win. I haven’t really stopped moving this week either though, so maybe that’s part of it.
I don’t know. I’ll keep plugging along and see where I end up. This week was a week. Today has for the last nine hours been and will continue to be a day. The weekend will be a weekend. None of it will be easy, and hopefully none of it will be harder than it should be.
Are these the best days of my life?
I don’t know. Sometimes I feel so fortunate to be surrounded by so much love and other times I want nothing so much as to veer into oncoming traffic. It’s cool though, I hear there are pills for that. Ha.
Gimme show next week. Psycho Las Vegas coverage next week. Before I go, premieres for Howling Wolves, Faith in Jane, Electric Hydra and a full stream and review (I call them ‘fullies’ but only to myself because no one else in my day-to-day gives even the remotest of shits) for the All Souls/Fatso Jetson live split. If you want a preview of that, All Souls already snuck their portion up on Bandcamp. I don’t even care, I’m just happy to have the excuse to write about the bands.
That last will be up Thursday, which is also the start of Psycho, so there you go. I fly back the Monday after. Early, I think, but not as early as I’ll fly back from Høstsabbat in Oslo this October, which I’m already very, very much looking forward to attending as well. That one’s a to-the-airport-right-after-the-show kind of situation. Can always sleep at the gate if need be, and I suspect it will.
But I’m getting off track. Shower now, bowling after? Fun fact about me: I’m the worst bowler in the world. Even with bumpers. I’d be amazed if The Pecan, at four and a half, didn’t whoop my ass in bowling. Good. He could use a win and if I’m gonna lose anyway, it might as well be to him.
Or maybe I just won’t bowl and will spend my time on little-dude-management, which as I may or may not have effectively conveyed in the last four-plus years, is a full-time gig.
Thanks for reading. Great and safe weekend, whatever you might be up to. Hydrate, watch your head, shower when you can. Back on Monday.
FRM.
