Friday Full-Length: Monolord, Empress Rising
Posted in Bootleg Theater on September 25th, 2020 by JJ KoczanSeeing the appeal of Monolord‘s Empress Rising doesn’t require an especially deep dive. Issued in April 2014 through what was then EasyRider Records — and it was bullshit they had to change the name, but RidingEasy has certainly been no worse for the wear since — the Gothenburg, Sweden, trio’s debut full-length is comprised of five tracks running 46 minutes given to massive, tectonic tonality, far off, watery vocals, and a consuming, nigh-on-irresistible nodding groove that runs across the entirety of the thing regardless of the tempo or volume of what’s actually being played.
Guitarist/vocalist Thomas Jäger, bassist Mika Häkki and drummer/coffee-enthusiast Esben Willems hit into a time-tested/time-approved formula of tonal largesse and hard-hitting landing that, by the time they were halfway through the 12-minute opener and longest track (immediate points) “Empress Rising,” seemed to denote them with the sense of royalty they were conveying in the lyrical repetitions of the song’s/album’s title. Listening back to it with six subsequent years of hindsight, it feels like a clarion — a call to worship for the converted that caps with a swirling solo and moves smoothly into the next round of pummeling with the emergence of the instrumental “Audhumbla.”
And of course, by then, Empress Rising is well under way, and nearly a third of its runtime is dedicated to that leadoff track. Reasonably so. On paper, what makes Monolord‘s first outing so effective could hardly be simpler: it’s very, very heavy. But what that doesn’t tell you is how it’s heavy. I’m a fan generally of burying vocals in the mix to play up a notion of big-sounding guitar and bass, and certainly that’s going on here with Jäger‘s effects-laden voice cutting through as though up from a watery grave, but it’s also a question of impact with Monolord. Plenty of bands play loud, play thick, but Empress Rising brought a sense of hitting hard to that as well in Häkki‘s way, way underrated bass work and in Willems‘ drumming.
I remember hearing it at the time and placing the three-piece mentally in the kind of post-Electric Wizard sphere of riff-worship that had been taking shape since the Dorset doom legends put out Witchcult Today, but that’s not ultimately what Monolord were after in terms of style. Their approach to heavy throughout — and this was their first offering, the band having formed in 2013 with Jäger and Willems coming out
of Marulk and Häkki, originally from Finland, a former member of Rotten Sound — was raw not in presentation, but in its core. It was a barebones, primitive take that nonetheless was able to harness memorable progressions through hammering riffs and repeated lines into the heads of their listeners. See “Empress Rising” itself, as well as “Harbinger of Death.” And if you weren’t a convert by then on your way to place a backpatch order, “Icon” and “Watchers of the Waste” stood like sentry reinforcements waiting to unleash further crush, each progression seeming to manifest the sound of a boulder rolling downhill, demolishing whatever might have the misfortune to be in its path.
They were well-hyped in 2014, and fair enough. What struck me the first time I saw them play live (review here) wasn’t just the size of the crowd they brought in, but indeed, the way they seemed to slam home each part of their songs, geared for maximum crater-making. However, what I didn’t take into account was how much their approach would resonate especially with a next-generation fanbase. Not the stonerrock.com crowd, but those finding bands through the YouTube algorithm, through social media word of mouth and other such Millennial/post-Millennial means. And how new to that crowd what Monolord were doing would be as “Watchers of the Waste” stomped to its swinging, would-be-languid-if-it-weren’t-so-bludgeoning, about-to-fall-apart-the-whole-time finish.
Not that those people hadn’t heard Sleep, Electric Wizard, etc., or couldn’t at that point have seen them play live, but the difference really is one of generation. Already so well established as leaders of genre and influential, those bands inherently couldn’t be fresh-sounding in the way a new group putting out their first record could. The energy behind Empress Rising was different, and it put a charge into those who heard it that quickly thrust Monolord into the upper echelon of heavy acts in the middle and later heavy ’10s, the arguments in the band’s favor much bolstered through the hard work they put in touring and the fact that they seemed to realize and take hold of the momentum as they were building it, returning to the studio on the quick to work on their next record.
When you think about bands who emerged over the last decade, the advent of Monolord and the brash way they elbowed into underground consciousness have to be considered. In a busy European sphere that a few years earlier saw the rise of Kadavar in similar generational circumstances — though of course a different aesthetic — Monolord flourished, and by meeting the demands of festivals from Roadburn to Freak Valley to Psycho Las Vegas, the band’s reputation only seemed to grow.
In 2015, they offered up the second LP, Vænir (review here), and that together with 2017’s Rust (review here) found them pushing forward in terms of sound, adding a feeling of space to the proceedings and beginning to take psychedelic cues building on elements like Jäger‘s vocals throughout Empress Rising or even the wah-coated lead that caps the title-track, by now a recognizable landmark for the band even as they’ve progressed beyond it in terms of their craft. In late 2018, they signed to Relapse Records and went on to offer my pick for 2019’s album of the year in No Comfort (review here), their fourth album a triumph that underscored the notion of their being a way forward for them creatively, so that they weren’t trapped or typecast by what they did on Empress Rising, but able to continue to grow as they will.
There was no way to know six years ago the band that Monolord would become over the next half-decade (-plus), but if you look beneath the earth-flattening force of Empress Rising, there are hints to find of what Vænir, Rust and No Comfort would bring. Think of it as having fun with hindsight. To wit, the record’s been through something like nine pressings and Monolord have put out an alternate version that’s all-instrumental (as they have for the second and third LPs, I think). One way or the other, Empress Rising was a crucial moment of arrival for a band whose influence could be almost immediately felt in the wake of their debut.
As always, I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading.
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I shaved about two minutes off my run just now by making the simple decision to go faster. The mornings are darker than they were. A few weeks ago I’d watch the sun start to come up circa 5:45AM, now I’m out and back in the dark. It has been taking me, loosely, about 14 minutes to go 1.3 miles around my neighborhood, up the big hill, around through the little walking park, back down, up and around to the house. Doing that in 12 minutes isn’t breaking any land-speed records, I’m all too aware, but it was satisfying to decide to do a thing and to do it.
Among the things I most miss about having an (active) eating disorder is the sense of control. To be in charge of my body was a glorious thing. I decided what went in and when and how it came out. It was a beautiful, often disgusting, sometimes painful process. But what isn’t? I have felt myself out of control lately. I’ve also decided to grow out my beard a bit and that’s messing with my perception of how my face looks. But stress in the house, the dog, the kid, etc. It is a lot, and I have found that anytime I seem to feel anything, it manifests in food/weight-related concerns. It isn’t even conscious, but I’ve caught it happening after the fact and lately have asked myself, “Did I really have too much almond butter for dessert or am I just tired of stepping in dog piss EVERY FUCKING DAY?”
You know, the big, important questions.
“Don’t be crazy,” has ascended to the level of personal mantra.
I’m so ready to get rid of the dog. So ready. The Pecan is now pointedly scared of being near her, because she jumps on him and bites him, and even as he’s swinging his arms and legs to hit and kick her will yell “No Omi!” as loud as he can. Unfortunately — I would argue for everyone — as ready as I am, I’m equal parts not-in-charge of making that decision. Apparently.
Today is my 16th wedding anniversary. 09.25.04. Morale in the house is low. The Patient Mrs. is teaching an extra online class this semester and that, in combination with reworking her regular classes to suit pandemic-time teaching, has resulted in her spending longer days in front of her laptop doing the less-preferred parts of her job. I am a fucking wretch, as usual. Heightened only by the dog, who as I see it has made everything worse while bringing zero joy into the house. Zero. No joy. It has been well over two months at this point. Net negative.
The Pecan is getting up. He will run in the closet soon and take a dump, then need to be changed. He will delay on his way down the stairs and then kick me when I finally lay him down to change his diaper because, well, he hates getting his diaper changed and has since he was about four months old and was capable of forming an opinion about anything. One might think such a child would embrace the notion of potty-training, but then one would be showing an incomplete awareness of toddler-logic, which is to say, the logic one might encounter from the average chimpanzee or a super-smart potbelly pig. He’ll be three next month and has had a runny nose for the last three weeks.
It has been… a challenge. I took a whole xanax yesterday afternoon and fell asleep on the couch while he beat me with Matchbox cars. First thing he did when I got him yesterday afternoon from upstairs after he blew off his nap — fucking again — was smack me in the groin. Granted that’s about at his smacking level, height-wise, but I wasn’t splitting hairs so much at the time as I was seeing stars. Doesn’t even matter anymore.
He had his speech assessed this week, and we haven’t gotten the official scorecard yet — which I’m assuming is somehow sponsored by the new Dew Garita! — but the teacher was impressed with his vocabulary. They must have asked him about trucks. Kid can tell you everything you ever wanted to know about the difference between a front-end loader and a backhoe, and if you don’t already know that difference, drop me a comment and I’ll be glad to fill you in.
We’re going to Connecticut today, staying over at The Patient Mrs.’ mother’s not-winterized place on the shoreline. I haven’t slept there yet this season, but I prefer it there Spring and Fall anyway, as it gets too hot for me in July/August. Anyway, We were going to go Saturday but our niece texted and asked if she could hang out with us while her mother and brother did something else and fucking a, I’ll drive north in I-95 afternoon traffic for that kid any and every day of the week. She was born the night Obama got elected. It was magic. A hope for a greater future that would seem to have evaporated in the looming, swollen face of fascism.
I don’t think I have time to get into the American political situation. I’ll say rest in peace RBG, they should’ve indicted those cops in Louisville who straight-up murdered Breonna Taylor in bed, and hooray for 200,000 COVID deaths! That’s like a fifth of the global total! Come on people, winter’s coming. I know we can hit 300k by January! USA! USA! USA!
Also, Biden’s gonna lose. Even if he wins, he’ll lose. Calling it now. I’ll be like doom metal’s own Nate Silver — everything predicted in the most pessimistic terms possible. “Uh, well Brian, current polls show we’re universally fucked.”
But hey, I gotta go get this kid from upstairs and then get in the shower because I stink like the fetid corpse of American democracy. Who fucking cares how Aaron Sorkin would write it? The New York Times is clueless. Post another news piece about the super-rich home-schooling their children while sailing around the world, why don’t you? Really live up to that East Coast liberal elite stereotype. Fucking hell.
Have a great and safe weekend. Wear your mask and for god’s sake put your fucking nose in it. Jesus. How hard is that?
I’m off. Gimme show and lots of good reviews next week. Don’t forget to hydrate. So important. And this went longer than I originally intended, so thanks again for reading if you made it this far.
FRM.
