Leviathan

Famed liberal journalist and political commentator Bill Moyers recently remarked "I believe that journalism is all about writing in the sand and whistling in the wind. The wind blows the sound away, and the sand flows over the writing. A journalist has impact on his time, if he's lucky." Sadly, for many of us at Pitchfork, our brand of journalism is often reduced to pounding sand and pissing in the wind-- particularly where metal is involved. With metal, so much effort goes into pasteurizing the product, congealing an intrinsically harsh and offensive form of expression into G-rated drivel, that our wind swallows the sound. What results seldom resembles the melodic and thematic content of sometimes brilliant modern metal albums, and instead focuses on the critic's unquenchable need for primal screams directed at a genre he/she simply doesn't get.

I've been away from journalism for the better part of two years. In that time I've sat back and stiffly scrutinized the metal landscape. So much of what I've witnessed is offensive-- both in the arenas of music and music criticism. I've seen dozens of rudderless bands ebb and flow, milking the same old derivative metal props for all they're worth. I've seen an entire genre (black metal) continue its decade-long decay into a wretched puddle of milky white afterbirth. And most notably, I've watched scores of pseudo frat boys reinvent themselves as "metalheadz." Whether it's the crystal meth or $10 dollar cases of PBR, these guys have tons of energy, a healthy appreciation for Terrence McKenna, and above all else, a whole lot of noise to make.

Unfortunately for these clowns-- and more so for the "journalists" who lap up this rubbish-- this wolf in American Eagle clothing is little more than the noise of hyperactive brats. Ample time is spent bemoaning the aesthetics of the so-called true metal as puerile, obsolete, and anachronistic, and at the same time lauding the dubious originality of bands like Isis, Pelican, and Neurosis, who seemingly missed the whole point in the first place by latching onto the very unmetal aesthetic of putting their audience to sleep.

And then a band like Mastodon comes along and just clusterfucks the entire landscape for every indie kid who thought they had the whole scene pegged. Starting with their ironically acclaimed 2002 release Remission, Mastodon's Bill Kelliher, Troy Sanders, Brent Hines, and Brann Dailor displayed considerable technicality and staggering chops. Although initially loathed by yours truly, I eventually recognized this album as a turgid-- occasionally murky-- statement from one of the most relentlessly forceful young bands on the Relapse roster.

With their 2004 beast, the aptly titled Leviathan, Mastodon finally find their niche as a thinking man's metal band. Blending Voivod's neuro-thrash, Therion's majestic gloom, Morbid Angel's spirit of restless and morphing liquid black melody, and EyeHateGod's Southern rock gone awry, Leviathan is nothing short of supernatural. Evincing a decade's worth of maturity gained in just two short years, Mastodon have authored a bombastic modern interpretation of Herman Melville's Moby Dick, the classic metaphor for mortality's eternal (and unwinnable) struggle with divine injustice.

On tracks like the blistering "I Am Ahab", the band revels in one of its most tightly structured offerings to date, showing precision and patience roaring with power chords and drummer Brann Dailor's mastery of playing both within and around the groove. With the fusion of guitar stabs and snare hits assaulting the listener like a hammer to the skull, the track evokes the unquenchable vengeance and contempt of Melville's symbolic white whale in a little over two-and-a-half minutes.

"Iron Tusk" is a particularly resonant ode to Sabbath's raw sludge rock sound; another swollen groove that just grows and flows in circles and waves. What's most impressive about this album is evidenced here: Mastodon have learned how to flaunt their musicianship and still allow a song to evolve. Their confidence is such that they're quite capable of building an awesome wall of drone and harmony and then getting the fuck of its way. Where a band like Isis seems to content to treat the audience like morons and basically repeat the same sound over and over again until it's nothing more than glorified elevator music, Mastodon stumbled onto the delicate art of weaving complexity and sophistication within an audience-respectful format.

"Megaladon" is an ode to the mythos of early 80s Maiden and Diamond Head-- and a simultaneous tip of the cap to Molly Hatchet with a wonderfully idiosyncratic, and damn near arbitrary trailer park riff before going into full throttle thrash for the remainder of the track. Fusing the narrative trademarks of King Crimson and Slayer, "Naked Burn" is one of the more beautiful pieces of Leviathan, a shifting, swaying exercise in orchestration and intelligible vox within a metal format. Marking a stark contrast with Remission, "Hearts Alive" continues Mastodon's revisitation of the new wave of British heavy metal-- and homage to the mysticism of the Viking Metal movement-- by unleashing a sweeping 13-minute epic, briefly featuring some of their most gentle vocals to date. Indeed, the addition of actual sung vocals-- while often suicidal to other metal bands-- lends a coherence and humanity to Leviathan basically alien to Remission.

Ultimately, there's very little to dislike about Mastodon. The genesis from their marginal 2001 EP Lifesblood to present day has been nothing short of stunning, and I can't imagine why anyone with even half an interest in the preservation of metal as a legitimate art form doesn't have a copy of Leviathan on his shelf. These guys aren't part of the tedious mediocrity they've been lumped in with, nor do they hold any contempt for their audience or their forefathers. They're simply one of the best things we metal fanatics have going for us, and if that's not reason enough to toss Panopticon in the trash, I don't know what is.