After last year's 'Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light: I', which received almost universal praise and won Earth a whole new audience – and deservedly so – its counterpart has grown to become eagerly anticipated, amidst rumours of it marking a further departure for the band. Such claims should be taken in context, though. Earth are a band who have come a long way very slowly. It's now 20 years since the ground-breaking – and continent-moving – crawling drone of 'Earth 2' seeped out of Seattle and went largely unnoticed at the time.
'Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light 2' unmistakably continues in the vein of its predecessor, but once again introduces new elements that show that Earth never stay still, and are continually progressing, albeit over time that's measurable in epochs rather than seismic shifts.
The sparse, strolling 'Sigil of Brass' is one of the shortest tracks to appear on an Earth release, clocking in at just over three minutes, but make no mistake, Earth haven't gone commercial and what it lacks in duration it more than compensates in nuanced atmosphere, with sonorous strings way off in the distance providing a subtle accompaniment to Dylan Carlson's mesmerisingly measured guitar playing.
'His Teeth Did Brightly Shine' is based upon the same guitar motif as 'Old Black' from 'Angels... 1', but strips out the rolling smoothness and introduces wandering, off-path incidentals, guitars that bend and yawn. The rich tonality of the guitar sound of 'Old Black' is scuffed away to reveal a knotty, scratchy, rough-hewn surface. It makes for a very different listening experience, and rather than inducing a warm, comforting sensation, its woozy discord sows the seeds of discomfort and uneasiness.
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Taut, strained strings scrape and mew against the grain of the guitar on 'Waltz (A Multiplicity of Doors)' too. It is of course, more of a dirge than a waltz, the pace a slow, slow, slow-slow slow. A cymbal crashes and the decay hangs for an eternity and eventually fades into 'The Corascene Dog'. It's a brooding, string-laden slice of psychedelic folk that's the closest to a groove I've heard them play – until 'The Rakehill', that is, which comes on with a bluesy swagger that's more reminiscent of The Doors than anything I can immediately place. I know, it doesn't sound feasible, but it actually works remarkably well, and spirals on for the best part of twelve minutes to bring the album to a remarkably smooth conclusion.
In the history of Earth's almost imperceptibly gradual evolution, this unquestionably qualifies as a departure, and it certainly bodes well for the future.
Earth Online
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