Neurosis – Times
of Grace
(Relapse
Records/Music for Nations, 1999)
Picture
this: a young man wearing oversized baggy combat trousers, Airwalk skate shoes,
and a dope Korn T-shirt has just listened to a free Kerrang! CD highlighting releases of 1999. This kid was blown away
by a weird, angry lot hammering on about not being able to “see California
without Marlon Brando’s eyes” or some such nonsense, but he couldn’t recall the
band’s name. While wandering around HMV in Aberdeen going through a “Swimmy,
Swammy, Swanson… Samsonite!” process in his mind, a bolt of recognition struck
mid-perusal of the metal section. Neurosis – Times of Grace! This had to be it. Why else would the recognition
feel so strong? Plus the artwork was incredible, so the young man tripped over
his own trouser legs in his hurry to the till. A few hours later at home with
his trusty Aiwa CD player, confusion and fear washed over him. The dark and
obscure sounds weren’t what he expected at all, more Wicker Man soundtrack than Blade,
and on inspecting the aforementioned Kerrang!
CD it became apparent that he had intended to be a Slipknot boy rather than a
Neurosis man.
Nearly
20 years later this Neurosis man is thinking back to one of the best mistakes
he ever made. Times of Grace is a
majestic, frightening, and bewitching album. It’s pure, heavy, and regularly
surprising. It might not have converted that youngster instantly, but the
quality of those dark sounds was intriguing enough to bring him back again and
again. On seeing Neurosis, sandwiched by Today is the Day and Voivod (still one
of the best line-ups I’ve seen?), at The Cathouse in Glasgow during freshers’
week at university, my bleeding ears told me that I was a complete convert. The
bleak yet warm heaviness, the visual show that was so carefully curated to
complement the music, the brilliance of both vocalists, and the dedication to
music that ignored genre boundaries was inspirational and perspective-altering.
Even if all Neurosis ever did was make me a fan of their music then Times of Grace would still occupy this
position on the list, but without them it would have been a much longer route
to Isis, Mogwai, Aereogramme, Swans, OHHMS, Godspeed You Black Emperor, Sleep, and so
many other bands that have enriched my life. Other than doing an Arts degree,
that HMV purchase in 1999 might be the most influential mistake I’ve made in
life.
“Suspended
in Light” begins as something from 2001:
A Space Odyssey, those sci-fi-like beeps still send shivers along my spine,
but by its end the earthy tones and grounded focus of this album have begun to
shine through. The listener may want to hold on to the light that exists in
that most atmospheric of opening tracks, as the first 90 seconds of “The
Doorway” is bleak and bruising stuff. It’s not quite the near death of
listening to Through Silver in Blood but
it is an oppressive and heavy sound that will have you clinging to any
metaphorical security blankets you have stowed away. Steve Albini
has used his apparent genius to draw out a more natural sound from Neurosis.
The guitars are gritty and crunchy but retain a hint of warmth that brings the
music that bit closer to your heart than Through
Silver… which, while stunning in its own way, holds you at arm’s length
with its intensity. The drums have a depth that somehow brings gargantuan
sounds and wonderful subtlety to these tracks at the same time, while nurturing
a naturalised tribal quality. This is most evident in “Under the Surface” with
its slow burn powered by rumbling toms, whining, squeaking, groaning guitars,
and a delectable control of the desire to unleash untold fury. Like edging, but
less hassle. Structurally it’s hard to describe but Neurosis show no fear of
allowing the momentum to crash out from underneath the song. They extend
ambient passages for minutes, almost tormenting the listener with the
anticipation of the cataclysmic sounds that surely await them, and with dual
screams from Scott Kelly and Steve Von Till of, “your shell is hollow, so am
I/the rest will follow, so will I”, that climactic aural wall collapses on you
with piledriver force.
“The
Last You’ll Know” pursues this crushing feeling with landslide plunges into an imaginary
mire, but the scything guitar sound makes it an even more bleak and extreme
experience. However, intricate, barely audible backing vocals, keyboards, and
samples are indicative of the detailed approach Neurosis employ, and even in
their most oppressively heavy songs there is a wealth of aural and emotional
stimulation to balance the overwhelming waves of heaviness. Here, the
naturalised feel that Albini encourages is promoted by the undeniable beauty of
the world’s favourite instrument, bagpipes. It is one of the more memorable
passages, evoking a Celtic longing for open spaces and rugged wilderness, on an
album that specialises in unforgettable and unique sounds. “Away” is equally evocative
but is willing to bring this to bear with a pared back folk approach that is so
gentle it repeatedly threatens to lull itself to sleep, at one point almost being
carried off on the wind. This track is a startling achievement, fusing folk, post
rock, and doom with patience and care that belies the raw emotion at its heart.
The founding minutes of the song will send listeners in the direction of Scott
Kelly and Steve Von Till’s brilliant solo folk projects, while the latter
stages of this song will find their continuation in two of Neurosis’ most thoughtful
and “gentle” albums, A Sun That Never Sets
and The Eye of Every Storm.
The
title track reignites the intensity that fuelled the record’s opening tracks
before “The Road to Sovereignty” carries us quietly to a much-needed rest. At
this point your mind will start to slowly recover memories of the physical and
spiritual challenge you just endured. My mind inevitably returns to the sounds
and feelings of “End of the Harvest”. It feels like a séance gone wrong and is
powerfully primal, tearing at your soul with lines like, “have you ever tasted
the soil (destiny)/and felt your own death in your veins”. There is a dedication
to texture, progressive repetition, and vocal viciousness that develops the
song into an emotional epic that, even on a record of this quality, stands out.
It is a song you will simultaneously wish to revisit yet feel too drained to even
contemplate. “End of the Harvest” is inspirationally destructive music.
Times of Grace feels like a reverse Wicker Man where what appears to be
violent and awful turns out to be organic, life-loving, and spiritual. Obviously,
that wouldn’t make such an entertaining film, but as a piece of music it is an
incredible decades-long journey that promises eternal enrichment. I haven’t
even touched on the accompaniment record Grace
that Neurosis produced under their instrumental and ambient Tribes of Neurot
alternative identity, but there is so much depth in this record that I feel no urge
to complicate or cloud the experience. Neurosis recorded an album that defines
a whole genre of music for me. Every crafted sound pulls at me, crashes over
me, or carries me away, and while it may be nearly 20 years since I first
listened to it, Times of Grace still surprises,
scares, and inspires me.
