Compact Disc (CD), Cassette, 2 x Vinyl LP
Post-metal is often described in terms of its unyielding bleakness. The genre has long been defined by its extended passages of droning guitars, its anguished vocal roars, moments of melancholic ambience, and a commitment to experimentation and avant-garde practices over rival metal subgenres’ dalliances with “fun” (ie spandex, solos, and carefree headbanging). From Isis’ Oceanic to Aidan Baker’s Already Drowning, post-metal also has an eerie obsession with succumbing to the deadly lure of the sea. In certain ways, Philadelphia’s Rosetta plough a similar furrow. Their sixth album boasts funereal tempos and sombre soundscapes galore. Pain and frustration is vented through guttural growling paired with riffs the size of Mount Etna. Obligatory lyrical references to being cast adrift and sinking downwards are present and correct.
Yet there is something weirdly life-affirming about this quintet’s sound that separates them from the majority of their post-metal brethren, and with each subsequent Rosetta release this vague sense of defiant optimism has floated closer to the dark surface. It can be detected in the melodic nature of this record’s softer vocal parts as well as in the often shimmering, twinkling nature of Rosetta’s lead guitar patterns which are, dare we say it, almost U2-ish in their ability to raise one’s spirits. It’s present too in Rosetta’s deployment of the kind of rapturous instrumental crescendos that will compel fans of Godspeed You! Black Emperor or Explosions In The Sky to start speaking in tongues. Elsewhere, Utopioid draws on the inherent playfulness of prog rock and, as you’d expect from a group who’ve labelled their style as “metal for astronauts,” the record boasts plenty of cosmic textures.
Apparently when somebody is close to death by asphyxiation, they will experience a euphoric high as they begin to lose consciousness. A similar sensation may be felt by listening to Utopioid, a soundtrack for floating in the cosmos, without the risk of actually having to suffocate oneself—or, for those who happen to be an astronaut, without having to remove one’s helmet in the middle of deep space.
—JR Moores
