A Garland of Praises

I don’t listen to much heavy metal any more. I used to, but I lean more towards the folk end of the music spectrum these days. It’s not that I no longer like metal; it’s just that I’m mellowing a bit as I head into my middle years, and thus the constant screaming, head banging and chugging of guitars in metal leaves me feeling like an old, worn out sock that has been savaged by a pack of angsty pit bulls at a rage-o-holics meeting. So, you might ask, what am I doing reviewing the band My Silent Wake on a blog that has nothing to do with aggressive, chew on the ear, pound your brains out music? Well, you might’ve asked if you’d known that I was about to write such a thing, but you didn’t because you can’t predict the future – well, at least I assume you can’t. So, yeah, on with the review then...

Well, I and My Silent Wake have a little bit of a history... not a personal history mind, because I don’t actually know any of the band members, and last I checked I haven’t obsessively stalked them and rummaged through their garbage bins (fat chance, they’re in the UK). No, the history I speak of is the personal journey that began when I took a chance and purchased their first album, Shadow of Sorrow, on a whim. Now this was at a time when I was ridding myself of most of my metal music collection, so imagine my surprise when this was one of only three CDs that I kept listening to for months on end!

I certainly dug their brand of sorrowful, thrashy, doom laden music – these are talented musicians here (two of their influences are said to be Paradise Lost and My Dying Bride) – but what kept me coming back was the front man Ian Arkley’s strangely compelling vocals and forthright lyrics. His voice would swap between guttural roaring and a resigned, almost Nick Cave style of singing, and it always sounded (or felt?) like it was rumbling from the depths of the earth. Ian was also touching on the major themes of my life – anger, grief, disappointment, depression, and that ever present, ever elusive, ray of hope peering through the clouds. Needless to say, this brand of metal was a breath of fresh air in a genre dominated by laughable “evil” poseurs and taciturn macho chest thumpers.

When their second release came out a year later, the double disc The Anatomy of Melancholy, I felt then that My Silent Wake was here to stay. The first disc contained seven tracks of blistering, soul baring metal, while the second contained nine acoustic songs with plenty of atmosphere. I loved that first disc, but I loved the second even more. The second had what would turn out to be one of my all time favourite songs ever, Storm. I wept when I first heard that song... like a child that knows too much to ever know the innocence of youth again. I wish they had this song on their MySpace page so that you, gentle reader, could see – or rather, hear – what I’m babbling on about.

Anyway, amidst all my babble, I’ve been listening to their fresh new release, A Garland of Tears, and it’s already clear to me that, like their previous albums, it’ll be staying in my CD player for some time to come. The music and themes are not something you can digest in one sitting; both demand careful and repeated listens. And My Silent Wake have progressed in their sound, adding a distinctly “mediaeval fair” flavour to this album’s instrumental track Pendulum. There’s also an acoustic song, Fallen Leaves, which deals with the mysterious birth to death to ashes cycle that is life, all without leaving you feeling depressed or without hope. On all the other tracks, the riffage is what I’ve come to expect, blistering and also relentless in its variation.

The whole album touches on pretty weighty themes such as the questioning of faith in anything through to grief, the emotional pain of separation and anger. You’d think I’d find myself slashing my wrists the way I make it sound here, but truly the effect these songs have is one of catharsis. Think of it this way, just as an athlete might work off stress by laying into a punching bag, so too can a melancholic constructively work through some deep seated emotions by listening to what seems on the surface a quite nihilistic fifty-one minutes of angst.

So, again, catharsis; this is the spirit in which the songs on all these albums are intended, and this is the reason why I respect and appreciate Ian Arkley, Andi Lee, Jasen Whyte, Kate Hamilton and Steve Allan of My Silent Wake. I look forward to anything they might do next. Long may they continue. I’ll certainly be listening.

3 Kitties

~ Tony

A Garland of Praises