Album Review: Anhedonia

Spiral is a band that cunningly balances the dynamic and tonal shifts in their music. Sometimes it’s sudden, but other times the switch into another gear is expected – then doesn’t arrive. This way, the listener is teased with unusual song structures that avoid rock clichés. They also avoid shoegaze conventions, opting for clear vocals that can be heard above the rumbling bass, glassy guitar tones and complex jazz-flavoured beats that form songs when the band is playing gently, and also when the band erupts into explosive passages of distortion.

Although they are defined as shoegaze (geez, there’s a lot of bands in Welly that identify under that genre!) Spiral take equal inspiration from emo, alternative rock and post-rock to create a wholly unique sound all of their own. For many of the songs to be enjoyed on Anhedonia, their six-song debut album, whispered vocal deliveries float above swathes of reverb-drenched guitar melodies. Sophisticated drum patterns over these sections contrast with the intensity of the band performing ferociously with broader brushstrokes. It’s an impressive trick, and while the majority of the songs employ it, the stunt doesn’t get tiresome due to the serene beauty to behold in the quieter passages and the intensity to contrast it. Influences as disparate as A Place to Bury Strangers, Slowdive, Deftones, Sprain and Ride can be heard throughout.

For those of you wondering, Anhedonia is the reduced ability to experience pleasure from activities that you normally enjoy, leading to emotional numbness and a loss of social interest. This sense of fatigue does seem to inform the melancholic lyrics, but often the same words are utilised in the louder parts, implying double-meaning to the words as they shift meanings from sad introspection to furious outrage. The focus of this rage appears to be the poet himself, Aaron Krivan (guitar and vocals), more so than the world around him; but the lyrics are fittingly vague and mysterious like the music, allowing the listener to draw their own conclusions as to where this anger is directed.

As with many of their songs, album opener Time To Go begins gently with swathes of reverb laden guitar. For those who have witnessed them live, they would recognise this as the obligatory calm before the storm that merely lulls the listener into a false sense of security. The textures are rich indeed thanks to fellow guitarist Sean Paulse who plays sparkling, clean tones with liberal amounts of delay and reverb. Beneath this, bassist Chrissy Pantelakis (who also plays in Shuriken and Crying Club) punctuates the chords with plucked notes that help reinforce the melody implied in the mist-like ambiance. Krivan barely whispers “I can’t seem to escape it, I feel it in my bones, feel it take control, on the late nights at home, when the weather is getting cold” employing unexpected rhyming patterns in a nearly limerick-like style.

There is a subtle time signature change employed at the same time as a dramatic dynamic shift and the band explodes into new territory, giving new listeners a glimpse into what the band is capable of in a new gear. Drummer Henry McKenzie-Bridle provides both complex drum patterns to the peaceful parts and forceful, simpler, passionate beats to the louder ones. This assists the song’s shift to be more dramatic and emotional. If there is a musician to truly behold on this record, it is McKenzie-Bridle. Although there are neat guitar fills to be enjoyed at parts, the heroic moments of jaw-dropping finesse are provided by the outstanding drum performance. Having said that, all instruments can be heard in both this opening track and across the whole album. The band politely allows the other instruments to be heard as they pause, allow reverb trails to end, and other instruments to step forward or back.

Second track Embrace utilises the same shifts with evocative lyrics that are darkly enigmatic and suggestive of self-abuse. Krivan whispers, lulling us toward him to hear something private and secretive: “Heard you made a wish … bloodstains on your wrist”, and the emotionally stirring melodies hidden behind reverb and other effects add to an uneasy tension. Quick, graceful guitar fills play between sections and the tension simply grows. “This is where it ends, I open up the door, Nothing helped it mend, So my body hit the floor, You thought it was pretend, My mind is in a morgue, I want to have a say but it tells me to ignore,” he warns us, creating vivid imagery. True, this song is similar to the preceding one, but given how unusual the formula is in contemporary rock music it’s not tedious, but rather another chance for these shifts to be enjoyed. When the band breaks into the more chaotic moments the sound could be described as satisfying – but something always connects these excursions to frustration. Rejoice in the irony between these emotions.

Stick Insect provides a different song structure and atmosphere beginning with frantic drums and layers of distortion immediately. An off-kilter, abnormal riff punctuates the chaotic song utilising dissonance rather than harmony. Bass and guitar parts burble rather than ring out as a heavily distorted voice screams incoherently about not recognising someone, as if their face has entered into the uncanny valley of unfamiliarity and the singer knows something is not quite right. The ugliness of this song only makes the beauty that precedes and follows it more pronounced. As a live track I’m sure it would be an interesting and a welcome change in pace, but the anger (rather than melancholic) energy is not where Spiral’s power resides in my opinion. Having said that, perhaps the placement of this abrasive song is to give a more stimulating landscape to the record as a whole.

Landslide is a live favourite of the band, and indicative of what they do so well. Krivan uses a landslip as a metaphor, questioning his own involvement in a disastrous chain reaction, asking himself, “Sent everything cascading down and down, Was I the raindrop that set it off?” The spoken word delivery sounds confessional, almost as if the words are lifted from a therapy session. The roaring bass and sweeping guitar parts fill out the soundscape allowing a layer on which Krivan can express his admission: “I want to feel every crack in the road, every pothole, every dead end, every car crash, every beautiful sunset, every awkward silence where we couldn’t find the words to say”… and after a sudden shrieking guitar squeal the song transforms into a pounding beast showcasing the band at their questionable heaviest.

The Cycle relies more so on guitar effects than other tracks and seems to demonstrate the members’ interest in electronic music. The song begins with a cyclical drone above which a clear voice questions “Where did all the time go?” The actual guitar lines, when they enter, and the voice are sweet and disarmingly tender. Holding the song together is an erudite drum pattern in the style of Abe Cunningham. The band leans into their post-rock influences here, remaining melancholic and melodic before the song (expectedly) erupts as the words, “self-destruction!” are screamed. The song continues to ebb and flow, effects swirling over the rhythm, blooming into unknown and unpredictable territory hinting at the lyrical inspiration of an unsure future.

The last song Grave is another live favourite the band has regularly performed and a fitting, if depressing, way to finish the album. Crystalline harmonics are plucked as a rhythm guitar forms a simple, melodic chord structure. The style of lyrics (deeply personal and fluctuating between surreal and mundane) continues with the words: “Staring out the window I let my coffee get cold, Finding peace in the unknown, In the unknown … One day at a time, Try to fix my fractured mind”, before a dramatic pause and the mantra of the song begins with the first iteration of “I’ll dig my own grave.” The song then explodes, repeating the mantra, then disintegrates in a manner that can only be described as cathartic. The album ends and the dust settles.

Anhedonia offers unusual song structures that dodge the tropes of both shoegaze and alternative rock, relying on complex drum patterns and heavily effected guitars to create texture, tension and mood. The lyrics are poetic and personal, and dramatically performed to suit the music on which they are served. The mixing is clear and truly allows the songwriting to shine. Recorded, mixed and mastered at the newly opened Ragdoll Studios in Wellington by Jackson Kidd (Adult Friends), Anhedonia is simultaneously a serene and uncompromising effort that presents the many dimensions of Spiral.

Tranquil, therapeutic, expressive, unusual, intense, visceral – honestly, what else could you desire from fresh music?

Something like this hasn’t been done before … and even if it has, never this well.