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Moor Mother has always been a tremendously chilling poet. Her words crackle like a simmering blaze, at their angriest they spit like hot oil in a pan. Her choice of musical backing has been ever intriguing. She likes to work with whatever is going to make her sound most like an evil spirit. Whether it’s the dusty abstract hip hop collaboration with Billy Woods on Brass. Or the demonic post-industrial panic of The Great Bailout. A personal favourite of mine is her foray into noise rock and no-wave on True Opera. All of this is to highlight how simultaneously expected and unexpected her latest collaborative effort is.
Sumac are a Canadian experimental sludge metal act, also known for their weird and wonderful team-ups (most notably with Keiji Haino). It shouldn’t really be a surprise to anyone that this exists, given the penchant these two have for going against the grain. Right from the top, ‘Scene 1’ of The Film, an endless drone metal piece underscores Mother’s venomous diatribes towards colonialism and false democracy. “I don’t believe” she continues to exclaim. It’s an uncompromising way to set the tone. Not nearly as full-bodied as the following ‘Scene 2: The Run’. A twelve minute monster packed with growling riffs and a petrifying performance from Moor Mother. It introduces a periodically placed single bass note motif. When you hear it, you are being told to run for cover. The second half of this track ushers in a vocal performance from Sumac lead vocalist Aaron Turner (formerly of ISIS), whose guttural cries punctuate some of the most muscular playing on the entire record.
The post-apocalyptic atmosphere continues as Moor Mother details a world riddled with conflict and innocent casualties on ‘Scene 3’. A plodding piece of post-metal, Mother’s voice grows increasingly desperate as she tries to make sense of what went wrong. “Whip and nae nae ourselves away from our dreams” somehow manages to be both a hilarious visual and a depressing reality check. There is a deep desire here to break away from where humanity is moving. A desire to return to roots, start fresh all over again. We’ve strayed too far from the path. Instrumentally, it moves like a piece of hip hop. Like a beat looping ad infinitum. The difference being the subtly growing intensity in the playing as the track progresses. It’s an inevitable feeling of doom.
‘Camera’ points the lens at how atrocities play out in real time on social media. A particularly relevant piece in the wake of the recent, nearly 2 year ongoing genocide of the Palestinian people at the hands of Israel. Not a new thing historically, and perhaps that’s even worse. The fact that we can see it all happening in grotesque detail, and the powers that be feel content to let it continue, highlights the importance of keeping the camera on. Keep pointing, keep recording. The busy avant-metal freakouts compliment Mother’s macabre lyrical exorcism as if they were the demons being banished from this realm.
An incredibly strong finish to this record has Moor Mother lamenting on the loss of a true sense of home, especially once war has ravaged all that you’ve known. It’s both the climax and the credits rolling, as where we start and where we finish are incredibly different places emotionally. The churning sludge of the first 6 or 7 minutes gives way to a borderline psych rock interlude, before coasting us out on a bed of bittersweet guitar lines. Hellish as it is poignant, it caps off what will likely be one of the most challenging releases of the year. Moor Mother continues to push the boundaries of what poetry can be. It can expose you to a nightmare world on the other side of the planet. It can be a wake-up call for those who missed the first alarm. It can be just what the doctor ordered for trying times. It can also be soundtracked by some of the most expansive metal music you’ll hear for a while. Proceed with caution.
Dan Will Review 