Review: Abraham ‘Idsungwüssä’
Idsungwüssä, the fifth album from abrasive Swiss post-metal powerhouse Abraham, slithered out of my speakers like a mudslide washing away a mountain village.
Forming the third chapter of a saga that details the apocalyptic downfall of humanity, it concludes the harrowing tale that began on their magnum opus Here Comes The Dark!(2018) and continued on the primal follow-up Débris de mondes perdus (2022).
The band themselves describe each chapter of the story as being separate and distinct, although thematically linked. Whilst the initial album set the scene, the first of the follow-ups shifted the narrative in time, Idsungwüssä closes out the ambitious project in a universe parallel to the second. Whilst the nuances of the details are lost to yours truly on account of the Swiss-German language, the vocals are mainly delivered in, as well as this is my first foray into their universe, there is no denying the emotional gravitas contained within the eight-track, one-hour journey.
If the beats of the trilogy don’t convey enough bleakness on their own, there is an agonised air that seeps through this latest chapter, which has seen life imitate art with the toil inflicted on the band. Following the release of their debut, Abraham lost both their second guitarist and main vocalist, meaning that the sole responsibility for the tortured screams and nihilist rasps lies with drummer Dave Schlagmeister, and on Idsungwüssä he delivers some of the most gut-wrenching and desperate performances of the band’s career.
The recording process for the album was done with Abraham juggling day jobs and facing personal difficulties, lending to a fraught atmosphere that was almost a method acting level of commitment to the theme of change and transformation. As such, there is a sense of hopelessness and decay that permeates at times, which is matched by the production. With duties handled by the band and Markus Lindberg, the sound and feel of the record, without even focusing on the minutia of the musical composition, feels chaotic, gritty and claustrophobic. Idsungwüssä may have jumped in space, but the depth and texture drag you down to sludge filled swamp levels, and once you are caught in it, it feels like quicksand pulling you down.
Despite this crushing, downbeat feel, what Abraham conjure on this third instalment is a tapestry of riches to guide you into the darkness. Bolstered by the Farfisa Louvre organ, as well as label mate Kevin Galled (of Coilguns fame) on Moog and piano, the sonic textures help craft a complex post-metal soundscape that rages and stomps, but has moments of sublime, meditative introspection.
After a thumping beginning, Fate Of Man Lies In The Stars pounds into your consciousness. The muted, lo-fi feel of the production gives the piece a distorted distance, like a distress signal picked up from the depths of space. The lurching, unconventional rhythm patterns and clanging and crashing of the riffing give the track an undulating feel that expands and contracts with harsh noise and bright shimmering melodies.
a complex post-metal soundscape that rages and stomps, but has moments of sublime, meditative introspection…
Caked in what the band’s own PR describes as ‘delicious filth’, there is an uneasy, chaotic air as the track never settles, and this continues on I Am The Vessel And The Vessel Is Me, which faints at breaking out into a bouncing hook, but dissolves into a studied exercise in dissonant noise. Oscillating between creeping atmospherics and hardcore hostility, when the band does finally transition into the more graceful moments, they still come loaded like a brick to the face.
The a capella raging that starts A Discomposite Shell sets the scene for more off kilter directional switches. The nagging guitar lead seemingly disconnected from the frantic drums and Schlagmeister’s vocals are somehow capable of switching at will from strangled gasps to feral blasts, which lends even the quieter moments a blackened edge.
As the album crawls through its peaks and troughs, it feels like the sounds contained within were literally wrenched from the members during those protracted recording sessions. This is an album that offers very little in the way of hope or catharsis. There is no build and release, each time Abraham channel their fury and turn the screw, like on Naked In A Naked Sky, where they grow from hesitant and almost light keyboard, instead of soaring off into the expanse of space for a journey of promise, they collapse back, wallowing in the growing entropy. Whatever Idsungwüssä is shining a light on, it is inevitable, unavoidable.
Suurwäut drags itself through a sparse atmosphere that allows the listener to focus on the individual sounds of the stripped-down plod, teasing them out until they turn the screws and increase the pressure. By contrast, En Tüüfus Tümpu starts off feeling light and sci-fi-esque with the keyboard effects adding a delirious edge which serves as a bridge to dark, haunting 06.00.40U.
The piano strains of Home herald the epic conclusion to Idsungwüssä. With tribal toms and Schlagmeister’s ragged voice – half hoarse proclamation, half ominous spoken word and delivered in English – the track flexes and morphs with intensity, expressing vulnerability and the journey beyond the stars.
As the album fades into an almost melodic march, you are left with a sense of relief. Abraham have received rave reviews for the trilogy, which includes a staggering three hours of music prior to this, and is understandable given the complexity of the composition and the absolutely relentless drive to construct a coherent narrative that matches their vision and ambition.
Personally, this album is a lot to take on, and I found myself needing to be in the right mood to come back and absorb it for review, which is not always an easy place to visit, given the crushing relentlessness of the bleak landscape. But when Idsungwüssä does connect, it is hard not to admire what they have created.
Label: Pelagic Records
Band Links: Official | Facebook | Bandcamp | Spotify | Instagram
Scribed by: Mark Hunt-Bryden
