Without wanting to sound like a reactionary old curmudgeon, this is proper doom. Doom done right. Don’t worry, this review isn’t going to get all “kids these days”, but hear me out. Doom is more than turning up the fuzz, playing at seven beats per minute and wailing about wizards.
There are hundreds of bands who do just that, and well done to them, but Old Horn Tooth have that added element – like asafoetida added to make a curry extra fragrant, or the dash of Angostura bitters to make a whisky sour special.
It is difficult to pin down what raises the four songs on Mourning Light from good to great. Although the fact that each side of this double album is room enough for just one song is one plus point – especially as the songwriting is of a standard so that the listener does not notice that each track is around the quarter-hour mark (the fourth one exceeds 20 minutes).
To say that Old Horn Tooth have devoted their lives to doom may be a stretch, but they have gone above and beyond in broadening the genre’s reach. They are all part of the London Doom Collective, a group of people who want to spread the good word of slow, melancholic music to as many people as they can. It has grown to a record label – who knows what is next?
Sorry, the album. I could be vague and say the “vibe” or “tone” are just right, but unless you know what I like when it comes to doom metal, that would tell you little, other than that I was in a hurry.
So let us get anatomical then. First, songs. Each track in Mourning Light has a beginning, middle and end. That may sound facetious, but it is important. It is all very well setting off on a huge riff, playing it until your fingers bleed then pressing stop on your recording device, but that more often than not does not make a satisfying doom track. There needs to be parts where the drums quieten, the guitar goes clean and the vocalist pops out for a beer (unless he happens to be the guitarist, as in this band). And there needs to be an ending – loud, of course. It can go back to an approximation of the original riff, if you want to go trad, but it isn’t obligatory.
Next, instrumentation. Again, on point. The guitar tones are rich and the solos sound as if they are supposed to be there. The bass, by Ollie Isaac, rumbles in the background, like an old village church – it is easy to not take much notice of it, but boy, you’d miss it if it wasn’t there. And Mark Davidson’s work on drums are the aural equivalent of a Victorian workhouse inmate: beaten slowly, purposefully, but hard enough to make a big difference. And leaving the unfortunate metaphor aside, they sound great and have just the right amount of flourishes.
Now, the big one: vocals. Chris Jones (who also plays guitar) has just the sort of keening, melodic, melancholy voice you want in a high-class doom band. And if you listen to the way he intones “Always asking God why” in the opening track, ‘Precipice’ with a desperate edge as if it is his last plea to an uncaring deity, you’ll get it when I say he sings like he really means it. Almost as importantly, the band let the instruments plough on voice-free for satisfyingly long periods.
Even so, the best doom vocals in the world would not matter a jot if the lyrics were not up to scratch. But the words in all four songs are affecting – the themes may be vague, but you get the feeling that some genuine anguish (and healing or redemption) has gone into the writing. The title track is a case in point. It begins with a morose clean guitar, which gets fuzzed the bejeezus out of.
Lines like “All through the night, reach out for the mourning light” will hit anyone who has sat in a vigil with an old relative at the end of their life – the play on words may appear flippant, but man, it got me. And by the end of the song there is light in the sadness. The phrases (musical and verbal) in the latter part of the song are uplifting – which may sound odd when you’re reading a review of a doom album, but the light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel chord progressions and the line “Now just seems right, you walk into the light” is goose-bump stuff.
Old Horn Tooth get doom. They look old enough to remember when Kyuss got started, let alone when they broke up. And with those tens of trips (I am too polite to guess how many multiples of 10) around the sun, they can imbue their music with a bit of real-life melancholy. Proper doom needs proper melancholy. Maybe that is the mysterious ingredient.
