Even though they are only on album number two, Danish/Faroese sludge trio Grava already feel like they are tapping into something fresh while staying well within the established boundaries of sludge, doom and post-metal, broad though that field may be. Their sound is raw and sparse, leaning more towards punk’s minimalism and focus on visceral impact than doom’s more expansive slow build atmospherics, and they pair it with a flair for capturing moments of true despair within their music.
The Great White Nothing flows naturally from its predecessor in that each song here presents a snapshot of death as viewed from the eyes of those experiencing it, be it the doomed voyagers on the 1845 Franklin expedition (‘Erebus’ and ‘White Thresher’), the men who faced their imminent demise head-on in the trenches of World War I (‘Bayonet’) or Johann Patkul, a Swedish nobleman and convicted traitor to the crown whose short, violent end remains infamous (‘Mangled’). Each is depicted with stark and unflinching honesty, not a second wasted as they tear through nine songs in 33 minutes with the relentless power of an avalanche.
The aforementioned ‘Erebus’ and ‘White Thresher’ kick off the album with a startling lack of restraint, the former a series of progressively more punishing riffs, Atil Kamban’s start-stop brutality in perfect sync with the anguish that he loads his voice with; the latter manages to temper itself with a few moments of reflection, Niels Svensson’s bass taking the reins while Kamban delivers a piercing but melodic solo run. Both demonstrate the breadth of sound that one can obtain while remaining resolutely savage, a trend that is echoed throughout the album’s run.
One of The Great White Nothing’s true strengths is that it is often able to cover a huge degree of musical ground within relatively short time constraints. Few songs stray beyond the three minute mark yet each one has a handful of standout riffs in its own right, or at the very least some memorable motif that comes to define its character. This, alongside their stress on a strong narrative framework within their songs, marks them as something of a hidden treasure in their field.
When they do venture into long-form territory, their approach does subtly shift. As the longest track here, ‘The Fall’ is suitably massive, one lumbering riff trudging steadily after another with the steady, uncompromising gait of an ageing mastodon. Kamban’s soloing grants it a touch of the epic, proud and sweeping before fading into a sea of fuzz that, in contrast to the fury that seems so ingrained on the album, is comparatively beautiful.
Anyone who appreciated what Grava achieved on their debut will find everything to love on its successor, building on a rock-solid framework but strengthening every single component to the degree that they sound simply indestructible. It’s just a colossal record that nonetheless manages to temper its aggression with enough melody and drama that it warrants one listen after another, and another, and another. Lovers of heaviness, rejoice – you have your new favourite band.
