Beastmilk – Climax (Magic Bullet Records/Svart Records)
It’s tempting to write about Beastmilk in terms of what they sound like and from whom they’ve drawn influence. There is a fairly wide strata of antecedent bands to whom parallels with Beastmilk could be drawn, mostly from the darker and heavier end of the post-punk spectrum, but these have been aped in recent years by such disparate pools of artists that the reference points mean little in and of themselves. To chalk Beastmilk up as being the logical nexus between certain signifiers is to sell short what they’ve achieved.
Beastmilk – Climax (Magic Bullet Records/Svart Records)
It’s tempting to write about Beastmilk in terms of what they sound like and from whom they’ve drawn influence. There is a fairly wide strata of antecedent bands to whom parallels with Beastmilk could be drawn, mostly from the darker and heavier end of the post-punk spectrum, but these have been aped in recent years by such disparate pools of artists that the reference points mean little in and of themselves. To chalk Beastmilk up as being the logical nexus between certain signifiers is to sell short what they’ve achieved. Climax, their most recent release, represents a band growing into itself. Previous EP releases had witnessed Beastmilk cutting through the murk of deliberately low-fidelity recordings and writing possibly the catchiest songs about nuclear war and Stalinist purges ever committed to tape. While this output was excellent and criminally underappreciated, the band’s ability to make the jump to a full-length demonstrates that they’re more than just another entry into the larger body of throwback post-punk/goth that’s become overswelled in recent years.
Rather than a literalist recasting of that which has come before, Climax binds itself to a compelling duality – on one hand an exhilirating rush of sound, a propulsive energy, and a refined honing of a previously-established aesthetic; on the other hand an ability to dwell on everything bleak, harsh, and violent that the universe has to offer. They’re not simply tossing in the sort of references a lesser band would employ to seem edgy or shocking, but deeply penetrating to the core of such subject matter and turning each bit of it into something as compelling as it is unsettling.
“The Wind Blows Through Their Skulls” most clearly represents the difference between the older and newer material. The song, mercifully rescuscitated from their debut EP (probably the best they’d written prior to their most recent release), benefits from the new polish that still manages not to undermine the lyrical gloom. It’s harsh enough that, though none of the other song titles are exactly subtle – “Genocidal Crush,” “Nuclear Winter,” and “Surf The Apocalypse” don’t do much to conceal their eschatalogical bent – they might seem that way in comparison. And while the band hasn’t abandoned their overall tone or aesthetic, it’s not difficult to use this revised older material as a point of contrast, with the over-the-top qualities of the lyrics coming off somewhat more exaggerated than the songs that surround it (not that this is a negative assessment of “…Skulls” by any means – it was and remains a killer).
It’s very much to the band’s credit that, just as they were able to utilize a cleaner, fuller recording without sacrificing grit or heaviness (choosing Kurt Ballou to record the album was probably the best decision they could’ve made), the lyrical stance has come to incorporate a stronger degree of nuance without toning down the sinister qualities. It’s not that there’s any lack of skulls and mushroom clouds in the new songs, but the approach to the subject matter diverges onto paths that explore the concepts with a newfound subtlety. The bulk of the songs are somewhat vague and impressionist, with different pieces of stark, explicit imagery thrown against each other so that a mosaic-like approach takes precedent over literal narrative. Some moments are slightly more direct – “Fear Your Mind” juxtaposes willfully jumbled names and dates of mass killings as a statement on mankind’s innate capability for destruction and devastation. Others, like “Love In A Cold World,” are if not positive, at least defiant and less deliberately morose (note that “less deliberately morose” is only in comparison with everything surrounding it – this still ain’t smiles and sunshine), with singer Kvohst intoning his intent to cling to the idea of love despite both a cold world and a dead universe – though the form that would take is never specifically addressed. Romantic attraction seems an obvious reference point, but this becomes as compelling a reason as any to question its accuracy, especially given that the refrain’s relatively straightforward conceit is couched in imagery that’s fragmented and obscure.
“Apocalyptic” is a term that gets thrown around frequently when describing Beastmilk’s music, usually in reference to the tone or certain lyrical elements, but the word’s origin – that of an unveiling or uncovering of some form of knowledge – is as applicable as any of its more recent connotations, if not more so. Because while the imagery and the overall sound are (to utilize perhaps the understatement of the year) dark, that atmosphere is not some end result, but instead more an overarching veneer under which stranger and less obvious elements operate. Climax succeeds as an album because it finds the band exploring familiar subject matter on both micro- and macrocosmic levels, whether that’s drilling into the psyche’s depths or projecting one’s emotional convictions outward into an unending void. Though the veins that Beastmilk mine are hardly unexplored, either conceptually or musically, they’ve managed to demonstrate that even the most familiar trope can prove fecund in capable hands. It’s easy to point out what paved the way for their music, and a little less simple (though certainly not impossible) to dive into the lyrics and assemble some concept of the band’s worldview, but for the extent of the album’s running time, influences and intent are all but irrelevant. The music’s inescapable gravity is left as the only focal point worth considering.
