By Monk
It may appear that there would be little, if any, commonality between the dank, grey-skied post-industrial cityscapes of the north-east of England and the broiling, skyline-shimmering heat of the Mojave Desert, but there obviously is some sort of deep inner, almost psychological connection as this album exhales the fumes of the former and spits the grit of the latter in equal proportions.
Grasping the desert rock ‘Cactus’ in their calloused hands right from the off, Dunes deliver riffs encased in more sludge than the bed of the river on whose banks they were gestated but as windswept as the desolate Northumbrian moors on which they were brought to life. Huge monoliths of sound crush you with their immense weight, interspersed with almost ethereal melodies that brush with a lightness of touch you hardly feel their embrace but know they are present by the very whisper of their passing, as the ‘Tides’ of this album ebb and flow with hypnotic alactrity.
The centrepiece of the album and its undoubted highlight is the brooding, dank, monolithic epic ‘Northern Scars’. Clocking at just three seconds shy of seven minutes, it is HUGE in every respect, from the crushing main riff through the dense, winding melody to the abrupt, laconic but lyrically insightful vocals. But, what sets it apart is the acidic but beautiful spoken poetic section by Nick Carter, which just takes it to another level with its brutal honesty and poignancy.
All the way through this album, Dunes don’t mess about, delivering an album that possesses, through every groove, a sense of cogent, considered urgency combined with one of dark warmth and familiarity. The sort of album that makes you want to turn the lights down low, the volume up high, throw another log on the fire, crack open a bottle of mead and just lose yourself in its embrace.
- ‘Land Of The Blind‘ is out now.
- Dunes tour from next week:
- All content © Über Rock. Not to be reproduced in part or in whole without the express written permission of Über Rock.