When I saw Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, I was in major awe. The scene in which The Ents - the walking trees - hurl rocks was the ruckus I had been searching for my entire life. Giant trees fucking shit up. As kick ass as the scene could've been, we were treated to what can be simplified as "not ideal music." Instead of the symphonic selections of some old guy, we should've been listening to selections from Wolves in the Throne Room's Diadem of 12 Stars - long winded bleak black metal for trees who enjoyably wrecking shop.
Warning: For those readers who aren't made of wood and leaves, don't be dismayed. Wolves in the Throne Room sounds great to those filled with organs and runny liquids as well.
Just like murky skies illuminated by a distant sun, Diadem of 12 Stars casts feelings of depression and slight glimmers of hope. Throughout the record, a juxtaposition of beauty and grotesqueness are constantly flirting with one another. For example, there is the relentless double bass buried under both rusty guitar fuzz and brighter guitar leads, the combination of male and female vocals that either glide in melodic harmonies or throat cuttingly scream, and the collage of noisy distortions and clarion melodies. Unlike much other music that strives for one angle, these parallels are reminiscent of the world we live in where there isn't always a black and white. Instead, there exists a reality where the black and white are always forced to coexist.
Wolves in the Throne Room don't play black metal in a traditional sense. Instead of the dismal four track lo-fi sound, they take a warmer recording route. The embodiment of feelings created by groups like Darkthrone is still instilled. The sound quality is reminiscent of earlier Ulver. Each of the four songs consists of many parts, which help the average fifteen-minute length song not get monotonous.
It's not just the choice of styles Wolves in the Throne Room throw together within each song that makes them great; it's also the transitions they create. You'll be galloping along one second, and the next, dropped into a droning ambience of guitar sounds (6:40 of "Face In A Night Time Mirror (Part 2)"). The gradual pickup that gets darker and darker and louder and louder and fuller and fuller eventually leads us to a vile stampede. On a second run around when you're listening for the changes, you'll appreciate how fluid and subtle they are. It's not always about how you can put parts A and B together but, in addition, it's how you fill the space in between A and B. Wolves in the Throne Room does this nearly flawlessly.
As good as Diadem of 12 Stars is, here's hoping that Wolves in the Throne Room's next record sounds less like water traveling downward, splitting endlessly, and more like one conscious canal.
Wolves in the Throne Room hail from Olympia, Washington, where the landscape is abundantly green and the sky is a stark grey. Surrounded by this contrast, the creation of Diadem of 12 Stars makes sense. Hopefully the use of their music with trees throwing rocks will also be just as obvious.
