Review
Explosions in the Sky
The Earth is Not a Cold Dead Place

If Explosions in the Sky's previous LP, Those Who Tell the Truth Shall Die Those Who Tell the Truth Shall Live Forever, could be called one thing, it would be called "derivative." Not that it wasn't an incredible record crafted by a band on top of their game, but let's be honest: it simply regurgitated ideas that the forerunners of the post-rock genre had already come up with earlier. The band's motto of "extreme silence to extreme violence" was really all you needed to know, a band that was completely focused on dynamics, but fell a little by the wayside while trying to make the whole thing cohesive. Songs veered off in unexpected directions, sheets of white noise rained down unexpectedly, dramatic shifts launched at you from seemingly nowhere, and while it was fun then and remains a thrill now, you couldn't shake the feeling that there wasn't anything completely original going on. Sure, the band had extended crescendos with focus on high end rather than bombast, their schizophrenic nature was a little more jarring than their contemporaries, but through it all, it sounded like there was a band looking for its voice trapped inside another band's game. Two years and a lot of roadwork later, the new record has dropped, and since there's no easy way to say this, I'll just come out and say it: Explosions in the Sky have released the best post-rock record since Slint's Spiderland. No, I'm not forgetting Mogwai, or Godspeed You Black Emperor, or June of 44, or Sigur Ros, or any of their other contemporaries. Those bands' best records pale in comparison to the majestic, gorgeous, and overwhelming statement committed to tape by this one. And a lot of people aren't going to like it nearly as much as their previous record, probably because they've given up on the need to rock out constantly; instead, they've saved the tool of volume and use it sparingly for maximum jaw-dropping effect, building tension consistently and gently rising up gentle hills and valleys before erupting in explosive volcanoes of noise where other bands simply have mountaintops. Yes, you heard it here first: where once was a need to out-noise and out-jolt you is now a focus on tempo, composition, craftsmanship, and subtlety, a band finally living up to their t-shirts, which read "sad, triumphant rock band," and finding their own sound, propelling them light years ahead of the rest of the pack. This lack of excess allows the dynamic work of the band to become just another part of their music, not the key focus of it entirely, which works to show the band's songs as whole and held together by actual structure as opposed to noise arranged carefully to cover up the spots where they ran out of ideas. The focus is now on guitar and rhythm section interplay, ebbing and flowing across the span of the record as opposed to hitting you from the front and hoping you stick around; the sophistication of the music has been made in leaps and bounds, and how the band managed to pull off this much growth in such little time is a mystery to me. The distortion pedals are neglected for layers upon layers of notes stacked to the heavens and beyond, building landscapes and scenery for which the bass and drums provide a foundation, giving the songs weight and secure footing, providing enough rhythmic punch to send the points home. When the band does unleash the secret weapon of bombast, it simply shreds the worlds they're building apart, splintering off in dynamic shifts of equal parts beauty and disgust, rejecting this place they've made while at the same time embracing the art of creation of such a noisy racket. Remarkably enough, even with these shifts in mood, volume, and velocity, the entire record is completely cohesive, which is even more incredible coming from a band that had a hard time keeping six minutes together, now doing it over the span of an entire record. Not once does it drag or bore, keeping you at rapt attention as to what they'll pull next, leaving you awestruck upon repeat listens that such a simple series of notes could be manipulated so masterfully to bring about this aching in your chest and these tears to your eyes. This record is the musical equivalent of sorrow, love, hatred, depression, rejoice, beauty, joy, rage, loss, bliss, contempt, fear, and every other extreme emotion you've ever felt, rolled up into five songs and forty-five minutes, perfectly summing up why this band doesn't have a vocalist, which also is the what this simple review is trying to say: words don't do them justice.