As a band, Clair Cassis deviates little from the formula previously laid out by its parent unit Velvet Cacoon. Huge washes of thick droning guitars cloak themselves in low end goop and run themselves into oblivion over vaguely audible drums. Clair Cassis run a little closer to the line of structure-the drums are actually present in the mix-but this is still black metal at its most syrupy and narcoleptic. The major difference between Clair Cassis and Velvet Cacoon lies in album runtimes; where VC was content to stretch things out to near infinite lengths, CC revels in brevity, crafting little black metal nuggets that hover around just long enough to begin sinking in before they wisp themselves away like fogs across a stinking river. Simplicity dominates, with most songs being simple two or three chord progressions; atmosphere does the majority of work across "Luxury Absolute." Opener "Antique Sea Smoke" is almost bouncy in its crushing waltzy lope until it recedes into a gorgeous and haunting web of acoustic guitar fragility. "The Royal Nocturne" cloaks itself in progressive dissonance, betraying the band's more modern post-rock leanings. "Olive Ink Seahorse" is lovely black metal by way of My Bloody Valentine style overwrought guitar aesthetics, while "The March of March" approaches a near krautrock level of bludgeoning tribal repetitiveness, pretty much demanding subservience to the awesome wall of guitar vomit spewing forth. "Under Sleep Grey Elms" reverses the opening formula and segues lonely acoustics into a forbidding cloud simplified math rock forumulae, nearly collapsing under its own bloated weight. Only "Soft Castles" truly recalls the empty majesty of Velvet Cacoon, a three minute dirge of soupy bass tones and windy fuzz scars.
Overall the album feels incredibly brief, but that's to its strength. Whereas Velvet Cacoon could wear out all but the most devoted insomniacs (of which i am still one) Clair Cassis strikes quick, cuts deep and leaves you wanting more. It's fitting that they're on the Khyrsanthoney label; the band's focus on opium-esque soundscapes and evocative word paintings meshes well with the label's dreamy, blackened tone. Visiting their website is like falling into some dying ancient beehive, where the honey is well beyond fermented and the buzz of the dead bees haunts every corner in spectral, cathedral-like detail. Dank fetid oceans and rotten beehives: it's either the foul measure of pretension or the new stench of paradise. The choice to wade in and drown drunkenly is left to you.
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