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ACACIA
Tills Döden Skiljer Oss Åt

Art Of Propaganda (2013)
Rating: 7.5/10

Considering this Swedish act only formed in 2012, this is some piece of work for a debut album. Acacia are a six-piece act formed out of the ashes of Livsnekad who likes to dabble in melancholic metal, music that could loosely be described as doom metal. Due to its alternating moods, however, one could easily file this under the black metal category too.

The band is fronted by the dual vocal talents of Ulf Nylin and Moa Thorén, the pair backed by drummer Richard Schill (ex-Shining) and pianist Seiya Ogino, not to mention the multi-talented Christian Larsson (Shining / Svart) and Andreas Thorén (ex-Shining) who both provide bass, guitar and vocals.

Fans of this sort of metal tend to call this style depressive rock, but I’ve always found such eerie and mystical landscapes to be uplifting due to their sprawling textures and forever winding pastures. The aforementioned landscapes are formed by gentle acoustics, sweeping orchestration and those haunting Moa Thorén vocals; vocals which of course contradict the harsher growls and rasps of Ulf Nylin.

When the band reach their iciest peak, they still have an uplifting quality; Acacia prefer to heighten one’s mood, rather than dwell in the depths of utter anguish which seem reserved for bands such as Mexico’s Dreariness. Tills Döden Skiljer Oss Åt is a vast, multi-layered album that touches on that My Dying Bride style of oaken whine, but for the most part the guitars soar throughout and rarely adopt any type of miserable façade.

Acacia’s debut record offers us five tracks, four of which clock in at over ten minutes. This results in more than an hour of music which bewilders, baffles, enlightens and smoulders, evoking images of mist-enshrouded Swedish fjords rather than something more ominous.

One only has to hear the blackened rasps of Ulf Nylin to appreciate what a colossal record this is, but also one that rarely hints at depression despite the frosty guitar sound and distant echoes.

For instance, the 12-minute ‘Förnimmelsens Lund Af Längtan’ drifts into the eardrums like the creation of Angelo Badalamenti, the man behind the surreal soundtrack to television series Twin Peaks. The guitars groan and twitter, the drums a subtle plod. Again though, it’s only the gruelling vocal roar that offers any hint of a storm. I’m of the opinion that to truly describe Acacia would be to term their music haunting, and nothing more.

The injection of Moa Thorén’s clear, ghostly vocals amid the seas of a twinkling piano and swaying guitar suggest that this band could never find themselves sitting still in one field of sound, such is their unique talent. The whoppingly great 17-minute ‘Amourens Redoxreaktion’ is probably the only overtly melancholic track on the opus; beginning as a throaty rasp coupled with scathing guitar sound and visceral injection of pace, behind it all there are, nevertheless, floating piano keys and sweeping orchestration.

Acacia create varying worlds on this debut opus – whisking the listener away to glistening, dew-damp fields and icy meadows – but there are no suggestions of evil, however much one tries to become blackened by Nylin’s formidable grimace.

‘Egocentrisk Isolation’ is – just like numerous films by director David Lynch – somehow summery, yet unsettling. It leaves much to the imagination, before the icy guitars rolls in like a grey wave lapping a sandy shore. ‘Egocentrisk Isolation’ is the slowest track on the opus; the song meanders into a beautiful sprinkle of subtle guitars at over four minutes in, before resorting back to type.

The closing title track is even more magnificent, a 14-minute composition of cascading drums and guitars. The hour then passes, leaving the listener not as depressed as one would have expected. Instead, the listener is almost enchanted by the occasional dismal gleams and yet more often haunting melodies which play out like the differing segments of an old piece of text.

Tills Döden Skiljer Oss Åt is an impressive work of art that sweeps over you with the ever-changing qualities of an inconsistent summer.

Neil Arnold

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