Palms - Palms
I fucking love Deftones, and I don’t care what any denim-vested hesher who hasn’t been laid since the Carter administration thinks of that. On the flipside of that coin, I’m not much of an Isis fan, and I give less than a shit what any gauged-earlobe hipster with a Japanese dragon tattooed on his ass thinks of that. Given that contrast, how will this 6-song self-titled debut from three core members of Isis featuring Deftones’ Chino Moreno on vocals fare? Two minutes and change into hearing album opener “Future Warrior” for the first time, my soul queefed. This is absolutely beautiful music. Moreno’s iconic voice is softer than baby legs, and he’s in top form here. Modern-day Alt Rock’s answer to Morrissey and Sade does not disappoint once again. His smooth, soaring lines carry these lengthy, emotive cuts to a plane of wistful yet passionate reflection where first-listen catharsis is reached with gentle ease. When it comes to intoxicating deliveries, grace, poise, and the ability to make the most broken of hearts beat a step faster, Moreno isn’t that far away from Jonas Renkse in terms of effectiveness and talent. Musically speaking, what Jeff Caxide, Aaron Harris, and Bryant C. Meyer are doing with Palms is a thousand times more engaging than the slow-heavy-and-long for the sake of slow-heavy-and-long doldrums of any Isis record I’ve fought to stay awake through. Abandoning the mundane trappings of Sludge in favor of breathtaking Post-Rock, one calming ethereal passage shimmers after another, as mesmerizing waves of masterful melodicraft repeatedly send suspended shivers down this crooked spine. This is closer to The Cure than it is to Neurosis, and speaking of Renkse, the next-level melancholy found on “Patagonia” is so deep I have to wonder if there’s a reason to that rhyme. Occasionally the trio will drift and wander aimlessly through the musical desert like U2 on Quaaludes and peyote just long enough to keep this from total perfection, but Moreno’s almost always there to rein the proceedings back into gleaming focus. Simply put, Palms is a mellow masterpiece that’s damn near impossible not to get lost in, and as hit-or-miss as endeavors of this nature tend to be, it’s a triumph of epic proportions.
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