At what point does a band's sound become more of a trap than a trademark? Bristol's Massive Attack has been in the business of making dark albums since "Mezzanine" (1998), and their latest "Heligoland" is no exception. Some critics have accused Massive Attack of redundancy since "Mezzanine," but these accusations hardly acknowledge how adeptly this group conjures the varying shades of gloom and brooding that have come to typify their music. Even though Massive Attack's latest LP does little to shift this critical perception, it affirms the band's keen atmospheric sensibilities and reinforces its reputation as a challenging, if not sonically limited, outfit.
"Heligoland" is an unapologetically dark album. Stuttering drum lines, ominous bass drones and muted vocals all abound, creating an aurally unified, but irredundant listening experience. The tendency of critics to use words like "gritty" and "industrial" as vague blanket terms only reveals their lack of appreciation for the variety that can be found within such aesthetics.
Even though songs like "Pray for Rain" and "Flat of the Blade" are equally morose, they reveal entirely different sides of the mood. While the former contrasts the deadpan chords of the verse and chorus with a stratospheric vocal bridge, the later deepens its menacing tone with layered percussion and increasingly unnerving lyrics.
The overwhelming pessimism of "Flat of the Blade" waxes and wanes over the course of the song, as the protagonist with "skills [he] can't speak of" is cast in front of an ironically triumphant horn section before the song's finale. This track illustrates how Massive Attack keeps even their most intense songs from wallowing in their own heaviness: The band keeps them moving.
There are very few stagnant cuts on "Heligoland." Most tracks have a sincere momentum; they dynamically add and drop elements, frequently bringing the listener through unexpected instrumental passages that keep songs from hanging on to a refrain for too long.
The few exceptions generally make impressive mileage out of their simple grooves. "Splitting the Atom" keeps plaintive vocals and synth-pads in perpetual orbit around an unwavering organ stab that keeps its freshness for all of the track's 5 minutes and 16 seconds.
"Saturday Come Slow" is the least interesting track of the album, with Damon Albarn of Gorillaz delivering an underwhelming vocal performance whose chorus of "Do you love me?" occurs a little too often.
The band's employment of numerous contributing musicians, a tradition for Massive Attack, gives "Heligoland" a wealth of different vocalists and instrumentalists. TV On the Radio's Tunde Adebimpe, Elbow's Guy Garvey and Martina Topley-Bird all sing on the album. Similarly, Adrian Utley and John Baggott of Portishead contribute guitar and keyboard work to various tracks.
Even though "Heligoland" is a sullen record, it is not without its lighter moments. Without the balletic xylophone of "Paradise Circus" or the nimbly finger-picked guitars of "Psyche," the album's tone would be too homogeneous for its own good. Massive Attack does a good job of spacing out its heaviest tracks, preventing a lopsided listen that could have easily occurred if "Paradise Circus" hadn't immediately followed "Flat of the Blade."
The flow of the album as a whole is more consistent in the first half, with tracks after "Psyche" leaning to a mid-tempo instrumental direction. "Heligoland" is not an album for the lighthearted. If a listener wasn't thrilled by "Mezzanine" or "100th Window" (2003), chances are this album will fall into the same category. For those willing to cope with some murky chords and give the album the repeated listenings it needs, "Heligoland" will not disappoint.
