I’m waiting for the conversation where the death metal purist somehow convinces me Deafheaven actually is the abomination that haunts the corners of the metal world. Deafheaven has never seemed to have solid footing in that world; there’s plenty of fans willing to defend Deafheaven’s dreamy sounds, but there’s just as many who denounce the band as “hipster drivel.” They run that same spectrum sonically, where chugging riffs and belched vocals drift into colorful progressions and brake-pedal rhythms.
New Bermuda is a cinematic album, with movements and lulls like any other story. There’s its disquieting intro, where the bells toll for the pounding guitars and drums to follow. There’s the hurricane of power metal and indiscernible growls that pelt the listener. Those flow into melodic guitar leads that break the storm, followed by a moment of peace. The next squall hits and everything’s thrown into dueling melodies, riffs, echoes and drums. The torrents fade into a piano’s funeral dirge that entombs the whole affair. And this is just the expository first song, “Brought to the Water.”
Deafheaven continues its assault across New Bermuda, where guitars rip holes in the nether and peace is brokered with melody and harmony. Moments of this album sound distant from the heavy metal slugged out in singer George Clarke’s frantic charges. There’s peace found in the gentler chord play in “Luna,” where Deafheaven suddenly has more in common with The Cure than Slayer. “Luna” later breaks into post-grunge pop metal before finally ushering in Clarke’s commanding growl, whose voice spearheads a dramatic finale. Guitars soar throughout, free of sludge as they reminisce about My Bloody Valentine and Siamese Dream-era Smashing Pumpkins.
But the roots of Deafheaven fall back to that troublesome “black metal” title they’ve always been at war with, whether declared or not. While those black metal roots fuel the flames of the debate around Deafheaven, they’re ultimately the source of strength for the band. New Bermuda’s core is built around the moments of aggressive metal warfare, where the guitars and drums unleash their fierce bombardment around Clarke’s burning growl. The softer sides to Deafheaven, like the tropical slides of “Baby Blue,” wouldn’t be anywhere near as affecting if there wasn’t an offsetting onslaught of guitars thrashing the pavement beforehand.
In a way, I get the disdain from Deafheaven’s critics. Black metal is a refuge, a place where aggression is channeled into something soothing; formulas are less a trope and more a common language. So when Deafheaven burns through their latest album’s climax, “Gifts for the Earth,” their almost pop-like riffs could sound more like musical gentrification than dynamics. This is a shame, because New Bermuda is more about learning from its formula to create something brilliant and less about screwing over the black metal culture.
So while the dust settles around New Bermuda, as the final volleys cease and the tides recede, a calm peeks over the horizon. There’s still a growling guitar singing its death song, but there’s a new, hopeful tune harmonized with it. An acoustic guitar rings in the background, as a piano’s song turns from mourning to morning. That’s the beauty in New Bermuda: that after the storm, there’s an accompanying calm to follow that sounds just as resilient. Deafheaven can mold black metal’s furious wail into an exhilarating finale, and taper that into a tear-inducing, still-watered coda. Those dynamics earned Deafheaven their stigma, and it’s those dynamics that might lead their black metal roots to a new standard.
Grade: A
