Ye Gods - No Albion

Album

5 Nov

The idea that staring into the void produces infinite knowledge but has the potential to riddle you with madness, unable to comprehend what he's seen, is a fascinating idea derived from cosmic horror and injected into the religious adjacent work of Antoni Maiovvi's Ye Gods project. Ye Gods wrestles with the intersection of religion and cosmic truth. Through droning tribalism, Ye Gods No Albion delves into ancient things best left uncovered.

The idea that staring into the void produces infinite knowledge yet has the potential to riddle you with madness, unable to comprehend what he's seen, is a fascinating idea derived from cosmic horror and injected into the religious adjacent work of Antoni Maiovvi's Ye Gods project. Ye Gods wrestles with the intersection of religion and cosmic truth. Through droning tribalism, Ye Gods No Albion delves into ancient things best left uncovered.

The ominous opening of "Let's Begin" on 'Katan' should indicate what sort of album this will be. Subtle vocal nods to high gothic and scripture are all over No Albion, furthering the occult themes. Throughout the record, there's an oppressive feeling of spiritual or ritualistic duty with the tribal rhythms on 'Three to Fourteen' and droning choral vocals of 'Descent & Ascent'.

While I love the integration of religious zealotism, Satanism and the visualisation of sacrifice that is straight all over the record, some moments stand out as slightly too melodramatic. Take 'He Who Holds The Severed Head', a cinematic piece with soaring horns and sparse droplets of percussion that sound like blood hitting the floor. It is visually stunning, held back only by the relatively dry execution of "Bloodline", which takes me out of the experience. The drama is done a lot better on the track 'Blessing'. It's eccentric, being one of the most indulgent tracks, a staggering 11 minutes. However, it keeps its tension through tribal drums and fluttering synths, drawing me further into the cut.

The album's relaxing and laid-back listening experience invites a whole host of emotional back-and-forth. Most tracks have a sombre tone that lulls you into a false sense of security with an undercurrent of existential dread. You leave that relaxed place when the percussive sections slowly rise on tracks like 'Keseh'; before you know it, you're headfirst into a pit of anxious, nervous sweating.

The final track on the album, Total Eclipse, shines quite brightly due to its amalgamation of qualities seen throughout the rest of the record. It's much more decisive than its counterparts and adds more textual variety while keeping a steady pulse. At the same time, it's a good summation of the themes and ideas on display and a good jumping-off point into the rest of the album. However, it is not my favourite on the record as it lacks some of the marauding drama seen elsewhere on the release.

Ye God's interpretation of religion is, at times, breathtaking. The actual magnitude of the universe feels considered. With that, questions over religion being cosmic horror rather than divinity crop up, leaving you with something more to chew on. The drab drones give a Gregorian aura to No Albion that leaves you guessing between malevolence and insignificance.

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