It’s hardly a deeply philosophical or scientifically groundbreaking statement to say that light and dark can’t exist separated from each other. They’re diametric opposites that constantly push against one another, and each side of the coin is defined in the presence of its opposite. Inverse to each other, one erased by the other. By the same token, they need each other, as total darkness would mean nothing if one had never seen light, and vice versa. In many ways, these polar opposites are perfect complements. And this truism is the one that underpins Ceremony of Silence’s sophomore album, Hálios.
Okay, maybe that preamble reeks of pretension. Slovakia’s Ceremony of Silence isn’t engaging in high-minded self-adulation here. Rather, they’re using the mystical light of the universe as the conceptual center point of their album. And, as my hoity-toity prose may have suggested, they underpin that concept with some very dark music. Ceremony of Silence specifically dabbles in blackened death metal filter through a prism of dissonance. Guitar leads tend to be jagged high notes and razor-sharp lead lines piercing towards the skies over a furious tumult of drums and bass, while vocals come across as dusty growls echoing just slightly in the background. Their sound that would be familiar to anyone who has previously enjoyed bands like Ulcerate or the sorely missed Dodecahedron.
Where Ceremony of Silence truly excels is in their ability to craft some genuine emotion and melody out of the clash of chords that should not fit together. Multi-instrumentalist Viliam Pilarčík’s approach is dense and layered, brimming in harmonies and scything lead lines that absolutely soar, while also laying down a thick subtext of churning riffs and grinding bass. From the bendy, chirping lines that inaugurate album opener “Primaeval Sacrifice” to more measured moments like the moody interlude “Eternal Return” and even the surprisingly tasteful solo in “Perennial Incantation,” Pilarčík’s performance across Hálios is just plain outstanding. The drumming of Matúš S. Ďurčík likewise deserves much applause, feeling similar in presence to Ulcerate’s Jamie Saint Merat, if maybe a smidge more conventionally metallic. Be it the furious double bass that propels much of the album, the staccato pulse that kicks off “Serpent Slayer”, or his more restrained approach when the band slows things down, he’s an absolute powerhouse
To double back to a point slightly, the songwriting across Hálios is beautifully dynamic while also fairly welcoming. Unlike a lot of similar bands, Ceremony of Silence makes a noticeable effort to keep their song lengths fairly tight, with only the dramatic closer “King in the Mountain” exceeding the six minute mark. The tracks themselves are reasonably rationed with shifting passages and motifs, assuring that there’s never too much happening in any given track. That’s not to say that Ceremony of Silence lacks for surprises, such as dropping the aggression for aforementioned pensive calmness of “Eternal Return” or the hallucinogenic void “King in a Mountain” dips into halfway through its runtime. From the regal march of “Moon Vessel” to the jagged fury of “Light Runs Through Light” and mournful leads of “Perennial Incantation”, Hálios is full of variety but never absurdly busy across its tight 35 minutes.
It’d also be worth noting that Ceremony of Silence knocked it out of the park with presentation on Hálios. Truth be told, that striking cover art (provided by drummer Matúš S. Ďurčík) was half the reason I wanted to try the album out. It’s just stunning, possibly my favorite cover art of the year so far, and it fits the running theme of ancient heroes and classical myths perfectly. And funnily enough, the production album matches that art perfectly. Handled by Colin Marston (who would obviously get dissonant metal given his position in Gorguts), the sound of Hálios is massive and dramatic, with every instrument and layer clearly audible no matter how dense the sound is while quieter moments feel as if they’re ringing out from every angle of a massive cavern. And yet, it all sounds extremely natural, and is just another piece of what makes Hálios work so well.
Radiant in its quality and oppressively dark in its feeling, Hálios is one hell of a great dissonant blackened death metal album, and Ceremony of Silence should feel great pride in what they’ve accomplished here. They’ve carved out a great sonic niche, and I’ll be very excited to hear where the band takes their approach on subsequent albums. For now, though, Hálios is an excellent take on the dissonant metal genre, crafting a gloomy atmosphere and piercing it with numerous moments of shining radiance. And somehow, Ceremony of Silence makes it all sound not just cohesive, but approachable. Listen to the album, see the light.
