It’s been just over six years and there still hasn’t been a single record that has moved me as deeply and profoundly as Rolo Tomassi’s Time Will Die and Love Will Bury It; there has been a lot that comes close but nothing quite on that level. I’ve only recently accepted the near certainty that such a record was a once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon, resigning myself to the idea that I might never again experience something that elicits such a profoundly intense and visceral personal response. However, with the release of State Faults‘ ambitiously fierce and vulnerable Children Of The Moon, I am thrilled to have been proven wrong. This record is the musical equivalent of a shooting star, a rare explosion of brilliance that leaves an unforgettable impression; thankfully this ‘shooting star’ is one we can play back over and over again while we eagerly await the next.
This year has been an incredible year already for skramz, but State Faults’ long-awaited return has set the bar as high as it could possibly ever be, unintentionally making everything else feel like a drop in the ocean. While I do wholeheartedly love the subgenre, Children Of The Moon has made me realize how monotonous many of the bands/albums tend to be despite them genuinely being great; no wonder I find myself listening to this sort of music in brief spurts. Children Of The Moon is just that special and full of so many exciting twists and turns that you wouldn’t expect from the genre, nor even from State Faults themselves. The end result is something that isn’t musically fatiguing but rather addicting as can be. With their previous records already being top tier skramz, Children Of The Moon is a stunning example of how they’ve not only mastered their craft but have also pushed the boundaries of the genre even further than could possibly be imagined.
What State Faults manages to do on this record to separate itself from its peers goes beyond merely offering a diverse range of songs and structures. Out of the many moving parts and features normally outside of the skramz repertoire, they flow with an organic fluidity, all in perfect unison. It is as if each note is breathed into life as opposed to simply being played as was written on paper, which at times can sound rigid and lifeless. Each track here unfolds with a natural grace, almost making it seem like the many instrumental accents are improvised on the spot to yield the truest emotion possible as it’s being performed. Ranging from evocative guitar pinch harmonics and Deafheaven-esque leads and brief, captivating solos, to infectious tambourine-driven rhythms and a dynamic, deeply moving vocal performance, all of this is seamlessly integrated throughout the record, thus not a single moment feels monotonous, redundant, or wasted.
Unless you’re listening to some avant-garde/experimental record that refuses to repeat the same idea twice, there is bound to be repetition to some degree in almost everything you listen to. The key thing that can make repetition sound less like, well, repetition, is how those parts are nuanced with subtle variations, shifts in dynamics, or changes in instrumentation to create a sense of evolution and surprise – this is where State Faults shine the absolute brightest on this record. This approach allows you to experience familiar musical motifs in an invigorated light, transforming what could be predictable into something that feels dynamically rich and compelling.
A prime example of this would be the iconic ‘the only holy book is the one inside your heart/and on every page your love has made a work of art’ line that is repeated four times in the bridge of “No Gospel” (song of the year???). It starts with a shout, moves to a shouted first line and screamed second line, then transitions to gang harsh vocals, and concludes with another round of gang vocals and a gut-wrenching scream drenched in pure self-loathing on the word ‘art’; this is only one of many moments like this in which these subtle shifts in vocal inflections across a repeated phrase make a massive difference and keep the performance engaging no matter how many times you’ve heard it. That specific lyric deeply resonates within me as it is, but its execution in the song exponentially amplifies its impact by pairing the moral inquisition with a haunting performance that will strike a chord in anyone who genuinely wants to be a good person and not because that is what is expected of them.
On the topic of that particular scream in “No Gospel”, I must say that out of all the styles of music that utilize harsh vocals, I find skramz to be the most potent in conveying the internal anguish and turmoil that harsh vocals were meant to express from the very beginning. While it can sound abrasive and unintelligible at times (reading along with lyrics makes the words come across clear as day), there is no disputing the powerfully charged emotion laced into the words being outcried into the void. Jonny Andrew’s vocal performance on Children Of The Moon embodies the entire spectrum of human emotion with such raw authenticity that it perfectly complements the weight of the lyrical content in the most impactful way imaginable. The dynamic and emotive instrumental enhances this even further, beautifully showcasing the synergy between the band members.
Amidst all the elements the band has already woven into the record, there are numerous subtle embellishments that are an absolute delight to identify and concentrate all your attention on. The most obvious thing that persists throughout the record is the tambourine driven rhythms that sometimes goes into half-time, creating this bluesy/doomy vibe that is sinister as all hell (heard on “Leviathan”, “No Gospel”, “Divination”, and “Bodega Head”). “No Gospel” is made even more enthralling with the bongos and organ that linger deep in the background during the monumental bridge/climax, making it feel like something out of The Mars Volta’s playbook. Heard at multiple points throughout the record are the crashing of waves, which is symbolic in two ways as it represents the psychological turmoil within oneself and the inner transformation that would become of it – all of which are captured through the lyrics and music in addition to the waves.
The opening track, “Fragile Light”, has a monologue in which our protagonist (who I would assume is on the album cover) starts off by saying ‘I’ve never seen such intimate beauty in my life’, which then eventually transitions into the cautiously optimistic “Blood Moon”. Towards the end of the record, the penultimate “Wind Song” closes out with a similar monologue from the same individual struggling to admit that ‘reality is without beauty’ and immediately we get the hauntingly bleak acoustic guitar that opens up “Bodega Head”. I find it clever how that particular line is followed up with such a gorgeous closing track, as that tracks existence instantly proves that claim of reality being without beauty wrong. The stark contrast between those two lines, along with the polar opposite moods of the tracks that follow, hits you like a truck once you put the pieces together that the mental state of the individual is deteriorating across this entire record, leading to the ambiguous and unsettling conclusion that perhaps beauty and despair are inseparable facets of the human experience.
The gripping journey through Children Of The Moon is a profound exploration of the human psyche, marked by an intense emotional and musical evolution that takes skramz as a genre to uncharted territory. Flirting with references to the occult, this album is draped in mystery in how beauty and bleakness play off of one another, masterfully crafting a narrative that directly reflects the human condition and how we can be unable to cope with our own existence. It serves as a poignant reminder of the experiences and tumultuous struggle with my own mortality that ultimately shaped who I am as a person today. While I am not one to believe in destiny, it truly feels as if State Faults’ newest emotional maelstrom of a record was something beyond mere chance in how it wormed its way and deeply lodged into my temporal lobe and heart; it’ll take a temporal lobectomy to pry myself from these songs for as long as I live.
