“Is it my skin? Is it my lover? Is it my body and all that it’s suffered?”
There’s no point in beating around the bush here: Conjurer are one of the UK heavy music scene’s most exciting and beloved assets when it comes to blitzing the underground. They spawned just over a decade ago and (just as you’d expect any group of individuals forced to live in Rugby) have since given the concept of misery a pretty good rep with a steady production of exquisitely gloom-ridden lamentations and riff-heavy heavy-riffage. For many with impeccable taste, their sophomore full-length, Páthos, laid a sky-high goalpost for sonic exploration, disciplined pacing and crafting a palette of sweltering and smoldering emotion. It would almost be considered effortless if it wasn’t overbrimming with dried blood, anxious sweat and stifled tears in the most literal sense. In an ever-changing world, nigh-unrecognisable from both the period in which Páthos and even Mire before it were released, the hour is once again upon us for a particular ensemble to package and process the times we face into fourty-four minutes of mental procedure, entitled Unself.
Those familiar with the games played by our rampant Rugby resistance will more than likely swing open the album’s damp, rotten doors with a creak most emblematic of the hesitant fear presently cascading down their spinal staircase. All this only to find their deep-seated trepidation reportedly misplaced – for now. Like the warm glow of an anglerfish’s teasing bulb, careful acoustic chords ring out in invitation as Dani Nightingale’s safeguarding voice lulls the listener into a false sense of security with a modest rendition of centenarian gospel hymn “I Can’t Feel at Home in this World Anymore”. But as the emergently grating hiss of amplifier feedback flooding the room finally begins to register and the once gentle crooning becomes lost in its horrid grasp, it becomes abundantly clear that something is very, very wrong. Alas, cognizance dawns far too late, allowing the snapping climax of the opening title track to swallow us whole and leaving only percussive dissonance in the jumpscare’s wake – a moment to deconstruct what in the everloving fuck just happened, with jaw more than-likely already agape and wordlessly begging for more of that.
This art of fear is something that Conjurer have retrospectively always excelled at. Páthos especially enforced the impression that it had been built with this flavour of shock and awe in mind, laced with an unshakable atmosphere implicating an imminent, unthinkable danger obscured around each twist and turn. Whilst not as heavily leant upon here, Unself dutifully demonstrates the lasting impact of this stylistic approach and exactly how much of it sticks around within the DNA of their sound. Throughout their heaviest, sludgiest or most dankly introspective moments, the dream (or rather, nightmare)-team of Brady Deeprose’s goblin-esque shrieks and Nightingale’s earth-shattering bellow has always been a match made in heaven (or rather, hell) with regards to the paralytic, bestial marinade in which Conjurer’s core has laid dormant since 2022. A corrupting blackened influence is heavily felt through dissonant broken chords and the chaotic ‘tried and true’ combo of tremolo riffs and ballistic blast-beats, as well as mathcore’s panic-accents all remaining very much part of the scaremongering skirmish, for better rather than worse. All this and more are exceptionally focused amongst the horror-show that is the first three tracks sans “Unself” itself, intertwined amongst the beating heart of pulsating atmospherics and newly-found Opeth-class melodicism.
The band’s previous efforts have piloted this terror from that of an almost antagonistic perspective at times. Nightingale, Deeprose, Conor Marshall & Noah See have often ostensibly honed their craft from underneath the oppressive flesh of the beast, however we observe a rather timely change of perspective at this juncture that is no-better exhibited than in the staggering three-track run of “A Plea”, “Let Us Live” and lead single “Hang Them In Your Head”. Each of these bleed such a visceral, real-world anguish in their own distinct ways that bolster the album’s statement of intention as one gigantic howl of frustration at the end of every possible wit. Even as a short-lived prelude of sorts to “Let Us Live”, “A Plea” stakes its utmost importance assuredly with the moving inclusion of a powerful, historic speech from Spain’s first transgender senator of the Cortes Generales, Carla Antonelli – in which she boldly refuses to be set back “to the margins” of defenselessness for LGBTQ+ persons residing in the country. “Let Us Live” doubles down on this emotional exasperation, covering every base of the stages of grief by virtue of both hyperventilating instrumental and downright vicious lyricism that clutches a bleeding heart for those that need suffer the endless persecution of living as a minority in a society that despises individualism.
Said bleeding heart is ultimately the most apt symbolism that can be attributed to such a body of work, as stated in conversation with Dani – “this is about connection, it’s not just about me, it’s about all the other people out there who feel exactly the same”. As such and regardless of aim, every spiteful word present is fully embodied by each soul-crushing chug, each piercingly discordant chord, even each chillingly claustrophobic fusillade of battery owed to Mr. See carries the collective bite of billions of uniquely-broken people and convincingly so too. Across the board, vocal performances strike a career best with palpable trauma, fear and disgust all agonisingly shedding from the throats of both vocalists time and time again with little room to even breathe amidst the omnidirectional chaos. Whether we choose to zone in on the self immolating flesh of “All Apart” – fuelled by a late-in-life neurodivergency diagnosis, an uncertain identity and a superficial upbringing. Or perhaps the outward, mouth-foaming fury of “Hang Them In Your Head” which surpasses death-doom for something somehow more targeted and indignant until adequate of serving such divine hatred for an elite that even as I write this, continue to deny and even snatch welfare from the oppressed and systematically eradicated. The point being that all in all Unself sees Conjurer bloom and balance the scales of their craft in real-time, showcasing exactly why their export is at its best when their external outrage and internal exploration synergise for maximum impact.
Intentional or otherwise, the order of service chronicles a three-dimensional, inside-out exploration of ‘the self’ and, by extension, the broader human and humanitarian experience of current-year in musical format. The epically bleak “Foreclosure” sees the frantic hysteria we’ve become accustomed to on the record fizzle away, leaving the pace of a fatigued trudge in its place as if buckling under the mounting pressure and allowing the utter hopelessness of our own little carved-out dystopia to fully seep in. “Delay, displace, deny” is beckoned ad nauseam, and you’d have to be an exceptional kind of ignorant to claim the intention is lost on you. It’s on the nose, sure – alas, the word ‘important’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.
The modern-day album closer has become somewhat of a sacred concept. It’s the final desperate bid to really drive home your overarching message unto your clientele, lest they move on to the next thing all too quickly. As it so happens, Conjurer have a practically spotless track-record when it comes to these last minute earworm incubators – an expectation that you shan’t see crack here. Culminating of the woes politely commented upon thus far, we finish things off exactly where we started – “This World Is Not My Home” returns to its quiet refuge where “Unself” once sat, again lifting the clean channel from the dirt to reprise our gloomy gospel hymn. What follows can be described as devastating, decadently despondent or merely downright doom. Dreary leads and the cinematic crash of wood on bronze compliment the scornful bite of defeatist vocals both harsh and clean – each droplet of vicarious malcontent a torrent of toxic spit into the face of the returning 1919 hymn’s original divine intent, redefining its context without tampering with its core content. Much like “Cracks In The Pyre” before it, this bullseyes the mark for the type of bookender that, regardless of your level of enthusiasm up until this point, will have you falling to your knees in theatrical fashion. Envisioning oneself (or perhaps Unself at this stage) crashlanding into the mud of fields softened by storm as to make direct eye contact with God above himself, weeping with disdain as you curse his name and demand reason for all of the torment he so deliberately gave form. Simply put, any individual lacking some form of post-album depression after hearing this track may email me at jackcg (at) boolintunes (dot) com for a prize of some sort.
Following a considerable portion of their career spent bottling up dissatisfaction through eloquent but closed off scripture, Unself offers up a window into a different Conjurer. Far more direct, far more burned and scarred, beaten and bruised, pushed and pulled by a reality that appears to only get increasingly crueler by the day, until the boiling point isn’t just reached but shattered beyond any comprehension by which colourful lyricism and ambiguous songwriting can fully articulate. Inspiration is drawn from a range of relevant and paramount happenings both on a personal and worldwide-scale, all without spilling a single solitary drop of the dinginess and frightful mystery that grants them their allure where it truly counts. This isn’t Páthos 2 nor is it trying to be: and as such this will unquestionably result in some individuals (namely tone-deaf bigots and modern-day nazis.) mourning the ‘loss’ of an artist that they never fully understood for taking the plunge a step or two further in an era that ultimately calls for it. In doing such, Unself is bestowed passage to stand tall alongside its predecessors as yet another exemplary, unmistakably Conjurer case-study of grief and supreme suffering in search for one’s true identity and place in this world, even if it may not be home for all of us.
8.5/10
Unself will be released via Nuclear Blast Records on Friday, October 24th and can be pre-ordered here.