The concept of “challenging” music can often feel paradoxical. It would seem an odd notion for one to desire their means of relaxation or background noise to be something they wrestle with even finishing. I personally have seen instances of people having a hard time with the music of groups like the experimental rock outfit, Swans. The albums Swans make are often long, dense and challenging. I enjoy this about them overall and it’s part of why I come back to them. That same density can be found in many other challenging artists I enjoy. My favorite album of last year, Sprain’s The Lamb As Effigy, is an extremely dense album that I love coming back to, just for something grand and daring to fulfill my desire.
With all that in mind, density in music obviously isn’t exclusive to experimental rock. I find density in much of the more avant-garde jazz I enjoy. Miles Davis’s Get Up With It used to be my favorite jazz album of all time, and it is still a worthy contender. A more recent contender for this spot is from this decade actually, and it also happens to be the album I’m discussing today. That album is Éons by Belgium jazz outfit, Neptunian Maximalism. This album is a dense monster that jumps between technically impressive jazz passages, ambience that ranges from tribal to droney, and much of that aforementioned density in spades. The push/pull, controlled chaos atmosphere that Éons thrives on is a sonic spectacle to behold. All of this, combined with how well sequenced it all is, makes Éons a finely paced thrill of an album that’s rarely ever uninteresting.
A proggy baritone sax, tribal drums, and even chaotic xylophones are just a few elements that the listener is greeted with not two minutes into the album on the opener, Daiitoku-myōō no ōdaiko. To make an odd comparison, this sounds as if Black Midi were tasked with making a boss theme for Crash Bandicoot. The tribal and progressive nature of the song, the urgency in every note, and the chaos that spills from every corner add to this notion. The way in which it progresses could also represent phases of a boss battle, each instrument being a new attack for the onslaught. As a result of this progression, the song is paced immaculately and doesn’t feel like six minutes in the slightest, making it an early album highlight.
Follow-up, Nganga, has a borderline punk bassline. This is accompanied by epic tribal chants, seemingly improvised saxophone intervals, and strikingly metallic percussion. I love the intriguing and unique combination of sounds here and it all progresses so well, like most of the tracks on the album. The tribal chants turn to fierce growls, throat singing ensues, the saxophone does whatever it wants, and of course saxophonist Jean-Jacques Duerinckx knows exactly how to work with the rest of the song. As impressive as the compositions are on this track, Jean’s sax playing is truly the star of the show. The incredible mixing on the album allows for Jean to shine and show their talent. The playing is somewhat free form and surprisingly meshes with the more rhythmic elements of the track extremely well. Jean is an unequivocally talented saxophone player and this track is just one of many that shows it.
Jean’s sax playing isn’t only used to add chaos to the jazzier sections of the album, but also to add further intrigue to the album’s many ambient segments. An early example of this is the track Magická džungl’a, which uses ominous tribal vocals, unpredictable percussion, and sinister sax passages to create a foreboding atmosphere, one I quite enjoy being in. It is a perfect tone setter for the following track, Enūma eliš, which sees Jean continuing to add controlled chaos to immersive ambience, but this time the track progresses more. Haunting, pained tribal melodies, along with a weirdly fitting spacey synth overtake the song, and I love that this is how the band decides to end the first act of the album. It sets the tone for much of the rest of what is being offered. Zâr is similar yet different to Enūma eliš. Both are ambient tracks that have tribal drums, vocals and synths. Both have sax intervals that add to the chaotic atmosphere. The differences lie in execution of these aspects. The sax is much further back in the mix, almost blending into the percussion. This is a unique change that I ultimately enjoy. It is a moment on the album that showcases the focus on the project. This is act two, it’s different, and Zâr establishes this well. Yes, the track does increase in intensity throughout its runtime, but unlike Enūma eliš, the progression starts softer and gets even more chaotic at the end. Simple, but effective in leading into act two.
The Vajrabhairava trilogy could be argued as the centerpiece for the album, given how it’s in the middle of the second act, three parts, and quite possibly the best set of tracks on the album. It starts with The Summoning, which showcases much of the (not so) normal avant garde jazz and tribal ambient sounds that the album had been doing so well before, but taken to its nth degree. The sax is put in just the right places, adding emphasis where necessary. The guitars are airy and subtle but so essential to the atmosphere, The chimes remind me of The Seer by Swans in how they add a ‘calm before the storm’ feel to the beginning of the song. The storm, in this case, being the insane growls and screams that would eventually make their way onto the track. The vocals are haunting, yet exciting, They’re layered in an almost scary way, adding emphasis and sounding almost possessed. Given that the track is called The Summoning, I believe that was the goal. It sounds like the band is awakening an ancient demon. The Rising is part two of Vajrabhairava, and it feels like a bridge between parts one and three. Rising from the summoning point, by way of crunchy guitars, into The Great Wars of Quaternary Era Against Ego, part three of the suite. This track combines the haunting atmosphere of The Summoning with the chaotic jazz of act one of the album. With the drums, it creates this tornado like wall of sound that leads into more growled vocals. I adore this track. It truly sounds like the demon from The Summoning is now wreaking havoc on wherever it spawned from.
Just how Enūma eliš was a great end for act one, given how it provided a glimpse into the sounds of act two, Ol sonuf vaoresaji provides a glimpse into the sounds of act three. This is one of the most hypnotic and repetitive tracks on the album so far. Faint, creepy, doorbell-like synths float subtly in the background, as the sax playing ramps up more and more. The drums are faster here than usual. The chaos of the album takes on a scary form this time around. It has an impending doom vibe that genuinely gives me some anxiety. Eventually the progression turns to ambience, rather suddenly so. It vaguely sounds like the end of the universe and I adore it. Everything is done, so now what? The ambience gets even more eerie on the title track, which also serves as the beginning of act three. This is an eighteen minute long ambient jazz epic that almost never gets stale. It reminds me of Margin For Error by Sprain, a track that essentially holds on one singular note and surrounds said note with the rest of the instrumental progression. Éons utilized this very pattern three years prior. This is not a new type of progression in avant garde music, but it is one I quite enjoy. It has a light crescendo that’s driven in part by phenomenal sax playing. The band even implements wobbly guitars and booming tribal vocals towards the end of the track. It truly adds to the apocalyptic feel of much of the album.
Act three, mostly to its benefit, starts to feel like groundhog day after a couple of tracks. Each song starts fairly sparse, then crescendos. Heka Hou Sia accomplishes this in six minutes. It brings back the doorbell synths from earlier and there is eventually some more sax, but the most interesting aspect of this one is the drums. I believe they are unique here in the way that they are the main force driving the crescendo. The aforementioned elements are clearly present, but the drums change more subtly, so much so that it’s almost hard to notice at first. While this track has one of the less interesting progressions on the album, it’s still intriguing how the drums play into said progression. The penultimate track, Heliozoapolis, creates its atmosphere with tribal drums, dense strings, and even some sitar action. Given this, combined with chanting that almost reminds me of Yoko Ono’s more reserved moments, a foundation for the chaos is built. Chaos that switches the vibe from chase sequence to tribal ascension in a matter of minutes. The track is diverse and really condenses much of what makes Eons interesting into one place. Surprisingly enough, the closer, Khonsou Sokaris, ends the album on a bit of an eerie note. The sax makes its final appearance, ascending the listener to the sun. The dense sitar and lack of most drums make this a unique track for this project. I suppose I should have expected the unexpected, but ultimately this was a positive note to end on.
Eons is a difficult album to discuss, partially because I haven’t heard anything like it. It is minimalist yet maximalist, it is chaotic yet calm, it is jazzy yet ambient, and I love it for being all of these things. It is an album that truly keeps the listener on their toes, in most cases anyway. I will admit that not every ambient piece works, and the third act gets a tad repetitive. That being said these are minor issues in a major victory for avant-garde music. It is extremely well paced, it hits when it needs to, but it also knows how to build up to it. It starts heavy and ends light, slowly building to this ending. It’s very interesting to discuss in part because it is so dense and hard to pin down. I have heard some challenging jazz in the past, but this is truly something else. It has the avant-garde chaos of an album like Miles Davis’s Get Up With It, but is paced even better. This is the kind of jazz album I was looking for, and I truly hope that Neptunian Maximalism’s follow-up to this is even remotely as challenging, immersive, and beautifully dense.
9/10
