by Ray Barker
Indie rock ensemble Tadzio’s latest record, That Cold Grey Light, carries a title conveying a bleak lifelessness; likewise, the music is imbued with a sense of sacrifice, and death. An unmistakable feeling of doom hovers over the album like a black cloud, but not at the expense of moments of refined beauty. Song titles taken on their own - skip the music for now - share the themes succinctly: “Vague as a Prayer,” “Still Something Left to Lose,” “Pint of My Blood,” “You Can’t Make Me Live,” “Next Time I Die,” “I Will Die in a Beautiful Place.” (A telling aside: my album arrived in the mail damaged, courtesy of the mishandling of the U.S. postal service. The record jacket’s spine was cracked, broken - a metaphor too obvious to ignore.)
Some background: The album was released June 26th of this year, on the appropriately named Blight label, the brainchild of one of the group’s members. That Cold Gray Light began innocently enough as an EP, but what follows - a weighty double-album - is anything but. This is a Grand Statement; an undoubtedly heavy, sometimes claustrophobic record.
Tellingly, the band’s Bandcamp page notes one member recently dealt with the passing of several friends. Many of the songs evidently attempt to understand death, the music serving as an expression of the complex emotions surrounding loss.
It’s not all dark: The album is stamped with an enthusiastic endorsement (according to the sticker on the record’s cover) by NPR’s Tiny Desk Concert creator and host, Bob Boilen. Describing the band’s sound as a “beautiful aural surprise, such a sonic adventure,” Boilen’s observations capture the unique depths of the music.
Tadzio (named after a character in the Thomas Mann novel Death in Venice - an undoubtedly obscure reference) ultimately proposes music as a form of benediction. The album is unquestionably ambitious; it’s all of apiece, best listened to in one sitting.
As the ensemble has included various members since its inception, the current configuration is: Shaina Kapeluck (vocals); Ross Lipton (synth, organ, piano, vibes, marxophone, harmonium), who seemingly creates the groundwork from which most of the songs are derived; Hannah Burris (viola, “orchestrations”) particularly adds a bed of moving ornamentation-- emotionally so, but also moving as in motion - beneath the dense arrangements; and Benjamin Schurr. Schurr has his fingerprints all over the record, playing: bass, synth, mandolin, vibes, and marxophone as well. (Brief research reveals the instrument is a fretless zither played with a system of “bouncing” metal hammers when depressed with the right hand.) Additionally, Dan Angel adds drums to several tracks: “A Pure and Radiant Joy,” “Towards You, Not Away,” and two others. Angel’s contributions are noticeable, providing a propulsive drive and sense of urgency not felt in their previous recordings.
“Red Chapel” begins the morose journey, as church bells - recorded in Vienna (there’s that obscurity again) - give way to heartbeat beats--all conveying an undertone of murk. “Pure and Radiant Joy” is effective at expressing anger, with its relentless, pounding drum beat, transitioning into a soothing, calm note, with choir-like tones. “Pint of My Blood” follows, as a peaceful, reflective salve in response to the destruction of the first section of “Joy.” “Blood” is a definite highpoint - a slow-burn which recalls Bjork’s rhythmic, delicate “Hyperballad.” The focus on these selections is not always as present on the others.
Kapeluck sings with a mournful, expressive longing. At their live shows (in those bygone days when live shows were possible), the group would often seamlessly transition from one song to the next, as if it was all one long piece, a form more similar to classical music. For future recordings, the group should permit their instrumental passages like these more space to “breathe,” to speak for itself. (Perhaps in support of that notion, Those Cold Grey Demos, released around the time of this record, feature live, mostly first-take, more accessible versions of a few of the produced tracks on the final album.)
Distilling the themes of the record into one image, the cover captures the mood within: a painting, both bleak and graceful in its soft rendering (by Patrice Poor, whose visual work has appeared on other Tadzio albums) is vague yet discernible: a black figure pulls itself up from thick darkness, as if trapped in a moment of drowning, desperately holding on to a woman. Her right arm is raised, hand clenched into a fist of certain defiance. With a blurred moon or sun in the sky behind her -- perhaps she is a representation of clarity, strength, a beacon of hope amidst a cloud of doubt.