Pitchfork

In underground metal years, Boris are senior citizens: Their self-released debut full-length, Absolutego, dates back to 1996, and compilations were hosting their material two years prior to that. But as invigorating as some of their earlier records are, the band didn't begin to gain a substantial following outside the metal world until 2003's outstanding Akuma No Uta-- parodying the artwork of Nick Drake's Bryter Layter-- struck a chord with independent music fans seeking an antidote to the more polite pop sounds of the Shins, Sufjan, and Death Cab for Cutie. Now, following more than a decade of hard labor and a swarm of 2005 releases, the trio gives their ever-expanding audience something to chew on: Pink is their best album yet, and by some distance the most accessible of their career to date.

The past 12 months have been increasingly kind to louder and more challenging artists, but even if Sunn0))) hadn't droned onto discerning hipsters' iPods, it's not difficult to imagine the awesomeness of Pink-- a supremely well-paced rock'n'roll album that's quickly winning over even long-suffering metalphobes-- helping these Japanese veterans leap-frog indie kids into a New York Times Arts & Leisure mention. If you don't believe me, sneak a listen to the spaced-out seven-minute opener, which manages to combine the best elements of classic British shoegaze and Sigur Rós with bliss-out metal faves Jesu and Isis. Just don't bank on the rest of the album to follow in its footsteps. After all, the three folks behind it-- guitarist Wata, bassist/vocalist Takeshi, and drumming vocalist Atsuo-- are the same atom-smashers who nicked their named from a Melvins song, operate the Walmart-friendly Fangs Anal Satan record label, and downshift from blown-out Motörhead to Earth on a dime. They've collaborated thrice with Merzbow, worshipped amplifiers with multitasking experimental rock legend Keiji Haino, and chilled with noise legend Masonna. Put simply, they're too restless (and ambitious) to fixate on a single style.

So, after allowing the opener to evaporate, Boris jump-cut to the album's title cut-- a full-throttle psych riot. Track three's high-octane guitars circle Atsuo's "yeah"'s and "ooh"'s until treating us to a magnificent feedback'n'drum finale. Track four ups the fuel intake, sporting Pink's highest in-the-red ratio, while track five sweeps aside its predecessors with a pile of industrial Melvins sludge topped with sheering Blade Runner delay, six-string atmospherics, and angstful, wailed vocals. Then, as that brief respite passes, "Electric" cranks the cowbell for two minutes of instrumental boogie, replete with tiny post-punk guitar daggers closing out the song. And there's still more distorted head space to follow, all of it well-stitched and feral. To keep it brief, key moments include: 1) the rising/falling near-pop vocals and final wall of fuzz on track seven; 2) stoner handclaps and Olivia Tremor Control studio effects on track eight; and 3) the textural shift of track nine, where bone-dry, gutteral drums and crashing junk-shard cymbals overtake the bass fuzz and vocals completely.

Enter the finale. Ten seconds of silence introduces the gentle strum and softly brushed drums of the penultimate "My Machine". Its mood hearkens back to the opening song, briefly reprising its blissed-out tone, but two minutes later, reveals itself instead as a forward-looking antidotal preface to Pink's final 10-minute juggernaut and standout track. The closer delivers an absolutely massive wallop, overlapping entropic vocal lines with furious ambient spillage. I used to think that, of everyone in the punk realm, Unwound or Drive Like Jehu had the best control over their feedback flutters, but this thing's gonzo in its perfectly dense acrobatics. And best of all, its unshakably addictive refrain, blistering, scorched-out guitars, thunderous, supercharged rock, and countless change-ups not only warrant its extended length, but make it feel about half as long as it actually is, and keep the listener fully engaged throughout its entire runtime.

As their timeline suggests-- or, to be more accurate, as their history makes it impossible to guess-- Boris could follow Pink with an hour of fried electro-acoustic guitar, powerbook, and piano glitches. Or they could soundtrack a short film in braille. Then, of course, there's Altar, their much-anticipated upcoming collaboration with Sunn0))). But for now, basking in Pink's riptide, Wata, Takeshi, and Atsuo are 2006's balls-out riff-makers to beat. The bar's been raised high and early, rockers-- don't bump your head when you try to sneak under it.

 

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