‘…The evolution in sound is wholly natural, and works phenomenally with the band’s capacity to, simply put, get weird…’
The road to the latest release from Rhode Island concept rockers The Dear Hunter has been quite the journey. Famed for their ‘The Acts’ series of records, the band commenced a brand new saga in the world of the Indigo Child back with the 2021 EP of the same name. Bringing in funk, space rock, and pop sounds to their progressive oeuvre, the band would released their phenomenal LP ‘Antimai’ in 2022, detailing the ins and outs of a space-age dystopian megalopolis, and making a surprisingly scathing social commentary in the process; ‘Ring 4 – Patrol’ perhaps recently feels a little too relevant.
Last year, the band diverted course, with their experimental non-concept record ‘North American EP’, written across the span of their 2023 tour. Whilst packed with undeniable bangers, particularly ‘Four Amigos’ and ‘Shlammin’ Salmon’, one couldn’t help but remain eager for the next full-length work from the outfit. Now, at long last, the five-piece have taken their next step into the world of the Indigo Child, with their ninth record, ‘Sunya’.
Whereas ‘Antimai’ took us from the city outskirts to the towering centre, ‘Sunya’ takes us from those outskirts to far, far beyond, searching for the titular holy city and the messianic Indigo Child that inhabits it. The record sits only at seven songs in length, but The Dear Hunter’s journey into the great unknown is far from lacking; the space-funk of ‘Antimai’ now takes on shades of psychedelia as the prog legends paint pictures of desolate wastelands patrolled by bandits, far-flung black markets, deserts of glass and storms, and the enigmatic location of Sunya. The evolution in sound is wholly natural, and works phenomenally with the band’s capacity to, simply put, get weird.
That weirdness is immediately apparent, with ‘The Wastelands’ opening the record to a chorus of funky bass and what sounds akin to didgeridoos. Painting pictures of desolate post-apocalyptic landscapes, the track unfurls with a psychedelic splendour; synths bounce about with sparkling, spirited abandon, whilst Nick Crescenzo rallies the ensemble through buoyant jazz rhythms, bouncing samba beats, and moments of lustrous spaciousness. ‘Marauders’ is a frankly kick-ass rock cut, galloping across the dunes whilst pursued by armed bandits in a space-age Mad Max style rampage. Charging guitars dance with sharp stabs of synth, as Crescenzo illustrates a land where blood is the currency; for a band with so many incredible lyrics, ‘Their bodies stackеd so god damn high/You’d think they’re heaven-sent’ may well be the single damn coolest bar they’ve ever written, especially when delivered with Crescenzo’s fiery grit.
That confidence is not isolated to just Crescenzo, however. Whilst The Dear Hunter have always been a collection of terribly talented musicians, ‘Sunya’ carries itself with the energy of a band that understand that they are masters of their craft; they can afford to get a little strange, and make that weirdness work wonderfully. The dimly-lit black market outpost of ‘The Bazaareteria’ showcases this perfectly, with its off-kilter funk swagger decorated with sumptuous vocal melodies and bright harpsichords. Harmonies unfurl with a distinctively gospel energy, working to give the whole affair a thrillingly theatrical feel, prowling the shady alcoves of a location fuelled by the blood of the unfortunate.
Yet the band truly reach maximum prog with a three part suite that expands out across a titular, sprawling “Glass Desert”. Monoliths of glittering stone, roiling storm clouds and expansive plains are all taken in as the band soar through an alien landscape and contemplate hope in the face of adversity and unknowns. ‘The Glass Desert I – Giants’ is somehow both whimsical yet breathtaking, leaping to and fro with progressive spirit; galloping verses charge towards the frontier, before rearing up into glittering, expansive choruses. Lyrically, ‘Giants’ is a challenge to dive into that blinding unknown and slay the metaphorical giants that lay in your way, and Crescenzo delivers that hopeful sentiment with a rich, compelling warmth. A bright trumpet fanfare gives allusions to ‘Also sprach Zarathustra’, before unfolding into a magnificently funky instrumental climax.
The listener is tossed about and battered throughout the grandiose, roiling ‘The Glass Desert II – Cliffs and Stormclouds’. In contrast to the unbridled hope of ‘Giants’, this track is a reminder that nothing worth having ever came easy; sometimes, that leap into the unknown comes at a great cost that you must be braced for. Harmonicas ring like distant ghosts atop of a swirling ambient instrumental, before coalescing into a bold funk rock midsection that rattles with bluesy grit. Discordant choruses threaten to tear the track apart, before settling once more as if the track is calming its own breathing.
If ‘Cliffs and Stormclouds’ is the doubt of success, then the conclusion of the trilogy is the doubt of purpose. Decorated with folk flair, ‘The Glass Desert III – The Plains’ is simply a marvel of musicianship, as the expansive landscape, with its rainbow hues and unknowable vastness, is distilled into sonic form. Crescenzo, steadfast and surprisingly gentle in his tones, serves to remind you that putting one foot in front of the other is all that one needs to do; to contemplate the scope of the task at hand is surely a maddening errand. The track’s instrumental climax is a moment of shiver-inducing quiet contemplation, as synths buzz about glittering dulcimer tones, before fading away gently.
The nature of Sunya, and the real nature of the Indigo Child, is kept purposefully obtuse, but the lyrics of the closing number seem to indicate that the promises of a holy city and a divine saviour are hollow. Despite this, ‘Sunya’ feels far from despairing; the bass and percussion slowly pull you onwards with resolute stoicism, whilst you are repeatedly told that the answers are “just a little further”. Rousing brass and saxophones intermingle with sweeping strings, whilst Crescenzo implies that the great messiah of the Indigo Child is absent. It is here, however, that Crescenzo delivers the lyric that sums up the entire record: “Let go of the devout and feel divine from within you.” Then, in the magnificent manner that one may expect from The Dear Hunter, they deliver a beautiful refrain of ‘The Indigo Child’, before bringing the record to a close with a rapturous saxophone solo.
‘Antimai’ was the band looking at the state of the world, and refracting what they saw through a sci-fi lens; the layers of late stage capitalism contorted into concentric circles that all played a part. The refugee is the lowest of the low unless they sacrifice what little they arrive with. The poorest are exploited, forced to work Sisyphean tasks and exploited with offers of power through a brutal, corrupt private police force that maintains the interests of the elite. The middle classes keep their eyes closed, and the upper classes keep their doors closed. The system appears broken but works exactly as intended; the function is what it does. A revolt must occur; the Indigo Child must return and usher in a prosperous new age.
‘Sunya’, however, exists as the uncomfortable truth that constantly waiting for a saviour will only lead to the infinite perpetuation of the system. Everything that is necessary to make a change, the divine that shapes the world, already exists within you. To search for the right moment, the right leader, the right deity the right circumstances, is to search for forever; the holy city to be found is the community you build.
For a band that wrote a song called ‘Shlammin’ Salmon’, that’s quite the lesson to take away.
RATING: 88/100
For Fans Of: Adjy, Coheed & Cambria, Delta Sleep, Ziferblat, Thank You Scientist
Physical copies of the record are available to purchase here.
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