Ultraviolet is the sixth album from Savannah sludgemasters Kylesa, and this record has got it all, from the the canyon-deep grooves of "Unspoken" and the 70's-inspired riffage of "Grounded," to the lump-in-your-throat dirge of "Low Tide."
Kylesa are less crusty and abrasive this time around. There is more texture and dimension to Ultraviolet than in previous releases. Laura Pleasants' vocal work plays a more prominent role on this album. I don't want to say she's been underutilized in the past - her tight guitar work weaves artfully through each track, as usual - but it is good to hear more of her on the mic. At times doing her best Kim Deal impression, at others, her voice a part of a song's cosmic ether, Pleasants adds an extra element to an already-rich sound, and Kylesa are better for it.
There's vulnerability on this record, and not just a sentimental grab for pathos. Kylesa takes risks throughout, particularly on the almost-poppy track, "What Does It Take." "Poppy," in this case, refers to that micrometer of space on the rock and roll Venn diagram where sludge and pop overlap. But that's maybe enough room to piss off the purists and invite a sneer. It is risky. "What Does It Take" is a bizarre combination of High on Fire, Jesus and Mary Chain, Pixies, and Isis, and it shines. In the end, the track adds yet another facet to this dark, swampy gem of a record.
Ultraviolet is never boring or overwhelming. In their sludgier moments, Kylesa have perfected a lurching sound that never plods - there's always so much going on sonically that anything with a low BPM still breathes. On airier tracks, the swirling and shimmering guitars are tethered to solid ground by muscular bass and stone-heavy percussion.
My only regret is not having listened to Ultraviolet on a turntable. Kylesa have been a favorite of vinyl fiends for some time now, and for good reason. Production is always top notch with these folks, and the artwork is as much a part of the experience as the dual drummers. Pick this one up on vinyl if you can.
Once in awhile, you'll come across a band that sound like they just give a damn about you and anyone else listening; like they are putting every ounce of craft and care into making your ears feel good. Ultraviolet is just that, sludgy space metal with a mint on your pillow, a bit indie and a little progressive, and it's all done in service of two things: artistic vision and the listener. Kylesa care about what they're doing, and it shows. This record feels dark, it feels expansive, and, most of all, it feels like it gives a damn.
Grade: A
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