It has never felt that God Is An Astronaut have gotten nearly as much love as they deserve. County Wicklow’s favourite sons have been a mainstay of the prog and post-rock scene for the better part of 20 years, and with one of the strongest and most consistent back catalogues you’re likely to delve into, it feels like there should be just as much praise for GIAA as there is for 65daysofstatic or Sleepmakeswaves. With Epitaph (Napalm), however, it seems that we’re getting a much more personal look into the artists behind the music, as they take you on a journey of grief and its many challenges.
The title track opens the record with plaintive melancholy and keys, like raindrops, before synths and a shuddering riff roll in like an oncoming storm. You can almost picture a skyline quickly turning grey as rain begins to fall even more fiercely. The gentle interplay of the Kinsella brothers’ guitar work is certainly nothing knew, as the duo is known for their dramatic flair (check out the self-titled record to hear it at its best), but the narrative this time around is all the more poignant. The band themselves touched on the writing behind the track and how it progresses through all the emotions one experiences when told of the loss of a loved one, and you go right along with it; from vulnerability to sheer devastation.
‘Mortal Coil’ follows this with more bite as the bass thunders on underneath harsher, fuzzier synths, while brief acoustic strings close out the track. It echoes the kind of looming pressure that comes when experiencing grief, as moments of inevitably respite come to lift or soothe the spirit again.
‘Winter Dusk/Awakening’ and ‘Séance Room’ provide the kind of healing energy and quiet contemplation one might need after the passing of a family member or friend. The former is a mellower, more meditative affair, whereas the latter builds on soft guitar and constant, rumbling drums before it gives way to an almost grunge-like jam session with rougher, weightier synths. The harshness suddenly ends leaving you just with your own thoughts and the tender keys of ‘Komorebi’. It reemphasises the sombre nature of the record, effortlessly capturing the gravitas of death and the deep sense of loss it leaves behind.
The more eerie and sinister ‘Medea’ is a stark shift in tone, as it embodies more than just the mournful drama of the record up to this point, ‘Medea’ has a more otherworldly atmosphere to it. It feels like a distressing blend of doom and synth-wave that shows a different, darker side to God Is An Astronaut that adds to the ethereal character of the band. ‘Oisín’ closes the record in the same way began it, in quiet melancholy watching the rainfall, but this time there’s a shimmer of light breaking through the clouds. Epitaph may be bleak and it reinforces the cyclical nature of life and death, but there is something almost hopeful in its fragility.
7.0/10
ROSS JENNER