ALBUM REVIEW: Abur – Pothamus
Since their formation in 2013, POTHAMUS have strived to manifest a sound self-described as “ritualistic sludge.” The Belgian three-piece came to wider attention with their debut, Raya, in 2020: a melting pot of drones, thumping percussion and post-metal riffs. Their sophomore effort, Abur, continues the band’s development with more experimentalism, seeking out new Eastern instrumental influences in a more confident and accomplished record.
Opening track Zhikarta patiently sets the tone – ethereal noise and swells of fear evoking the vision of something stirring in the dark, awaiting its time. It eventually breaks into its busy drum pattern, the bass doing the heavy lifting with an insistent, pulsing line. Guitarist and vocalist Sam Coussens winds a simple chant over the drones, breaking into a panic-stricken lead guitar and growls of the song title. Here and across the rest of the album, a range of percussive instruments are used beyond the standard drum kit. Between this and the drum-less vocal overlays, it invokes the feel of some ancient rite.
A repeated tom thump forces the pace of Ravus, augmented with the surging wash of guitars and pitch-bending bass line. The growls play a call-and-response theme against the distant cries that float across the mix. It then unfolds into sweeping drama in its second half, spiking the relentless sludge-inspired assault with winding Byzantine scales. It earns its thunderous ending through the progressive build, dominated by the bass guitar and those spine-jangling growls. That sense of ritual the band seeks to invoke is clear and well-balanced against the modern setting of sludge metal.
For this record, drummer Mattias M. Van Hulle brings some new elements to the structure of the band’s sound. The first is the use of the surpeti – an Indian acoustic drone instrument often used for mantra singing. Its use adds an Eastern-infused alternative to droning distortion or synths that feels more grounded, more elemental. After the bruising assault of the first two tracks, its presence on the calmer De-varium gives a moment of respite without sacrificing any of the mysticism or heft of the record. Another new addition is Van Hulle‘s vocals, which intertwine with Coussens‘ clean lines to add new layers of vocal harmony.
Lead single Svartuum Avur returns to the heavier sound, running the established playbook of a percussive intro into bass and guitar swells. It’s a sonorous build towards some infinite dread, content to take its time and luxuriate in the feeling of anticipation, ramping up the tension with busier bass and drum work. Eventually, it explodes in a crash of cymbals and screams, the pervasive sense of doom manifesting in torturous guitar bends. It then continues to find ways to layer heaviness, experimenting with an exaggerated phaser effect, extreme mixing of the bass to the foreground, and multi-layered tribal percussion. The net effect is a wall of sound that rattles through your cold bones.
The surpeti gets a greater workout on Ykavus. A more hopeful major key melody breaks through in the upper registers of the bass, tempered by flat-second inflections. It’s the sound of a long walk through the desert tundra, a journey of purpose and trepidation. The drums pause in the final moments, a single bass note rattling out like a thunderclap over and over.
The closing title track Abur clocks in at an epic 15 minutes. It’s a maximalist reprise of all the previously established themes, ramped up to an indulgent length and intensity. An increasingly busy set of tom fills heralds its first build alongside a frenetic higher-register bass. Just when you think the tension ramping might last forever, it releases with a growl and a memorable bass riff. It then alternates between this heavy assault and higher moments of contemplation, marked by an oscillating bass line. Eventually, the track cedes to a wash of processed guitar noise, of ascension, and a possible close, thwarted by the return of the dread-inducing bass line and toms. Its outro continues to escalate for five minutes, forever finding new ways to be heavier, more intense, maintaining a relentless slow sludge pace.
Abur is a record of heft and multitudes. Its evocations are grandiose, seeking to summon something primal for the soul. Its influences range wide, owing as much to the ritualistic dark folk of WARDRUNA and HEILUNG as the aggressive post-metal of AMENRA, but come together in a coherent whole. It’s a mature sound, the mark of a band confident in seeking that trance-like flow state through intensity and heaviness, and unafraid to draw on a more organic set of sounds over metal riff work to achieve this.
Rating: 8/10
Abur is out now via Pelagic Records.
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