ALBUM REVIEW: Baikal – Asian Death Crustacean

Sporting a moniker like ASIAN DEATH CRUSTACEAN is bound to stir up some confusion. Pile on the labels of experimental metal, ambient, instrumental and jazz, and the image dives further into obscurity. Well, to set the record straight, ASIAN DEATH CRUSTACEAN is not the name of a 50s Japanese horror flick and Baikal, their debut release, is not the jumbled cacophony that their diverse host of influences may presage. Instead, Baikal is a pleasing 45-minute long psychological trip hazard that takes the reigns off listener’s hands and thrusts them into a cosmic expanse where the record unveils its serene yet capricious nature.

Glancing at the tracklist, we see that ASIAN DEATH CRUSTACEAN intends their debut to be enjoyed as no less than an experience – with each of the six tracks bearing the album’s namesake adjoined to ascending roman numerals. Robbing the singles of their identity feeds into this idea of Baikal being seen as a greater whole as opposed to just the sum of its six parts, with each track signifying no more than a change in the album’s restless temper.

Across the 45-minute runtime, we see many shades to this temperament through the band’s wordless storytelling. Baikal I launches the astral expedition with warm layers of synth notes that incorporates swimming lead guitar and militant drum rolls as the track unravels its multitude of layers. It’s only our first glimpse into Baikal and our first listen into the minds of ASIAN DEATH CRUSTACEAN as a unit, but it’s a first impression that is undoubtedly well-received.

So beautiful can Baikal’s expansive soundscapes be, it’s easy for that blood-stained ‘experimental metal’ label looming overhead to slip the mind – but you’d be a fool to get comfortable. As you sit ensconced in the record’s many halcyons of synth-washed tranquillity, Baikal will shatter the stillness with mammoth-weighted riffs, bringing forth the second half to the band’s dichotomous vision. This tug-of-war between jazz flows and ripping riffage transpires throughout the remainder of the journey. Baikal II and III expand on this duality with the former exploring its seven-minute runtime through rapid tempo changes and frenetic prog riffs and the latter exhibiting a gorgeous escalation through skittish jazz beats into a full-blown breakdown – Baikal is a dense and invigorating exploration of the senses.

Unfortunately, this long road is not without the occasional pothole. Baikal IV acts as a momentary interlude in the tracklist. A bridge between the album’s heaviest third and fifth iteration, the track is a moment of respite depicting quivering string arrangements across a more tepid tone. As well as bearing a rather messy affair around the 2:20 mark, Baikal IV overstays its welcome at just under six-minutes which, without the yin-yang dynamic of its predecessors, feels a tad directionless. This is a wound shared by the album’s finale which, again, suffers from lacking an obvious trajectory leaving the closing moments of Baikal feeling unresolved.

Are these fatal blows? Absolutely not. In fact, these minor hiccups are made smaller still by the great scale brought to ASIAN DEATH CRUSTACEAN‘s inaugural sound by the studio wizardry beneath Baikal’s waters. With the sort of pedigree that Jens Bogren [BETWEEN THE BURIED AND ME, OPETH] and David Castillo [LEPROUS, BLOODBATH] bring to the production credits, the results would only ever be estimable. When dealing with such a diverse soundscape, each of the innumerable notes on this kaleidoscopic scale must be given its due attention and that is just the case with Baikal.

Synth notes gracefully swell and soar alongside the warm hum of the bass, the two-faced drum beats skate gently in the lows and crush hard in the highs whilst the guitars take pride in both bringing the mood to a simmer and then ripping apart any illusion of rest. This, of course, goes hand-in-hand with the quartet’s well-oiled performances, the highlight being James Kay’s partially improvised drumming that serves as the fuel for Baikal’s engine across its journey through the unknown.

In its totality, Baikal is an auspicious first stride for ASIAN DEATH CRUSTACEAN, one that should place them firmly on the radar for those impartial to the extraordinary. It’s doesn’t stand as a spotless debut, with its transitional moments seeming stretched and bloated but the blueprints have been laid for what should be an otherworldly future – one that remains to be just as ravenous as it is soothing.

Rating: 7/10

Baikal is out now via self-release.

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