The opening number on Caspian’s ‘Walking Season’ steadily builds – generating space for an explosive crescendo at the end of a meticulously crafted five and a half minutes – only to peter out at the last minute. This is to make space for the slower tones of follow up track ‘Procellous’, which teeters on the edge of grandeur in a similar vein, hinting at moments of explosive majesty but calmly holding back. This pattern is repeated all throughout the record.
Is this misleading set-up intelligent or frustrating? The prolonged droning soundscapes inside all the instrumental compositions are only rarely broken, but when they are it’s by shuddering guitars and distorted effects. It’s not until the closing moments of ‘Halls of the Summer’ or the more excitable guitar sections in ‘Hickory’54’ and ‘Long The Desert Mile’ that the sound even hints at exerting its subdued power.
Most of the record flows through at a steady pace, comfortably within crestless territory. It relies on a simple beauty found in the steady pace and tone of the instruments.
In contrast to the second half of the album, which is more energetic, the opening three songs are the most enterprising for the Massachusetts based six-piece. ‘Gone in Bloom and Bough’ is the only track with vocals. Inconspicuous guitars hide behind a wall of distorted noise. During this eleven minute composition the sound and structure moves from delicate to complicated, the vocal and guitar delivery remaining sealed behind a mellow sound, never pushed to the forefront. The result on the overall sound is so gentle that headphones are the only way to really appreciate it.
‘Walking Season’ is far from safe – safe would be throwing itself into the conventional crescendos, or filling every moment with melodramatic compulsion. Instead the record plays deliberate tricks with the audience, stepping away from explosions where you’d usually expect them. In some senses this makes the record a success. Their reluctance to push the sound adds a level of complacency and simplicity.
With the true heaviness of the sound waiting until the closing ‘Fire Made Flesh’, you might think that the previous nine tracks are simply an introduction or interlude preceding a colossal conclusion.
Caspian have attempted to take a new direction, but in limiting the sound they’ve become less accessible. It’s difficult to avoid feeling frustrated when songs fade out before they feel finished, or drop in tempo at seemingly inopportune moments. The beauty of the tracks elevates the record to an astral sound, but it still all feels a little held back in it’s reluctance to go big.
BEN TIPPLE