Kvadrat - The Horrible Dissonance of Oblivion
Mental prisons of our own making.
I’ve spent the last couple of weeks staring at an empty Word file about The Horrible Dissonance of Oblivion. I open it thinking “Today’s gonna be the day I draft this review”, and then nothing comes out, except for the single placeholder word I use for the title itself. It’s not a matter of not knowing what to write about the music, my notes are as meticulous as they’ve ever been, but I don’t want to reiterate myself when it comes to Kvadrat. It’s been 4 years since I originally covered them, and they aren’t the type of band whose work is so similar that I feel inclined to repeat myself. Similarly, this extends to my not wanting to repeat myself in writing a prologue that lampshades how much of an anomaly they are in the Greek scene. They deserve better than that and frankly, I don’t know if I can muster something that’ll cover just how important their music is, both for myself and the scene at large.
Kvadrat’s music has been defined by its interiority since the band's inecption, and it was only natural that things would become denser and inward-looking in an album setting. The compositions’ length and density has increased dramatically, all while retaining a natural sense of flow from one idea to the next. Although dissonance permeates every second of this record, it doesn’t content itself with being riffless and meandering without purpose. Even the sparse quasi-ambient moments on the longer compositions here feel purposeful, as seen on the title track, where they either escalate towards some truly monumental passages, or serve as an abrupt crash back into a morose reality. Their placement is also quite unpredictable, insofar as they feel natural whenever they show up, and it lends this release an organic air that transforms the album into a living organism, one that writhes and thrashes in equal measure.
This approach continues even on the more direct pieces found here, such as “Γυάλινα Μάτια”, whose palm-muted jackhammering is bookended by a little arpeggio that sounds like it resolves itself a moment earlier than it should. It feels wrong, yet it works so well, despite the riff’s staccato nature. “-4°C” moves in a similarly neurotic way, pushing the blacker aspects of their sound to the forefront, with caustic tremolo lines offset by jagged chords that hammer down on the listener, and it all culminates in a towering breakdown that all but obliterates the rest of the song into nonexistence. Its oppressive as hell, and it’s truly impressive that it manages to balance atmosphere and tense songwriting in order to achieve this effect, never letting either aspect take precedence. You get both of those on the breathtaking “Σηπτική Ανυπαρξία” (Septic Nonexistence) as well, whose rushed rhythms and disorienting, fill-happy, percussion ratchets up the tension before folding back in on itself to let some some disjointed arpeggios create space, which is then filled up by a violent grinding riff. The music ebbs and flows, creating a vortex that slowly pulls you in before pulling you apart. In a niche where bands can be too heady for their own good, Kvadrat proves that you can throw the listener into a labyrinth and not have them be bored while they’re lost in its corridors. Turns out that you can paint a soundscape of existential dread and make it memorable on more than just a textural level.
Each song comprising this album goes through its own little life cycle, creating a bigger picture of decay and detachment, which eventually culminates in the mammoth “Ολική Αποσύνθεση” (Total Decomposition). The piece actually spends its first third with a recital from Dimitris Liantinis’ book “Γκέμμα” (Gemma, another one to add to the reading list). The excerpt is based on Dante’s journey through hell, detailing his horror upon witnessing all the suffering presented there. But it ultimately comes down to the fact that it’s human beings who created the torment presented therein. It posits that humanity is responsible for the horrors it is so averse to, but instead opts to ascribe them to a “greater evil” of sorts, so as to wash its hands of what it’s capable of. Ivan’s lyrics work in tandem with this, their insular nature a scathing rebuke of humanity’s disconnect from itself. Fatalistic as they are, they fit perfectly in the claustrophobic world the music creates, which echoes forth from unfathomable depths, with Ivan’s stentorean growl at the forefront. The song itself carries a lot of thematic weight, and I find myself inclined to forgive it for its somewhat laborious pacing, as the raging tremolo leads later down the line make for an appropriately explosive escalation, even if its final moments are a morose fade out into nothingness.
Despite how much I enjoy The Horrible Dissonance of Oblivion, I found myself hard-pressed to write this review. Whereas my mind swirls with a myriad of thoughts and images while it’s on, and a lot of riffs have lodged themselves in my mind, it contains something that I struggle to put into words. It expresses a certain alienation that I find to be strangely relatable in today’s world, particularly when it’s transposed to an urban setting. Masses of people, where everyone is together in their isolation, and yet struggling to see each other as human beings, despite all of us suffering from the same fate. Through the loss of community we have also lost our sense of humanity,and we end up trapped in strange systems and societies completely hostile to us. The city lights flicker in the distance, but how can we truly be sure we aren’t alone in it?
Highlights: -4°, Γυάλινα Μάτια, Η Φριχτή Δυσαρμονία της Λήθης
Kvadrat’s music has been defined by its interiority since the band's inecption, and it was only natural that things would become denser and inward-looking in an album setting. The compositions’ length and density has increased dramatically, all while retaining a natural sense of flow from one idea to the next. Although dissonance permeates every second of this record, it doesn’t content itself with being riffless and meandering without purpose. Even the sparse quasi-ambient moments on the longer compositions here feel purposeful, as seen on the title track, where they either escalate towards some truly monumental passages, or serve as an abrupt crash back into a morose reality. Their placement is also quite unpredictable, insofar as they feel natural whenever they show up, and it lends this release an organic air that transforms the album into a living organism, one that writhes and thrashes in equal measure.
This approach continues even on the more direct pieces found here, such as “Γυάλινα Μάτια”, whose palm-muted jackhammering is bookended by a little arpeggio that sounds like it resolves itself a moment earlier than it should. It feels wrong, yet it works so well, despite the riff’s staccato nature. “-4°C” moves in a similarly neurotic way, pushing the blacker aspects of their sound to the forefront, with caustic tremolo lines offset by jagged chords that hammer down on the listener, and it all culminates in a towering breakdown that all but obliterates the rest of the song into nonexistence. Its oppressive as hell, and it’s truly impressive that it manages to balance atmosphere and tense songwriting in order to achieve this effect, never letting either aspect take precedence. You get both of those on the breathtaking “Σηπτική Ανυπαρξία” (Septic Nonexistence) as well, whose rushed rhythms and disorienting, fill-happy, percussion ratchets up the tension before folding back in on itself to let some some disjointed arpeggios create space, which is then filled up by a violent grinding riff. The music ebbs and flows, creating a vortex that slowly pulls you in before pulling you apart. In a niche where bands can be too heady for their own good, Kvadrat proves that you can throw the listener into a labyrinth and not have them be bored while they’re lost in its corridors. Turns out that you can paint a soundscape of existential dread and make it memorable on more than just a textural level.
Each song comprising this album goes through its own little life cycle, creating a bigger picture of decay and detachment, which eventually culminates in the mammoth “Ολική Αποσύνθεση” (Total Decomposition). The piece actually spends its first third with a recital from Dimitris Liantinis’ book “Γκέμμα” (Gemma, another one to add to the reading list). The excerpt is based on Dante’s journey through hell, detailing his horror upon witnessing all the suffering presented there. But it ultimately comes down to the fact that it’s human beings who created the torment presented therein. It posits that humanity is responsible for the horrors it is so averse to, but instead opts to ascribe them to a “greater evil” of sorts, so as to wash its hands of what it’s capable of. Ivan’s lyrics work in tandem with this, their insular nature a scathing rebuke of humanity’s disconnect from itself. Fatalistic as they are, they fit perfectly in the claustrophobic world the music creates, which echoes forth from unfathomable depths, with Ivan’s stentorean growl at the forefront. The song itself carries a lot of thematic weight, and I find myself inclined to forgive it for its somewhat laborious pacing, as the raging tremolo leads later down the line make for an appropriately explosive escalation, even if its final moments are a morose fade out into nothingness.
Despite how much I enjoy The Horrible Dissonance of Oblivion, I found myself hard-pressed to write this review. Whereas my mind swirls with a myriad of thoughts and images while it’s on, and a lot of riffs have lodged themselves in my mind, it contains something that I struggle to put into words. It expresses a certain alienation that I find to be strangely relatable in today’s world, particularly when it’s transposed to an urban setting. Masses of people, where everyone is together in their isolation, and yet struggling to see each other as human beings, despite all of us suffering from the same fate. Through the loss of community we have also lost our sense of humanity,and we end up trapped in strange systems and societies completely hostile to us. The city lights flicker in the distance, but how can we truly be sure we aren’t alone in it?
Highlights: -4°, Γυάλινα Μάτια, Η Φριχτή Δυσαρμονία της Λήθης
Rating: 95%
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