It’s taken me quite a while to wrap my head around Morne’s Asylum. I’ve been listening to it off and on for a little over a month now and I’m still not sure I fully comprehend the band’s intent. But I’d like to think that I come a little closer every time I put the album on. I recently found a quote by Victor Hugo that makes me think I might be on the right track.
As a means of contrast with the sublime, the grotesque is, in our view, the richest source that nature can offer.
Metal is often grotesque. So many metal subgenres revel in ghoulish imagery, content to wallow in their own filth, espousing the virtues of death and decay. But heavy metal can also be sublime. Nowhere is this more evident than on Asylum, a recording that can best be described as a search for the sublime through heaviness. It’s the kind of album I want to get lost in, to totally immerse myself in its mesmerizing sonic realm.
It’s something about the guitar tone. Milosz Gassan and Jeff Hayward somehow channel ghosts through their amplifiers, pushing air that crackles with spectral electricity. The unearthly distortion comes in waves, crashing against the rhythms before crumbling into the aether ever so slowly, leaving phantom trails in its wake. The effect is haunting. I find myself thinking about it long after the album is finished, like faded memories of past lives.
As hypnotic as those guitars might be, they aren’t the only key component of Morne’s audial alchemy. A layer of keyboards lingers just below the surface, an oh-so-subtle embellishment to Asylum‘s wraithlike atmosphere. There’s more than a bit of the Peaceville Three in those keys, lending the music a stately, gothic quality. Gassan’s hoarse, bellowing vocals recall both post metal and the crustier side of hardcore, adding a touch of grit and aggression to Morne’s otherwise heavy-yet-ethereal approach. Simple, propulsive drumming keeps the rest of the band anchored to the Earth, while the bass guitar rumbles away like thunder muffled by thick windowpanes.
Ultimately, Asylum is like a flower, slowly coming into bloom to reveal untold beauty, only to wither away and die, its wilted petals scattered to the four winds. Over the course of the album’s hour long duration, Morne proves that heaviness can be a means for achieving an end other than the grotesque. Whether or not they have truly achieved the sublime is up to the individual listener.