It’s an insidious feeling that has only continued to wreak havoc on our mental health, and it feels worse when we cannot name it. It is this feeling that lends an indescribable quality to Underoath’s ninth album Voyeurist. On it, the Floridian post hardcore titans eschew traditional hooks and structure (not something uncommon in the band’s discography) for a record that is essentially a mood piece, though not appearing as such on its surface. It’s a record that breathes its life through the way it touches on a personal darkness that has bored its way into many of our souls. Rather than its melodies, it uses walls of light and darkness to strike the frayed nerves of listeners. Though it doesn’t always succeed in its lofty ambition, every minute feels as honest and emotionally revealing as Underoath has ever been.
The album has very distinct ways in which it seeks to resonate: appealing to our anger, and appealing to our personal desolation. And through those appeals, it either roars or whispers. When it roars, it reaches some fantastic heights. Opener ‘Damn Excuses’ is venomous and punchy, and rollicks with an almost hardcore cadence and tone in its guitars and drums. Vocalist Spencer Chamberlain is at his most venomous on this track, and it’s an excellent and potent jab right to the chin from the word go. ‘Cycle’ uses a wall of thick guitars and a sledgehammer of lyrical honesty and vocal emotionality from both Chamberlain and special guest Ghostemane, who’s guest presence on the track adds a thrilling new vocal quality to the band’s sounds. It’s certainly a collaboration that would be welcome again in the future based on how good this track is.
‘Take a Breath’ is the perfect track to highlight Voyeurist’s production, which was handled by the band themselves for the very first time in their history. If it’s not evident by now, the album aims to hit the heart by cracking open our ribcage with a sledgehammer, not slicing with a scalpel. The mix is focused on using the low end as an emotional bludgeon, with the vibrating of the bass strings practically audible as they hit the wooden body of the instrument, and the bass drum thundering as it only can in a boisterous thousand cap venue. It’s this live feel that drives this song, with its simple riffs carrying extra emotional power because of this excellent production choice. There’s not a traditional melodic hook to be found, but it doesn’t matter when a song like this plunges its hand into your chest.
The urgency and frustration dial up again on ‘We’re All Gonna Die’, where the palpable vocal bite from Chamberlain is on full attack mode. It feels like the walls are closing in, and it is inescapable. ‘Numb’ and ‘Hallelujah’ serve as the two most traditional tracks, but are equally strong in the hooks that make their rare appearance on them. The former relies on a simple, punchy guitar attack, while the latter uses a massive choral melody that evokes dark hooded monks sounding the dark dirge of hades in a black mass. Though they serve as the catchiest singles on the record, there is no less potency in their emotional heft.
On the flipside of these tracks lie the areas of bitter loneliness and introspection, and it’s here where the band unfortunately doesn’t land quite as effectively. The devastating ‘I’m Pretty Sure I’m Out of Luck and Have No Friends’ is a promising start, with it’s heartbreaking implications through sampled phone calls at its start. There’s a feeling of subtle suffocation and disorientation as it navigates these same feelings felt by many during the pandemic as they are cut off from relationships. But from here, the rest of the tracks in this vein aren’t as strong. ‘(No Oasis)’ is a soft interlude which feels a bit middling and not that impactful both vocally and instrumentally, and ‘Pneumonia’, the seven minute closing track, winds its way through multiple feelings and tempos in an amorphous fashion, with nothing really sticking as the band intends. It’s a bit of a disappointing ending with the emotional weight the band had effectively conveyed throughout most of the previous runtime.
If any record speaks to our collective and personal disorientation amidst the pandemic, it’s Voyeurist. It has a few missed opportunities, but its production and energy deliver concussive and resonant emotional darkness in an intimate way that few records have managed in the past few years. It’s a true display of understanding and connection from a band that has upheld a status of maturity and great relevance throughout their career, and Voyeurist is a prime example of why.