Warning
Rituals of Shame
RELAPSE
Doom metal exists on a different plane of reality. To co-opt a concept coined by philosopher Timothy Morton, it’s a hyperobject—something “so massively distributed in time and space as to transcend spatiotemporal specificity.” Doom songs are grand, slow-moving manifestations, like glaciers. Getting a handle on their form can be challenging; what engages the listener is the visceral pummel and palpable emotions. Doom songwriters love misery, few more so than Warning leader Patrick Walker. His band’s 2006 classic Watching From a Distance is frequently cited as one of metal’s most emotionally impactful albums, while his post-Warning work under the slowcore-stylized 40 Watt Sun banner digs into similar depths of pain.
Despite 40 Watt Sun being very much an active band (they’ve put out two albums so far post-pandemic), last year Walker re-launched Warning following a run of reunion shows in 2017 and 2018, including an anniversary set at Roadburn Festival in the Netherlands which was recorded and released as a live album in 2021. In the 20 years since their initial split, the band has developed a notable cult following beyond the metal community: Internet music fandom loves the darker corners of music, a phenomenon noted by legendary critic Robert Christgau. These “dark prog”–loving online musos certainly won’t feel short changed by Rituals of Shame. Comprised of five lengthy tracks, the Vantablack-hued emotions on display here are sadness incarnate, possessing the same millstone weight that the black dog of depression can drape across one’s shoulders.
Walker’s vocals are unflinching, a remarkably naked presence. He avoids growls or screams in favor of a pained melodic howl. They’re prominently placed in the mix, soaring above the lumbering trudge of the rhythms like a soul escaping the confines of a body. The somber dual guitars sit somewhere in the middle, guiding the deceased through Warning’s foggy psycho-landscape. Walker’s mastery of his craft and intensely focused vision means that, in the best way possible, all five songs basically sound the same, to the point that Rituals of Shame functions better when consumed as a whole. If funeral-doom bands like Bell Witch write hour-long songs, why not also view Warning’s latest as such?
Yet if consumed individually, what will ensure Rituals of Shame’s tracks still hit home is their hazy hypnotism. The record drills its emotions into you with all the subtlety of a hammer slowly but deliberately pounding nails into a coffin. Close your eyes and embrace the endless dark.
