Maturity. A word that can really polarize opinions within the metal fraternity. Divisive inasmuch as that for every band that evolves with grace, refining their material, tempering naivety with greater self-awareness to deliver even more effective works there are those who trim away all of the energetic exuberances of youth to the point of delivering something bland, sterile and drained of all energy. It can be a fine line.
Thine are a band who belong firmly in the former camp. That they take their time with their material is to under-exaggerate somewhat – this is their third full-length album in an existence spanning over twenty years – and with that has come a very definite sense of maturity. 1998’s ‘A Town Like This’ debut arrived with some fanfare back in the day but betrayed it’s youthfulness with some moments of naivety and ‘sixth-form’ pretentiousness. Still, there was clearly talent in the band and one had the feeling that with an element of refinement, the Huddersfield-based outfit could put out something special.
Fast-forward to 2002 and the ‘In Therapy’ follow-up. Four years is a long time and Thine had clearly matured during this period – and in a good way. The more OTT theatrics and pseudo-poetic histrionics of the debut were jettisoned in favour of a more considered, restrained delivery, the songs deceptively simple yet laced with a simmering, subtle emotiveness. Of notable improvement were the vocals of Alan Gaunt, leaving behind his occasionally forced orations in favour of a low-key and emotive poignancy.
In this, it has a lot in common with what Katatonia and Anathema were doing at the time. ‘In Therapy’ perhaps ended up being overshadowed by releases from those self-same bands but in its own quiet way, was just as effective. It demonstrated an appreciation of subtlety, good songwriting and that word we were talking about earlier – maturity.
Twelve years on and we have album number three in our hands. I had high hopes for this one myself, given that the second album was such a step up from the first and it must be said, I have not been disappointed. There isn’t such a pronounced stylistic jump present this time around but neither is ‘The Dead City Blueprint’ simply ‘In Therapy – part 2’. No, we are once again presented with a set of deftly composed songs that embrace a wide spectrum of soundscapes under the banner of what could loosely be termed ‘atmospheric rock’.
Yes, there’s a fair bit in common with Anathema’s more recent output but crucially, Thine’s take is darker, the undercurrent of melancholy on its predecessor ever-present. It’s a soundtrack to disaffection and disquiet, lost souls meandering against the urban sprawl.
Some have compared this record to Anathema’s ‘Judgment’ and there’s certainly something in that – however, Thine are perhaps a touch less overwrought, a little more nebulous in their sound and drawing from a wider palette of sounds. The title track exemplifies this more diverse soundscape, predominantly acoustic and vocals with some effectively-deployed strings. There’s a vaguely carnival-esque quality to the lilting feel that harks back to the eccentricity of their debut but this is far more assured, Gaunt’s vocals in particular hitting the spot. A folkier approach is also noticeable on the lilting strum of ‘Flame to the Oak’ with more than a nod to the 70s present in its acoustic-led style.
‘Precipice’ and ‘The Great Unknown’ demonstrate the closest links to ‘In Therapy’ with simple, driving chord progressions and layered vocal refrains delivering proper hooks. ‘Out of Your Mind and Into a Void’ adopts a similar pattern but slows things down with some weighty, emotive bombast. It shows that Thine are unafraid to ‘go big’ when required, Gaunt launching into some hefty vocal delivery as the drama builds, really bringing to mind Ulver’s Garm in the more lung-bursting moments.
The real highlights here though are towards the end – ‘The Rift’ is colossal, switching between affecting acoustic melancholia and a strident lead guitar motif. It’s a real epic, perfectly balancing layered, powerful instrumentation with delicate restraint. ‘Scars from Limbo’ meanwhile is a gently reflective piece with that simmering sense of quiet loss as ever-present. The main melodic refrain is emotive without being melodramatic and is wonderfully judged, representing quite possibly the songwriting highlight of the whole album.
This really is a great rock record with its palpable sense of maturity here being the very antithesis of a dirty word. It takes time to unfurl but this is a testament to the care with which these songs have been crafted. I hesitate to use the word ‘dark’ as it’s an adjective that generally indicates deep levels of pseudo-depressive furrow-browed clichés but ‘The Dead City Blueprint’ has a definite darkness to it – not crypts, graves and death, more anxiety, depression, dissatisfaction and an indefinable sense of loss. Coupled with expressive delivery, nuanced songwriting and a wide spectrum of tones, this album should see Thine reap some richly-deserved plaudits.
(9/10 Frank Allain)
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