Review Summary: You just wanna be safe
Time and time again, we seek ‘safe’ things--things that are familiar or otherwise speak to our experiences and preferences in a manner where we feel seen and heard.
No Way Home? Beautifully simple, safe pandering with delightfully cheesy cameos and nods to rosy-colored youthful days. Everyone can pretend to be five yelling “Go web go!” and sh*t. No judgment! But all too often it seems that ‘safe’ means refraining so ardently from pushing the needle that it bends, goes backward, and warps comfort into something uncannily sanitized--something so transparently designed to pander that any sugary-sweet nostalgia turns sour. It happens a lot in prog: musicians that, on paper, are about as talented as possible, armed with years of experience and education, yet performing in such a calculated manner that it feels simulated, or factory-made, or so commercial-ready that it dares not take a risk in any direction.
In the age of prog excess, sure, it’s undeniable Aviations’ third record is about as safe as possible--technical wizardry is carefully executed, instrumental acrobatics are toned down, songs are more of a calm canal ride than an unrelenting rollercoaster of time signature abuse--but it’s not
too safe. Instead of feeling like cliche overload or a robotic exhibition,
Luminaria comes across as welcoming. Frontman Adam Benjamin deserves ample credit; he possesses incredible control over his resonating tenor singing range, capable of emotional vulnerability and some powerful anthemic-worthy belting, and he segues between styles effortlessly while never pushing notes. His genuine, charismatic performance is enough of a draw to bring an audience further into the album. Though Benjamin’s contributions are the most immediately appreciable, the rest of the Massachusetts crew are equally impressive in their own right, with every member adding something special to the disc’s multi-layered compositions.
That aforementioned inviting aura defines the duration of
Luminaria, like the doors of its floating abode were flung open for any and all arrivals. The band’s increased restraint decorates the scenery; it allows individual parts to breathe without being swallowed up by needless virtuosity, simultaneously accentuating the gentle timbres that defined
The Light Years. Twinkling, math-tinged guitars gracefully glide throughout the halls accompanied by dancing keys, all while the steady beat of the bass bounces along hand-in-hand with the percussion, generating a warm atmosphere replete with lush crescendos and melodic touches. A pristine production heightens the elegant textures, and a reliable, cohesive ebb and flow ushers the album forward, intricately intertwining moments of tranquility and the evocative climaxes that emerge from them. Considering the variety of sounds in play, there’s a naturally grandiose appeal to proceedings, yet Aviations’ understated methodology ensures it’s never overwhelming or forced for the sake of epic scale.
The group’s grounded-but-grand approach leaves ample room for a diverse tracklist that can toss out hooks at will or unravel a winding odyssey. “Safehouse” and “Coma” are perfect opposites in this regard; the former is progressive metal’s version of pop, pairing a sublime bass groove with Benjamin’s wonderful vocal outing to create a sugary-sweet, uplifting jam with an earworm of a chorus and a gallery of shimmering chords. Meanwhile, the latter is a journey in the manner of genre classics, embarking upon a 10-minute trek through soaring melodies, complex drumming, an ever-modulating riff department, and plenty of purposeful tempo shifts. There’s even the surprisingly aggressive “Legend,” even featuring distorted, dissonance-laden breakdown and Benjamin busting out some viscous harsh vocals. Other intriguing twists--the sudden rolling drums that transform “Cradle,” the blast beats capping off “Coma”--fit comfortably in the album’s smooth sound, with each transition integrated seamlessly.
If the heart of
Luminaria lied in any particular area, it would doubtlessly reside in the run from “La Jolla” to “Pure.” The record is at its most patient there, with all resources committed to reserved build-ups and soothing instrumentation, first rising from acoustics and Richard Blumenthal’s omnipresent piano to a beautiful, cathartic explosion of guitars and Benjamin’s powerful voice. String samples cascade as the lyrics--tales of youth, memories, longing for distant things--become increasingly more earnest, shedding subtlety for an ever-so-light melancholia that Aviations’ gorgeous melodies bring to life. It demonstrates the atmosphere of
Luminaria at its apex: a dreamlike realm rich with details, immersing travelers into a picturesque home where things seem to rest into a peaceful stillness, with solace found by relating to the past. There’s some sort of comfort in that as if the Bostonians had decked out a secluded retreat to disappear into, letting visitors enjoy its safe confines while relaxing in blissful ambiance. That warmth is extended throughout the LP, and in much the way we might see old times fondly, faults bear less meaning here. Sometimes, what matters is that familiar embrace, and Aviations portray that sensation superbly through their stunning arrangements.
