Review Summary: Reconciling the past with the present.
Unapologetic hypocrite that I am, I’ve always found the
‘do that exact same thing again but better’ expectation often placed on artists by their fans to be rather unfair. To wish that a band’s future output be constrained by the content of their previous works, or the garbled demands of whichever faction of their followers shouts the loudest, seems both ignorant of and antithetical to the very nature of genuine creative expression itself (assuming one subscribes to my overly romantic (and probably unrealistic) view that
to create is to seek to express the very essence of the
self to the wider world, uninhibited by the views and/or expectations of others). I digress, because let’s face it: we all do it. We all maintain that lofty, oxymoronic expectation - at least in respect of some music, at least some of the time - and, unfortunately for Genghis Tron, your ability to suppress that all too natural impulse may well determine whether you view the band’s latest creative detour as a pleasant surprise or an unfortunate disappointment.
Genghis Tron
was the biggest, baddest cybergrind outfit in town. The eclectic riff wizards exploded onto the scene back in 2004, dropping one
quite good EP and two
fucking incredible LPs that pushed excitedly at the already-strained boundaries of the genre that they called home. Then - having all but perfected the art of soldering together messy, mathy metalcore and elating, enigmatic electronics - they disintegrated into a decade-long hiatus (a major bummer, undoubtedly). Fast forward to 2021: Genghis Tron
is no longer the biggest, baddest cybergrind outfit in town. On the contrary, the group’s long-awaited 3rd LP,
Dream Weapon, contains none of the fidgety, frantic riffage sautéed with angry calculator noises that used to make Genghis Tron
Genghis Tron. All of it has been stripped away - piece by piece, beep by boop - such that the resultant husk feels worlds apart from even the quietest moments of
Dead Mountain Mouth and
Board Up the House. Instead, against all odds,
Dream Weapon is
serene.
Spearheaded by a new vocalist and supported by the band’s first ever bass guitarist and drummer, the reshuffled reincarnation of Genghis Tron have chosen to take a much more meditative approach to their sound. Far from the explosive and unpredictable nature of their previous LPs,
Dream Weapon is cool, calm and collected: less
-core, more
post-. Songs hum along at a patient, plodding pace, guided by an assortment of pastel-hued synths, reverb-laden guitar licks and chunky, cyclical grooves. Case in point “Pyrocene” cracks the record open with percussive popcorn loveliness, Nick Yacyshyn’s work behind the kit shining from the get-go as a wonderful, organic addition to the band’s arsenal. Sochynsky’s synths chime in as required between the tipping and tapping, painting in the gaps with the same eerie turquoise adorning the record’s cover. Tony Wolski softly croons somewhere in the background, smacking somewhat of
A Thousand Suns era Shinoda/Bennington with not even the shadow of a grindcore growl in sight. Donning my ‘unapologetic hypocrite’ hat once more (and at a rather jaunty angle, no less), I find myself both disappointed and excited. This is sadly not the Genghis Tron I (and, no doubt, you) fell in love with (boo), but rather it's something
new and
shiny and
different altogether (ooh).
These hazy, hypnotic opening moments sketch out a reliable picture of what the rest of
Dream Weapon has to offer. “Ritual Circle” and the album’s title track end up at the same dreamy destination, albeit via a more direct route. Both tracks channel just a touch of old Genghis heaviness through machine gun drum fills and
almost harsh vocals before dissolving once more into lush, astral floatiness. Similarly spacey interludes “Desert Stairs” and “Single Black Point” follow suit, sitting somewhere along the crossroads between GoGo Penguin, Boards of Canada and your personal favourite post-rock band: highly percussive, tantalisingly atmospheric and completely devoid of anything even remotely resembling a riff or breakdown. Sure, such cuts wouldn't have felt entirely out of place on
Board Up the House - a record full to the brim with its own glitchy deviations and asides - yet without the maniacal screeching of Mookie Singerman and Hamilton Jordan’s Dillinger-style riffage as violent counterpoints, they too feel somewhat
other: carefully composed and lovingly pieced together, without question, but not quite
Genghis.
Dream Weapon is Genghis Tron wandering back down the path of self-discovery. Abandoning their previously preferred pastures, the quartet venture outwards, channeling the essence of that aforementioned creative spirit towards something new, fresh and exciting - for both themselves as artists as well as for their most ardent and open-minded of followers. It’s a double-edged sword, however, given that the band’s understandable refusal to throw away the goodwill associated with their name will no doubt mean that
Dream Weapon is judged unfavourably against a sound that it never sought to replicate, such is the weight of their legacy. No matter how elegant and alluring of a comeback LP it may be, that all too natural impulse insists on creeping back in, whether fair, logical or otherwise. Irrespective of that stubborn longing for the past, it seems that Genghis Tron’s future is still rather bright.
Dream Weapon, bold reimagining that it is, could well be the line in the sand that releases the four-piece from the shackles of their historic hallmarks. The dream of another
Dead Mountain Mouth or
Board Up the House may have been shattered, but a new, better dream may yet be forged from the pieces. Here’s to finding out.
