Review Summary: When the underdogs re-write the book.
At this point in
Periphery’s high-profile career, it is only fitting that djent is no longer
just a genre. It’s a vehicle for six lives (and strings) well-lived—spitting momentum at every hairpin turn.
P:V allows the styles only flirted with in Periphery's previous albums to be fleshed out nakedly with intention and energy at the forefront.
Wax Wings is Scarlet without the commitment to sugar.
Wildfire is Prayer Position without leaning tokenly into the fret dance. And above all, each song tipped over the 10-minute mark is Reptile without having to first adopt an ironic mask of shape-changing aliens to justify the progressive leanings.
Put simply, Periphery is no longer asking permission to be a household name. They are demonstrating every quality with which they have been accused, however begrudgingly at times.
As with the departure from goo-drenched lyrical material, gone is “weird for weird’s sake” on the instrumental front. It was common to showcase early Periphery (Zylgrox from the S/T parading angular riffs and boggling grooves) as a testament to one’s own obscure taste, with artists awkwardly puzzling out just how to use the new low strings in their surfboard-necked guitars. As the genre gained feet, so too did it find ways to trip itself up.
Periphery is no stranger to the phenomena of ideas over execution. In their early enthusiasm, most songs were seemingly written to showcase a single riff or idea, solidifying Misha (guitar, composition) and company as the who’s who of the emerging heavy genre.
P:V, however, is an enthralling grab bag of great ideas that aren’t strangled in the crib as they fly past to be followed by another numbing (if mind-breaking) riff.
Rhythm stands at the forefront of this record, whether drenched in layers or stripped to its amorphous core. The accents and steady pulses throughout songs like
Atropos and
Dracul Gras act as codas—appearing, dissolving, and reforming themselves with energetic abandon. The effect is an enchanting sense of momentum in each song, unlike anything else in their discography to date, all while making the explosive vocal melodies and choral passages all the more memorable.
If what djent "is" remains a puzzle, Periphery may well have solved it with this nod toward Meshuggah-esque simplicity. Gone is waiting for “what’s next” in terms of frenetic riffing song by song. Now, the genesis of chug to choir happens in each and every song, all laid out with impeccable production. While some moments breathe like the first verse of Wax Wings, others pack themselves tight into claustrophobic spirals like the dour ending of
Everything Is Fine! Each gang vocal, digital refrain, or climax is earned, playful, and confident—never falling into predictability without reason or melodic recall.
Spencer Sotello’s (vocals) direct involvement in melody and songwriting has been cause for both celebration and admonishment this go-around. The album’s most infectious choruses are made of Spencer’s unexpected intervals, like the call-and-response choral elements of
Wildfire dancing playfully somewhere between rhythmic and leading. Neither Periphery nor Sotello is adopting trendy scales for a highlight-worthy segment (see
Polyphia’s G.O.A.T. or
Erra’s Gungrave). The band is wringing rhythms (the background chug of
Zagreus, showing up in a dozen different scenes) and melodic themes (the rich instrumentation and key change of
Silhouettes) for every drop of energy they might offer. And they damn well succeeded, seeing as many songs with these shape-changing rhythms extend well into the 10+ minute runtime without overstaying their welcome.
But, for long-time fans, is this a step forward or backwards? It comes down to digesting the songs as wholes. Individual sonic landscapes are no longer a novelty to leave listeners stunned and impressed—that’s a task for the kids who grew up trying to one-up the band. Instead, Periphery treats the uncertain post-djent ground before them like a draft to be refined. When they adopt pitch-shifting whammies like in
Everything is Fine!, unlike contemporaries, they are doing so from a place of practiced and patient experimentation.
Even the truncated measures towards the middle of
Wax Wings and the jazz breakdown of
Wildfire speak to giddiness in writing for the djent of tomorrow—no longer singularly brutal, note-drenched, or flirting with radio play. With long, winding, but ultimately episodic songs that showcase virtuosity in their restraint, it’s impossible to think of these musicians as replaceable in the unit that has become Periphery.
The steady backing hi-hat pulse Halpern (drums) borrows from Meshuggah doesn’t live in just any body as he places syncopatic accents with organic groove. Likewise, the enthusiastic simplicity of Nolly’s (bass) commitment to low-end wouldn’t appear in a musician with a bigger ego, like
Between the Buried and Me's solos.
Dying Star seems to hint lyrically at the intention these musicians wear on their sleeves, condemned to be themselves and themselves only—“your heart is open.”
For those who followed
Bulb, program the MIDI drums struck by Halpern and Nolly Getgood (of Getgood Drums), or puzzle out the soloists in each song, fans or Periphery are involved with its characters, and
P:V is them speaking to each other with listeners lucky to catch the results. Past Sotello’s career-defining performance, we find a distillation of the careful eye of Nolly (never stealing the show), the goofy but endlessly competent Misha, the synth-curious Bowen (guitar/synths), and the arpeggiating paradox Holcom (guitar). It’s a spiritual continuation of the literal characters listed ironically in Periphery’s S/T hidden track. Each is alive and well, finding their way back to what they love post-Pandemic.
In a field of bands pushing the envelope of production, technical writing, and gimmicks, it is a breath of fresh air to see a mature side of an established band lean back into songs that nourish them over the too-common search for clout. Between the past and the future of whatever djent and Periphery may become,
P:V is a triumphant affirmation of what it means to have survived this far, still keeping a playful optimism for the future. And if you hate it, hey… there is always
Haunted Shores.
