"Hope Drones in the Mid-East"
a Godspeed You! Black Emperor Review by Alexander Cain, 11.6.24
We’ve fallen on dark times. These past few years have served as little more than demonstrations of our moral depravity and weakness as a collective people. Casual shootings, rapes, and overdoses are the marks of the New American Dream. The taxes we’re paying are going to subsidies and IDF missiles and fracking and dog cages at the border, all of us watching this on our TV while the pothole down the road gets deeper and the air in the cities taste thicker each time I visit. Our national philosophies have all proven gibberish and it feels like the world could end tomorrow every day. Most of the young adult generation is so freaked out by all this that they’re either existential wrecks clutching handfuls of ballots or so strung out on grass and Xans they can’t see straight most of the day. No matter if we deny it or fight it or accept what’s around us it seems like it’s all going to shit anyways, and that the new Dark Ages are inevitable. Fuck, no reason to fight it. Our fate was predetermined this time anyway. Wasn’t our choice. We’re just a bunch of kids two hundred years after the fact, raised on faulty Horatio Alger bullshit that all of us with any real awareness grew out of a long time ago; We didn’t want any of this. Because the Roman Empire was fine until Jesus freaks and Stilicho got involved as far as I understood it, while our Western civilizations were crocks of shit from the start, doomed at their brutal inceptions. The only improvement I’ve seen recently is that music got a lot better over the past few months, and now we may really be on our way to a legitimate insular, hip community of synthesized grooves to drown out the howl of Armeggedon. Soon, we will never have to address any of the world’s issues again.
Shit, listen to me. Maybe it’s true that I am antisocial. Maybe there’s some sort of medical explanation for my total loss of faith in humanity and my suspicion most days that the world won’t ever get better. Or maybe it’s a normal response for growing up in these strange days. I’m still figuring it out for myself. But I do know for a fact that all that take-my-whiskey-neat garbage on the radio is more antisocial than anything I’ve done in my life. And if I’m antisocial, so are some of the greatest bands of our time, specifically those in the post-rock genre. Take the biggest album in it this year: Godspeed You! Black Emperor’s new release, the name of which is a reference to the Gazan death toll between October 7, 2023 and the date in the title. From the liner notes: “NO TITLE= what gestures make sense while tiny bodies fall? what context? what broken melody? and then a tally and a date to mark the point on the line. the negative process, the growing pile. [sic]” It’s an entirely different statement now than it was when they first conceived of it, forcing us not only to consider where the count was then, but where it is today. Today, there is no longer a count of how many have died in Gaza. Its healthcare system has collapsed almost entirely, and most bodies are being left in unmarked graves or completely torn to shreds by gunfire and airstrikes. In July, a study by Lancet speculated that 186,000 could’ve been dead by then. But now, in October, I’m certain the figure is more than double that. Do yourself a favor (or don’t) and look up satellite images of Gaza before last year and Gaza now, or just read the fucking news. This album might be the most depressing hour of music this year, but it could also be some of the most important.
Just as the album title has meaning, so do the track names. “Sun is a Hole Sun is Vapors” is the first track, referencing daytime turned nighttime in moments as the sun is blocked out by ash rising up from bloody rubble, allowing only for a faint glimmer of light in the bedrock darkness. The song is a soft drone of warped guitars revving in the mechanical-tinged murk. Those who are familiar with Godspeed’s music will understand this as the calm before the storm. These five and a half minutes are quiet. Too quiet.
The next track is a 13-minute giant called “Babys in a Thundercloud” that opens dismally with the distant rumblings of bombs before a reverberating riff sends ripples through the song. After three minutes, a bass groove and drum set driven by cymbals build the track’s momentum. Every element builds on itself, all new sounds rising from the feedback and reverb as they find their footing and drive the song through a triumphant section which then tapers off into a violin solo punctuated by soft electric guitar progressions. After a lull, the track bursts once again into a wave of triumph in where everything explodes at minute 10 into a crescendo of writhing strings and thunderous drums in perfect harmony, bringing the song into a final short violin section that lasts for thirty seconds, drowned in the leftover feedback of the album’s first climax, slipping into a final reverberating silence, leaving you in awe, curious for what is next. War has arrived.
The First Gaza War began when Israel broke a ceasefire agreement with Hamas and raided Deir al-Balah, destroying a Hamas tunnel system in what they said was a preemptive strike, despite later evidence that the attack was six months in the planning, ever since the ceasefire had begun. Following this, Hamas launched missiles from the Gaza strip, killing three civilians. These would be the only civilians killed in Israel during the war, although Israel’s response, known as Operation Cast Lead, killed 926 civilians between 2008-2009.
Track three, “Raindrops Cast in Lead,” a grim reference to this operation, provides the only voice on the record, a spoken word poem in Spanish, delivered through grainy static by Michelle Fielder Fuentes. It follows the song’s first massive climax and prefaces a long ambient section. The first time I heard the poem, I couldn’t speak Spanish and could only make out a single phrase: inocentes y niños. Despite my lack of fluency, the poem still stung my eyes with tears and caused knots in my stomach anyways. The next day I looked up a translation:
Raindrops cast in leadOur side lit upThen put out and buried and extinguishedUnderneath the perfect sunUnderneath the body falling from the skyThey were martyrs fallingBecause on our side they were martyrs since before we were even bornThe women tried and were killed for tryingThe women who died young, furious, or old, and never saw the sunriseInnocents and children and the tiny bodies that laughed, and were put to sleep foreverAnd never saw the beauty of the sunrise
When I listened to the album for the second time, knowing what the words meant and starting to understand their weight, I finally broke down to tears, in so much pain both at the fact that what I’ve been seeing on my screens and in magazines and newspapers really is happening, and worse, my pain is nothing compared to what is happening to the people I am powerless to helping. There is one final crescendo which hints at a darker tone, before the album nosedives with the next song, “Broken Spires at Dead Kapital,” into a death spiral of nihilism and grief.
The paranoid prologue which “Broken Spires at Dead Kapital” provides for the next track, “Pale Spectator Takes Photographs,” is similar to the dynamic of the first two tracks, with “Pale Spectator” being another 10-plus minute song of biblical proportions, building again, drum lines dragging the track along as smoldering bass lines and nervous violins introduce a horrible metallic clammer contrasted with sinister guitar riffs, threatening to fall into total chaos before lifting itself back up into something that isn’t quite hopeful, but instead provides the relief of breaching the water’s surface and gasping in air, just for a moment, before being dragged back down into the depths.
This song is past the point of no return, at least that’s what it feels like. Most days I feel like everything is past the point of no return. I’m misanthropic and nihilistic, fearing for the worst, feeling like everything is permanent, and sometimes wishing that I could stop caring entirely, since I can’t even talk about any of this stuff to people without them asking to change the subject or just getting angry, since once you start to talk too much about how many assholes there are in the world, and all the assholes who just don’t care, and all the assholes who are blind to what’s happening, you start to feel like an asshole too, or maybe just crazy. You start to draw the appropriate lines: Don’t acknowledge the homeless guy who’s just asking you for directions. Don’t tell your friends you love them. Don’t ask the kid crying on the curb if they’re okay. Don’t even for a single moment acknowledge the inherent value and preciousness in every human life, because otherwise you just become a sponge to everyone else’s problems.
I wanted to turn the album off as “Pale Spectator” ended and the last track, “Grey Rubble—Green Shoots,” began, starting with the same paranoia as its predecessor. It is punch after punch to the stomach, making you feel sick and depressed and helpless. For a second, it seemed as though Godspeed would be so cruel to end the record with such blood-curdling sounds, leaving us all to spend the next day in bed with sheets drawn over our heads, nothing to do and nowhere to go, wanting to be sedated (Johnny Ramone).
This is not the case, and surprisingly or unsurprisingly, the track ends with the most beautiful music on the album yet, made more beautiful by the fact that it was after seeing everything else on the album through. All the fury continues through about half of the track before falling down into a slow last few minutes, where, if you close your eyes, you can actually see those green shoots amidst the gray rubble. A sign that life will go on. Hope. It’s all we have when we’ve lost everything including our own humanity. Hope is the only way that the world we live in today will not be the same tomorrow, and that endless suffering has an end. Because as much as it sucks, other people do exist, and so do their emotions and so who cares if you’re a sponge, because at least you care. Caring is the first step to an act of love towards the human race, like a great novel, poem, or album, which are all forms as valid as any form of trying to change something.
The last section of No Title’s liner notes reads: “war is coming. don’t give up. pick a side. hang on. love. [sic]” When I listened to this album, it made me think, that instead of laying in bed after hearing the album, sick and depressed, although tomorrow I might be, I can do everything I can today to write—which is my act of love to the human race—and ask everyone who reads my writing, what is your act of love to the human race? Consider it.
Free Palestine. May every person of the Levant and of the Holy Land, Jewish or Muslim, Palestinian or Israeli, live in peace and freedom. That goes for the rest of us too. Goodbye and amen.
Just as the album title has meaning, so do the track names. “Sun is a Hole Sun is Vapors” is the first track, referencing daytime turned nighttime in moments as the sun is blocked out by ash rising up from bloody rubble, allowing only for a faint glimmer of light in the bedrock darkness. The song is a soft drone of warped guitars revving in the mechanical-tinged murk. Those who are familiar with Godspeed’s music will understand this as the calm before the storm. These five and a half minutes are quiet. Too quiet.
The next track is a 13-minute giant called “Babys in a Thundercloud” that opens dismally with the distant rumblings of bombs before a reverberating riff sends ripples through the song. After three minutes, a bass groove and drum set driven by cymbals build the track’s momentum. Every element builds on itself, all new sounds rising from the feedback and reverb as they find their footing and drive the song through a triumphant section which then tapers off into a violin solo punctuated by soft electric guitar progressions. After a lull, the track bursts once again into a wave of triumph in where everything explodes at minute 10 into a crescendo of writhing strings and thunderous drums in perfect harmony, bringing the song into a final short violin section that lasts for thirty seconds, drowned in the leftover feedback of the album’s first climax, slipping into a final reverberating silence, leaving you in awe, curious for what is next. War has arrived.
The First Gaza War began when Israel broke a ceasefire agreement with Hamas and raided Deir al-Balah, destroying a Hamas tunnel system in what they said was a preemptive strike, despite later evidence that the attack was six months in the planning, ever since the ceasefire had begun. Following this, Hamas launched missiles from the Gaza strip, killing three civilians. These would be the only civilians killed in Israel during the war, although Israel’s response, known as Operation Cast Lead, killed 926 civilians between 2008-2009.
Track three, “Raindrops Cast in Lead,” a grim reference to this operation, provides the only voice on the record, a spoken word poem in Spanish, delivered through grainy static by Michelle Fielder Fuentes. It follows the song’s first massive climax and prefaces a long ambient section. The first time I heard the poem, I couldn’t speak Spanish and could only make out a single phrase: inocentes y niños. Despite my lack of fluency, the poem still stung my eyes with tears and caused knots in my stomach anyways. The next day I looked up a translation:
Raindrops cast in leadOur side lit upThen put out and buried and extinguishedUnderneath the perfect sunUnderneath the body falling from the skyThey were martyrs fallingBecause on our side they were martyrs since before we were even bornThe women tried and were killed for tryingThe women who died young, furious, or old, and never saw the sunriseInnocents and children and the tiny bodies that laughed, and were put to sleep foreverAnd never saw the beauty of the sunrise
When I listened to the album for the second time, knowing what the words meant and starting to understand their weight, I finally broke down to tears, in so much pain both at the fact that what I’ve been seeing on my screens and in magazines and newspapers really is happening, and worse, my pain is nothing compared to what is happening to the people I am powerless to helping. There is one final crescendo which hints at a darker tone, before the album nosedives with the next song, “Broken Spires at Dead Kapital,” into a death spiral of nihilism and grief.
The paranoid prologue which “Broken Spires at Dead Kapital” provides for the next track, “Pale Spectator Takes Photographs,” is similar to the dynamic of the first two tracks, with “Pale Spectator” being another 10-plus minute song of biblical proportions, building again, drum lines dragging the track along as smoldering bass lines and nervous violins introduce a horrible metallic clammer contrasted with sinister guitar riffs, threatening to fall into total chaos before lifting itself back up into something that isn’t quite hopeful, but instead provides the relief of breaching the water’s surface and gasping in air, just for a moment, before being dragged back down into the depths.
This song is past the point of no return, at least that’s what it feels like. Most days I feel like everything is past the point of no return. I’m misanthropic and nihilistic, fearing for the worst, feeling like everything is permanent, and sometimes wishing that I could stop caring entirely, since I can’t even talk about any of this stuff to people without them asking to change the subject or just getting angry, since once you start to talk too much about how many assholes there are in the world, and all the assholes who just don’t care, and all the assholes who are blind to what’s happening, you start to feel like an asshole too, or maybe just crazy. You start to draw the appropriate lines: Don’t acknowledge the homeless guy who’s just asking you for directions. Don’t tell your friends you love them. Don’t ask the kid crying on the curb if they’re okay. Don’t even for a single moment acknowledge the inherent value and preciousness in every human life, because otherwise you just become a sponge to everyone else’s problems.
I wanted to turn the album off as “Pale Spectator” ended and the last track, “Grey Rubble—Green Shoots,” began, starting with the same paranoia as its predecessor. It is punch after punch to the stomach, making you feel sick and depressed and helpless. For a second, it seemed as though Godspeed would be so cruel to end the record with such blood-curdling sounds, leaving us all to spend the next day in bed with sheets drawn over our heads, nothing to do and nowhere to go, wanting to be sedated (Johnny Ramone).
This is not the case, and surprisingly or unsurprisingly, the track ends with the most beautiful music on the album yet, made more beautiful by the fact that it was after seeing everything else on the album through. All the fury continues through about half of the track before falling down into a slow last few minutes, where, if you close your eyes, you can actually see those green shoots amidst the gray rubble. A sign that life will go on. Hope. It’s all we have when we’ve lost everything including our own humanity. Hope is the only way that the world we live in today will not be the same tomorrow, and that endless suffering has an end. Because as much as it sucks, other people do exist, and so do their emotions and so who cares if you’re a sponge, because at least you care. Caring is the first step to an act of love towards the human race, like a great novel, poem, or album, which are all forms as valid as any form of trying to change something.
The last section of No Title’s liner notes reads: “war is coming. don’t give up. pick a side. hang on. love. [sic]” When I listened to this album, it made me think, that instead of laying in bed after hearing the album, sick and depressed, although tomorrow I might be, I can do everything I can today to write—which is my act of love to the human race—and ask everyone who reads my writing, what is your act of love to the human race? Consider it.
Free Palestine. May every person of the Levant and of the Holy Land, Jewish or Muslim, Palestinian or Israeli, live in peace and freedom. That goes for the rest of us too. Goodbye and amen.