Arriving a full six years after their gorgeous autumnal debut, Norwegians Monograf returns with another stunning release seamlessly mixing post-rock, Scandinavian folk, progressive rock, and various metal subgenres. While Occultation is a clear continuation of the rich autumnal stew of sounds established on previous album Nadir (2019), it is also considerably more sinister, sounding as if that very same satiating stew has been transformed into a witch’s brew.
Nadir was a pensive yet expansive affair, conjuring images of pagan harvest celebrations carried out solemnly with the acknowledgment of the inevitable passage of time. featuring intertwining clean guitars playing somber chord progressions with twinkling melodies inspired by Scandinavian folk and post-rock alike. The mournful clean singing of founding member and multi-instrumentalist Erik Normann Sannes Aanonsen (ex-Antestor) colored the album's reflective mood, while the spacious compositions and contemplative atmospheres often led to climaxes that wouldn’t be out of place on a Godspeed You! Black Emperor record.
From the beginning, Occultation is more ominous, aggressive, and pointed. Opener “The Prophet” takes on noticeably more foreboding sonics than Nadir, with Aanonsen’s quivering clean voice replaced with strained and despairing vocals, nearly approaching a black metal howl at times. His and Thomas Anda’s guitars also largely abandon the golden, sparkling sunlight emanating from that previous album's clean guitars in favor of the churning darkness of minor chord progressions and phrasing performed with a rust-covered iron wall of fuzz. That aspect, coupled with the plodding pace of most tracks, points to an undeniably doomier and more menacing sound.
In spite of this heavier approach, there are still quieter moments. One of the most noteworthy respites from the band’s more aggressive approach on Occultation is “Ashes,” which begins with Aanonsen’s characteristically vulnerable voice singing mournfully over a single acoustic guitar. Ihlhaug’s violin eventually enters the fray before distant, distorted drums improvisationally build up to a swirling vortex of quiet chaos, just as meditative as it is disconcerting. Fiddler Sunniva Molvær Ihlhaug’s integral contributions are no less prominent than before and the violin, as well as other traditional folk instruments, feature prominently in “Carrion Seller” as Ihlhaug’s staccato plucks and legato phrasing add an elegiac counterpoint to the saturated, sullen swing of the guitars that sound like hammers pounding on the last nails of hope’s coffin.
If Nadir was the sound of deep autumnal reflection and pagan admiration for the season, then Occultation is the melancholy of the darker days of a winter plagued by pestilence and famine, and there is simply no better conduit for experiencing the dread of those oncoming darker days.