Have you ever wondered how poignant an album can become when you first allow yourself to think about it? I’ve had my share of albums that sat with me for extended periods of time, whether because they released during a very intense point in time, or simply that their themes seem to burrow inside my brain.  However, there are some albums that strike you the minute you start paying attention, allowing you to sit uncomfortably with your thoughts. This is the case with Our Hiemis’s Opal Spine, an album that walks the fine line within cacophonous mechanics and uncomfortable inevitability.

Before discussing the album proper, I want to discuss its name. Opal Spine refers to both a stone known for its low durability, as well as the literal bone that holds our heads up. It evokes the idea of the spine — one of the most vital structures in the body — becoming fragile and in need of reinforcement, before it cracks under pressure.

Conceptually, the album is rooted in two main ideas: the tenuous health of sole member Augustin Braud’s mother, and the unstable balance between the organic and the mechanical. Perhaps that’s what makes me so uncomfortable; Braud, far removed from his post-metal leanings in Erebe, is candid about how all this has affected him, and he wants to show you how.

The album-opening “No One Incants Our Dust” saga starts things off rather minimally. Part I slowly builds with dissonant synths and other sinister ambience. Then, underneath the solemn guitar melody, the music begins to glitch in and out of frame. You feel disoriented, as if something’s happening around you and you’re unsure whether to escape or remain. Its successor, Part II, shifts that unsettling feeling into a moving piece that incorporates more and more organic instruments. Underneath the heavy electronics and glitch-like soundscapes, you hear the main guitar, the bassline, and a moving melody that signals some warmth. Behind the synthetic material that sheaths its musical soul, Opal Spine is flesh, bone, and cartilage, holding itself together.

However, that synthetic, mechanical element begins to manifest on the title track, which shifts into an uncomfortable, incomprehensible cacophony of sounds. The only way I can describe this song is using the term “sonic body horror.” It’s off-putting, it’s full of feedback, and it hurts. This is where the album’s grief begins, where the confusion starts, where everything around Braud seems to change. There’s nothing he can do except watch things break down and attempt to reform, all while hanging by a thread.

Later, the first part of “Catachrony” integrates aspects of heavy industrial and noise into its main thematic structure. At times both cacophonous and serene, the song highlights the idea of temporal discombobulation — where one is aware that time passes, but is unable to account for its loss, leaving them disoriented and confused. It’s positively haunting, and arguably the most complex and challenging song on the album.

Opal Spine is an enigma of a record, a powerful debut made all the stronger by its highly experimental nature. It’s a struggle to properly express my thoughts on it, and Braud’s left me with so many questions about its origins. But ultimately, it’s probably best for this album to retain its sense of mystery to the very end.

–Hera

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Opal Spine is available March 22 on Wic Recordings. For more information on Ohr Hiemis, visit their official Instagram.