Album Review: Sleep Token - 'Take Me Back To Eden'
First, there was ‘Sundowning’; otherworldly and ethereal in its delicacy, the debut wastes no time in whisking you into the ether. Then, ‘This Place Will Become Your Tomb’; sprawling and epic, as vast as the ocean and as crushing and inescapable as a maelstrom. And now, finally, inexorably, we have ‘Take Me Back To Eden’: the culmination of one of the most creative, confusing, and at times downright chilling sagas in modern music, and, if not the final chapter in Sleep Token’s odyssey, a very fitting close to their first trilogy.
Let’s rewind a little bit first. 2022 saw milestone after milestone fall before the enigmatic, shadowy group; a huge US tour supporting In This Moment, an Australia tour with Northlane, a UK arena tour with Architects. Sophomore album ‘This Place Will Become Your Tomb’ saw Sleep Token make a global name for themselves, even if their actual, personal names are still kept securely under wraps. It was a huge year, particularly for their zealous, almost cult-like fan base. Even after these global rituals, announcements kept coming — headlining the return of Takedown Festival, headlining O2 Brixton Academy (swiftly rescheduled to Eventim Apollo after the venue was temporarily closed) on a UK headline tour, as well as their own Australian headline tour; but, most importantly, a tease for an upcoming third album. Heralded by an email sent to subscribed fans, simply entitled ‘Ruminate’, the tease depicted a 5 word cypher, along with the depiction of an apocalyptic, cataclysmic event - an eldritch-god-like creature emerging from what seems to be the moon, or a moon at any rate. What could it mean? What was coming?
And then 2023 hit, and both ‘Chokehold’ and ‘The Summoning’ dropped, with little fanfare and even littler warning. Accompanied by visualisations of some more foreboding figures, ripped straight out of fantasies and nightmares, they were intimately familiar and yet worlds away from anything the group had released before. And, as it turned out, they would change everything.
A few leeks later, so too came ‘Granite’ and ‘Aqua Regis’, again on a Friday and Saturday midnight, and, almost teasingly, fans were finally drip fed ‘Vore’ and ‘DYWTYLM’, weeks apart.
Six singles, to act as harbingers for an incredible album; now, with that out of the way, let’s enter Eden.
It’s rare for an album to feel… unnerving. But ‘Chokehold’, from the very first second your shaking finger hits play, inspires a trembling blend of shock and awe: with its eerie, reverberating, electronic buzzes and souring strings, and its gentle, almost lulling electronic drumbeat, the anxiety’s already spiked by the time Vessel’s superbly sinister voice. And, as the haunting choir kicks in, and the malevolent riffs began to thunder down, the adrenaline starts to seep out; so, when ‘The Summoning’ kicks in, II’s rabid beats pounding out a death rattle, and Vessel letting loose otherworldly shrieks, it’s hard to even breathe.
Until, suddenly, the whole song changes, and long, intricate, guitar riffs and harmonious synths accompany the headbanging rather than the blast beats. And then it all changes again, to some unholy, indescribable, funky, jazzy concoction that just oozes sex.
Not bad for two songs, eh?
‘Granite’ and ‘Aqua Regis’ follow quickly behind, practically nipping at the heels — the former, a melodic, seductive, ear worm of a song, closer to R&B than it is to the track that came literal seconds before; the latter, a jazzy, soothing, exhale of a track — before the brutal ‘Vore’, and the last of the singles for now, takes the stage.
‘Vore’, much like the gorgon-esque character that graces its particular artwork, is petrifying. Or at least, the first listen is. Hidden under the monstrous, viscous, vitriolic facade of the first minute or so comes a hauntingly beautiful track, twisting and writhing between fanatical, adoring obsession — vore being the common abbreviation for the sexual fascination of being swallowed whole — and a pained vulnerability — with Vessel’s impassioned screams asking ‘are you in pain like I am’, before the track fades into the ether.
And leads into ‘Ascensionism’.
‘Ascensionism’ is nothing short of incredible - though, with over seven minutes to play with, you’d sure hope so! Opening with a disarming, despair-filled piano piece, and Vessel’s beautiful and broken voice almost sighing over the top of it, the track’s a hard-hitting, despondent ballad. Until, of course, it suddenly isn’t — suddenly, it’s Sleep Token’s take on mumble rap, moments of auto tune sailing over the electronic beats, and, once more you think have a hold of it. Until, obviously, you don’t — the mumble rap was just a segue into a slow paced, pounding, breakdown. But it’s when the three elements become one, leaving you feeling as overwhelmed and stricken as Vessel’s echoed, layered, resigned questioning shows he is that the song becomes a powerhouse. And so, when seething screams of ‘you make me wish I could disappear’ drown the rest of the song, and the song truly transcends, you’re left almost unsurprised — or, at least, until the track finishes and ‘Are You Really Okay?’ breaks in.
That’s not to disparage ‘Are You Really Okay?’ at all: it’s a soulful, mournful, melancholy ballad. It’s just a crazy about turn. There’s a distinct gentleness to Vessel’s otherwise fury-filled voice, over nothing more than the gentle strum of a guitar, echoing into empty space, with Vessel deploring someone - a loved one? A friend? You, as the listener? - to just… be okay. Reassurance and resignation right for supremacy, torn between a need to do something, anything, and a defeated helplessness. It’s a beautiful song. As is ‘The Apparition’, straight after — shocker. A sadistic serenade surrounds electronic twinkles and the blaring of some electronic trumpets, with Vessel’s vocals residing somewhere between mocking chastisement and feigned anger; the passionate, soaring choruses later in the album betray the pain.
‘DYWTYLM’, coming in at track nine, is the final single to have already been released and the last, fleeting moment of calm to be had. Despite the electronic flourishes, and the low-key desperation pervading Vessel’s voice, it’s comfortably the most understated track on the album; yet with that comes the promise of growth. Already a firm favourite, with Vessel struggling to get through it live on the band’s recent Australian tour, what started as the most underwhelming of the singles — at least according to the reception online — has quickly become an emotional powerhouse. ‘Smile back at me’, Vessel begs his reflection in a pleading exploration of mental health.
One more track, ‘Rain’, takes you to what turns out to be the final flourishes of the album — but don’t get ahead of yourself and fail to appreciate ‘Rain’. A soulful, piano led ballad leads into Vessel’s foreboding vocals, reverberating throughout the song; when the gentle drum best kicks in, so too does the vitriol - louder, angrier, and just more intense - before, finally, the 4 minute track fades into pained crooning once more, and the gentle sound of a stream washes away the dread left by the song.
And then, the title track: ‘Take Me Back To Eden’. Opening with the trilling of bird song, the track feels like a tunnel through the band’s psyche. Impassioned lyrics - ‘we dive through crystal waters, perfect oceans, but no one told me not to breathe’ — reflect a vocalist adrift in his own mind; falsetto cries, begging to return to paradise, pervade the eight minute odyssey, along with smothering piano, burst of something akin to emo rap, acerbic, acrid shrieks, and a dash of despair. Until, suddenly, the whole tone changes, and hope returns. The expansive eight minutes fly by — though, a smattering of references to tracks both from earlier in the album and from earlier albums thoroughly, joyously reward additional listens.
Before, finally, comes ‘Euclid’. With album artwork depicting his disembodied head being dragged away by another eldritch creature, you’d be forgiven for expecting something brutally heavy — instead, it’s a triumphant track: part-eulogy and part song of exultation. Vessel stands, scarred but still aloft, defeating at least some of the demons explored in ‘Sundowning’, telling you that the night belongs to you, rather than to God. And so, when the final minute or so kicks in, mirroring the first verse of the first song from the first album, ‘The Night Does Not Belong To God’, but with a sonic shift that just leaves it feeling resoundingly more like a conquering hero than a simple reprise, you can’t help but feel a tad bittersweet — it brings a smile to your face, an almost unwilling jubilance, but it also brings to mind an ending. The closing of a trilogy, five or so years in the making, with no hint as to what comes next. It couldn’t have a better close, even when said close also feels like a farewell.
However, if this is indeed the end of the band, as some rumours seem to suggest — ready to depart, having burned their distinctive sigil on the music scene — then what a conclusion.
‘Take Me Back To Eden’ is a masterpiece; through Vessel’s distinctive vocals and candid lyrics, and II, III and IV’s powerful instrumentals, Sleep Token have created a new, shadowy realm for their fans to inhabit. They’ve always been a genre-bending maverick of a band, but in ‘Take Me Back To Eden’ they’ve managed to push that to the brink — somehow each song itself is a mystery, always having you second guess what comes next. It has highs, it has lows, and it has everything else; never mind AOTY, album of the decade could be on the cards.
Words by James O’Sullivan
