Album Review: Thrice - 'Horizons/ West'
Thrice. Album 12. What a journey it’s been, and thankfully the post-hardcore stalwarts seem to have a hell of a lot left to give.
And so continues the Californian quartet’s mythic two-part journey. ‘Horizons/West’ — the twelfth studio album from Thrice — might not have arrived quite as hot-on-the-heels of first parter ‘Horizons/East’ as some might have liked, but better late than never eh? Where 2021’s ‘Horizons/East’ opens with the soft glow of possibility, though, its counterpart crashes in with the aftermath. Less a sunrise, a warming haze of hope, and more the moment the sun disappears, the long shadow cast by the doubts that came before. If ‘Horizons/East’ asks what it means to believe, ‘Horizons/West’ asks what remains after belief has been tested, cracked, and dragged through the murky waters.
Opening track ‘Blackout’ feels like the negative of previous album opener ‘The Color of the Sky’, almost like a ‘previously on…’ reminder of what came before. Similar instrumentals, similarly silky vocals. And yet, where ‘The Color Of The Sky’ questions, ‘Blackout’ erupts into a tempest of shimmering dread, distorted guitars and Kensrue’s silken croon twisting into howls of frustration. It’s not quite hopeless — but it is furious. Where ‘The Color Of The Sky’ had a sort of questioning optimism to go with the dream, here it’s just scorched earth and buried grit. There’s still belief, sure, but less so in humanity and more a resigned need for self-belief, one that claws through noise and chaos to survive.
If ‘Horizons/East’ scattered its worldview in sonic fragments, ‘Horizons/West’ is a four-year-old smashing the fragments together like pretty coloured blocks. That juxtaposition, though, is jarring in all the best ways — there’s the grunge-soaked melancholy of ‘Albatross’, where Kensrue’s vocals soar like the seabird its name evokes; the glacial avalanche of ‘Gnash’, rubble cascading down and crushing all around it; Undertow’, whose shoegaze-leaning textures swirl into a frantic, garage-rock blitz that refuse to offer safe harbour.
It’s in this safe harbour, though, that ‘Holding On’ detonates. Fast, frantic, desperate — it’s as though the band knows the stillness won’t last, that the flood is coming, and is begging you to keep swimming. There’s a subtle panic in the vocals, almost trembling, until Kensrue’s final cry fades into synth tones that resemble the flatline beep of an ECG monitor.
And then, as if at the behest of a merciful God, comes ‘Dusk’. A sudden pause to strengthen resolve, to renew your grip and grasp at the sudden inhalation of air. To use the nautical theme evoked by the tracks preceding it, the soundscape hums with something like whale song: alien, mournful, suspended in deep blue. And yet… you know it won’t last. It’s the eye of the storm; a sudden moment of tranquillity, of respite, but one shadowed by the knowledge that it’s only momentary. Even as ‘The Dark Glow’ creeps in, verses oozing through the thick, suffocating molasses created by the slow and serpentine guitars, you’re all too aware that it’s not long before you’re dragged back under.
Contrastingly, then, ‘Crooked Shadows’ is all urgency — jittery, dissonant riffs and an ever-tightening grip of tension as acerbic shouts drown out the silence. Even at its most straightforward, even as you feel like you’re finally used to the tonal shifts, Horizons/West refuses to be comfortable.
So, when ‘Distant Suns’ kicks in, hypnotic drums and glowing synths shimmering with something between awe and horror, you’re left with a sense of twisted, gnarled beauty at the unease— bruised and flickering, perhaps, pretty neon crushed into a shade of blood-soaked sanguine, but beauty nonetheless.
And then there’s ‘Vesper Light’.
What is there to say about a track which, despite still ending with seven minutes to go on the album, feels like a closer? Well, if ‘Distant Suns’ had some perverted sense of beauty, ‘Vesper Light’ embraces it wholeheartedly. Otherworldly, almost Tool-esque instrumentals and Kensrue’s gentle, delicate, and insidious falsetto give way to defiant rage, the band pushing post-hardcore to its hideous, glorious limits. When Kensrue releases his voice one final time — half-command, half-lament — it feels somehow like the death of a phoenix. Smouldering to ashes, fading into nothing, but promising a fiery rebirth.
The true closer of ‘Unitive/West’, then, feels a little… lacklustre. Chant-like vocals, wind chimes, harmonic layers — it’s meditative, peaceful, oddly unsettling, and mesmerising in its own way, but it feels akin to adding a full stop at the end of a life’s work.
(Interestingly, I reckon, it would have made a killer hidden track!)
Taken in a vacuum, ‘Horizons/West’ is a tremendous album, one which is a fine addition to the sprawling, ever-experimental Thrice discography. Adding in its counterpart though, it feels even more special. Where ‘Horizons/East’ spirals inward with epistemological curiosity, ‘Horizons/West’ crashes outward in existential rage. And yet, both records are tethered — not just thematically, but musically, in mirrored riffs and recursive motifs. Where ‘Unitive/East’ had too much going on, a cacophony of keys, Unitive/West’ possesses a bracing, harmonious bleakness, almost barren in its beauty. Even when the themes swap, as with the fowls - the carrions of the grim ‘Scavengers’ versus the sailor’s good luck charm of ‘Albatross’ — they still twine together, the very DNA of the band wrenching the tracks together. And together, they form a complete arc: one of belief, doubt, destruction, and what comes after. Few bands make it to their twelfth album. Even fewer make them matter this much.
With a tour announced already for next year, see these tracks live while you can.
Words by James O’Sullivan
