HYMNS FOR HUNGRY SPIRITS, VOL. II

With songs that explore various aspects of loss, heartbreak, isolation, hope, and redemption, Hymns for Hungry Spirits, Vol. I was an impressive effort, albeit with a few reservations. The lyrics, musicianship, arrangements, and empathic sincerity of the project really shined, but the album's tonal homogeneity and boxy production limited its scope. That 'sameness' kept a very good record from being a damn good or even great one.

Suffice to say I'm thrilled to report that Hymns for Hungry Spirits, Vol. II took all the best elements from Vol. I and accelerated them to exponential levels, while deepening the tonal bench with a more diverse stylistic palette. This album breathes with a rich sonic soundscape and commanding musical energy , ultimately resulting in an engaging prog rock release. Here the fears and uncertainties of the human condition erupt on a near-cosmic scale, whereas the connective tissue of hope and empathy soothe with melodic dignity.

'Blind Eye To A Burning House' kicks off the album, picking up where Vol I left off without dropping a wink. It's a barnstormer of an opener, uptempo to an almost fist-pumping degree. Even the singalong chorus lends the track a warm pop veneer. But this urgency is conveyed with iron-knuckled control instead of unrelenting frenzy, even with all the pounding double kick drums, thundering bass lines, and crisp staccato keys.

Whereas 'Blind Eye' questions how you can steer a loved one away from the path of self destruction, the followup track 'The Portal and The Precipice' relays the all too familiar edge-of-separation anxiety every doomed relationship engenders. Opening with modulated, AM transistor radio drums and transitioning into verses shining with Hammond keys and a verse structure reminiscent of 80s Rush, the band conjures up another winning rocker.

It behooves me to note that both opening songs, while similar in tone and emotional drive, flow well together without feeling repetitive or another trip back to the well. This is underscored by 'Viper', slowing the pace down with more of a thundering march than a rocking drive. 'Viper' controls the dialog between rage and understanding, where assertive anger is tempered by acceptance (if not forgiveness). This is exemplified by the early Crimson distortion on the verses and the dissipation into melody over the chorus. 'Viper' is a standout track.

'Inheritor' proudly wears its '80s synth-pop aesthetic in high and happy relief. We're talking nods to Alphaville, Depeche Mode, The Cure, OMD, to the point of full-on homage. Themes of recovery, finding the new normal, and discovering a healing path take center stage here.

Accordingly, one can make an easy connection to The Pandemic and the ensuing unease of social distancing and isolation, especially with imagery of empty streets, cities under sedation, and worlds driven to silence. But any direct associations like those would be reductive in light of the song's more universal themes. In any event, 'Inheritor' is a quality tune, although it's the most 'derivative' track on the album. I use 'derivative' in quotes because I don't necessarily think homages are innately negative. Here, however, the nods are blatant enough to merit discussion.

All of this of course delivers us to the album closer. Since the previous album opened with 'To Find The Light, Part One', the followup record ends with 'To Find The Light, Part Two', and this does not go unnoticed:

And so we circle right back to this question Uncertain now as we were at the start Where do we go to find our shelter? How to repair this broken heart? What do we make of all our failings To drive our flag into the Earth? How do we bear the weight of being The sum of every death and birth?

There's quite a bit of subject matter to unpack, as 'Part Two' endeavors to encapsulate every concept and question asked throughout both albums. And, at 20 minutes in length, we finally arrive at the big epic closer towards which those with stronger prog affinities easily gravitate.

'Part Two' opens with a pulsing dance beat driven by percussive drums and swirling atmospheric keys. Even a strong acoustic strum adds a compelling folk layer to the affair. This leads into the central motivic debate between icy determinism and hopeful fatalism, or perhaps mechanical dehumanization and melodic acceptance. The former is characterized by Wish You Were Here-era Floyd nods, countered quickly by deeply musical and engaging piano harmonies which provide the humanist response to the coldness of the digital void.

The song takes an odd yet entirely engaging detour into a mechanical, nigh robotic theme at midpoint. I really can't say enough about this central instrumental interlude that is a highlight of the album. Graham's unforgettable bass lines, Porper's emotive keyboard diversity, and Matthews powerfully connecting drum work all connect and converge in lushly layered and intricately delivered manner, yet all in service of the song. A magnificent closer.

We rest awhile and then we take our place We rest awhile and rejoin the human race

Hymns for Hungry Spirits, Vol. II finds warmth, and acceptance in an icy, entropic universe. While one might argue that explicitly spelling out the message robs the listener of their agency and freedom of interpretation, I disagree with such assertions. Great Wide Nothing isn't lecturing here; they are lighting a watchtower signal, one of an infinite number, an endless array of tinder, kindling, and fuel overlooking the boundaries of the human experience, simply waiting to be lit. Illumination, not explanation.

What makes the album impressive is how much the musical delivery perfectly conveys the emotional content while remaining both intricate and harmonious. Hymns for Hungry Spirits, Vol. II succeeds as a confident, assured, and sonically diverse collection of tracks that derives genuine hope and meaning in an increasingly unfeeling universe.