‘Youthful ambitions that we’ve abandoned for obligations they have demanded. we have spent years circling the system we have spent years circling drain.’ (Stormcloak)

Lord Snow are a hardcore band from Chicago, and they were initially active for most of the 2010s.  The band are now emerging from their hiatus with a new 7-inch, Riften, due imminently.  In the meantime, Persistent Vision are kindly treating us to a reissue of the band’s 2013 debut full-length, Solitude, plus a reimagining of the band’s discography, Have You Heard Of The High Elves.  All will be explained!

Solitude remains a thoroughly compelling statement of the then trio’s intent, as fiercely scolding as it was when I caught them at The Unicorn just over a decade ago.  It is an album rooted in densely layered, tautly serpentine emotional hardcore.  Amid the barked, desperation saturated vocals, it segues seamlessly from chaotically angular eruptions to interludes wreathed in a shimmering post-punk shaded melancholy, by way of surprisingly infectious rhythmic excursions.

Bar the ambitiously expansive title track, each track is tightly coiled, lean yet endlessly shapeshifting, seeping into one another as if a single organism.  This fluidity is propelled by a drumming performance of remarkable virtuosic vehemence, equal parts frenzied fury and lithe, jazz-tinged subtlety.  It affords space for moments of striking clarity amid the suffocating sonic carnage:  from the venomously spat vocals of Dark Cloud to the languid opening melody to She’s Clearly Made The Most Of It, and then from the limber percussion of Yellowamarillo / Booker Dewitt to the savage convulsions of Incorrective Unconciousness.

Prior to the band recording Solitude, they had in fact been a four-piece and their original vocalist has now returned to the fold.  The band, therefore, took the intriguing decision to revisit their back catalogue, not only introducing new vocals, but also reworking the compositions.  As a result, Have You Heard Of The High Elves was born, drawing tracks from across their back catalogue, including Solitude, their 2014 split with Afterlife Kids, and their 2019 album, Shadowmarks.

What emerges is an album in which the identity of the original tracks still burns clearly.  However, they are given a touch more room to breathe, albeit the fifteen tracks still career by in just under 30 minutes.  The production is also a touch fuller, so while there remains a satisfying rawness, it is notably less harsh, allowing the individual detailing to sing through more clearly.

Similarly, the new vocals sit more forward in the mix, their nuances more apparent, but stylistically they still closely reflect those on the original recordings.  I’m sure preferences will vary between the two interpretations, but the album undoubtedly serves as a fitting herald for both the return of the band, and their new form, with a jaggedly dancing discordance that could only be Lord Snow.