Possessing both the prowess to open Then the Darkness with a blistering cry (“Thousand Year Storm”) and approach its close with a near lullaby (“(Untitled)”), Gratz and Grayceon continue to find a necessary diversity in their growing body of work. And in the capable engineering hands of trusted partner Jack Shirley,2 Gratz’s lilting vocal lure against counterpoint chamber-influenced swings find an increasing warmth against thick, finger-picked guitar runs and long-drawn crescendos. Time has weathered Gratz’s voice into a full crackle and alto croon that reflects the kind of mystical incantation that you might hear in latter-day Sabbath Assembly, as well as providing room for growth in harsh screeching accompaniment reminiscent of the minstrel Jekyll and Hyde performances of early Ludicra. Yet Grayceon remains in their own element first, even weaving moments of self-referential melodies throughout the back half of Then the Darkness to root deeply the recurring nature of the traumas each of their works explore.
As an exercise in textural excellence, though, Then the Darkness would struggle to entertain through its mammoth eighty-minute sermon if not backed by its aching heart narrative. With themes revolving around the complex nature of evolving relationships—between parent and child, between friends, between partners, between society and its most downtrodden—Gratz navigates each sorrowful tune with a warbling pathos that reads full and earnest in its many cracks. And while this downcast reading flows through much of the journey, the long fadeout from “Mahsa” to instrumental segue “Then the Darkness” renders most of the C-side (“Then…” through “Song of the Snake”) far more placid and buried than the lively bounce that “Holding Lines” provides to the closing chapters. It’s hard to escape the “what if” in terms of what could happen in a more streamlined experience—despite the high quality of Grayceon’s strongest offerings, the slightest dip or departure feels like a missed opportunity where their other works to date have chosen a lighter load.
However, Grayceon’s mastery of studio play emboldens simple structures with deft attacks to fuel the craveability of Then the Darkness. With the ebb and flow of a jam session, quicker cuts fill the air with rockin’ riffs, tight rhythms, urgent melodies, and a classic, volume-driven tone (“One Third,” “3 Points of Light,” “Holding Lines”). And while it’s up front harmonic excess in plucked guitar ascensions that collide with sliding bow tension pepper these tracks with short-term pleasure, it’s the subtle double-punched lines and diverging, hard-panned cello-guitar fill flickers that stimulate an urge to devour all nooks of sound available. And as buttery-yet-jagged riffage finds a crooked home between layered cello stabs (“Thousand Year Storm”) and slithering, off-kilter refrains (“Song of the Snake”), each cut in careful construction escalates to crescendos coordinated in explosive and sullen moods. The longest track, “Mahsa,” cranks all of these techniques to keep each recursion along a gentle climb rather than a flat stroll.
If providing an audience with a plate too full to finish was the goal, Then the Darkness has more than fulfilled the task. From humble roots as a scrappy power trio to this newest incarnation as presence-demanding storytellers, Grayceon’s path of human travail has brought about a gargantuan work that demands attention and dedication. In its four-sided tale, Then the Darkness strikes with an undeniable, hook-laden melancholy when its fire burns brightest. In isolation, no track falters. And though a waning intensity keeps it from being a masterpiece, Grayceon offers enough top-shelf material to make a long service worthwhile.
Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Translation Loss Records | Bandcamp
Websites: grayceon.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/grayceon
Releases Worldwide: July 25th, 2025
