On their new full-length record, Dust & Disquiet, Caspian is saying something. “We’re wide awake now,” we hear in the album’s dead center, track five’s “Run Dry.” This isn’t the first time Caspian has sung a line of discernible lyrics, but the clarity—in the tone and thematic sentiment of both the track and the whole record—has never demanded so much attention.
In part, the line is a response to their last record, 2012’s presciently titled Waking Season—an acknowledgement that even they didn’t know what changes that waking process would mean. In the three years since, the band suffered the tragic death of founding bassist Chris Friedrich, and thus felt torn between grief’s desire to hide away from everything and yet knowing immediately that the band needed to continue. But going on meant maintaining a grueling tour schedule, with the members vacillating between elation and utter exhaustion.
Ten years ago, Caspian played a show as a four-piece band at a small pub in their still-home base of Beverly, Massachusetts. After months of practicing before their first gig, never worrying about what it was they were trying to create beyond music that could tell a story, they arrived at a bombastic sound—guitars from Phil Jamieson and Cal Joss that sounded like a 40-piece orchestra, stripped-down drums that showed Joe Vickers could literally control chaos, and a bass sound so big from Chris Friedrich it blew amplifiers almost as often as he changed notes.
Dust & Disquiet showcases a maturation of the quiet/loud dynamic that Caspian has been exploring since their debut EP, You Are the Conductor. Now, that dynamic extends beyond a matter of volume, suggesting a more figurative exploration of polarities such as dark/light, dry/wet, and tired/awake. And these elements are not limited to one elongated track, but rather stretch out over an ambitious and yet patient album that opens with horns and a string quartet (“Separation No. 2”), riffs on the wilder, steel-eyed side of country (“Rioseco”) and classical (“Aeternum Vale”), all the while staying true to its epic brand of build-and-release rock (“Arcs of Command,” “Dust & Disquiet”).
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In part, the line is a response to their last record, 2012’s presciently titled Waking Season—an acknowledgement that even they didn’t know what changes that waking process would mean. In the three years since, the band suffered the tragic death of founding bassist Chris Friedrich, and thus felt torn between grief’s desire to hide away from everything and yet knowing immediately that the band needed to continue. But going on meant maintaining a grueling tour schedule, with the members vacillating between elation and utter exhaustion.
Ten years ago, Caspian played a show as a four-piece band at a small pub in their still-home base of Beverly, Massachusetts. After months of practicing before their first gig, never worrying about what it was they were trying to create beyond music that could tell a story, they arrived at a bombastic sound—guitars from Phil Jamieson and Cal Joss that sounded like a 40-piece orchestra, stripped-down drums that showed Joe Vickers could literally control chaos, and a bass sound so big from Chris Friedrich it blew amplifiers almost as often as he changed notes.
Dust & Disquiet showcases a maturation of the quiet/loud dynamic that Caspian has been exploring since their debut EP, You Are the Conductor. Now, that dynamic extends beyond a matter of volume, suggesting a more figurative exploration of polarities such as dark/light, dry/wet, and tired/awake. And these elements are not limited to one elongated track, but rather stretch out over an ambitious and yet patient album that opens with horns and a string quartet (“Separation No. 2”), riffs on the wilder, steel-eyed side of country (“Rioseco”) and classical (“Aeternum Vale”), all the while staying true to its epic brand of build-and-release rock (“Arcs of Command,” “Dust & Disquiet”).
On their new full-length record, Dust & Disquiet, Caspian is saying something. “We’re wide awake now,” we hear in the album’s dead center, track five’s “Run Dry.” This isn’t the first time Caspian has sung a line of discernible lyrics, but the clarity—in the tone and thematic sentiment of both the track and the whole record—has never demanded so much attention.
In part, the line is a response to their last record, 2012’s presciently titled Waking Season—an acknowledgement that even they didn’t know what changes that waking process would mean. In the three years since, the band suffered the tragic death of founding bassist Chris Friedrich, and thus felt torn between grief’s desire to hide away from everything and yet knowing immediately that the band needed to continue. But going on meant maintaining a grueling tour schedule, with the members vacillating between elation and utter exhaustion.
Ten years ago, Caspian played a show as a four-piece band at a small pub in their still-home base of Beverly, Massachusetts. After months of practicing before their first gig, never worrying about what it was they were trying to create beyond music that could tell a story, they arrived at a bombastic sound—guitars from Phil Jamieson and Cal Joss that sounded like a 40-piece orchestra, stripped-down drums that showed Joe Vickers could literally control chaos, and a bass sound so big from Chris Friedrich it blew amplifiers almost as often as he changed notes.
Dust & Disquiet showcases a maturation of the quiet/loud dynamic that Caspian has been exploring since their debut EP, You Are the Conductor. Now, that dynamic extends beyond a matter of volume, suggesting a more figurative exploration of polarities such as dark/light, dry/wet, and tired/awake. And these elements are not limited to one elongated track, but rather stretch out over an ambitious and yet patient album that opens with horns and a string quartet (“Separation No. 2”), riffs on the wilder, steel-eyed side of country (“Rioseco”) and classical (“Aeternum Vale”), all the while staying true to its epic brand of build-and-release rock (“Arcs of Command,” “Dust & Disquiet”).
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In part, the line is a response to their last record, 2012’s presciently titled Waking Season—an acknowledgement that even they didn’t know what changes that waking process would mean. In the three years since, the band suffered the tragic death of founding bassist Chris Friedrich, and thus felt torn between grief’s desire to hide away from everything and yet knowing immediately that the band needed to continue. But going on meant maintaining a grueling tour schedule, with the members vacillating between elation and utter exhaustion.
Ten years ago, Caspian played a show as a four-piece band at a small pub in their still-home base of Beverly, Massachusetts. After months of practicing before their first gig, never worrying about what it was they were trying to create beyond music that could tell a story, they arrived at a bombastic sound—guitars from Phil Jamieson and Cal Joss that sounded like a 40-piece orchestra, stripped-down drums that showed Joe Vickers could literally control chaos, and a bass sound so big from Chris Friedrich it blew amplifiers almost as often as he changed notes.
Dust & Disquiet showcases a maturation of the quiet/loud dynamic that Caspian has been exploring since their debut EP, You Are the Conductor. Now, that dynamic extends beyond a matter of volume, suggesting a more figurative exploration of polarities such as dark/light, dry/wet, and tired/awake. And these elements are not limited to one elongated track, but rather stretch out over an ambitious and yet patient album that opens with horns and a string quartet (“Separation No. 2”), riffs on the wilder, steel-eyed side of country (“Rioseco”) and classical (“Aeternum Vale”), all the while staying true to its epic brand of build-and-release rock (“Arcs of Command,” “Dust & Disquiet”).
show less
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