Crystal Castles producer Ethan Kath said that for its new album, (III), the band recorded each song in just one take, because “the first take is the rawest expression of an idea.” And he was right; in this aptly-titled third release, Crystal Castles creates a dark, synth dystopia that is both riveting and disquieting, volatile and visceral. Though the new release builds on Crystal Castles’ distinctly haunting electronic sound, with (III) the band takes a decidedly more somber turn.
The album is colored by an eerie sense of anticipation, as if you’re waiting for a horror movie to start or a rollercoaster to take off. Through (III)’s alarming atmosphere of anxiety and unease, Crystal Castles has created art for art’s sake.
(III)’s heavy bass and reverberating, almost inaudible vocals create a nightmarish wonderland that is both unrefined and undeveloped and full of lo-fi beats. Every song, even the arguably more upbeat ones, falls into this bleak musical abyss. The album’s second single, “Wrath of God,” is loaded with jarringly aggressive electronics and vocalist Alice Glass’s signature piercing wail. It’s almost impossible to discern what Glass is saying over the pounding and all-encapsulating beat, but even without the lyrics the song’s anxiety, presumably about the wrath of God, is omnipresent.
The track titles themselves hint at the album’s unease and obsession with base desires and fears. Tracks such as “Kerosene” and “Affection” build on the hostile sound, while simultaneously creating a sense of intimacy amid the harsh synth. Crystal Castles constructs a unique paradox with (III): the layers of electronic white noise create a feeling of emptiness while the music maintains a haunting personal quality, as if the band is sending a message in a foreign language that you don’t understand.
On (III), Crystal Castles continues the explosiveness that marked their earlier albums, but also taps into something deeper and fundamentally darker. Glass’s shrill vocals, layered on top of the ever-building, searing bass, creates the atmosphere of stress and anxiety that defines the album. This tension—heightened by the album’s duality of emptiness in sound and strange personal feel—captivates the sinister side of your imagination and immediately puts you on edge. (III) is riveting to listen to but its ominously grim world is inherently disturbing. After listening to all 12 tracks, (III)’s ethereal dreamscape will leave you tense and weary.
