Memorial feels like standing inside a vast, grey landscape that never quite clears. The band leans heavily into long-form immersion: waves of distortion swell and recede, percussion pushes forward in bursts, then dissolves into airy passages that hover rather than resolve. It’s controlled and patient, and that patience mostly pays off. What works best here is the emotional continuity. The record doesn’t jump around stylistically; it commits to a sustained atmosphere of reflection and quiet devastation. When the heavier sections hit, they feel earned rather than decorative. At the same time, the album rarely surprises. The palette — layered tremolo guitars, distant screams, ambient interludes — is executed with care, but it doesn’t radically expand beyond what the band has already established in previous releases. I respect the discipline and the consistency. It’s a record that asks you to settle into it rather than chase peaks. The emotional tone is convincing, but I don’t feel the ...