OATH marks 25 years for MONO, whose silver anniversary puts them in the category of post-rock luminaries Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Do Make Say Think and Explosions in the Sky. But in terms of studio releases, MONO has been the most consistent and prolific of these bands. Since 2021’s Pilgrimage of the Soul, they’ve released three EPs and one original score, keeping them in the public eye.
Nowhere Now Here contained the band’s first foray into vocals. Pilgrimage of the Soul offered electronic experimentation, while the recent EPs showed the world the band’s softer side. Brush all that away, as the newest incarnation of MONO is loud and intense, yet also intricate and nuanced. Credit the integration of brass and strings, fluid in a manner not heard since Hymn to the Immortal Wind. One of the most consistent, best sequenced albums in recent memory, it deserves to be heard as a whole, not just the first time, but every time, creating high anticipation for the concert experience. Powerful, majestic and triumphant, OATH is evidence that evolution means combining the best of the old and the best of the new, discarding only what doesn’t work.
All this being said, there is a pall cast over the release of the album, as long-time producer Steve Albini passed away last month after completing work on the album but prior to its release. His death lends the album an unintended elegance, ironically highlighting its dual theme of time and how to make use of that time. Wistful in his later years (although he was only 61), the producer looked back on his life, regretting some choices but making apologies where he could, a mark of wisdom, perspective and maturity. If OATH pushes the listener in a similar direction, we suspect Albini would be proud. As Takaakira “Taka” Goto writes, “simply put, there’s nothing truly more important than respecting, helping and loving each other.”
The opening track alone is worth the price of entry, although the opening track is not simply lead single “Oath,” but its bookends, “Us, Then” and “Then, Us.” Together they form a single, eight-and-a-half-minute piece. The gorgeous twinklings, extended in the triptych, yield to a slow, graceful unfurling of brass and strings. The drums are held back until the middle of the piece, and when wild guitars begin to surge and sway, there’s no mistaking their awesome power. The single ends with a reverberant recession, while the full version revisits the quiet beginning, showcasing the trumpet, trombone and French horn. This, ladies and gentlemen, is why we buy the album.
With the sole exception of “Hourglass,” the rest of OATH is filled with seven to ten minute tracks, a hallmark of classic post-rock, the bread and butter of the longest lasting acts. This allows MONO to build steadily and patiently, to earn its many crescendos, to rise repeatedly from valleys and stand on multiple mountaintops. Every player has their time in the spotlight, and none overwhelm the others. As the album’s most reflective piece, “Hourglass” (ironically, even more then “Reflection”) slows tempo and time simultaneously, serving not only as an interlude but as an invitation.
Now a sprint to the end: four songs, each with humble beginnings and huge payoffs. “Moonlight Drawing” is so widescreen that it’s like thinking the theatre curtains are already open when they open even further to reveal an even larger canvas. A slow rumble of drums yields to an eventual crashing, and then an all-orchestral finale. “Holy Winter” is a nod to the band’s yearly Christmas Day EPs. “We All Shine On” is uplifting and encouraging, setting the (literal) stage for “Time Goes By,” whose gradual rise in density eventually gives way to a soft, graceful conclusion.
After a quarter century, most bands have retired or are running on fumes. MONO seems headed in the opposite direction. They’ve unlocked the secrets of the hourglass, and seem rejuvenated. One never knows how much time one has; but MONO is making the most of theirs. (Richard Allen)
a closer listen 