Iron Fist of the Sun — We Can Yield Our Own Footsteps
Opening with the sparse and low "Pride," cold synth drones groan like the shifting of massive ice sheets transforming the horizon. Clanging mids do their best to break this up, but the focus is entirely on the slow transformation. Tortured vocals dust the background halting your escape. "The Disappearing Chair" plays on the opposite end of the spectrum. High feedback dances back and forth on top of a very "In the Air Tonight" type drum. Slow, distant, and effective, the subtlety of this track is what sells it. Crunching oscillations and crispy feedback make up the noisy meal that is "Trapped In Amber." Slowly pulsing, driving forward, this catchy, vile little head nodder plods deliberately on. Trapping the listener into a rough little corner, "Trapped" works at its own pace. Sometimes, though, it gets troublesome leaving things to go at their own pace. "Cold Wet Skin" plays like a distorted keyboard just left to do its own thing. The vocals on top add a nice level of creepiness, but the underlying synth feels lazy and uninspired. It picks up about 2/3 of the way through, but after six minutes, it's kinda hard to overlook how it got here. Swirling and buzzing like a digital swarm, "Insignificant" looks even more active when compared to the preceding track. The loops do a nice job of drawing the listener in, and when in there, the vocals make a good payoff for the trip. "Born of Snake" has much of the same problem as "Cold Wet Skin." Somewhat uninspired for the first half, once it starts to take on a rough and interesting feel of its own, four minutes have passed. The second half is high pitched and nicely uncomfortable, but the thinness of it leaves a bit to be desired. Darkness abounds in the closer, "The Only Thought Is Mine." The stacking of layers works really well on this, and there's a nice fullness that is missing on a few of the album's songs. Synthy and low, the main layer provides a great base for the highs to play on. The vocals, as usual, are rough and mean, but distant enough not to suffocate the tune. Working well as a finisher, this one makes the trip worth it.
While not all albums can be home runs, getting on base is just as important. We Can Yield Our Own Footprints is a solid bit of death industrial that will haunt your stereo. It's sparseness and uninspired moments keep it from getting out of the park, but the view from first is nothing to complain about. It's definitely worth a listen, and I'm looking forward to seeing where IFOTS takes it from here