If you’ve ever taken psychedelics, you know how easily a trip can take a turn for the worst. One minute you’re elated by the vivid colors dancing among a bed of lilacs and tulips, and a moment later you’re terrified as the long shadows around you slowly morph into demonic figures and start reaching out toward you. Ok, maybe it’s not quite like that. But Hell specializes in a sludge-enveloped stoner doom that replicates the latter part of that experience. Listening to Hell is the audio equivalent of being plagued by slowly unfolding demonic visions during a bad acid trip that is just as baleful as it is psychedelic. Submersus is the project’s first full length in eight years, and it largely continues the same style as previous releases but with additional layers of sonic exploration.
Hell’s style has remained fairly consistent throughout their discography, and that is also reflected in the titles of their releases to a confusing degree. They have two LPs entitled Hell (2009, 2017), one EP entitled Hell (2015), and two other LPs entitled Hell II (2010) and Hell III (2012), respectively. The last Hell full-length to be released was in 2017, and this seemed to be the one that drew the most recognition from fans and critics alike. That Hell is a grimy, claustrophobic slow crawl into the infernal depths. Despite the pace of most tracks on Hell resembling a plodding death march into the eternal void, there are moments of both Black Sabbath-ian groove (“Wanderingsoul”) and quiet melancholy (“Seelenos”). The album was an immersive, funereal listening experience in its pulling the listener toward the abyss. From the churning, fuzz-drenched guitars to lone member M.S.W.’s tortured howls, listening to Hell (2017) truly sounded as if demons had wrapped their claws around your ankles and were slowly dragging you into the hellfire below.
This seems to be somewhat lost on Submersus and was initially a turnoff when first diving into the album. It’s difficult to identify what exactly is different between the two records in that respect, but it seems some of the production choices prevent Submersus from being the all-encompassing experience that its predecessor was. The guitars seem not to be as layered, as tonally thick, or as forward in the mix as they were on Hell (2017). A more specific instance is the bass on “Gravis,” having a somewhat cleaner tone compared with the track’s fuzzed-out guitars, which creates an odd juxtaposition. These may seem like pedantic criticisms, but in the opinion of this writer, the primary strength of Hell has been their penchant for creating that enveloping listening experience described earlier. And that has historically been what sets Hell apart from most other stoner doom bands. In some ways, the mix on Submersus seems like it may be an attempt to more closely resemble the band’s live sound, but this has the effect of removing that interplay between the production and atmosphere to create such a hellishly psychedelic listening experience. Having said that, album highlights “Hevy,” “Gravis,” and “Mortem,” which are all very much in line with Hell’s style, are some of the project’s most engaging and well-written songs to date.
While the Hell sound is generally continued on Submersus despite the differences in production, there are several sections that are more despondent than claustrophobic and more pensive than crushing. Mid-album instrumental track “Factum” most closely resembles the mournful reflections of “Seelenos,” but with a warbly use of overdriven slide guitar, immediately recalling Godspeed You! Black Emperor. The latter half of “Gravis” features multiple layered vocal tracks reminiscent of Gregorian chanting. These instances illustrate M.S.W.’s expanding repertoire and increasing talent as a songwriter. While Submersus may lack the production and atmosphere that worked in concert to manifest the everlasting psychedelic damnation that is Hell (2017) and previous output, it is nonetheless a solid and varied release from one of doom metal's most prominent figures.