Despite being the reviewer for The Distaff for The Goat Review, I wasn’t the first staff member to get to hear Maud the Moth‘s new album. That’s because other staffers, mercenary harlots that they are, got it for other places (which is also the only reason I got to put my hand up for this without losing it). For the past month, all I heard was “Maud the Moth AotY”, counterpointed by the disgust of a certain caprine tyrant at such statements in early February. Suffice to say by the time I actually got to hear The Distaff, my appetite was well and truly whetted.
And the verdict?
I’m not telling you just yet. Keep reading. Or scroll to the end if you’re impatient, although if you are, The Distaff might not be for you. The Distaff is a piece of neoclassical darkwave that winds and unwinds like thread around its namesake, only here the thread is formed of dirge-like violins, shimmering pianos, the occasional crashing guitar, and the distaff is Amaya López-Carromero‘s piercingly pure voice. Maud the Moth is not strictly speaking metal, although she shares much of the genre’s love of escaping this alienating world through the power of dramatic sound, and she is definitely not about catchy hooks.
What The Distaff is, though, is a thing of almost disturbing beauty and heady, powerful catharsis. It reminds me, in terms of emotion and intent, of Chelsea Wolfe or Dead Can Dance. The album is somewhat dominated by its central song, the nine minute plus “Despeñaperros”, an epic that gradually builds to violent chords before receding again, but there are other moments of brilliance here too. I in particular have fallen in love with “A temple by the river” where the quiet strings give way to militaristic drumming and abrasive guitar noise, and “Siphonophores”, a track I described in my notes as ‘brutally delicate’.
Delicately brutal is a fine description of Maud the Moth‘s sound when we get down to it and that’s why The Distaff is special. I shall not get into the business of predicting the future and even if I were to, I would note a certain unevenness, a few threads lost besides the grandeur of their companions. The play between minimalistic melodies and bruising layers sometimes overshadows the quieter moments. That thought might go away in time, but it might grow, too. Here and now though, for those yearning for the exploration of the world’s darkness through achingly beautiful music, The Distaff is a triumph that will wind you in like few other albums can.
