Kel Valhaal
New Introductory Lectures on the System of Transcendental Qabala
Reviewed by: Max Miller
I have to admit, when I first discovered that Kel Valhaal was the experimental electronic project of Liturgy guitarist/vocalist Hunter Hunt-Hendrix, I was giddy with excitement to aim my gun at that particular fish barrel. In case you aren’t familiar, Hunt-Hendrix was met with ridicule from metal fans after describing his band’s music as “transcendental black metal,” going as far as to write an entire transcendental black metal manifesto. This basically confirmed the average metal fan’s prejudices against artsy Brooklyn kids making black metal, and while it’s easy to blame the overhyped lullaby metal of a band like Deafheaven on Liturgy, that would be ignoring the fact that Liturgy’s output — while, yes, often pretentious — was at least challenging. And metal listeners need challenging music, because, more than many other genres, metal enforces strict parameters on itself, and aggressively ostracizes any musicians who color too far outside its conservatively laid lines.
But Kel Valhaal is not a metal project. While metalheads who welcome bands from the more avant-garde end of the spectrum may find something to love here, Hunt-Hendrix’s new outlet must navigate a different world, where challenging music is embraced. One might even be viewed as an interloper if one’s music isn’t strange enough.
This brings us to Kel Valhaal’s debut: New Introductory Lectures On The System Of Transcendental Qabala.
…Yeah, I know. He’s really not doing himself any favors in swaying those who would sneer at him. But let’s not look at it that way. Let’s say his clear commitment to his philosophical intentions proves they weren’t some flash-in-the-pan PR soundbite. Hunt-Hendrix’s earnestness is almost charming at this point. And what’s more, it’s all really just window-dressing — the music on this album needs to hold up in its own right.
Here’s the problem, though: It kind of doesn’t.
The minute-and-change of discordant bleeps and skittering bass-drum hits that make up opener “Mea Culpa” hint at a record influenced by the usual suspects of the modern electronic avant-garde: Oneohtrix Point Never, Tim Hecker, etc. The next track, “Tense Stage,” starts off similarly unhinged, but then something truly unexpected happens around the two-minute mark. An agitated serpents’ nest of 808 claps gives way to Hunt-Hendrix rapping in a fake patois. Seriously. As if Das Racist didn’t address this kind of thing waaaaay back in 2010.
Hunt-Hendrix has been upfront about trap music influencing the music he makes as Kel Valhaal, but that usually amounts to using distinctive hi-hat patterns or simplified keyboard melodies. This is straight-up appropriation.
“Tense Stage” drags on for nearly eight minutes, as Hunt-Hendrix wails over some uninspired IDM and obligatory vocal glitches. The album’s centerpiece, “Ontological Love,” pushes its way past the ten-minute mark. The rest of the record consists of short interludes and songs with more modest running-lengths, but with more than half of its 35-minute runtime dedicated to these two ponderous compositions, New Introductory Lectures… feels incredibly stale.
“Ontological Love” pairs a detuned synth hook and horror movie chimes with more of Hunt-Hendrix’s insipid rapping, only this time it’s autotuned. Far be it from me to outright condemn autotune — only 45-year old Springsteen fans deny the artistic merits the technology can have. But here, Hunt-Hendrix uses it to rap-sing the song title repeatedly before arriving at a Lopatin-inspired synth-string oasis that unfortunately reveals itself as a mirage hiding more verses.
It feels like I shouldn’t have to state bluntly that the last person Hunt-Hendrix needs to draw inspiration from is Post Malone.
Perhaps the best cut on the album is “Kairos,” which is not only a manageable length, but which Hunt-Hendrix mercifully left instrumental. As a producer, he isn’t exactly groundbreaking, but he shows promise as someone who could come into his own making this kind of music. If he had only resisted his impulse to rap — or even if he had rapped without the faux accent — New Introductory Lectures… could have ended up a respectable debut instead of a laughable spectacle. Alas, as “Bezel II” closes the album with more ill-advised vocals and the sound of a Game Boy Color dying a slow death, we can only hope that if we hear more from Kel Valhaal in the future, it will come after Hunt-Hendrix has taken a long, hard look in the mirror and figured out which of his ideas are actually worth pursuing.
Rating: No Comment
