According to Online, the term “kilesa” comes from the Pali
language of Central India. In Buddhism, “kilesa” (spelling dictated per
dialect) refers to a mental state of emotional distress or thought poison. The
band Kylesa, from Georgia's fair city of Savannah, where the trees pull more
tourism than the pecan pie or the hospitality, seeks to embody this cerebral
slide. I can't speak to all that, except to say that when you're writing an
animal attack death scene into a story, Kylesa is the perfect tonal
inspiration.
Also from Online, one learns the band Kylesa fulfills most
of the musical genres my mother considers “devil worshipping” – sludge metal,
doom metal, death metal, stoner metal, psychedelic rock, fuzz rock, crust punk.
I’m too new to Kylesa (and all this genre lingo) to say who worships who here.
Kylesa's syrupy guitars and spiraled bass pry-back an Inferno-reflective
doorway into the sky, assuring that Up remain rooted in Down, and Hope swings
hinged on Despair. Vocally the album swims: yells, cleans, choral, shared male
and female leads. Lyrically, Ultraviolet questions the validity of Absolute
Truth. And the Christ follower in me, prone to similar curiosities, welcomes
their inquiry.
Point blank: this record works. Slow and dire. Thick but
beautiful. Ultraviolet pierces sensation, dividing the blur between conviction
and suspicion. I’ve found profound creative inspiration in this record. And,
called back, I’ve found Kylesa’s discography genre-ly scattered but
consistently progressive.
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