Apokalypsis

Chelsea Wolfe's sophomore album, Apocalypsis, is steeped in a palpable gothic spookiness. But for all of Wolfe’s macabre, self-lacerating instincts, her brand of doom-folk displays humanity and even tenderness along with disturbing sonic backdrops. The tracks here trudge and seethe with a somber air amid clattering percussion and astringent guitars, suggesting liturgical rites in haunted cathedrals. The furtive rumblings of “Mer” and the brittle garage-rock thrust of “Demons” inject some life into the ghoulish proceedings. “Movie Screen” moves slowly amid a wash of electronica droplets, while “Pale on Pale” slowly rises to a horrific crescendo. Wolfe’s keening howls and tormented murmurs are bathed in distortion for added ominous effect. The entire album would slide into the nightmarish zones of Varg Vikernes’ projects if Wolfe didn’t bring a sense of vulnerability and inner need to her songs. The wounded love ode “Tracks (Tall Bodies)” is especially revealing along these lines. Dark stuff indeed, but there’s a human heart to be found in the bleakness.