This, the last record in their four “seasons” cycle which began with The Conscious Seed of Light in 2013, and is following up the incredibly acclaimed and seminal Where Owls Know My Name in 2018. Rivers Of Nihil have reached the winter phase of life, where the harsh, and cruel realities of life all manifest themselves before us and we must decide if this, the coldest season of life, will break us. Is this all there is? What do we do in a life where we feel exploited, panicked, and overworked? Will we lose ourselves in this life; be buried by it? Or are these trials we all must face and emerge from stronger and ready to face the joy of mental, spiritual, and physical rebirth? Is life meant to be full of horrible pain and blissful peace all at once? These are all very deep questions that the band puts forth on this complex, often confounding record, but one that yields huge musical and lyrical dividends for those who stick with it and dive into the waters within.
Right from the first minute, any expectation for the band to rest on their laurels and slightly modify the sound of Owls is thrown right out the window. The Work is so different in so many ways. For one, it’s a much more melodic record, with most songs featuring clean vocals from drummer Jared Klein, who only dabbled on Owls. This record is also a much more spacious record, and the songs breathe and disperse like vapor compared to the rigid and direct strength of their previous record. What The Work manages to do so well is balance moments of utmost stress, chaos, and darkness with moments of real tranquility and gentleness. This is less about riffs, and more about feeling, and the record often pulls from the instrumentation often found in the work of prog rock greats Porcupine Tree and its leader Steven Wilson.
This is seen in the opening, lilting keyboard notes of ‘The Tower’, and through the soothing vocals of Klein as this track flows like a river before widening to the driving force of lead vocalist Jake Dieffenbach and soaring guitars of lead songwriter and guitarist Brody Uttley and rhythm player Jon Topore. All members, especially Uttley and Dieffenbach, really expand their range and ability to play with their sound in completely new ways on this record, including the recorded ambient sounds from their factory town of Reading, Pennsylvania, and the simple, haunting synth work that Uttley employs judiciously throughout. Following up the light of the first track is the disorienting cacophony of ‘Dreaming Black Clockwork’, a track that feels like the stress of a panic attack and that eventually dissolves into the most hellish blast of noise the band has ever created.
But much like the album’s greater message, the chaos transitions to one of the most beautiful songs on the record, the dreamily lilting ‘Wait’. And it’s about at this point that the realization hits that this record, especially lyrically, is much like the film The Green Knight: it’s going to require some time and introspection to really pull every lesson this album has to give out of it. There are some very immediate tracks that scratch a similar itch that Owls did, like first single ‘Clean’, with it’s lumbering stomp dissolving into a psychedelic synth solo reminiscent of the first time that oh so famous sax appeared on that previous record. ‘The Void From Which No Sound Escapes’ is also a track that could fall under the “banger” category. It’s weighty and punchy, but embraces the less is more ethos that this album embodies at many points. But make no mistake, this is perhaps the one track where the riffs are out in force.
More so than any revelation this album delivers on first listen, it’s that it’s a much more humanistic record than its predecessors; much more colloquial and directed towards a common man’s existential crises. Entire songs like ‘MORE?’ are dedicated to the frustration and anger of being squeezed in the gears of the grind, be it corporate or creative. And the title of the record is indeed an existential affair through line through each track, but how that greater thought is digested is definitely left more open to the listener as the runtime rolls on. Lyricist Adam Biggs does a sublime job top to bottom in delving into the thick of our yearning to understand our life’s trials and stresses in this age of anxiety, and the sheer will it takes to simply exist in a world where it feels like our only purpose is to work, and to lose, and pehaps find ourselves in the process simultaneously. The album seems to reach a thematic climax at the song ‘Episode’, as the lyrical eye expresses the devastating and disconcerting notion “I know it hurts, but you have to.” A lot of weight lies behind those words for so many, and it’s one of the most affecting moments of the record.
But equally affecting is the transition from the harsh delivery of that line to the mirrored smoothness of that same line delivered in follow up ‘Maybe One Day’, a comforting, gentle track that almost feels like a 90’s pop rock song. It’s a warm fire at the end of the sea of cold, with a gorgeous solo with its beauty found in its simplicity. But perhaps this too is an illusion, as final track, and the most philosophical of them all, ‘Terrestria IV: Work’ begins. The song feels like being cast back out into the cold, at the mercy of the storm, questioning it all over again. But there is a moment in this track where we can hear the triumphant chords signaling the feeling of life, growth, hope. Rivers of Nihil seems to say to us, all there is is the journey, and we just do the best we can. Nothing more, nothing less. And, eventually, howling winter will give way to the life of spring. And diehard fans will certainly recognize the sounds found in the last seconds of this wonderful record.
This is not a record to dive into if riffs are the desired goal. This is not a record steeped in fantasy or wild imagery. This is a record that probes the very essence of what it means to struggle, to work, and what that means for our existence, and it captures that essence, paradoxically, in a beautifully simple, yet incredibly complex way. The musicianship serves the evolution in sound the band employs: synths, melody, depth of texture. There is no fear on this record in both asking the big questions and taking big, bold steps both lyrically and musically to attempt an answer. Does it drag at times? Yes. Is it one of the best of the year? Yes. The Work is a remarkably intelligent record that should, with time, speak to the soul of all of us who toil and find ourselves sinking into our chairs, questioning if what we do is all worth it, and then realizing, one day, that perhaps the very act of toiling is what was worth it all along.