Review
Trading the private grief and guarded optimism of their recent work for an unsparing civic postmortem, Protomartyr abandon loose minimalism for the heavy architecture of a full-scale concept piece. Rather than surveying crisis as a passing squall, they double down on atmospheric dread, framing institutional decay within the peeling walls and dead-end hallways of a neglected lodging.
The rhythm section—Alex Leonard’s agile, syncopated snare work and Scott Davidson’s low-slung basslines—now anchors an expanded, noir-tinted palette overseen with co-producer Dave Fridmann. Greg Ahee sharpens his chordal slashes into brittle textures while integrating Rhodes keys, bells, and low-register brass. Flugelhorn, trumpet, and trombone cut through the creeping gait of "The Old Hotel" and the twitching pulse of "Sounds We Cannot Hear", replacing raw post-punk bile with solemn, funereal weight.
Even when the tempo combusts into the concussive, high-velocity sprint of "Feed the Sewer", the arrangements retain airtight spatial control. By the time the militant coda of "Checking Out" brings down the shutters, the record has transfigured exhaustion into something physically imposing: deliberate, suffocating, and thoroughly realized.
