Pitchfork

Time to make a trip to the local junk shop and pick up an extra stereo: Boris' massive instrumental opus, Dronevil, makes a conceptual nod toward the Flaming Lips' Zaireeka. Instead of four CDs spinning simultaneously, the doom symphony is intended to be experienced on two synced, overlapping sets of speakers. If you already own the limited (and currently sold out) double-vinyl edition that the folks at Misanthropic Agenda kindly released last year, take note: This newer draft, Dronevil Final, is a burlier monster. The Misanthropic edition included four approximately 20-minute tracks, each taking up one side of a record. Inoxia's CD reissue, though, packs on two additional 20-minute pieces-- two hours if you play the discs straight through.

But, of course, that's not the plan: If you do own a couple of stereos (or can score one from a friend), you'll be able to unleash Dronevil as Boris intended-- an hour of doubled, layered, hyper-stereophonic sounds. Generally, one half, "Disc Drone", consists of darkened ambient work while the other, "Disc Evil", is louder rock. If played concurrently in the same room, the two mesh into one gigantic wall of rock'n'drone, but it's difficult to know how closely Boris tracked the separate compositions. In many cases, it seems the dynamics created are the result of chance. Process isn't important to the end result-- I tried both ways and prefer the spaciousness of listening to the discs separately. Which is good news, I guess, unless you're enough into micro-managing to go for the simulcast each time you need a Boris fix.

The program opens with "Red", one of the new tracks. It's a pad of barely-there Touch-style string waves. As on many of the pieces, strains of feedback gradually emerge, creating depth as well as offering its sister track something to cinch onto. After 14 minimally drifting minutes, drums enter the mix; the guitars/bass take on a Western shootout cast not unlike "Land of Some Other Order" from Earth's Hex. The tumbleweeds are submerged in deep reverberations and accented with arpeggio strums. This high-noon shoot-me-up gets paired with "Loose", the other new composition. It's a wash of feedback and a cymbal/gong shimmer: When the two join forces I initially thought of "Introduction" from Akuma No Uta mashed-up with a cowboy crosshatch.

The next pair brings the rock. Exhibiting a subtle Deathprod or Fennesz environmentalism (think City of Light after a power outage), "Giddiness Throne" acts as a lower background to the sustain-heavy guitar and drums of "Evil Waveform". The former is also comparable, I suppose, to Oren Ambarchi, though it's more homogenous, with fewer single-note slingshots. Its partner in chime, the dooming "Evil Wave Form", hovers with sludgy licks and higher-pitched background wails. Five minutes into the monster, the riffs crush, the high-hat cajoles, and "Giddiness Throne" just about disappears, sporadically refueling with a continuous (but always sparking) rumble.

Sometimes, too, "Evil Wave Form" exhibits a quiet-is-the-new-shroud beauty and nuanced echo suggesting diminishing sadness. This is but one of the reasons I prefer listening to each track by itself: The individual works are teeming with ideas and action, and there's no need to clog the air with additional sounds. Here, for example, it turns out that wispier moment was a trick. After the pause, it's in-the-red axe grease, shimmering guitar solos, heavy chugs, and massive shred.

Providing the base for the finale, "Interference Demon" is a more ragged, noisier feedback tone, though it maintains a certain resonance. (Think Mego rather than Whitehouse.) Its rowdier half, "The Evilone Which Sobs", begins all gentle-like with airy, melancholic strums. A bubble bursts though, and becomes reverb-soaked sludge. Soon enough, the track grows almost emo (and sorta Mouth of the Architect), the guitar a wailing squall with plenty of gentle weeping and heaving, arcing notes. "Interference Demon"'s screech sews itself onto this clamor, offering a nice contrast.

A few folks I know have mentioned being bored by Sun Baked Snow Cave, Boris' 2005 collaboration with Merzbow. I also found its somewhat haphazard, collagist feel a tad flat. Anyone scared off by that excursion shouldn't automatically ignore Dronevil. It's another lengthy exercise, yes, but it showcases so much more substance, fluidity, and dimension. No matter how you slice or dice it-- and hey, why not mix and match the different pieces to create your own hybrids?-- it's a pleasingly exhausting lesson in sonic variation. Outside of Pink, it's their most inspired work in ages. Totally stunning.