Or, "Why we aren't hearing DieHumane's screams of isolation"

A fact that every artist has to face, sooner or later, is that very few things in the world are truly unique: as Isaac Newton famously put it, ‘we stand on the shoulders of giants,’ although he himself was borrowing the metaphor from writers before him. When we witness the increasing commodification of music, it’s hard not to feel that unique art may be a thing of the past. How wonderful, then, to hear a band like DieHumane, whose influences are so broad and their sounds so unorthodox as to represent something truly creative. Supplementing their modern metal sound with touches of jazz, prog, ambient and more, the band pack such intense despair and aggression into their music as to scare off many casual listeners: perhaps this is the first step to understanding why, despite the group’s clear talent, their commercial success remains unfairly constrained. To put it bluntly: why the hell haven’t you heard DieHumane’s debut album, ‘The Grotesque,’ yet?

Formed at the end of 2020, DieHumane was created as a means for Joshua Vargas and Greg Hilligiest to, in their own words, “deal with the loss and isolation of that year.” ‘The Grotesque,’ however, tends not to venture into specific events, instead utilising its frightening imagery and sound design to convey the sheer weight of emotion that the band were feeling after such a tumultuous period. This atmosphere is captured instantly on the opening cut, ‘The Executively Dysfunctional,’ which begins the record with some hauntingly hollow synths underscoring a reading of Antigonish’s ‘I Met a Man Who Wasn’t There.’ It’s certainly a clichéd introduction, though not one without merit, and the band commit yet further to these horror tropes. Metallic clanging and a foreboding string melody make their entrance, building tension before the album’s first full track, ‘King of Nothing (The Bruiser)’ kicks into high gear. The song launches into a chorus packed full of groaning guitars, frenetic synths and dominating vocals, all layered up in a manner that feels visceral, yet well-balanced. Even in this first real moment of musicianship, the vocal style and use of heavy synths set DieHumane apart from their contemporaries as the group display a greater variety of sound than most bands are able to pull off, and the track’s lyrics only further compliment the nightmarish mood. Take these lines from the song’s end, for example:

‘If you’re the king of all, all is full of hell. Then you’re the king of all hell. Then you’re the king of nothing.’

Disillusionment with life, society and the self are key themes throughout ‘The Grotesque,’ and ‘King…’ sets the record up to explore them thoroughly and unflinchingly. Indeed, the opening tracks make a firm statement that DieHumane are not a band to make any compromises in their music, nor are they keen to rein in their wild creativity. For the most part, this results in a host of wonderful instrumental flourishes and arrangement choices: the track’s verse, for example, features a passage of screaming saxophone unlike anything you’d expect from the genre. Not every aspect is so easily celebrated, however, as said verses are so stripped back as to draw the track to a jarring halt, indulging in more ambience rather than building from the momentum of the song’s tremendous chorus. One can’t help but find themselves simply waiting during these segments, even if the band do a great job creating an atmosphere in the meantime. Thankfully, the track finds its drive towards the end, thundering its way into a guitar solo courtesy of ex-Exodus guitarist, Rick Hunolt. It’s hardly the most technical showing, but it doesn’t need to be— between its odd phrasing and distinct key changes, the lead playing here establishes itself as another natural addition to DieHumane’s sound, rounding out the song nicely. Despite its stop-start nature, ‘King…’ remains an impressive and bold opening to the record, setting up both the lyrical themes and sonic palate that will go on to define ‘The Grotesque.’

The following two tracks follow similar structures to their predecessors, with ‘Standing On The Edge Of Forever’ being the ominous intro to ‘Shell Shock.’ On these songs, however, DieHumane up the ante, turning every element up to eleven. The melody to ‘Standing On The Edge of Forever’ was already teased in ‘King…’ but it gets it chance to really shine here, indulging in its sing-song quality to increase the creepiness tenfold. What listeners may not expect, however, is the numerous jazz influences that crop up: even putting aside the prominent saxophone inclusions, the track’s drum performance and walking bass line are clear illusions to the genre. The mood doesn’t last long, however, as ‘Shell Shock’ quickly thrusts us into one of the most downright powerful and momentous hooks on the entire record— between its mix of melodic and harsh vocals, its relentless rhythms and the tense half-step intervals, the passage is truly nightmare-inducing, and yet catchy all the same. Being able to mix so many elements together in such a cohesive and confident manner is truly impressive: the album’s constantly adaptive and intentional production is a major factor in this, and is nothing to be scoffed at. Unfortunately, ‘Shell Shock’ does suffer from the same momentum-killing verses as its predecessor, and the issue is no less prominent here. The track does have some truly brilliant sound design to compensate, however, layering up a host of bizarre synths and string inclusions in its second verse into a soundscape so dense and out-of-left-field as to make the job of a music journalist incredibly difficult: rather, I would simply recommend that you listen to the track yourself. Around the same time, ’Shell Shock’ also introduces a second major hook— complete with a saxophone-backed melody sure to get stuck in your head— and ends things out with another tastefully put together guitar solo from Hunolt. It’s hardly a sonic reinvention from ‘King…,’ but rather a doubling down on all its key elements and themes: indeed, the track’s lyrics expand the narrator’s focus to include a sense of apathy and disgust at the world around them and its treatment of individuals. The wordplay is far from subtle, instead choosing to present each idea in an evocative and, at times, brutally honest manner. Take, for example, the hair-raising passage:

‘They show you golden meadows before you see defeat. They take away your God: after all, you’re only meat.’

With such heavy lyrical themes, combined with a sound that is both alienating and genre-defying, it’s not hard to see how DieHumane may have squandered any chance to reach a wider audience— as things only grow darker and more menacing further into the record, the band may end up making Slipknot or Korn look like The Weeknd. Rather, the band have decided upon a completely uncompromising version of their album, and the artistry is worthy of nothing but praise.

‘The Death Knell’ is, unfortunately, best summarised as a prime example of the album’s poor pacing. Though the band again showcase their prowess for interesting soundscapes through the deep rumbling drums and panned synths, the fact remains that the record did not need another interlude this soon, especially after so many ambient verses and other slower passages. Thankfully, the following ‘Epitaph’ rectifies these issues near immediately, standing as the most consistent and well-packaged track thus far. The cut’s verses may progress at a more lethargic pace, but DieHumane keep the energy high with some wonderful melodies: vocalist Garret West continues to impress, proving himself just as capable in his clean singing as he is in his bellows as he guides the track into a meditative pre-chorus centred around refrains of ‘why, oh why, oh why?’ The sound design is similarly excellent, bringing in some strange vocal echoes that perfectly contrast the sorrowful fingerpicked guitars and brooding strings… that is, before the track erupts into yet another sublime chorus. The hook on ‘Epitaph’ is less crushing than on ‘King…’ or ‘Shell Shock,’ instead pushing its guitars and synths into a forceful chord progression underlining some immense lead vocals. DieHumane implement a greater focus on melody here, making this one of the more memorable moments on the record. The use of rich strings is, similarly, sure to stick with the listener: though they are probably programmed by Vargas and Hilligiest rather than being recorded live, this has had an imperceptible effect on their ability to guide the track through its various passages, making them a welcome part of the overall package. Lyrically, ‘Epitaph’ narrows the focus again, providing a scathing outlook on family from the perspective of someone who’s just taken their own life. West’s sneers of ‘Mother… Father… Sister… Brother…’ are delivered with a terrifying coldness that sets the chilling tone of the song, though it’s the lyrics to the chorus that really drive the track’s emotional core home:

‘Not yet cold, they close the lid on my life. Forgive me for wandering: I’ll come home crying sometime. I’ll come home…’

The image of ‘returning home’ will reappear later on in ‘The Grotesque,’ though ‘Epitaph’ twists the lyrical device into something far more sinister than it first appears. ‘Returning home’ would normally carry more positive connotations of safety and belonging, hinting at a calm resolution to the narrator’s inner turmoil. With these lines, however, DieHumane snuff out any hope of a happy ending, promising the listener that ‘home’ is not where the heart is. Surprisingly, these lyrics are arguably not even the most evocative element of the song as Hunolt delivers two excellent guitar solos towards the end— his tone is dialled in to perfection, keeping the sound both modern and throaty in the best way.

‘Oblivion’ was the lead single for ‘The Grotesque,’ acting as a perfect microcosm of the entire record: it serves as an appropriate acid test for if someone might enjoy what the full release has to offer. The most immediate impression the track may leave is its desolate and hopeless mood: West’s vulnerable clean vocals, underscored by a simple yet hauntingly beautiful melody, sound more defeated and regretful than he’s dared to show thus far as he admits a craving for the end of the world from the opening lines:

‘I’ve given up. I’ve given up on everything. I’ll walk across the sun into oblivion.’

Across the song, West covers many previously discussed topics including self-loathing, disillusionment and family, tying them all together into a single, succinct and undeniably powerful metaphor. The rest of the band, meanwhile, are keen to display the variety of sounds they can pull off, marching straight into another beast of a chorus. It’s certainly an impressive hook, though DieHumane will one-up it mere moments later as they thunder their way into the bridge. Complete with the most punishing guitars and blaring synths heard thus far, this section is a true nightmare-scape, acting as a trial by fire for any would-be fans of the band. While the record’s opening could arguably be criticised for leaning into horror clichés, DieHumane prove on ‘Oblivion’ that they can create an openly horrific and terrifying soundscape while remaining unique and ahead-of-the-curve. These qualities are obviously far from a recipe for commercial success— the track has accrued just under 50,000 streams in the 18 months since its release— but something tells me DieHumane don’t really care. Hunolt delivers his most technically impressive showing towards the end of the song, relishing in phrasing reminiscent of the legendary Dimebag Darrell as he carries the song to a dominating conclusion. ‘Oblivion’ is arguably the most distinct and well-rounded track on the entire record, towering as the cherry on top of ‘The Grotesque.’ If you were ever curious to give the band a try, best to start here: you’ll know if it’s right for you.

Up to this point, DieHumane have created for themselves a very distinct and well-defined sound. How refreshing, then, to hear them subvert expectations on ‘Ghosts.’ The intro track ‘The Vanishing’ feels somewhat more deserved than previous interludes, acting as a much needed respite after the crushing ending of ‘Oblivion:’ the song centres itself around chilling melodies in both piano and violin, accenting the melancholic mood with booming drums that fill the mix completely. Though we’ve only briefly discussed the record’s production thus far, it’s as enveloping and characterful on ‘The Vanishing’ as it has been throughout the album. Producer Ulrich Wild fits the band’s unique vision like a glove. His arrangements navigate both sparse atmospheric segments and crushingly heavy choruses with a deft confidence, adapting to each new element without fanfare. Wild also appears to be in his element is his more unorthodox choices— in ‘The Vanishing’ for example, the drums are drenched in so much low-end reverb as to mirror the sound of an earthquake, only deepening the track’s sense of dread and anticipation. This leads us neatly into ‘Ghosts,’ which opens on a sublime (and, dare I say, funky) bass groove from Vargas. It’s a far cry from, say, the ominous strings of ‘King…,’ though hardly feels out of place on such an experimental record— West’s vocal delivery, favouring a clean lower register, is similarly switched-up from previous songs, setting the track up to begin a new chapter for the album. Lyrically, the song is beautifully poetic, exploring the relationship between an artist and their art, as well as with their own family and supporters. Consider just the opening lines of the track:

‘I’m the smoke and ash rising to the heavens, as if my angel wings were never broken.’

The divine imagery used here contrasts the nihilism of previous tracks, though ‘Ghosts’ is no more uplifting. Whether the track be referencing to member’ families or to Hunolt’s ex-bandmates in Exodus, there’s a deep sense of bitterness and regret present in these lines that only compounds as the track builds— check out these scathing remarks from the second verse.

‘Have you forgiven me because I’m a ghost to you? Do you believe in me? Are you forgiven?’

The band lean into their melodic side throughout this track, allowing West’s vocals and lyricism to shine through above all else. It’s truly remarkable that the band are able to strip back the sheer aggression of earlier cuts without losing any emotional impact— towards the end of the track, the group resign themselves to a softer passage, putting all the emphasis on a beautiful violin melody accompanying refrains of ‘I know what it’s like to be a god damned ghost.’ As you might expect, DieHumane will continue to flaunt their melodic side over the next few tracks, showcasing a dazzling amount of sonic variety.

‘Aphasia’ delves headfirst in this new direction, opening with a sweet piano melody that is slowly embellished with delicate strings and backing vocals, teasing the upcoming melodies. It’s a refreshingly soothing and tender moment that only develops as the cut seamlessly transitions into ‘Nevermind;’ the shortest non-interlude on the record, ‘Nevermind’ is as close as ‘The Grotesque’ comes to a ballad, exchanging its booming guitars and deranged synths for softer tones and a more resigned atmosphere. Hunolt is absolutely in his element throughout the track, delivering a plethora of excellent guitar solos that balance technical ability and emotiveness well, and Sal Abruscato’s drumming maintains a sense of gentle momentum throughout. Most pleasing of all, however, is the chorus, in which West’s vocals are layered to perfection over some wonderful ascending melodies— it’s a welcome change of pace from tracks prior, both sonically and thematically. The lyrics to ‘Nevermind’ are rather concise and vague— what story does lie here can be found in lines such as:

‘I’ve got crimson running down. A quick decision led me here right now. Just a moment to stop all the bleeding. Some needle and thread. I just need to find closure somehow.’

West has claimed in interviews that ‘The Grotesque’ has no consistent narrative or concept, instead being based around key themes: ‘Nevermind,’ in turn, expands on the ideas of self-loathing, death and regret from previous track as our narrator commits suicide, with their spirit being referenced on the key line, ‘on we fly so high.’ It’s a brutally honest and humble song based on real-world events, dealing with its themes in a vulnerable and heartfelt manner: such subject matter is certainly not for everyone, adding to the group’s niche appeal, but the quality of artistry is undeniable. The band have continued to evolve on this cut, setting the rest of the record up to be a rollercoaster of emotions.

So far, DieHumane have tackled genres including metal, jazz, industrial, prog rock and more: why not add blues to the mix? Opening on an instantly memorable bass hook, ‘Crossroads’ adds a more laid-back groove to the album, deftly blending the sound in against the other tracks with the continued use of saxophone and lead guitars. The track is still sorrowful, make no mistake, though it’s remarkable how this atmosphere can be maintained despite the cheeky clicking that accompanies the verse. Time and time again, DieHumane manage to include yet more sounds and ideas that sound horrifically out-of-place on paper, yet become perfectly natural in practice. As you might expect, the track doesn’t stay quite so relaxed for long, breaking into another stellar chorus at the forty five second mark with the introduction of synths and guitars that are as overpowering as ever. Despite this, the song continues to feel more withdrawn and sullen than its contemporaries, only really letting loose in its second half thanks to another pair of monstrous guitar solos. The morose nature of ‘Crossroads’ complements the lyrical theming brilliantly as our narrator appears to be feeling the weight of sin on his back, pleading for repentance from God. No lines could summarise this better than the following:

‘Lord, forgive me. Begging on my knees. Here at the crossroads. Hell under my feet.’

Between feelings of guilt, depression, isolation, hopelessness and more, ‘The Grotesque’ is an increasing bleak and difficult listen (though its title might have clued you in on that already). Despite that, the group continue to forge forward, pulling from the pandemic and surrounding events to create one of the most genuinely terrifying albums on the market. The creepy figure on the album’s cover is unsettling enough, but it’s the raw emotions on display that takes the album to the next level of horror.

‘The Descent’ and ‘The Devil Sings’ see DieHumane at their most theatrical, attempting a concept more far-reaching and ambitious than anything previous. Lyrically, West continues to explore the themes of mortality and the corruption of innocence, telling a story of someone’s death to make his point. Take the opening passage, for example:

‘It’s been three days since I washed the dirts of my hands, and I just sigh, thinking of the look on your face when we closed the lid. I knew it was the end— I fucking knew it— and I smile when I think of us.’

West delivers these lines spoken, choking his own voice up in bitterness, anger and sadness. When he later begins to sing, his voice is artificially distorted, adding to the surreal atmosphere as narratively, everything begins to fall apart like never before. The band compliment this with some of their most daring instrumental flourishes: ‘The Descent,’ is carried almost exclusively by violins, playing a haunting melody so immediately resonant, it sounds instantly iconic. This theme only grows more layered and disturbingly beautiful until the track transitions into ‘The Devil Sings,’ which strips these layers back to underscore West’s speech with a grim, gnarly bass riff. Few bands would ever attempt such a variety in timbres— and that’s not even including the dissonant saxophones that slowly works its way in over time— but DieHumane take it in stride, bringing the strings back in before a thunderous chorus. West’s vocal delivery is perhaps his most guttural on the entire record, favouring higher pitched screams to convey the song’s sheer emotional intensity. Lyrically, he moves onto describing the impact the death has had on him, and the passage is as damning as you might expect:

‘Hold on to what was left here. Dying for one last breath, dear. Gasping amongst the chaos. Dying for one last breath.’

‘The Devil Sings’ only becomes more bizarre and frenetic as it draws the listener deeper, layering its strings up to dizzying heights as West’s delivery and word choices only become more frightening and disorienting. What a powerful surprise, then, for the entire song to suddenly collapse in on itself, cutting to a simple piano melody accompanied by particularly delicate and timid strings. This moment of respite, housed in the middle of a fever dream of a song, will hit many listeners like a truck, proving just how powerful a quieter moment can be. The single line delivered here— ‘it’s like I’m falling asleep and dreaming of you here beside me’— is no less tantalising, and the passage remains one of the most shocking and ethereal moments not just on ‘The Grotesque,’ but arguably in all of modern metal.

Despite all the experimentation and diversity we’ve heard thus far, I would expect that the spacey synths that open ‘Sparrows’ in a major key will still catch many listeners off-guard: it’s a welcome tonal shift, providing another moment to catch your breath before (as you might be expecting) the mood lowers once again. In the meantime, Hunolt delivers a particularly emotive solo here, allowing his immaculate guitar tone to really shine through as he guides the track towards its transition into ‘Skeletons.’ Truth be told, this may be the least impressive full-length track on the record, though saying so feels almost blasphemous. If any other band had written a track so bold, explosive and gut-wrenching, it might be their magnum opus— for DieHumane, the standard is much higher. The song’s opening feels a little confused, sporting an odd vocal delivery from West over a less inspired bass groove than what’s come before— Wild’s production is still tight on the verse, though the layers nonetheless feel a little scattershot when placed together. Similarly, the chorus is as explosive as ever, packing in another round of booming guitars and synths, though it’s not nearly as impactful as previous hooks, nor quite as memorable. Nonetheless, ‘Skeletons’ is as emotionally charged and poignant as any other cut here, furthering exploring the themes of grief, regret and longing that pervaded the chorus of ‘The Devil Sings.’ The song reads like a poem in passages such as:

‘In the darkness, I feel no sun, yet I feel no cold. I’m numb, and I have nothing left to lose. In the darkness, I have no soul: nothing left inside. I buried it with every skeleton.’

The subtle indications that the narrator feels responsible for the deaths of those around him are truly heartbreaking, with the repeated imagery of ‘skeletons’ and ‘monsters’ continuing DieHumane’s campaign to create a visceral horror experiences. ‘Skeletons’ may not be the most replayable or memorable cut on the record, but is was always up against steep competition: if anything, the song just goes to show how consistent the band’s output has been across the entire record as we move into the final song.

‘Stardust Blues’ is, quite frankly, the perfect closer to ‘The Grotesque,’ tying up a multitude of lyrical and sonic elements into a more than satisfying package: it may not be a happy ending, but it is a deserved one. The track opens on a simple clean guitar melody that will persist throughout most of the song, creating a rather meditative atmosphere. West’s vocals are suitably understated, allowing the listener time to reflect on the nightmarish yet profound experience they’ve been taken on, and the transition into a more melodic passage feels very earned. Across ‘Stardust Blues,’ the band slowly layer up this singular groove— clean guitars, pianos and violins all have their chance to shine, showcasing a range of tasteful melodies that only add to the mind-altering mood the track is attempting to achieve. The saxophone, however, is notably absent, appearing only briefly towards the end of the track: as the instrument most associated with the nightmarish soundscapes throughout the record, its exclusion is warranted here, setting the closer apart from what came before. ‘Stardust Blues’ is the longest track on ‘The Grotesque,’ clocking in at more than eight minutes, but not a moment feels wasted. Though it may take the best part of five minutes for the heavy guitars to have their final fanfare, every moment prior only builds on the last, creating a crescendo in emotion, if not in volume. Each member has their chance to shine on the track, though Hunolt stands out once again, delivering a suitably climactic guitar solo that brings the track (and the album) to its staggering conclusion. The cut also closes the book lyrically, tying up a number of loose ends. The song is built around the refrain:

‘We’re not too far from our home. Just a stone’s throw to go. So close but still far to go.’

Though the metaphor of ‘returning home’ has been continually distorted throughout the record, it is nonetheless impactful here: DieHumane successfully thread the needle, using the phrase as a satisfying conclusion without promising any kind of peaceful resolution. Emotionally, the song also calls back to cuts like ‘Oblivion,’ as our narrator appears to have accepted the end, calling for it more desperately than ever— it’s a powerful send-off, building from everything that came prior. West also manages to settle the themes of disillusionment from the self that have been bubbling up: consider these two passages, from ‘The Devil Sings’ and ‘Stardust Blues’ respectively:

‘I am not your average man, but I am not a god.’

‘I am not a man, nor am I a dog, but I’ve been led astray into the night.’

The lyrics here flip the script, in a way, stripping the narrator of any grandeur or illusion until we are with humble acceptance (which becomes a key theme of the track). The band were even nice enough to include a helpful summary in the middle of the track, putting a neat bow on the entire package:

‘This is not a tale, nor is it the truth. This is something half-fiction.’

‘The Grotesque’ is, regardless of what other descriptors you may apply to it, a truly unique experience. The album pulls from so many genres, fusing them all into a sonic nightmare while berating the listener with incessant nihilism, hopelessness and reminders of our own mortality. Though it may not be a perfect record, one must remember that this is DieHumane’s debut outing, and it’s more than impressive as one. It may not be for everyone, but the fact remains that this is a record deserving of far more praise than it has garnered thus far. If you think you can handle it, give ‘The Grotesque’ a try: there’s nothing quite like it.