What is music? That question, which seems so obvious and trite upon first glance, is one that continues to confound us to this day: try as they might, no-one has really been able to nail down a proper definition for music, leaving the door open for a plethora of experimental acts to push the boundaries of the art form. Whatever it is that you’re looking for from an album though, the latest offering from sunn O))) will not give it to you.

You’ve got to give the duo this, at least— they can absolutely dial in a guitar tone. Right from its opening track ‘XXANN,’ the record is a monumental wall of imposing distortion, with the grinding sounds of one amp crashing into another, and another, and another, all fighting for the room to breathe. If you can give sunn O))) credit for anything, it’s for the weight and muscle of those tones, which are laid bare in almost every moment. That striking presentation would be an impressive tool in the arsenal of any other band: in this case, they’re the entire package, and it’s for that reason that our praise ends here.

sunn O)))’s albums are a lot like Yves Klein’s ‘Blue Monochrome,’ in that the story behind their creation is far more intricate and interesting than the final product: O’Malley and Anderson must surely have used 99% of their studio time to hone those sweet sweet guitar tones, leaving the writing process down to half-hearted improvisation. This is a record devoid of melody or harmony, rhythm or emotion— it is for this reason that its status as ‘music’ should be called into question. Every track is a winding loop of haphazardly chosen chords, all of which evoke the same vaguely ominous mood. At times, the duo are kind enough to limit their pointless theatrics to a mere seven minutes, as they do on ‘Does Anyone Hear Like Venom?’ Elsewhere, tracks more than double that length accomplish an equal amount of nothing: the album is an exercise in watching paint dry, and even that might be more engaging than the sheer, unfiltered stagnancy of ‘Everett Moses.’

One has to question why the band decided to separate the record into six distinct tracks at all when each one is entirely identical to the last. Would you consider the brief pauses at the beginning of ‘Butch’s Guns’ to be some masterful subversion of the genre, or the marginally more psychedelic presentation of ‘Mindrolling’ to be a true standout among steep competition? In the world of sunn O))), the horizon is a flat line, the sky is an empty void, and life is hardly worth living: perhaps you might chalk that feeling up to the overwhelming sense of dread this record conjures, but if it can be said to do so, it achieves it only through sheer monotony. Closer ‘Glory Black’ clearly hints toward the potential the duo have, settling into a piano arrangement that feels at least a little more engaging than anything before. Still, the track is hardly worthy of praise, and it’s coming 70 minutes into one of the most excruciating listens of the year. It’s a no from us.

sunn O)))’s self-titled album should, in theory, be a summation of their career so far: if that is indeed what we’re being subjected to, it’s not a discography worth celebrating. O’Malley and Anderson work tirelessly here to strip the joy, the life, the soul from music, and in its place, they leave you with a heartless ‘I.O.U.’ and a stark emptiness. Perhaps the real treat the album has in store for us is finally getting to turn it off— the brief moments of silence across these excruciating 79-minutes are most welcome.