Over its seventeen years of alternative music, Manchester Orchestra’s sound has been about balance — balancing light and darkness, heavy and soft, introspection and aggression. At times, the scales shift heavily in one direction, such as with the consistently heavy Cope, but the Atlanta rockers rely greatly on opposing dynamics — glimmers of hope to cut through depression, quiet contemplation breaking up an onslaught of savagery. For the band’s seventh album, a different kind of balance is at play.
With the exception of 2014’s Hope, The Million Masks of God is the softest Manchester Orchestra album. It’s an album of brooding ballads, with only a few heavy moments breaking the tension via guttural screams and crunchy guitar riffs. The balance here is through a steady progression from beginning to end. The band has called it a “movie album.” It is an album meant to be experienced in one sitting, as the songs flow from one track to the next. Musical and thematic motifs are repeated throughout the album, guitar licks, lyrical phrases, and imagery popping up in multiple songs.
Inspired by lead guitarist Robert McDowell’s father dying of cancer, The Million Masks of God tells a narrative story of a fictional character dealing with the grief and guilt, the spiritual and emotional turmoil of losing a loved one.
The otherworldly sound of “Angel of Death,” its Gospel-tinged synthesizer lines and morose fingerpicked guitar, its dynamic shifts from quiet to loud, lend extra weight to its themes of survivor’s guilt. “I still find you in my shadow, learning how the mirror reflects. I lose myself in you,” Andy Hull sings.
“Dinosaur” is a slow, unnerving examination of fate. “Nobody really knew him, but you and me were raised by the lion,” Hull sings over a gentle, off-kilter beat. Haunting synthesizers swirl and build in intensity until the loud guitars and drums enter the fray, Hull repeatedly yelling the phrase “over and over,” until the distortion and drums evaporate and leave behind the soft fingerpicking once again. “So love me now, ‘cause I just can’t redeem myself from all the lies I told myself would help, from all my faults I blame on someone else,” Hull croons. The song ends with Hull repeatedly whispering “over and over,” his voice slowly fading out.
One of the few straightforward rock moments comes at tracks three and four. “Keel Timing,” with its retro guitar riffing and a funky groove, melds into “Bed Head,” carrying the same rhythm with a guitar riff that is similar but a bit nastier.
As the narrator of The Million Masks of God wrestles with his faith, guilt, and loss, it culminates in the brooding piano ballad “The Internet.” Swirling strings and sparse piano chords intertwine with Hull’s soft, fragile voice. “Do you know what it means? Another life outside dismantling me,” Hull sings. “Do you know what it means? Another man inside the man that’s in me.” The music builds to a crescendo of distorted guitars, Hull frantically shouting over the cacophony before it disintegrates into a sparse landscape of hums, ethereal synths, and Hull’s pained bellow.
With its complex sonic textures, use of repetition, and few standout hooks, The Million Masks of God is Manchester Orchestra’s least accessible work, but it’s an achievement in its own way. It doesn’t have many stand-out singles but is best appreciated by repeated listens in its entirety as the narrator, as a stand-in for the band, confronts his spiritual and emotional pain without a clear resolution.
