Kristina Esfandiari and her band move from the darkness to light on their second album, taking liberally from post-rock, grunge, and doom metal to tell a tale equally inspired by a childhood brush with death and Paradise Lost.
For King Woman founder Kristina Esfandiari, the darkness is the point, and everything else is negotiable. That impulse has given rise to Miserable’s doomgaze dirges, Dalmatian’s damned hip-hop, Sugar High’s unsettling R&B, and NGHTCRWLR’s industrial mutations; it has allowed each of her many projects room to fully develop without succumbing to an overstuffed kitchen-sink mindset. On the Jack Shirley produced Celestial Blues, King Woman’s sophomore full-length for Relapse Records, doom metal is a bit player in Esfandiari’s perpetually expanding musical universe, dominated here by post-rock’s dynamic shifts, shoegaze’s woozy walls of distortion, and grunge’s prickly depressive weight. The riffs are still as heavy as a church tower, but Esfandiari tamps down the more aggressive aspects of King Woman’s earlier work here, turning towards the light instead for an exploration of the apocalypse, religious trauma, and life after death.
Inspired by a childhood near-death experience, Celestial Blues evolved into a meditation on spiritual warfare, personal rebirth, and paradise lost. Slowly unfurling to somber chimes and Esfandiari’s throaty murmur, the title track contains a sing-song lyricism that seems simple, but weighs heavily. “I want to ascend until we collide/I want to crash my heart into the divine,” Esfandiari croons into the abyss, setting the tone for the album’s overarching message of defiance. Though the record is best enjoyed in one sitting, obvious standouts pierce through its thick, inviting blitz. “Morning Star” takes the guise of a dreamy Satanic lullaby, the massive-sounding “Coil” verges on the ecstatic, while the pleasantly disorienting choral gymnastics of “Golgotha” mask its bloody, self-sacrificial subject matter.
Esfandiari is firmly at the helm, and her lived experience of surviving an early life steeped in religious fundamentalism is what drives the story forward. Whether she’s spinning secrets in a husky whisper or dipping into a slurred murmur, her languorous vocals take center stage throughout the proceedings, even when her bandmates, guitarist Peter Arensdorf and drummer Joseph Raygoza, muscle their way into a deserved spotlight (as on the propulsive second half of “Morning Star” or in the doomsday leads of “Psychic Wound”). King Woman also continues to dip its toes into doom metal’s primordial slurry when the mood strikes and the riff fits, diving headfirst into a satisfying post-doom ooze on the macabre “Boghz,” which also sees Esfandiari explore the creepiest contours of her eminently pliable voice. Closer “Paradise Lost,” takes inspiration from John Milton’s epic poem, but eschews the original’s ornate prose in favor of stark, nakedly personal lyrics and the album’s most delicate, reverent vocal performance. After seemingly letting the listener down easy, it leaves them alone with their thoughts—perhaps the cruelest fate of all.
Celestial Blues is an exploration of spiritual healing and survival that’s been shellacked in a veneer of grungy malaise, heavy post-rock, and blissed-out darkness, wrapped up in Biblical allegory and set ablaze. King Woman’s ability to outdo themselves continues apace, and the bar continues to rise each time Esfandiari sheds her skin anew. She is living proof that once you’ve already made it through hell, the only path forward is up.
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