Instead of a traditional top-10 list for the end of the year, Split Tooth Media is releasing a series of essays about the music that we felt mattered most in 2018. Read why here and read other installments here.

Being a rock band in 2018 has to suck. Constantly being compared to bands that have already risen to fame, broken up and reformed before you learned the opening chords to “Wonderwall” must be frustrating at best. Nostalgia should be an irrelevant factor in judging the bands of the future, but bands seem destined to draw comparisons to whatever ’70s New York band they most resemble.

Iceage, a constant victim of the comparison name game, knows when to throw a wrench into its sound. Shifting from the more guitar-centric sound of its previous output, the band builds off of its full-speed punk and throws in a horn section and slow their attack to a marching band stomp. It sounds sloppy, but Beyondless has a clear vision for itself. In spite of the relentless comparisons to bands of the past, Iceage made a modern rock album that doesn’t rely on nostalgia or referential source material. It’s 10 tracks of adrenaline, desperation and a healthy dose of anger.

“Hurrah” announces the album’s arrival with spacious guitar feedback before exploding into a bouncy rocker about the military-industrial complex. It seethes with grease and grime flowing out of the speakers as Elias Bender Rønnenfelt takes on the perspective of a soldier who is trapped in uniform, forced to follow orders: “Pardon me, good sir / I consider myself a peaceful man / But I got orders to make you flee your home / Split your family and pillage your town / ’Cuz we can’t stop killing and we’ll never stop killing.” He’s merely a pawn for political game. The guitar work is wild and frantic, bending the strings to their greatest lengths, matching the soldier’s anxiety.

As the burn fades, Iceage doesn’t give the listener time to breathe before launching into “Pain Killer” with a brass section that blasts a huge riff. Sky Ferreira perfectly matches Rønnenfelt’s oozing vocal style, complementing his snarl with breathy backing vocals as they mourn ever meeting each other. “Like love you take everything / This static yearn / Makes me rue the day / You became my pain killer.” The vocals add a high-end flavor to the rhythm section’s bassy grooves and the needle-like guitar playing. Every aspect rides the threshold of becoming overpowering, but they hold the balance perfectly.

“Under the Sun” presents a man trying to understand God and the desperation humanity faces while trying to find peace. Despite pledging his undying service, Rønnenfelt questions why good people suffer and if humanity is beyond saving. “Lord, do you need a savior / Have you lost the steering wheel again?”, Rønnenfelt asks. But when paired with “Hurrah” and the incessant wars Iceage sings of, God’s silence says it all.

Mood is king on Beyondless, from the lyrics to the explorations of guitar and additional instrumentation. Iceage’s previous works are guitar-oriented, with some occasional splashes of piano. But on this album the band doesn’t shy away from changing style mid-song by adding layers of strings or horns.

“Showtime” shifts on a dime from jazzy and dark into a boisterous and brash ragtime number. Rønnenfelt laughs mid-lyric when the change lands, as if the shift is part of an inside joke. It shows a playfulness and a willingness to bend the formula of punk convention. Avoid mindless guitar chugging, constant pounding drums and just give the musicians room to really play their instruments.

Beyondless is powered by minor details, the way the tempo picks up ever-so-slightly for the first chorus of “Hurrah” or the string section of “Pain Killer” that perfectly accompanies the bombastic horn riff. Or how the whole album has a layer of dirt over it.

On “The Day The Music Dies” Rønnenfelt sings, “The future’s never starting / The present never ends / I left us both bombarded / But I’m not here to make amends.” This sounds like the ramblings of a man with nothing to lose, sharing his present and future of being damned. “Performed an exorcism on myself / Cited prayers and rites of deliverance / Yet here I am, somehow still possessed.” Trying to escape one’s demons is well-tread lyrical territory that somehow feels fresh on this song. When the chorus explodes into a proud stomp, it’s hard not to want to sing along: “Fondling on the sides of forfeit / I guess I can’t brush aside / I’m waiting for the day the music dies.”

The rhythm section is the backbone of Iceage’s musical assault. Drummer Dan Kjær Nielsen knows exactly when to change tempos to push a song forward, and bassist Jakob Tvilling Pless provides much needed low end to complement guitarists Johan Surrballe Wieth’s thin, wiry tone. This is best shown on “Catch It,” where the tempo is fluid. The slow churn of the drums finally picks up and explodes into a noisy rocker with drum fills, a chugging bass riff and a wail of a solo all before slowing down, only to pick up again before a sudden drop off.

Album closer and title track “Beyondless” approaches noise rock territory. A cacophony of guitars compound as strings add an emotional tether. A single piano note rings throughout the verses before the chorus comes in to take us to the wonderful land of dissonance, with Rønnenfelt simply singing “Beyond… less / Beyond… less.” Rønnenfelt tells the listener that he is not a messiah worth worshiping, “But if you think I am that pillar which you need / Believe me, dearest, it ain’t me.” He too is lost in this vast sea, just the same as the rest of us, as he says, “At times there is no place too low to enter / Perfectly lost at sea internally.” He’s searching for a resolution that will never arrive.

Iceage makes active music for active listening. The band uses each instrument for a different purpose, and nothing feels out of place or shoehorned in. From the guitar drone on top of the pounding drums, to the shots of brass notes, every moment, every sound and every word all work together to create a visceral mood.

In 10 tracks, the Danish group proves that there’s still room to get weird and wild within rock, and that tradition is important, but it’s nothing to be hindered by. Beyondless is important because it’s simultaneously what *insert ’70’s New York band* would and wouldn’t do. It’s a classic that avoids rock ’n’ roll cliche and feels fresh without falling victim to hyper-modernity like the unfortunate cultural tattoo left behind by bands like Fall Out Boy and Panic! At The Disco. Beyondless will sound just the same tomorrow as it sounds today. It will sound as dark, moody and aggressive as ever, or at least, until the day the music dies.

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