SIGNATURE BREW, LONDON
Post-metal heirs apparent fuse gravity and grace
DESPITE HAVING JUST one fulllength album to their name, Manchester collective Pijn (pronounced ‘pine’) are already spoken of in hushed tones in post-metal circles. Their grandiose elegies to loss provide comfort to those familiar with the seven stages of grief, and musically, they encompass an immense spectrum, swinging evocatively between the droning calm of Godspeed You! Black Emperor and the viscous heaviness of Isis at their most enflamed.
Few bands would be able to open their set with an 18-minute song from their debut album and keep an audience in awestruck rapture, but after a brief drone intro, that’s precisely what Pijn do. The power with which Unspoken builds and eventually hits like a 10-ton hammer to the solar plexus is truly something to behold. Broad daylight may not be the best environment for Pijn’s bleak, ominous elegies, but despite that, the music proves to be truly transportive. After so many months away from shows, that familiar ringing in the ears that follows seems like an old friend as opposed to a sure-fire path to tinnitus.