October 19, 2004 by A.S. Van Dorston

When many people think of metal, they’re not aware of the many adventurous subgenres that flourished in the 90s, but rather think back to thrash pioneers Metallica. Those who have paid attention in the last 15 years will know that there’s always at least a handful of metalheads who keep an enterprising eye on developments in indie rock, post rock and ambient electronica. Since 1999, Boston’s Isis have been developing a style that began with the spareness of the Melvins, the plate techtonic rumblings of Earth, and the electronic-dub excursions of Godflesh and Techno Animal, and more recently, the instrumental expressiveness of Slint and Mogwai.

Their third full-length, Panopticon, refines the quiet-loud dynamics explored on 2001’s Celestial and 2002’s Oceanic. While the biggest difference is that the quiet parts are surprisingly delicate and subtle and Aaron Turner’s trademark hoarse bellow is toned down slightly and embedded further within the music, it’s the finer details that make a difference. It may be the overwhelming sensations caused by the music’s density that leaves listeners at a loss for words to describe it in detail, leaving them babbling about spiritual and cosmic experiences. Or maybe that’s Isis fans’ affinity for a certain herb. Either way, the monolithic sheets of sound do compel one to simply surrender themselves and be carried by the ebbs and flows. Digging into the music and sifting through details may or may not reveal clues as to its connection with the title, a mind-bending prison design by British philosopher Jeremy Bentham, where the prisoner is always under surveillance (before video cameras). Its implications of power and control were covered exhaustively by French poststructuralist Michel Foucault in 1975’s Discipline & Punish: The Birth of the Prison (a book, not an album).

It’s easy to see where Isis is going with this in the era of The Patriot Act. However, just like the panopticon would need to be experienced to be truly understood, this music needs to be heard to feel the crush of paranoia. The gloominess is certainly there, but most notable are the nearly joyous movements that suggest the feeling of release after escape. Several tracks compete for the album’s highpoint, with the hard hitting “Backlit,” the mindbending distortion of “In Fiction,” and “Altered Course,” which gets the nod for the sublime bass lines from Tool’s Justin Chancellor, and its clever inversion of getting the big-bang crescendo out of the way in the first quarter, drifting on hypnotic afterburn that I wouldn’t mind lasting the rest of the night.

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