Failure expand their framework on Location Lost

Following a disbanding in 1997, leaving the post-grunge era trembling in the wake of their 1996 masterpiece “Fantastic Planet”, the Southern-California trio have proved that not all dips into the past are fraught with trying to regain prior triumphs.

Failure’s modern-day renaissance – including a documentary, concert film, as well as the three preceding albums – has proved the favourite band's favourite band label a fitting tribute (Paramore and Deftones are both cited fans). With no commercial intent, the artistry runs deep. Each offering pushes to explore or expand the existing framework. The prescient sounds of their past and present are moulded in this latest outing – their seventh – where they relax the urgency in favour of being steadfast.

Location Lost is a bruising example of a band taking the time and experience they’ve accrued, catalysing it with an ambitious drive that never exceeds just wanting to sound cool for themselves, and finding a back catalogue that, for a band three decades in, has never faltered.

The album is a continuous push and pull, opposing natures. Like the opening euphoric melodies of “Crash Test Delayed” being subverted by vocalist and guitarist Ken Andrews, or extended jams breaching into cacophony often by way of Greg Edwards’ bass locking in with his bandmates in hypnotic fashion. But most of all, it is vast.

It’s on the nose to apply space metaphors for a band so rooted in the term “space rock,” but Location Lost is what I imagine floating endlessly through space feels like, rotating as the natural force of casting yourself away with the intention of relinquishing all grounding takes hold as reverb disappears into the unknown horizon. The buffering and battering of space debris through the majesty, akin to the twists and turns each track takes, add to the momentum. For instance, the “The Rising Skyline”’s brutal bombast in the closing crescendo, after Paramore’s Hayley Williams’ elegant higher-pitch soars above Andrews’ during its sombre acoustic-led verses, comes in like a head-on collision.

At nine tracks and 36 minutes, it’s a trim effort, which makes how much they pack in so staggering. “The Air’s on Fire” grooves with riff repetition through its five minutes, as the pounding rhythm emerges from the mist. It’s a centre point that begets a heightened sense of awareness, thanks to some searing guitar work from Andrews. “Someday Soon” is an off-kilter, mechanical riff that finds bass and guitar trading off sections as Andrews croons “Someday soon, you’ll understand”. “A Way Down” features a rhythmic delight from drummer Kellii Scott, who pounds and rolls across the kit with precision while his bandmates build up with their own discreet power.

The crushing weight of emptiness often feels on the heels of each cut, particularly the melancholy notes of the title track. But as the sun would surely be in view with every rotation of the free person swallowed by the black void, hope is never far behind. Even as the end notes of the closer “Moonlight Understands” fade into the distance, it feels like a journey that can be repeated ad infinitum.

The future of the band has never been certain. But, with Location Lost, ultimately there’s a closure – if it were to end tomorrow, few bands have maintained such consistency without succumbing to latter-day stumbles quite like Failure.