Myopia
Mizmor & Thou
Mizmor & Thou’s Myopia is a 74‑minute collaborative full-length that welds together both artists’ approaches into one colossal, slow-moving mass of blackened doom. Written and recorded in secret and released without advance fanfare, it feels less like a split or guest‑spot project and more like a single, unified band, built on feedback‑laced drones, glacial riffs, and a suffocating sense of existential dread. Across its eight extended tracks, the album keeps returning to the title’s idea of “myopia”—a willful narrowing of perspective—as a source of spiritual rot, interrogating faith, dogma, and self‑deception over music that moves from cavernous minimalism to raging black‑metal climaxes.
Songs such as “Perfect,” “Drover of Man,” “The Host,” and “Indignance” showcase how naturally the two projects mesh: Thou’s sludge‑laden, punk‑inflected riffing and Mizmor’s bleak black‑doom sensibilities fold into each other, with each track flowing in long, patient arcs rather than verse‑chorus structures. The dual vocals—A.L.N.’s tormented howls and Bryan Funck’s scalding shrieks—operate like another instrument, locked in a feedback loop of escalating anguish that pushes the record’s emotional intensity as much as its heaviness. Despite its length, Myopia rarely feels bloated: sparse acoustic or melancholic passages and carefully placed melodic motifs (like the much‑noted closing riff in “The Root”) give the record a grim, tragic beauty that has led many listeners and critics to treat it as a high‑water mark for contemporary extreme doom.
Mizmor & Thou’s Myopia is a 74‑minute collaborative full-length that welds together both artists’ approaches into one colossal, slow-moving mass of blackened doom. Written and recorded in secret and released without advance fanfare, it feels less like a split or guest‑spot project and more like a single, unified band, built on feedback‑laced drones, glacial riffs, and a suffocating sense of existential dread. Across its eight extended tracks, the album keeps returning to the title’s idea of “myopia”—a willful narrowing of perspective—as a source of spiritual rot, interrogating faith, dogma, and self‑deception over music that moves from cavernous minimalism to raging black‑metal climaxes.
Songs such as “Perfect,” “Drover of Man,” “The Host,” and “Indignance” showcase how naturally the two projects mesh: Thou’s sludge‑laden, punk‑inflected riffing and Mizmor’s bleak black‑doom sensibilities fold into each other, with each track flowing in long, patient arcs rather than verse‑chorus structures. The dual vocals—A.L.N.’s tormented howls and Bryan Funck’s scalding shrieks—operate like another instrument, locked in a feedback loop of escalating anguish that pushes the record’s emotional intensity as much as its heaviness. Despite its length, Myopia rarely feels bloated: sparse acoustic or melancholic passages and carefully placed melodic motifs (like the much‑noted closing riff in “The Root”) give the record a grim, tragic beauty that has led many listeners and critics to treat it as a high‑water mark for contemporary extreme doom.
Myopia
Mizmor & Thou
Mizmor & Thou’s Myopia is a 74‑minute collaborative full-length that welds together both artists’ approaches into one colossal, slow-moving mass of blackened doom. Written and recorded in secret and released without advance fanfare, it feels less like a split or guest‑spot project and more like a single, unified band, built on feedback‑laced drones, glacial riffs, and a suffocating sense of existential dread. Across its eight extended tracks, the album keeps returning to the title’s idea of “myopia”—a willful narrowing of perspective—as a source of spiritual rot, interrogating faith, dogma, and self‑deception over music that moves from cavernous minimalism to raging black‑metal climaxes.
Songs such as “Perfect,” “Drover of Man,” “The Host,” and “Indignance” showcase how naturally the two projects mesh: Thou’s sludge‑laden, punk‑inflected riffing and Mizmor’s bleak black‑doom sensibilities fold into each other, with each track flowing in long, patient arcs rather than verse‑chorus structures. The dual vocals—A.L.N.’s tormented howls and Bryan Funck’s scalding shrieks—operate like another instrument, locked in a feedback loop of escalating anguish that pushes the record’s emotional intensity as much as its heaviness. Despite its length, Myopia rarely feels bloated: sparse acoustic or melancholic passages and carefully placed melodic motifs (like the much‑noted closing riff in “The Root”) give the record a grim, tragic beauty that has led many listeners and critics to treat it as a high‑water mark for contemporary extreme doom.
Mizmor & Thou’s Myopia is a 74‑minute collaborative full-length that welds together both artists’ approaches into one colossal, slow-moving mass of blackened doom. Written and recorded in secret and released without advance fanfare, it feels less like a split or guest‑spot project and more like a single, unified band, built on feedback‑laced drones, glacial riffs, and a suffocating sense of existential dread. Across its eight extended tracks, the album keeps returning to the title’s idea of “myopia”—a willful narrowing of perspective—as a source of spiritual rot, interrogating faith, dogma, and self‑deception over music that moves from cavernous minimalism to raging black‑metal climaxes.
Songs such as “Perfect,” “Drover of Man,” “The Host,” and “Indignance” showcase how naturally the two projects mesh: Thou’s sludge‑laden, punk‑inflected riffing and Mizmor’s bleak black‑doom sensibilities fold into each other, with each track flowing in long, patient arcs rather than verse‑chorus structures. The dual vocals—A.L.N.’s tormented howls and Bryan Funck’s scalding shrieks—operate like another instrument, locked in a feedback loop of escalating anguish that pushes the record’s emotional intensity as much as its heaviness. Despite its length, Myopia rarely feels bloated: sparse acoustic or melancholic passages and carefully placed melodic motifs (like the much‑noted closing riff in “The Root”) give the record a grim, tragic beauty that has led many listeners and critics to treat it as a high‑water mark for contemporary extreme doom.