The one most intensely felt throughout this album both in musical motifs and poetic observations, is the death of the band’s friend and bandmate Thore Pettersen in 2022. And yet, in Thore’s memory, and with Bill Rymer of the Dillinger Escape Plan stepping in on drums, they continued to shape and hone the album. Pachinko is a brilliant, layered piece delving into the cycles of death and rebirth that we share, and the gods that we cling to as a means of coping with the turmoil that accompanies experiences like the loss of a loved one. The outcome – and I say this with no hyperbole or embellishment – is one of the best albums I have ever heard!
Glistening pianos usher in the album like an overture, before the curtains part and we see a familiar scene. Nothing Breaks (A Port Of Call) is a story from the perspective of one who has had their certainty in their ideals taken away from them, either by time or by circumstance. “I’m stuck inside a cage I cannot leave behind” our narrator opines, knowing that the journey to leave destructively comforting states of being, is often fraught with trepidation. From the outset, parallels are drawn between the sentient pachinko and cycles of despair that keep many trapped inside routines they can’t escape from.
“You’ll pay your way to absolution! Rent-A-God, we’ll send you the acolytes, pitchfork, book and all”, reels out one line on the crazed Alfredo And The Afterlife. Frontman Sondre Skollevoll, sells his role with dynamism, transforming himself into a devilish games show host, promising salvation in the allure of a slot-machine. By contrast, Waiting Around For You, is pensive, as the funk-infused number reflects on vainly holding on for the dreams foretold in the promise of songs to play out in real life.
Penned one day after Thore’s passing, Cormorant is the last song written for the album. “Oh, little sunshine. Still the heart that brought peace to mine” sings Sondre, evoking and reframing a line from the album where many, myself included, heard Moron Police for the first time. The piece ends with blasting drums as strings swirl and coalesce overhead, drawing what I’m tentatively calling Act I of Pachinko, to a stunning, earth-shattering conclusion. And still, upon re-listening, I noticed a detail which devastated me emotionally. Before the crescendo, a familiar motif from the preceding album is played on piano. A simple look at the lyrics from the same song referenced moments ago, reveals the words that once accompanied the melody – “I am lost without you”.
Giving us pause from the rich flurry of sensations that usher the record in, Make Things Easier acts as a bridge, transitioning us from one part of the album to the next. Nevertheless, it’s still one of my favourites, echoing the calls I heard as an autistic and queer child, to “hide” myself from all that I am, so I may be accepted. The love I have found, in spite of those voices, is part of the reason these songs resonate with me on such a profound level.
Following this, we enter the album's staggering centrepiece. Pachinko Pt.1 and Pachinko Pt.2, prove one of the most impressive multi-part suites that I have ever heard. Taken as one, the experience lasts a quarter of the album's runtime, and each second is exquisite. Every transition is perfectly executed and each ‘movement’ feels deeply earned. “What if humanity could make itself divine? Something that lives and breathes like them but never has to die “ snarls one line on Pt.1, as a vortex of noise evokes scenes of an evil masterplan coming to fruition. The song could have ended there, yet that’s not the game DC Superintendent Moron likes to play!
“My name is Pachinko. I sang the flamenco. My songs are something you never can forget” our protagonist quips, as we transition into an insanely catchy melody, contrasting and weaving in and out of the chaos, like a bird circling a cyclone, or a sailor expertly navigating a tempestuous sea! Transitioning into Pt. 2, we get to hear the flamenco that our conscious contraption of rust and wire sang about, with the gentle rise and fall of the chorus, contrasted sharply against the maniacal eccentricities of the verses. While on the one hand this can be taken as a spiral into madness, the expressed desire of our lead character to merely “walk in the sun”, allows this to feel like a cry for a life outside of the prison built for them!
King Amongst Kittens is akin to the dazzling melodic tones of the preceding album. However, amongst the arcade-game inspired instrumentation, and the jovial metaphor of kittens taking their place as rulers of earth, lies a biting condemnation of fame. “The gates of hell have opened wide, and god has left us all to die”, announces our frontman with the optimistic zeal of a singer who knows how to balance brooding poetry, with razor-sharp wit. In another pulse-quickening moment, the closing synth motif leads directly into the main riff for Take Me To The City. Perhaps the most quintessentially cheese-laden cut, the mocking allusions to “masks” as a means to hide one’s true self from the glare of perception, makes the absurd guitar noodling of the outro sting of clever irony!
A cavalcade of guitars and keys gives the beginning of The Apathy Of Kings a distinct power-metal inspired cadence. That’s before the piece shifts focus, with careful acoustics and tender piano melodies granting a sense of melancholy. And then the arrangement grows grander, swelling with every second as orchestral flourishes and lush harmonies sweep to the forefront, until finally we’re led back into the rush of instrumentation that began the song! Indeed, if you needed further proof that Moron Police have mastered the art of crafting satisfying melodic transitions, and are in fact doing so more skilfully than a whole lot of prog metal acts, look no further!
Speaking of which, the electronic interlude of Hanabi - the Japanese word for fireworks - subtly transitions the album from the grandeur of the previous song into the atmospheric beauty of Okinawa Sky. “What am I supposed to do now that my friend is gone? In the end, I always stood upon his shoulders” asks one section, the gentle ebb and flow of electronics and strings giving sound to the sanguine reflections on loss. This is without a doubt a beautiful tribute, and alongside Sentient Dreamer gives the listener pause to reflect on those people through whom we learn to untangle our joys and sorrows. The concluding lines on the penultimate song, in that sense, feel like a reassurance of friendship, in spite of distance - "I gave it everything I had to give, now I leave it all to you. It's up to you whether you walk your own way. I know you'll find your truth, and remember that I love you"
We conclude on Giving Up The Ghost. Bringing together melodic and lyrical threads from across the album, it's an incredibly satisfying send-off for an exemplary experience. Each bright melody or vibrant piece of guitar work that gets reprised on the finale, suddenly feels yet more dazzling. Every emotion brought to bear across these fourteen songs feels reframed, in a moment of joy. Indeed, as the harmonies come in on the final verse, and the album roars to a close with Thore’s drumming being the last sound heard, you’re left at a loss for words.
I’ve listened to this album many times since its release, and I am impressed from both a compositional and a technical point of view. As ever though, I look to music to affect me emotionally. This album spoke to my trepidations towards feeling like a stranger to so called ‘normal’ ways of being. It also reminded me of how much the people in whose company I feel safe to be myself, mean to me. Some spend their lives caught up in a game - restlessly adhering to cycles that never change and never cease.
A host of devils and kings seek to keep us trapped inside machines hostile to our existence. We only learn to break those spirals in the company of those who give us the freedom to be ourselves, away from the promise of the Pachinko. 10/10
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