Veil of Maya
The Common Man's Collapse
Sumerian
Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right
I’ve always been a big proponent of the idea that most situations can go one of three ways. Example #1, basic human sexuality: straight, gay or bi. Example #2, splitting up (again) with a girl/boyfriend: There’s your side of the story on one side, your ex-mate’s interpretation on the other and somewhere in the middle lies reality. Example #3, the second album by Chicago’s Veil of Maya. If this whole extreme music thing is new to you, The Common Man’s Collapse’s otherworldly proficiency and brick-heavy brutality might have your jaw gaping and eyes widening in disbelief. Seasoned veterans to our little cultural corner—if they’re not already writing them off because of the occasional breakdown and their short hair—will recognize VOM’s collective possession of the skill gene, but may be conflicted by the band being one of the many youthful acts taking tired, old shit like Monstrosity out of the spotlight. Veil’s fanbase will, therefore, end up consisting of star-struck youth and old farts who’ve been able to temporarily push aside their bitterness and self-consciousness about their equally bitter and self-conscious buddies finding out they enjoy a band enjoyed by those half their age.
And what, pray tell, does this fantastical-gateway/new-jack-thunder-thieving quartet sound like? Well, if Meshuggah and Between the Buried and Me engaged in the extreme music version of Wife Swap with the stipulation that song lengths be kept in the neighborhood of three minutes—voila! Jagged riffing, polyrhythmic drum hammering, gruff throat abuse, fluid leads and more starting and stopping than Chicago traffic—it’s all here, whippersnappers and geezers. Veil of Maya’s own contribution comes in the form of melodic and discordant chord flourishes, hinting that underneath it all these dudes have probably also been impacted by their hometown’s healthy melodic hardcore and post-rock scenes just as much as Chi-town’s go-nowhere gridlock. And to the self-conscious and jaded, that’s not a bad thing. —Kevin Stewart-Panko
