{"id":82401,"date":"2018-07-25T11:00:38","date_gmt":"2018-07-25T16:00:38","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.toiletovhell.com\/?p=82401"},"modified":"2018-07-25T10:21:22","modified_gmt":"2018-07-25T15:21:22","slug":"an-anatomy-of-transition-tracks","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/toiletovhell.com\/an-anatomy-of-transition-tracks\/","title":{"rendered":"An Anatomy of Transition Tracks"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Ten years was a long time to wait, but [your favorite artist’s]<\/strong> new album finally dropped. You’ve had a rash since the pre-order announcement erupted from the graveyard dirt of their Facebook, promising just over half an hour of PURE FUKKING DEATH<\/strong>. With the buzz of the doorbell, the gatefold is in your hands. A sheen of sweat makes removing the purity ring from your finger a breeze\u2014you’ve been saving yourself, insulating against social media, the first single, the exclusive streams. The record spins…and a Casio string patch pierces your eardrums.<\/p>\n

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This is fine<\/em>, you rationalize, it’s probably just an intro<\/em>. Flipping the LP over, you see the first track nestled amongst the melting skulls and gargoyles; it’s simply titled “Intro.” Your pulse quickens. The song’s been going four minutes, and the synth brass just kicked in, filling the room with the stench of Gorgonzola. You scan the A-Side tracklist and feel the blood vessels give way in the whites of your eyes. Next up: “Intro Pt. 2.” A scream rends your throat before you sink to the ground, inert.<\/p>\n

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Transition tracks are powerful tools; at their most effective, they invite listeners into the story or tone of an album, but they can just as easily poison an opinion in seconds. They start life at a disadvantage, being tacked on as intros, conclusions, or the palate cleanser between all of those blastbeats; their typically truncated runtime means they have to work twice as hard to stay relevant on repeat listens. Mirroring the struggle of twenty minute behemoths, only the fittest will survive the playlist purge, the scourge of the Next Track button.<\/p>\n

Artists make the conscious decision to separate these sections from the songs that border them, but what is the benefit? Why split the acoustic opening from the thrashing that follows? Let’s keep things romantic\u2014let’s assume their existence is about more than padding the runtime, or a band’s distrust of even numbers. These tracks serve a range of purposes, but can be split into three broad categories: introductions, interludes and conclusions.<\/p>\n

Introductions<\/strong><\/h3>\n

A first impression happens once, and in the case of an hour-long concept album, it’d better be a good one. Opening a tale of crippling grief with keyboards that sound like a kindergarten recital is a one way ticket to the trash bin. Introduction tracks are an inherent gamble, but when executed with skill, they can capture the imagination and hold it for the duration of the album.<\/p>\n

The Great Old Ones<\/strong> are masters of atmosphere, and begin their sophomore album,\u00a0Tekeli-li<\/em>, with the brief introduction track “Je Ne Suis Pas Fou.”\u00a0The first distant notes propagate a sense of unease that persists throughout the album (based on H. P. Lovecraft’s story,\u00a0At the Mountains of Madness<\/em>). Slow, discordant layers of cello mirror Lovecraft’s creeping horror, favoring the cerebral over the visceral. The narration (in the band’s native French) is spoken in hushed tones, conveying the urgency of what’s to follow\u2014despite the language barrier. After a short pause, a last breath before the cold, we’re off to the (elder) races with the lumbering death metal of “Antarctica.”<\/p>\n