In and Out of Youth and Lightness

If there's one thing made clear by the satisfying catharsis and musical quantum leap of In And Out Of Youth And Lightness, it's that Patterson should ignore his earlier advice more often if it results in albums of this caliber.

In and Out of Youth and Lightness is not going to be an album for the impatient. A few listens are needed to soak in every layer this album has to offer.

It seems often as if the songs come to life more through sonic detail and aural shape (a variety of distortion tones, drum sounds, reverb ranges, and the like) than in compositional changes of direction, harmonic depth, or hooks. This doesn't, however, make the music dull. Instead, there's something compelling about the way Young Widows use these details--a shimmer, a hum, a scrape--for drama rather than relying on the often cheap dramatics heard in "heavy" music.

It's a remarkably controlled album that reveals layers of texture with every listen.

Free from the shadows of their past, it seems Young Widows have found an infinitely darker place to dwell.

Even when Young Widows' scorn escalates and the mood becomes more frenetic, In and Out of Youth and Lightness always feels detached. Maybe that's what makes it so unnerving, and so good.

Okay, at times the journey might seem a little too long--Miss Tambourine Wrist' does grate with repetitive ideas--but for the most part, the pacing between the slow death like marches and the adrenaline injected thrash falls are executed brilliantly.

Future Heart is the album's standout moment because it represents a rare moment of cathartic release, the band finally letting their brooding rhythm swell into something nearly anthemic. Young Widows do it well, but a little less restraint would do them one better.

It's heavy music that's imaginative, evocative, and so much more affecting than droning doom, 18th-wave thrash, and especially the makeup and chainmail camp, who could only dream of making something this dark. [May 2011, p.87]