Interview: Abyssal

This mini profile originally ran in June 2024 edition of Stereogum’s The Black Market.

Abyssal’s Fernando Ruiz knew long songs were an odyssey worth taking. “I’ve always been intrigued by bands doing long songs, like telling a story through music, creating a space where you can just get lost in the song without realizing how much time has passed,” the funeral doom band’s frontperson writes in an email. “The way it happened to me [was] listening to El Mundo Frio by Corrupted for the first time. I loved that experience. Since my former crust band, I began writing longer songs that were about 10-15 minutes. But now, in funeral doom’s BPMs, it translates to around 40 minutes per song.”

True to Ruiz’s word, Glacial, the Tijuana, Mexico, project’s seventh full-length, is a single song clocking in at 43 minutes, a slight uptick from 2022’s outstanding 40-minute A Deep Sea Funeral. Glacial shares some commonality with that previous album: [Mizmor’s] A.L.N. returns to produce; the music favors a dynamic, loud/quiet Corrupted sludge trudge that emphasizes the form’s meditative qualities; and there’s something of a coincidental carryover water theme in the titles. However, the two albums are processing different emotions.

“The similarity is there, as the songwriting in both is trying to get you to fall into a sort of trance, where even as it is loud and crushing, you can get lost in the song, like you mention, inducing a sonic meditation,” Ruiz explains. “But the albums’ themes are very different. A Deep Sea Funeral was mostly based on anger, frustration, and sadness about the exploitation of the oceans and the extinction of a porpoise of the upper Gulf of California: the vaquita Marina. Glacial is a more personal album, one that I used to let go of feelings of loss and despair and the coldness of time. It turned out darker, more oppressive than the former.”

Glacial is indeed darker, using a starker palette of timbres. Ruiz, who handles vocals, guitars, and bass on the album, is joined by session drummer Fernando Morales and longtime member Luna on “additional spoken words.” For one exception, all three set their contributions to crushing dismalness in all possible volumes. For instance, “Glacial” begins with a slow build of quietly despondent guitars. Soon, that first strum of deafening distortion kicks in, mirroring the album artwork created by Primitive Man/Vermin Womb’s Ethan Lee McCarthy, a textured miasma of harsh blacks and grays. From there, the song acts like an exorcism of negativity, delving deep into pitch-black portions of the soul, something that’s effectively conveyed via the various sections with whispered vocals.

“Some of those whispers were just letting pain go and playing with my voice, using it as an instrument for the ambiance,” Ruiz notes. “Other parts are words meant for me, for when I listen, to remember how to let go of certain emotions. On most albums, there are little nuances, things that make the experience more present for me when listening or playing the song.”

And that’s Glacial, really: a way to learn how to release and unburden oneself from a great sense of loss while remaining present in the moment. That hits the hardest during a more tranquil section at the 28-minute mark that sounds like a shaft of sunlight through the clouds. “I like how you describe it, ‘a shaft of sunshine through the clouds,’ Ruiz comments. “That section is about acceptance, realizing there are always options. There’s a darkness to that part, but there is also a bit of light in there, a hope for better days.”

So, does playing this material dark take a toll on Ruiz either physically or emotionally? “Yes, it’s sometimes complicated when you are dealing with emotions that normally are buried,” Ruiz admits. “It takes its toll, as you are face to face with them throughout composing, listening, and going through the process until you get that sound that clicks with the emotion. It is not an easy road, but in the end, it’s gratifying as you get to digest difficult situations and feelings and leave them only in the music. Physically, I’d say my back when moving the gear around. I guess that’s why It’s called “heavy” music? Hahaha.”

Good jokes aside, part of Abyssal’s sonic heaviness is derived from its asceticism. Glacial consists mainly of vocals, guitars, bass, and percussion, a conscious choice for Ruiz that allows the musician to get more creative with what’s available.

“I try to keep things as minimal as possible, but I have played around with different instrumentation like cello and percussion on other releases,” Ruiz explains. “However, most of the composition is austere, which presents a challenge and an opportunity to dive into new sounds with the same instruments. Learning about controlling feedback, playing with weird guitar pedals, and such makes the songwriting process a great learning experience, and with each album, I learn something new that opens possibilities for the next one.”

No matter where Abyssal heads on the next epic, after three excellent albums in a row, there’s no doubt that it’ll continue to be able to maintain a strong sense of drama and tension over its long-lasting runtime.

“This is the fun part,” Ruiz writes. “It’s hard to keep something slow, repetitive, and interesting for over half an hour, and that’s what I try to accomplish, for the song to develop gradually, bringing up the intensity until you hit the story’s climax. When writing, I work a lot on space and timing, and begin filling in empty spaces so even though it is still the same beat, different elements emerge to keep the song evolving.”

When it comes to a career-long evolution, hopefully Abyssal’s is as long as the songs it creates.