Religious to Damn Glass Prayer

The exoticism surrounding Religious to Damn’s visual attire has already been far more discussed than the actual sound they create. It’s already been subjected to many misconstrued descriptions: grunge pop, goth rock, psychedelia, gypsy rock, and so on. Much debate (and confusion) in the Brooklyn community would inevitably generate the creation of the gypsy scene. And while it is described as blending Eastern influences with Western rock n’ roll, such a tag couldn’t have been envisioned without the female epitome of the Gypsy breed.

Much of the general consensus highlights the obvious: chief songwriter Zohra Atash proudly displays her Afghan-American heritage. Besides that, there’s not much evidence to hint any gypsy influence except the protracted movements on the rebab and occasional string harmonics. In fact, Atash is a full-fledged Goth – her facade falls somewhere between Amy Lee’s Victorian-style fixations and Stevie Nicks’ witchy innuendo. Throughout Glass Prayer, she levels a flexible vocal delivery that’s angelically downcast, yet penetrating when the songs reach their climatic peak. Atash’s vocal pitch is tamer than say, Godmother in spirit/former Swan vocalist Jarboe, but she can also carry an ambient current with ease.

Like poorly stirred paella, Glass Prayer has all the right ingredients but not enough seasoning to make an intriguing listen. Forget about all the indolent genre lasers tagging left and right: Religious to Damn has made a strictly linear guitar rock album with a modish dirge that’s more melodramatic than mournful. It starts promising enough: To Love the Machine’s patterned acoustic strums and bemoaned, funeral-hymm drone perfectly kick off Drifter’s exhilarating ghoul pop. Sadly, it doesn’t last long, since the band goes for restrained homage instead of bold ingenuity.  Taken from the Mission UK/Sisters of Mercy School of Goth, Glass Prayer and The Wait creep in the sunlight instead of in the shadows, literally reprinting high-pitched bass lines, tribal pounds, and scything synth stabs like it’s 1987.

The Bell, Glass Prayer’s album closer, finally delivers on its projected promise with a wonderful array of intricate Baritone chords and mournful violins backing Atash’s sorrowful shrill. One can’t help but feeling a bit cheated, since it’s the only moment in the whole album where the gypsy disposition is fully realized. Religious to Damn barely touch on their vast inventory, as if any arbitrary instrument is meant to necessitate the song’s demands. Fingers can be pointed at the unnecessarily eclipsing production, which really clouds the band’s much more dynamic live act. There’s a robust amount of sonics at play, but the emotional output is far too transparent.