Scream Blast Repeat readers will know Ryan Gleave as the operatic vocalist of avant-garde metal group, Ashenspire. They might not be aware that he released his debut All Men Unto Me album in 2023 as an experiment to record his physical transition from female (mezzo-soprano) to male (bass-baritone) using testosterone. That groundbreaking record won critical acclaim, and now he’s back with Ashenspire/Healthyliving musician and producer, Scott McLean, for album number two. Requiem is his reimagining of the traditional Catholic remembrance of the dead with a contemporary focus on “patriarchal power systems and the conditions of transmasculinity within them, through the haze of Queer reverence and forgiveness.”
Gleave opens ‘Introit’ in A Cappello mode with a projection that’s as clean as a spotless white room. By contrast, the feedback-stained electric guitar chords enter on the back of a slow drumbeat and sear like beef steaks on a gridle. Listen to the power in Gleave’s voice as he strains his torso and neck and resonates from his chest. Violins weave in and out of the doom metal posturing, and drums threaten to branch off into new modulations as distorted guitar chords bite like loose electric cables waiting to sting human hands. Who’d have thought that a rumination on patriarchal power systems could be so interesting?
Celtic Frost fans will place a finger on their chin and nod their head as dissonant intervals suffer the scrape of the plectrum in ‘Sanctus’. Here, post-rock musings give way to noisy doom metal stylings in a cacophony of emotional outpouring. Can you hear the agonising fizzle of each chord? The bass guitar rumbles underneath like the hum of a pumping station. Eight minutes of this inner turmoil is fascinating rather than intimidating. What could be more enthralling than an emotive remembrance of the dead (in this case, the victims of oppressive power structures)? Observe how the desperation simmers at 06:44 and then boils over in an anguish of screaming. Like Neurosis, there’s nothing pentatonic about this form of doom.
The singing prowess of Ryan Gleave is exceptional. He ruminates on each word of ‘Kyrie Eleison’ as if it might be his last and often strains to breaking point like Tori Amos in her prime. You can see why this album won public funding from a consortium of arts councils. A church organ envelops you in its awe to give you something else to focus on besides the naked vocals. You don’t want drums or electric guitars to intrude upon this rumination. The same applies to ‘Pie Jesu’, which offers the first glimpse of a lo-fi melody with Gleave stroking his guitar with great tenderness but also using it as a metronome. A cello saunters in the background and then breaks out into the open like a sunrise. Might we call this mood one of contentment?
Is it possible to absorb this amount of emotional fervency in fifty minutes without taking a break? Of course, it is. You can also analyse the layers of instrumentation behind the voice if you need to take a step back. ‘Sequentia’ starts with the strum of the bass strings and a creeping sense of dread using an atonal pedal effect. Tom drums follow with caution but add to the tense atmosphere. Here, Gleave threatens to crack his words and replace them with searing screams like a tortured Sinéad O’Connor. It has more of an improvisational feel to it, but that’s because there’s abundant room for the drums to express themselves at the finale.
Gleave imagines his music as a transcendent experience. Even if it does not connect on a mystical level, you dare not press pause or allow your mind to wander. The church organ stays suspended on one note in ‘Agnus Dei’ for an uncomfortable amount of time until a sudden eruption of guitar distortion at 03:15 produces uncontrollable body contortions. Likewise, those that fell in love with the Reverend Kristin Michael Hayter (aka Lingua Ignota) in 2023 will be quick to add ‘Lux Æterna’ to their playlist.
Requiem will reduce your blinking rate and tense your abdominal muscles. It’s the definition of un-easy listening, yet Ryan Gleave is masterful in his breath control and in the resonance of his voice, often pushing it as high as falsetto as the organ covers him in a protective blanket amid guitar distortions and bass fuzz. There’s a colourful felicity to this album underneath the dark meditation, but you’re always on edge and waiting for your nerves to shatter.
JVB
Verdict
Release Date: 27/06/2025
Record Label: Self-released
Standout tracks: Sanctus; Kyrie Eleison; Sequentia
Suggested Further Listening: Neurosis – A Sun that Never Sets (2001), Rïcïnn – Nereïd (2020), Reverend Kristin Michael Hayter – Saved! (2023)