We all take shape in the form that others prescribe—an embodiment that may run counter to how we see ourselves. Yet, in this world of heavy artistry whose inception rests in the bravery and drama and drive against the on-the-tracks trajectory of rock music—often too in sneer at traditional thought patterns—we search for freedom in amplified wisdom, reckless rhythms, and voices that soar above it all. Maud the Moth, in piano and vocal-based lamentations, appears to us not in the rev and leather that symbolize the traditional call of heavy metal. The Distaff, in its curious spindle, instead possesses strands of a familiar and ferocious hue—vibrant and unmistakable despite its differences.
Spanish-born and Scotland-residing, Amaya López-Carromero (also of healthyliving) uses Maud the Moth to flutter her most personal and growth-seeking articulations. Whipping between the alternative bend of a young Tori Amos to a classically-trained operatic wail fit for a sobbing rendition of Bizet’s Carmen as it is for The Distaff’s own wrestled narrative, López-Carromero orates at the center, the thumping heart, of each composition. And about her bled-out words that spell feelings of futility against assumed roles (“A Temple by the River,” “Despeñaperros”) and inherited success metrics (“Burial of the Patriarchs,” “Fiat Lux”), hands, steadied in necessary expression, find a home in rhythmic and romantic piano-led marches. In lyric-driven, macabre-in-nature music, the ivories tend to rest as an accent. But imbued by the impressionist spirit of Debussy and Ravel1 ravaging through a unique and wild attitude that rests adjacent to extreme, modern sounds, Maud the Moth and The Distaff live a sonic statement all their own.
An elaborate and elegant rhythmic framework—slow, percussive dances of tempered and swelling chords (“Exuviae,” “Fiat Lux”) and masking, playful triplets (“Siphonophores”)—coax a sneaking hypnosis throughout The Distaff. Surrounding these bases, the accompanying cast2 finds haunting accents—hissing Moog underlays, bowed cymbal screeches, thundering snare rolls, bellowing guitar crashes—that cut brooding horror across the melody to which López-Carromero maintains steadfast in swaying histrionics and shouting defiance. And in support of this continued desire to find solace in reflective silence and minimal structures, chamber strings3 pair to escalating verses and grand crescendos to make way for peace to come. The gentle sounds of nature (“Exuviae,” “Despeñaperros”) and the calm of a lingering voice (“Burial…,” “O Rubor”)—harmony builds a nest amongst ripples and waves of discord.
In this friction, The Distaff forges a journey of disillusion, awakening, and plaintive realization. Sprouting to life in a hazy, layered fluster (“Cando de Enramada”) and closing with a further (shoe)gazed and drowned recapitulation of a day spent in contest (“Kwisatz Haderach”), its book-ended daze reads as equal parts confessional and hallucinatory. And in this state of fizzling consciousness, Maud the Moth weaves tales of transformation, with the guitar character swinging from crushing and startling in impact (“A Temple…,” “Despeñaperros”) to gentle, fuzzed signals (“Burial…”) and glassy, harmonic companionship (“Fiat Lux”) as The Distaff oscillates between its tragic peaks and sullen lows. Violent vocal colors live in leather-bound creases—cries and wretches buried in hammering chords cracked notes in shivering sustain, piercing lyrics that splinter ethereal leanings like a wound freshly unbandaged. In fitting languid union words read on paper just as intense as their vibrational presence—”The sky wakes to an untouched meal.” (“Exuviae”), “Skin breaks like lace, so bleached, in shreds” (“Siphonophores”), “Blood of the father / Flows through the son / Drips through the fingers, viscous and warm” (“Fiat Lux”)—scenes of progressive and recurring ruminations staining eyes and ears with fragile and tangible tragedy.
As natural as breath to a body gasping, and as natural as my own breath leaving mine with every passing moment, The Distaff rises and falls with a lurch and solemn acceptance of life unfolding. From roots as a rawer singer-songwriter to this full and modern incarnation, Amaya López-Carromero has harnessed Maud the Moth as an effortless yet meticulous extension of her writhing inner existence. And in leaps, The Distaff twists from the play of 2020’s Orphnē to full theater. Whether Maud the Moth’s continued shed and growth will crystalize into an even more brilliant form matters little as The Distaff wears in bold and uncharted tapestry its heart-wrenching endeavors. Without a peer, Maud the Moth threatens to fly freely at the top of its own constructed throne.
Rating: 5.0/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Labels: The Larvarium | La Rubia Producciones | Woodford Halse
Websites: maudthemoth.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/maudthemoth
Releases Worldwide: February 21st, 2025
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