MAWIZA

Let's be brutally honest. I do not know a solitary thing about the Mapuche Nation, beyond a cursory glance at Wikipedia to avoid completely embarrassing myself. But my geographical ignorance makes no difference to the fact that MAWIZA are making a tremendous racket in honor of their native culture. Pitched as "a nine-song spiritual resistance", "ÜL" could well be most people's introduction to the heavy music and ancient culture of this region of south-central Chile. Swirling with ecological omens and existential questing, these songs kick open the door to the Mapuche's world.

The metal world is full of such things, of course. From BLOODYWOOD to THE HU to Indonesia's absurdly over-populated scene, the very idea of "global metal" has been widely embraced, and "ÜL" undoubtedly aims to exploit its extended reach. But there is something incredibly heartfelt about this music, and from the flurry of ritualistic grooves that drives "Wingkawnoam" along, MAWIZA's international debut hums and hisses with authenticity. There are certainly a few salutes to the familiar during these songs, nods to SEPULTURA's "Roots" and to GOJIRA's whale-heavy bludgeon, and there is a taut, hardcore-tinged rawness to the heavy parts that adds a loose, chaotic aura. But in general, this band are plowing their own, unique furrow. Defiantly left field, songs like "Ngulutu" and "Wenu Weychan" have a dark, ceremonial feel, as if to soundtrack some celebratory, moonlit ritual. But within that conceit lurk terrific metal songs with unexpected hooks hiding in every shadow and inspired percussive momentum propelling the cacophony forwards.

Vocalist Awka Mondaka does a lot of the atmospheric heavy lifting on these songs. His guttural but melodic bellow is magnetic, connecting through the sometimes-overwhelming clatter of the music, oozing mysterious charisma. On the skewed, sheet metal screech of "Kalli Lhayay", MAWIZA provide their leader with the perfect platform to vent primitive demons, with hazy, campfire drones underpinning an angular web of brutal riffing, and the distant whistle of pipes grounding everything in the Chilean soil. As if to reinforce the magic, the closing "Ti Inan Paw-Pawkan" adds tribal chanting and a persistent lamellophone twang to the tar-black churn of cracked-mirror death metal guitars. It ends with an explosion of voices raised in prayer to the elements, and after blasting this a couple of times in the sunshine, many right-thinking people will feel exactly the same. "ÜL" is frequently euphoric but also defiant, rebellious and ever-so-slightly out of its febrile mind. Research on the Mapuche Nation optional but preferred.