The Slippery Nature of Art and Advocacy: A Deep Dive into Escaping Aghartha’s *Lurkers of Languid Waters*
There’s something undeniably intriguing about art that dares to be uncomfortable. Avery Dart’s Lurkers of Languid Waters, under the experimental ambient/black metal project Escaping Aghartha, is a prime example. On the surface, it’s an album about eels—specifically, the freshwater anguillid eels of Japan, Europe, and America, whose populations are threatened by overfishing. But Dart isn’t just making music; he’s making a statement. A portion of the album’s profits goes to Nature’s Anguillid Eel Specialist Group, a cause that’s as noble as it is niche. Personally, I think this is where the album’s true value lies—not in its sonic experimentation, but in its audacity to use art as a vehicle for environmental advocacy.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how Dart mirrors the eel’s life cycle in his music. Eels are shapeshifters, transforming throughout their lives, and Lurkers of Languid Waters follows suit, sliding through genres like progressive black metal, doom, drone, and ambient. The album is as slippery as its subject, but here’s the catch: it’s not always a smooth ride. The opener, ‘Eel Black Market,’ is a 16-minute odyssey that feels more like a struggle than a journey. The guitar tones are disjointed, the vocals are grating, and the overall effect is less ‘haunting’ and more ‘annoying.’ From my perspective, this isn’t just a misstep—it’s a missed opportunity. If you’re trying to raise awareness for a cause, shouldn’t the music itself be more accessible?
One thing that immediately stands out is Dart’s apparent desire to make the listener uncomfortable. The vocals range from tolerable to unlistenable, and experimental elements like bell chimes and mosquito-like buzzing feel more like random noise than intentional artistry. But here’s where it gets interesting: is this discomfort intentional? Is Dart trying to mimic the eel’s plight—the struggle, the exhaustion, the eventual demise? If so, it’s a bold choice, but one that risks alienating the very audience he’s trying to engage. What many people don’t realize is that advocacy through art requires a delicate balance between message and medium. Too much of one can overshadow the other, and in this case, the music often feels like a barrier rather than a bridge.
The album’s turning point comes in the final tracks, particularly ‘Journey to the Sargasso Sea.’ Here, Dart finally finds his footing, blending hooky synths and blackened trems into something genuinely uplifting. It’s as if the album itself undergoes a metamorphosis, much like the eel’s final journey to spawn and die. This raises a deeper question: why wait until the end to deliver something so compelling? If the entire album had this level of musicality, it might have been a masterpiece. Instead, it feels like a 74-minute lesson in patience.
A detail that I find especially interesting is how Dart’s approach to music reflects broader trends in environmental advocacy. Artists often grapple with how to engage audiences without sacrificing their vision. Dart clearly prioritizes the latter, but at what cost? In my opinion, the album’s impact is limited by its inaccessibility. Yes, I learned about eels and their plight, but I also spent most of the listening experience wishing it would end. This isn’t just a critique of the music—it’s a reflection on the tension between art and activism.
If you take a step back and think about it, Lurkers of Languid Waters is a microcosm of a larger cultural dilemma. How do we balance the need for urgent action with the desire to create something beautiful? Dart’s album is a noble effort, but it’s also a reminder that good intentions aren’t enough. What this really suggests is that advocacy requires more than just a message—it requires a medium that resonates.
In the end, I’m left with mixed feelings. I admire Dart’s passion and his commitment to a cause that’s often overlooked. But as a listener, I can’t help but feel that the music itself falls short. My ears are important, too, and while I’d love to support the cause, I’m not sure I’d willingly revisit this album. What this album truly needs is a bit more harmony—between its message and its music, between its ambition and its execution. Until then, it remains a fascinating but flawed experiment in art and advocacy.
Rating: 1.5/5.0
