Boards of Canada - Inferno Review

After thirteen years of silence, Boards of Canada return with a vast and unsettling record that turns cult devotion, technological anxiety and apocalyptic dread into their most cinematic work to date.

“The preparation for a new Boards of Canada release is always a tense time”, observed one of the legions of commenters, adapting a line from an old BoC track (Dandelion), under the single teased ahead of Inferno’s release. First heralded in suitably analogue fashion, with cryptic VHS tapes of grainy footage overlaid with very Boards-esque sound effects sent to a small handful of subscribers; these were followed by the appearance of eerie posters in a few major cities. And then finally by actual, official new music. First the ambient piece Tape 05 and latterly, Introit / Prophecy at 1420Mhz, both accompanied by videos laden with imagery drawn from the duo’s deep folklore. The ensuing hype reached fever pitch in various corners of the internet with subreddits dedicated to unpicking apparent clues and messages in the audio, and a proliferation of reaction videos with fans crying, cheering and gasping in their appreciation of their heroes’ return.

All of which speaks to the messianic status Boards of Canada seem to have attained, and the cult-like behaviour of certain sects of the fanbase. Which also brings us neatly to the themes of Inferno. The brothers have dabbled in the occult before, on Geogaddi, and more explicitly on In a Beautiful Place Out In The Country, which literally invited listeners to go out and “join a religious community”. But rather than a hermit commune living in rural solitude, one gets the sense on Inferno that the cult has in fact taken over the world. Such is the pervasive babbling of voices, many of them audibly starry-eyed in their conviction of imminent rapture, and the deep undercurrent of unease permeating the record.

Boards of Canada’s prior album, Tomorrow’s Harvest, wore its concern for ecological collapse and ensuing desolation pretty openly, through the cover art and track titles. Given the sweep of geopolitical events since then, a worldwide pandemic, continued environmental degradation and the proliferation of AI, it’s no stretch to see Inferno as Boards of Canada’s warning that we’re all going to hell in a handcart. Possibly one driven by the cult of billionaires, who seem hell-bent on bringing about the apocalypse with their rampant desire for resources.

So not exactly a light-hearted listening experience, but a deeply meaningful one and a reminder of why they hold such exalted status. Boards of Canada have always had a gift for melody, which remains undiminished here, and for creating moments of rich profundity, often from the barest of elements - a wavering synth line or a half-heard voice. They’ve always had a tendency toward the playful too, and while there are no giggling children on Inferno, there is a sense that BoC are at least giving us what we want. Some of the vignettes sprinkled throughout Inferno (as there are on all Boards records) sound so familiar, I could swear the melodies have been lifted from old tracks. Such is the comfort one can draw from these glimmers of familiarity, it offers hope that all is not completely lost.

Inferno may in fact be Boards’ most cinematic and narrative-driven record. After a short intro, the dramatic 1st Act opens with the lead single, Prophecy at 1420 Mhz. One of the most attention-grabbing tracks Boards have released in a long time (probably since Dayvan Cowboy) which does have the effect of frontloading the album somewhat. The Eastern flute situates us in a more expansive global setting than usual, before the dramatic pause at 0:53 seems intended to check everyone’s listening, before the introduction of a guitar that could be lifted from 80s goth rock. The robotically treated voice closing out the track, “I am God, the ultimate resonance” doesn’t hold back in getting to the heart of the matter. It may not be subtle, and one could see it as an exaggerated version of their sound. But BoC have been imitated so many times, and after so long away, maybe they just wanted to remind everyone what the real thing sounds like.

Act 1 closes with the curtain drop of Somewhere Right Now in the Future, a classic Boards interlude of blurry organ notes steeped in emotional ambiguity, caught between melancholy and hopeful. Then Naraka, which translates from Sanskrit as “hell”, opens the jeopardy-filled Act 2 in dramatic fashion. Synth chords and bass kick are used sparingly, to build an atmosphere of such tension that when the Hare Krishna chanting emerges, distorted and pitch-shifted, it sounds incongruously sinister. 

The third and final Act commences with Deep Time (originally released at Tape 05) and ends with I Saw Through Platonia. While some resolution is offered through the comforting heartbeat that pulses through the track, and the synth pad, which will be almost as familiar for any Boards of Canada fan, one is likely to come away from Inferno with a feeling of dread, a generalised anxiety at the controllable dark forces that seem to be pressing in from all sides.

The pressure of expectation must weigh heavy on an act coming back after such a long absence, all of which is intensified by the cult-like devotion of the fanbase. The blueprint for Boards’ sound was defined so early on and so distinctly, it feels integral to who they are as a band. But rather than let it become a straitjacket, the brothers have tentatively expanded their aesthetic over the years (though let’s not forget the mere inclusion of guitars was enough to send paroxysms through the base back in 2005). Inferno is a further widening of the BoC sound, taking their most expansive perspective yet. No one could mistake it for anything other than a Boards of Canada record, and it proves once again that no one can do it quite like them.