In 2004-05, Thrice appeared to be rising stars in the music industry. The Artist In The Ambulance, a masterful blend of post-hardcore sturm und drang with pop-punk hooks and licks, had spawned two moderately successful singles, garnered some MTV and radio play, and established them as, if not leaders, then at least a strong voice in the chorus of a rock revival forefronted by bands like My Chemical Romance and Hawthorne Heights. Certainly all the elements were there — a quietly charismatic frontman (Dustin Kensue), equally credible as a melodic vocalist and a hardcore screamer, with a penchant for inspired lyricism; a guitar wizard (Teppei Teranishi) who could set the frets on fire with masterful, controlled technique; and a rhythm section of brothers, Ed and Riley Breckenridge (bass and drums, respectively), gifted with both an intuitive sense of timing and a crushingly propulsive precision, like a freight train that could turn on a dime   So when the band headed into the studio to record their follow-up album, hopes were high, and stardom an easy single or two away.

But Thrice were never a band that craved that sort of recognition, or if they were, they changed their minds quickly; they seemed to reflexively withdraw with each additional exposure to “the fame game”. Tossing aside the formula, Thrice instead emerged from the studio in October of 2005 with Vheissu, an album that largely curtailed their chances at mainstream glory, but simultaneously established them as eminently credible artists, separating the fans from the fawners. Vheissu sunk Thrice’s roots deep, and those who came along for the ride remain one of music’s most loyal followings.

Album opener and lead single “Image Of The Invisible” hews most closely to The Artist In The Ambulance’s formula: a staccato Morse Code pulse (spelling out “Vheissu”) slides into a blast of single-string riffing and rhythmic drumming, Kensrue’s howl and a gang vocal dropping into the mix, as the song swells and bursts into a chorus that, like much of Kensrue’s best work, invokes simultaneously the biblical and the personal/political. “We are lost and we are found // nothing can stop us or slow us down // we are named and we are known // we know that we’ll never walk alone,” he sings, on one level a call to arms rooted in the band’s work with Invisible Children (an organization dedicated to ending child conscription in Uganda), on another level a Christian anthem, with virtually every line of the song pulled from scripture. Indeed the title itself is a direct quote from Colossians.

But if “Image Of The Invisible” would feel at home on The Artist In The Ambulance, it’s a jumping-off point, a bridge to weirder and more exciting things   “Between The End And Where We Lie” veers a little further off the beaten path, with its electronic drums and atmospheric keyboards charting new territory before the song breaks into a chorus and guitar line that wouldn’t be out of place on their second album, The Illusion Of Safety. But none of that is preparation for “The Earth Will Shake,” four and a half minutes of the band showcasing their range brilliantly. In sequence: an acoustic opening; a verse, lyrics culled from C.S. Lewis’ “The Prudent Jailor,” backed with one of the most crushing riffs in Thrice’s catalog; a voice-shredding scream-along chorus; another crushing verse followed by a sinewy, atmospheric interlude; the verse again, this time backed by psychedelic organs; the verse once more, this time as a chain-gang chant, complete with stomped percussion; and finally the chorus followed by an impassioned shouted coda. It’s a compositional tour de force and, to this day, a staple of the band’s live set.

With the doors of expectation flung wide open, Thrice dabble in all varieties of sound and mood. “Atlantic,” a ballad of gauzy, atmospheric electronics and demure introspection, and “For Miles,” with a beautiful rolling piano melody from Teranishi, rising chorus with a moving, strange chord progression, and fiery conclusion, lead into the positively raging “Hold Fast Hope,” perhaps the heaviest Thrice song to date, and certainly the one that best showcases Kensrue’s immense vocal talent, shifting from soaring melody to brutal shout and back seamlessly.

“Music Box” opens with its tinkling namesake and an airy verse before the Riff Monster descends to carry us off to the Land Of Crunchy Chorus, then drops us unceremoniously in a radio-rock-ready middle eight   “Like Moths To Flame” pairs one of Kensrue’s most straightforwardly biblical lyrics with the throbs and stop-start convulsions of classic post-hardcore   And “Of Dust And Nations’” gloriously hooky rock and surging drums melt away into an otherworldly fingertapped, delay-heavy outro.

The whole affair is brought to an apex in its final two numbers   “Stand And Feel Your Worth,” with its heavily programmed drums, disquieting panning and inventively off-kilter chord progressions, builds to an intense crescendo, Kensrue shouting until his voice finally gives way, “awed by grace // I fall on my face // and scream the word that can save us all.”  It all comes to a head with “Red Sky,” a gorgeous midtempo ballad whose lyrical metaphor of a ship sailing into danger under red skies, aware that death surely lies ahead but determined to “raise an empire from the bottom of the sea,” not only nods to the coming of Armageddon and the Kingdom Of God to rise from its ashes, but also to where Vheissu would take the band themselves   Kensrue clearly understood that in a commercial death lay his band’s route to eternal life.

Thrice clearly march to the beat of their own drummer; they strayed off the easy punk/screamo path with the progressive, passionate Vheissu, and, while they may have shook the masses from their trail, they emerged with an army of die-hards willing to follow wherever the band might lead. Vheissu freed Thrice to try virtually anything; see 2007-08’s four-EP thematic song cycle The Alchemy Index for proof. It’s the stuff sustained careers are built on — it’s no coincidence that most of Thrice’s early contemporaries have either transformed or faded away. It’s the leap from craftsman to artist, from talented to inspired, from good to great. It’s an exciting place to be for band and fans alike. Oh, and it makes for one hell of an album.

*This review was composed by Jesse Richman