An oblong pit of pitch-black graces the cover of Haunted Horses’ new album, Dweller (2025). I had assumed that the chasm was a hole in the ground, with the viewer cautiously peering into it, still safe from careening off of the edge. The opening track, “Dweller on the Threshold,” set the scene as menacing, low scraping noises undulated in dead air, echoing as though trapped in a cave. There is a stillness in the soundscape; the peril is still around the corner. Nearly a minute passes until a crushing guitar riff barrels through, drenching everything in staticky fuzz for a split moment before a set of pounding drums emerge to drive the song forward.
“Dweller on the Threshold” was inspired by a band member’s dream of being trapped at the bottom of a well, facing an ever-advancing shadow presence. On a closer look, the chasm on the album’s cover is unmistakably the opening of a derelict well, meaning the point of view is not of someone safely situated on the ledge, but of someone trapped in the pit, gazing up at the abyss. There is no way out.
This sense of doomed confinement is captured in Dweller’s themes of self-identity and ego destruction. The surreal torment of not knowing one’s true self and the terror of transformation find themselves in the sinister density of the record’s sound. Industrial grinding blares in the background as primary vocalist Colin Dawson spits out lyrics in a viscous drawl. Buffeting drums and cold, metallic riffs keep the record from losing itself in a sludge of sound. What stands out to me most, however, are the moments of relative clarity where Dawson’s voice, accompanied by distress signal-esque percussion, rises up over the din, rendering the sharpness of crisis set against a backdrop of murky dread.
Olivia Zhao is a sophomore studying Business and Global Affairs
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