Monolithic Undertow: In Search of Sonic Oblivion – A Book Review
Harry Sword’s Monolithic Undertow is a pilgrimage through the deep, vibrating heart of drone music. It is a book about sound, but more than that, it is about the human pull toward immersion, repetition, and transcendence through noise. Sword traces the lineage of drone from ancient sacred rituals to the earth-shaking doom of Sunn O))) and beyond. It is part history, part philosophy, part fever dream.
The writing has a restless energy. Sword dives headfirst into each chapter, dragging the reader through sweat-drenched temples, smoky jazz clubs, and amplifier-stacked basements. He finds the drone everywhere. In the shaman’s chant, in the deep hum of Tibetan horns, in La Monte Young’s experiments, and in the slow, punishing riffs of Sleep’s Dopesmoker. He argues that drone is the purest form of musical expression, a primal force that predates melody and rhythm. A sound that does not move forward, but expands.
It is a book that feels like a gig. At times, the prose swells, layering idea upon idea until it becomes hypnotic. You get lost in the momentum, riding the wave of sound and history. Then it snaps back to reality, grounding you in dates, places, and cultural shifts. Sword does not write like a detached observer. He is fully in it, moving with the music, feeling its weight. He is the kind of writer who can make an academic argument while also making you feel the sweat and distortion of a Sunn O))) set vibrating through your bones.
I have not been privileged enough to see Sunn O))) live, but Sword brings it a little closer. The book pulls you into the scene, lets you feel the sheer weight of sound and devotion that surrounds it. It is not the same as standing in front of those towering amps, but it gets you closer to understanding why people do.
Some passages push the limits of coherence. The book is heavy with references, some expected, some obscure. Sword assumes a lot from the reader. If you come in blind, you might get lost. But that’s part of the journey. This is not a textbook. It is an invitation into obsession.
What makes Monolithic Undertow special is its refusal to pin drone down. It does not attempt to define it neatly. Instead, it shows you the vastness, the common threads across centuries and cultures. From Indian ragas to German kosmische, from Tony Conrad’s long tones to the skull-rattling weight of Earth, Sword paints a picture of music as a gateway. A way to lose the self, to dissolve into sound.
If you love drone, you will love this book. If you do not, you might by the end. Or you might put it down, overwhelmed, ears ringing with the ghosts of a thousand sustained notes. Either way, Monolithic Undertow will leave a mark.
