Wisconsin-bred, UW-educated Nika Roza Danilova, better known as Zola Jesus, is set to release her third full-length album, Conatus, next Tuesday. In it, she showcases opera-trained vocals and apocalyptic fascination more than ever. But for the love of Jesus – Zola Jesus – don’t call it a doomsday opera. It is so much more.

Instead, call it an experiment in progression. That’s what Danilova did: Conatus is a philosophical concept that any given ‘thing’ will strive to enhance itself and continue its existence. As far as vocals, Danilova’s career itself displays conatus, or at least an increase in confidence. Her pipes may have been great from the start, but her debut album The Spoils made it hard to tell by piling layers upon layers of distortion.

Since 2009, each release has scraped off some fuzz to expose a truly intriguing voice. Although that tidying-up may have alienated some industrial or noise-rock fans, it’s all part of a progression. The mechanical sound is still there; just listen to “Swords” – the intro track in which she swoons with glitchy electronics over weighty bass stomps like an apocalyptic march. The march continues into “Avalanche,” in which the hearty bass gets a rhythmic harness.

Danilova discovered her natural instrument – her voice – in 2010’s Stridulum and has since continued to belt her words from deep within, producing a sound akin to a gothic Florence + The Machine. The only apparent vocal effect this time is a constant echoing, which plays up a gray eeriness mixed with vocal harmonies, as evidenced in “Shivers.” Another vocal highlight track is “Skin,” where a modest piano melody is the sole vocal accompaniment.

If the album does its job, listeners’ skins should feel shivers most of the time. And not just from the approaching autumn, though Danilova can sympathize with that chill. Many readers will appreciate the fact that she grew up in the woods of small community in Wisconsin – Merrill, to be precise.

A wooded, small-town Wisconsin atmosphere typically has a chilling effect on artists – just look at Bon Iver. Zola Jesus experiences a similar effect: Conatus explores a narrow range of emotions, from devastating to terrifying to lonely, with but a glimmer of hope here and there. “Hikikomori,” for example, illustrates how it feels to willingly isolate oneself from the world. And “Seekir,” despite being one of the more upbeat, dance-y tracks, opens with a creepy cello and features the lyric, “Is there nothing there / Just a hole inside,” in the chorus.

The only problem is, try as they might, listeners won’t be able to distinguish the preceding line. Such is the case with the majority of songs on the album. In fact, it often feels as if the most important verses are being vocally distorted on purpose.
On the other hand, it’s hard to call that a problem when Danilova’s sheer power evokes the same emotion as the words. Unless the lyrics veer drastically from the music’s overall feel, what’s important isn’t what she says, but how she says it. She says it with gusto.

For daylight lovers out there, the desperate emotions lighten in at least a couple tracks, including the closer, “Collapse.” The album isn’t completely doom and gloom, which is partly how it evades being perfectly defined.
Definition is a killer, so call it what you will: “Near masterpiece” is appropriate for the powerfully lonesome Conatus.

4 stars out of 5