I discovered Emma Ruth Rundle's gorgeous solo album, Some Heavy Ocean, a few months too late for it to make my 2014 list. Luckily, the fact that she's a part of so many other musical projects means I still get to include her in 2015, this time with her post-rock band, Marriages. While Salome isn't one of the most innovative albums I've heard this year, it's certainly one of the most consistent, and sometimes a damn good rock album is all you really need to be satisfied. The vast, atmospheric, and richly-textured soundscapes that this trio is capable of crafting are impressive, and Rundle's witchy voice is versatile and commanding enough to hold its own against the relentless wall of sound.

In fact, the album is so consistent in both mood and quality that it's hard to pick out individual highlights: this similarity between tracks is actually a good thing, as it adds up to a spectacularly immersive sonic world, a whole greater than the sum of its parts. Still, after repeated listens, small nuances begin to make themselves apparent, proving that there is more to gain from the album than its surface implies.

"The Liar" is aggressive out the gate, transitioning from a hypnotic, spiraling guitar intro into a slinky, mysterious labyrinth of noise. Rundle's voice explodes from a whisper that barely seeps through the cracks of the instrumentation into a vicious snarl, wailing passionately, "You lie, you lie and suffer my name/It's mine, it's mine to give or take it/So throw me in that deep black hole of his hell." Directly following, "Skin" is more shoegaze-leaning, layered with woozy synths and fuzzy guitars that take their time expanding into a galactic chorus. This influence carries over into "Binge," which drifts seamlessly between dreamy, free-associative verses ("So loud/The voice/The life/I take/The sand/From ground/To hand") and a terrifyingly unhinged chorus ("I have come from Hell/And I should know what love is"). The title track is more expansive, allowing its layers of sound to build more subtly around Rundle's almost tender delivery, which soon twists into a sinister thing, dark and distorted, muttering incantations: "Oh, Salome, Salome/Won't you dance for me, dance for me/I would give anything, anything/If you would bring him to his knees."

While Salome is largely painted in shades from the same palette, the result is far more engaging than one might expect. The more carefully one listens, the more clearly these shades differentiate themselves from one another, revealing subtle flourishes and varying techniques. At the same time, these songs sit comfortably together, connected by a clear sense of purpose and direction and guided by the skill of musicians who know exactly where they want their music to lead.