Released: April 30, 2021
Fortitude doesn’t arrive as an eruption. It arrives as control asserted after motion. From the opening seconds of “Born for One Thing,” the album establishes a firm, grounded pace. The riff cycles with weight rather than speed, and the drums lock into a pattern that feels deliberate instead of aggressive. Gojira aren’t trying to overwhelm here. They’re trying to hold.
“Amazonia” follows without accelerating that posture. The rhythm expands slightly, but the record never loses its footing. Percussion and guitars move in parallel, reinforcing repetition as structure. The song feels less like a protest or declaration and more like a sustained presence. Its power comes from how long it stays in place.
“Another World” tightens the frame. The groove is immediate and mechanical, but not cold. Vocals sit forward without dominating, integrated into the rhythm rather than floating above it. The track reinforces the album’s internal logic: clarity over chaos, pressure over release.
“Hold On” and “New Found” deepen that sense of steadiness. These songs don’t interrupt the album’s flow; they stabilize it. The riffs repeat, the tempos stay measured, and any lift in melody is quickly absorbed back into the larger structure. Fortitude continues to resist contrast, choosing alignment instead.
The title track, “Fortitude,” functions as a pause rather than a centerpiece. Its restrained, percussive texture doesn’t redirect the album—it recalibrates it. The moment feels intentional, a brief suspension that reinforces the record’s commitment to patience and control.
“The Chant” emerges from that pause without changing temperature. The rhythm is direct, almost ceremonial, but never grand. The repetition isn’t used to build toward a climax; it’s used to establish continuity. Memory here forms through familiarity rather than intensity.
“Sphinx” returns to heavier weight without breaking posture. The riffs are dense and physical, but the song remains measured. Gojira let mass accumulate instead of pushing forward, keeping the album’s momentum grounded rather than volatile.
“Into the Storm” reinforces that grounding. Its drive feels purposeful, but contained, like forward motion under restraint. The song doesn’t peak; it presses. Even at its most forceful, Fortitude avoids spectacle.
“The Trails” closes the album by thinning the texture without releasing tension. The song doesn’t resolve the record or summarize its ideas. It simply holds a final position, letting the album exit quietly rather than collapse or conclude.
Production across Fortitude is clean and spacious without feeling distant. Guitars are heavy but breathable, drums are precise without dominating, and vocals remain integrated into the mix. Nothing reaches outward for emphasis. The album’s sense of power comes from balance rather than scale.
Fortitude doesn’t change shape over time. It reinforces itself. Each return confirms the same pacing, the same discipline, the same refusal to escalate for effect. The album matters because it demonstrates how heaviness can be sustained through control, letting repetition and structure do the work intensity usually handles.
When it ends, it doesn’t resolve or fade. It simply lets go. That quiet exit is consistent with everything that came before it. Fortitude holds because it never breaks its own stance.
Written by Rob Joncas for DeadNoteMedia.
Artist information and music courtesy of the band.
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