While I still have some minor misgivings about its execution, Nadja have certainly found a way to make their latest release a noteworthy and meaningful event: they have made a rock album (at least, as much of a rock album as could be expected from them).  That is something of a quixotic move, as songwriting and singing are not exactly the duo's greatest talents, but the inspired addition of Jesus Lizard drummer Mac McNeilly definitely makes Nadja's signature doomgaze aesthetic a lot more punchy and immediately gratifying.  It is a marriage that will probably yield some truly wonderful results somewhere further down the line, but Dagdrøm is more of a promising, oft-successful experiment than a revelation or total creative rebirth.
Nadja is a bit of an unusual case for me, as I genuinely enjoy the niche that they have have staked out for themselves (generally slow-motion avalanches of heavily distorted guitars), but find the sheer volume of their output both baffling and exasperating.  By my count, Nadja currently have over 18 releases, most of which are variations on a pretty narrow theme.  That makes it quite difficult for a casual fan like myself to muster any enthusiasm for a typical new album, which is why a bold divergence like Dagdrøm was almost a necessity at this point.
In most respects, Nadja's transition to a more conventional "doom metal band" sound is a huge success.  McNeilly's drumming, for example, is quite an invigorating, dynamic, and potent addition.  Rather than playing at a doom-y crawl or attempting to dazzle me with virtuosic fills, Mac instead opts for the punkier "bash-and-bludgeon" approach, which proves to be the perfect counterbalance to Baker and Buckareff's wall of sludge.  That is not hyperbole, as I cannot imagine these songs working if the drums were less blunt and visceral.  Besides that, the album is strewn with great grooves, crushing walls of distortion, and squalling crescendos.  All of that pleases me.
Unfortunately, lots of great parts does quite not equal a great album in the case of Dagdrøm (though it certainly comes very, very close).  Nadja's biggest stumbling block is probably the buried/whispered/mumbled vocals: it almost seems like Baker's mindset was "Songs need to have singing, I guess.  Hand me a microphone, I'll add some now."  That is not to say that the vocals are bad—they are not.  However, they do feel completely inconsequential and add nothing to the songs.
Another issue is that the songs are perhaps a bit overlong.  I have no problem with their more ambient-minded work stretching out for 20 minutes or more, but a one- or two-riff "song" definitely overstays its welcome a bit when it exceeds ten minutes.  I also feel that this new direction sacrifices some of the band's distinctiveness, but the staggering density of passages like the outro of "Falling Out of Your Head" are still pretty uniquely Nadja-esque.  I suppose that is less of a flaw than an interesting artistic choice, as these songs tend to build towards sounding like Nadja (albeit an atypically ferocious version) rather than sounding instantly recognizable as such.
I feel like I am probably over-thinking and over-critiquing this effort a bit, but I cannot help it–it comes so exasperatingly close to being absolutely crushing.  In fact, despite its flaws, it is probably the single most essential Nadja record around: longtime fans will definitely want to hear Aidan Baker and Leah Buckareff rip shit up (it is easy to imagine parts of "Space Time and Absense" whipping a mosh pit into a frenzy), while this is probably the most instantly likable window into Nadja's world that a curious listener could hope to find.  Sure, it is not quite the Nadja sound, but there are more than enough glimpses of it to lure new fans towards their more experimental, long-form work.  As a result, Dagdrøm presents a very unusual situation: it is not the band's best work, but it is an unqualified success in all other regards (direction, appeal, choice of drummer, and general bad-assness).
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