Looking back at past Wino Wednesday posts, it’s been an egregiously long time since the last time The Hidden Hand was featured. I guess between new projects, collaborations, that new Saint Vitus album, Roadburn performances, etc., the post-Spirit Caravan trio fell by the wayside for a bit, but no more. I never got to see Spirit Caravan live (to date; one never knows), but I did catch The Hidden Hand a bunch of times, and I’ve noticed one consistent thing about their clips on the YousTube that I’d like to share with you before presenting this video of “Sunblood” from 2006.

Namely, it’s the fact that the videos — with a few rare exceptions — blow. Part of that is timing. The Hidden Hand began before streaming media took off as a mundane part of everyday life — their first album, Desensitized, came out in 2003 — and ended before it really took off, their third and final album being 2007′s The Resurrection of Whiskey Foote. There is quality live footage of them out there, mostly from the Emissions from the Monolith festival, so it’s not like it doesn’t exist at all, but they never quite hit the level where people went out and documented every move they made, and it was before the time where every move a band made was documented and uploaded for all to see. If this band was touring today, we’d have clips of Bruce Falkinburg farting in HD. There isn’t a doubt in my mind.

By my estimation, that makes The Hidden Hand something special both in the Wino catalog and in general. Living as we do in an age of increasingly prevalent and pervasive media of a variety of forms and delivered across a range of platforms, I like the thought of a band like this, led by an artist who’s by no means obscure at this point in his career despite never having broken fully into the commercial mainstream end of the music industry, being relatively obscure.

Something to keep in mind, or not, as you watch the clip of “Sunblood.” Of course, part of the reasoning behind there only being a handful of The Hidden Hand videos uploaded could also be that the band was so fucking loud they blew out everyone’s mics. That could be the issue as well.

Here’s “Sunblood,” which appeared on Divine Propaganda, filmed at the Black Cat in Washington D.C. on Dec. 29, 2006. Happy Wino Wednesday:

It’s a battle for Sverige supremacy! Retro a retro! Winner takes Örebro! Other terrible Swedish puns!

I had this post planned to go up today even before the news came in that Witchcraft had joined the Nuclear Blast roster, where Graveyard already resides, but with the two as labelmates, it’s even better! Both bands’ pasts were already intertwined with Witchcraft guitarist/vocalist Magnus Pelander and Graveyard guitarist/vocalist Joakim Nilsson and bassist Rikard Eklund having been in under-appreciated Swedish proto-doom pioneers Norrsken together, but now their futures are interrelated as well.

So, with a host of links between the two acts, not to mention a stylistic core of ’70s worship running through both, I figured it’s time to find out which band inspires the most allegiance. Witchcraft hasn’t had a record since 2007′s The Alchemist continued the ascent to popularity that 2005′s Firewood and 2004′s self-titled began, but those albums — the first two particularly — helped set the stage for Graveyard to make their own run at heavy rocking glory, taking less direct influence from Pentagram, but still honing an ultra-analog approach on their 2007 self-titled debut and last year’s excellent Hisingen Blues.

Since it will have been five years by the time it gets out (not to mention a completely different band around Pelander) if Witchcraft has a new record in 2012, let’s make it as simple as possible and take the first album from each band. You could say Graveyard‘s songs are more rock and Witchcraft‘s more doom, but do you think the album Graveyard would have met the massive acclaim it did if not for Witchcraft paving the way? Or maybe you just think one is a better band than the other, flat out, not matter how many albums are involved? Let’s find out.

Witchcraft‘s Witchcraft vs. Graveyard‘s Graveyard. Take a second, revisit the bands/records below, and please leave a comment with your pick.

Witchcraft, “No Angel or Demon” from Witchcraft:

Graveyard, “Lost in Confusion” from Graveyard:

This is a tough one, but remember, the entire Swedish nation is depending on you, so, uh, no pressure. I’m pretty sure whoever wins this gets to be mayor of Stockholm for a week — yeah, it’s that big a deal. Hail Sweden.

However you feel about bands using drum machines and other digitized elements in their music, at least French duo Crown know what’s most important. Both initials-only members of the Colmar post-doom outfit — P.G. and S.A. – play guitar. P.G. also handles “machinery,” and in that, he’s got his hands full. Crown’s debut self-release, the five-track EP The One, finds both band members surrounded by a wash of inhuman electronic ambience, and not just the drum machine that thunders along the slowly looped beats they riff to. To go with S.A.’s varied vocals, shouting from the echoing reaches of the mix or aggressively, rhythmically growling in the Panopticon-era Isis tradition, Crown add a host of backing sounds to fill out their approach, and that can come either in the high-pitched abrasions of “Cosmogasm” or the hum that underscores the soft guitar and samples near the end of “Mare.” At times their sound is unremittingly dark, and it runs a gamut from Jesu-style (thinking 2006’s Silver EP minus the acoustic fixation) emotionality to a coldness I can only liking to the raining dystopia of Blade Runner. The guitar tones match that coldness as well, and I find myself pointing more toward Meshuggah for a sonic comparison even than Jesu, whose distinct lumber comes through more in how the guitars are used than the actual sound of them. There’s some commonality with Ufomammut in terms of the sheer size of their tones – and perhaps the hypnosis the repetition of their riffs affects – though working from a drum machine presents an inherent difference there, since the nature of a programmed loop is that it would be repetitive, and where a human drummer would add fills or other flourishes, beat changes, etc., Crown’s percussive edge furthers The One’s droning sensibility. S.A. and P.G. seem only too glad to follow that path as well in their riffing.

But to their credit, Crown aren’t trying to pass off mechanization as something organic on these tracks. Immediately with “Cosmogasm,” it’s apparent that instead, they want to use the inorganic as the basis for their atmospherics. A synth-heavy break is topped by foreboding, disjointed notes, and screams – there are almost certainly lyrics there, but I wouldn’t at all be able to tell what they are – are gradually submerged in a mounting tide of keyboard. Like every song on The One that follows, “Cosmogasm” ends cold and abrupt, leading into the subdued but tense intro of the title-track, which kicks in its riff a little past a minute into its total 6:49 and meets it head on with a buzzsaw-sounding noise that doesn’t last past the verse but is enough to give a headache in that few measures, should you happen to be sensitive to that kind of thing. Crown never get full-on industrial, but that side of their personality is never completely absent, and S.A.’s vocals – cleaner but purposefully monochromatic – echo out modernly, but have a sort of mid-‘90s industrial/goth drama to them on “The One,” which follows the pattern of “Cosmogasm” in breaking to a quieter section before exploding back into the apex. The course for the rest of the EP seems set, but veers with centerpiece “100 Ashes,” which is Crown’s most blatantly industrial inclusion. It’s the shortest of the bunch at 4:06, but a simple electronic beat stays forward in the mix and contrasts the sleepy ambience of the guitars and keys, and the vocals feel like semi-spoken manipulations more than anything that might act as a hook. The One is nothing, however, if it isn’t atmospherically cohesive – frighteningly so, in fact, since Crown’s only been a band since 2011 – and even for the shift it represents, “100 Ashes” only furthers the overall impact the EP makes.

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It’s funny. I was looking for a photo to go with this post to mark the two-year anniversary of the death of Ronnie James Dio, and I saw the above picture and was like, “Wow, that’s amazing!” Sure enough, it’s the same one I used last year on this date. At least I’m consistent.

Still much missed, and as I watch Black Sabbath fumble and engage in contractual disputes and don’t hear anything about Tony Iommi‘s own bout with cancer (though they’ve scheduled more shows, and I guess that’s something), all the more so. I don’t want to dwell, so here’s a clip from 1984 of the band Dio doing “The Last in Line” at the Spectrum in Philly that says it better than I ever could anyway:

When the first two songs of your first album are named after Black Sabbath records, you know you’re a fan. Washington-based Golden Pig Electric Blues Band may have covered The Beatles on their 2003 self-titled debut, but their riffs were almost exclusively Iommi, and you could even hear it in the pan-left/pan-right dueling guitar solos on “Freedog,” never mind the shuffling groove. These are some dudes who know what they like.

The illustrious Randall Dunn (SunnO))), Master Musicians of Bukkake, etc.) produced most of the first record, but the live track at the end, was captured in Port Orchard by none other than Tony Reed, who’d also go on to record, mix and master the trio’s second outing, 2006′s Hitchhiking to Oblivion (released on Heavy Hermit Records). Reed, bassist Eric Seipp and guitarist/vocalist Joe White trace a common lineage back to mid-’90s death metal outfit Woodrot, and in some of the warmth of bass on Hitchhiking to Oblivion tracks like “The Longhair,” one can hear the roots of Stone Axe starting to coalesce.

Golden Pig Electric Blues Band were their own entity however, and at times they were surprisingly heavy. The cover of “Tomorrow Never Knows” (I can’t imagine a scenario in which they didn’t know that Trouble already did the song, so call it a double-tribute if you want) from the first album and the “Electric Funeral”-ized “Apehanger Messiah” from the second are both sharpened with a metal edge, and while sometimes the vocals of White and drummer Jerome Seipp are laid back and dry enough to remind me of Against Nature‘s ultra-chill modus, the tones are heavier and Jerome hits hard on the drums even behind a boogie rocker like “Vol. 4″ or the harmonica-infused blues number “The Basilisk.”

To the best of my knowledge, the band was last heard from on Small Stone‘s 2009 digital-only Northwest Mind Meld compilation, put together by Van Conner (VALIS/Screaming Trees). Their two tracks included there were highlights (review here), but Eric and Joe both play in the Sabbath tribute band Luke’s Wall (Reed‘s in there as well), and as Woodrot came out of their retirement for some shows at the end of the last decade, it’s pretty clear that when it comes to these guys, nothing is quite ever off the table. As I was recently fortunate enough to have both the Golden Pig Electric Blues Band records come into my possession, I figured I’d pass along the recommendation for anyone else who finds themselves in the position of perpetually having room in their heart for sincere, tonally rich Sabbath worship. Consider this that recommendation, and check out “Mizz Marvel” from the first record below:

Deeply embroiled in the downer druggie haze of doomly sludge, Venice foursome Blood Red Water beat a slow march of victory in defeat on their debut EP, Tales of Addiction and Despair. Comprised of five self-released tracks that offer little by way of hope and much by way of riff, the EP is the band’s first and finds them plodding heavy-footed through lumbering grooves and a tonal morass of sludge, more weighted (in a metal sense) than a lot of the genre, but still clearly using that as its influence base, alongside a considerable dose of doom. Blood Red Water – whose lineup has already changed but who on Tales of Addiction and Despair were vocalist Michele, guitarist Volt, bassist Lorenzo (since replaced by second guitarist Dodi) and drummer Fiorica – meet squarely on “Considerations/Commiserations” with the Eyehategod comparison that comes with occupying even the smallest of spaces within sludge, but there’s a considerable Saint Vitus homage as well that starts off the release on opener “Ungod,” the central riff of which is almost a direct port of that band’s classic “Born too Late,” and that immediately communicates allegiances to more than just the American Southern tradition of pill-popping riffs and chaotic streams. Michele comes from the more extreme end of metal – grindcore, specifically – and his approach shows it, never losing its edge of aggression even in the cleaner-sung verses of centerpiece “Avoid the Relapse.” His screams are throaty but comfortable over the music, and one gets the sense that he’d be even more at home screaming all the time, which would be fine if Blood Red Water were grinding out, but these songs call for more breadth of approach. Still, this being the band’s first release, they’re still pretty clearly testing the ground for where they want to be sonically and getting their bearings as a creative unit. A debut EP is a good way to do that when you want a project to embark on a natural evolution.

That’s basically what Blood Red Water seem to be doing here. “Avoid the Relapse” veers into some more rocking territory, but the majority of Tales of Addiction and Despair finds the four-piece well in their sludgy element – even the Vitus-isms of “Ungod” are reworked into that context. I won’t speculate as to any of the band members’ personal experiences with either of the EP’s titular afflictions, but at very least the music sounds genuine in its nastiness, “Considerations/Commiserations” bouncing ideas off Sourvein and Acid Bath as Michele tries to work a moaning clean line in here and there. Volt’s guitar is suitably vicious on the three-minute track, taking a descending riff into a more chugging break about halfway through to give a touch of classic metal to what’s already not entirely sludge but not entirely anything else either. What ties all the material together is the aggression, and that never really subsides enough to be completely gone. Even “Avoid the Relapse” shifts to a guttural feel in its chorus. What might be straightforward stoner rock in another context remains metallic tonally in Volt’s riffing, and Lorenzo and Fiorica keep a grooving beat, but it’s not so much of a departure from metal as an adaptation of it. The fourth of the five tracks, “Modern Slave Blues,” begins with caustic feedback and a sample talking something about dopamine, once again covering some familiar territory made more individual when Michele’s vocals kick in on the post-Entombed straight-ahead rocking progression. Things get really interesting when the song cuts to a quiet break and has to rebuild itself, but a snare lead-in from Fiorica keeps the transitions smooth. The groove is viscous and repetitive, but that’s the point, and it’s a point Blood Red Water make well as they build the song to its apex and that of the EP.

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Not that it’s short on heads-down, crusty sludge pummel, but I’ll allow for the fact that in choosing a track from Portland, Oregon, four-piece Stoneburner‘s Sickness Will Pass, I perhaps didn’t pick the most representative cut of the whole. Part of that is because I just happen to think “Marriage,” which comes from the band’s Seventh Rule Recordings debut — due out for release a week from today — is a killer song, and one that does a good job balancing the sub-psychedelic hypnosis present in the mostly-instrumental two-guitar outfit’s sound with their viscous tonal tsunami. There’s something melodic in it too, but it’s like they buried the melody alive and then dug it back up before putting it on the record. I like that.

And yeah, it may not be as plodding as the malevolent “Run Boy…” or as deranged as “Elesares,” but the band — who opened the Portland date of the Decibel tour and who’ll also be supporting Sleep when they hit Nuemo’s in Seattle on June 4 — don’t just do one thing all the time, and that makes it a little harder to pin down just one track to stream. Of course, that works in the album’s favor, and Sickness Will Pass winds up giving the impression that not only will the sickness not pass, but that it will gradually consume you until your flesh turns to chewed meat and falls from your bones. It’s not what you’d call “uplifting,” unless you’re thinking in the sense of hoisting yourself over the ledge on the roof of a building before jumping off.

The sonic diversity and consistent quality of Portland’s scene continues to impress even someone like myself, who’s about as far as you can get from it while still being in the same country, and being just a week out from Stoneburner dropping the considerable heft of Sickness Will Pass on what are no doubt the soon-to-be-broken toes of unsuspecting sludge-heads everywhere, I’m thrilled to be able to stream the bleak complexity of “Marriage” in all its seven-minute wretched splendor. Please find and enjoy it on the player below:

Stoneburner‘s Sickness Will Pass is due May 22 via Seventh Rule Recordings. For more info, check out the band on Thee Facebooks or hit up their Bandcamp page, where you can also stream album opener “Christian’s Charity,” or the Seventh Rule webstore, where one might stumble upon a wide host of goodies, from the Pacific Northwest and otherwise.

My general assumption when it comes to conducting interviews — especially for people with whom I’ve never spoken before — is that the other person has no idea who I am, what I may have written about their work or any of it, and neither do they have interest in knowing. In that regard, guitarist/vocalist Sam Taylor of North Carolinian foursome Caltrop caught me a little off-guard when he asked if I was the one who wrote the review of his band’s latest album, Ten Million Years and Eight Minutes (Holidays for Quince) that appeared on this site.

Without mentioning that I’m the only person who does reviews here, I said I was. I’d been asking about the pairing of obscure and concrete ideas that, to me, the album title and the names of several of the songs — “Shadows and Substance,” “Form and Abandon,” and so on — seemed to be driving toward. When I brought it up, Taylor already had some idea of what I was talking about. I was wrong, as it happened, in my interpretation. The real answer, go figure, was both more specific and more vague: 10 million years is how long it takes energy to form in the sun and eight minutes is as long as it takes to get to the earth. I was way off.

But I mention it not just to point out how off-base I was in estimating what I thought the album was trying to convey, but also to note that in his response, Taylor seemed to be speaking more to the review than to the question I’d actually asked, which was something unique among all the interviews I’ve done so far for this site. I’ve spoken to people who’ve seen their reviews beforehand before, and sometimes I’m more comfortable about that than others — it depends on the review and the amount of typos I find in it later — but Taylor was directly answering the case I made, and even having been wrong, that was exciting.

For me, it was also a thrill to talk to someone from Caltrop, of whom I’ve been a fan since their self-titled EP my way in 2005. I’d missed the release of 2008′s World Class (also on Holidays for Quince), but caught up to it later, and found the band’s growth as a heavy and intricately pastoral act as engaging as it was progressive. Ten Million Years and Eight Minutes, four years later, loses nothing creatively for the length of time, and as Taylor explains in the interview that follows here, the process by which he and the rest of the band — bassist/vocalist Murat Dirlik, guitarist Adam Nolton and drummer John Crouch — rounded out the record is as interesting as the record itself, basically moving away from their joint writing process to each write a whole track and bring it in to the others.

Below, Taylor talks about some of Caltrop‘s motives for taking this approach with Ten Million Years and Eight Minutes, gives his feelings as regards his band’s close relationship with Brooklyn post-metallers Hull, with whom Caltrop has toured several times (the two groups also appeared in each other’s press shots: see if you can spot them here and here), and discusses a range of other topics, including touring-life vs. real-life concerns and the reasoning behind noting who’s singing which part of a song between him and Dirlik in the liner notes of the album.

You’ll find the (mostly) complete 3,500-word Q&A after the jump. Please enjoy.

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Self-released in a scuff-ready digipak that’s quick to take on the folds and creases of an oft-visited LP, the self-titled debut full-length from London’s Crystal Head sounds like the trio made origami out of their influences. It’s like guitarist/vocalist Tom Cameron (also keys) and the cousinly rhythm section of bassist Jon Deal and drummer Dean Deal took a sheet of paper made from all their favorite bands and turned it into the album’s 11 tracks, and if that sounds like a familiar process – certainly they’re not the first band to find impetus in the work of others; everyone does it – let the origami analogy stand as a demonstration of the care and precision they put into it. Crystal Head’s Crystal Head, released toward the end of 2011, is both stylized and brutish, working ‘90s hard rock into modern heavy and quickly establishing themselves as an act both aware of the past and working toward their own future. Specific moments on the record are directly relatable to the work of others, beginning with the infectious transposition of the riff progression to Karma to Burn’s “20” that shows up on catchy opener “Perfect Weirdo,” the first of several memorable landmarks spread throughout the album. Several of these songs I recognized instantly from Crystal Head’s set at Desertfest London, even having only heard them that one time, and though that’s true of songs like “Perfect Weirdo,” “Freeloader,” which follows, “True to Say,” “Mad Dog” and “First and Last,” I’ll say as well that the other songs included here have distinct personalities that come through and are well arranged to give the album an overarching flow. The arrangement of the material, which was recorded in the remote Sawmills Studio in Cornwall by the band and Tom Joyce, builds momentum quick through the first six tracks and then uses the last five to expand those ideas sonically and stylistically, giving a sense of both careful construction and vibrant diversity.

That structure is also something of an anomaly in terms of how it sets up the album. The model would seem to be a vinyl split between side A and B, but the flow works best in a linear sense – on a CD or digital format, in other words – where one modus immediately follows the next. Appropriately enough, it’s also the centerpiece track, “True to Say,” acting as the turning point in Crystal Head’s methodology, and where it and the five tracks preceding total 17:40, the five that follow hit 24:52, making the break between sides less cleanly perceptible. They don’t seem confused about it at all, blazing and swaggering their way through under-three-minute early cuts like “Jeremiad,” “Wouldn’t You Know” and the instrumental “The Fox,” which build on the model set forth by “Perfect Weirdo” of paramount hooks and engaging nods at their influences, the most clearly prevalent of which is Queens of the Stone Age. Even on the chorus of “Perfect Weirdo,” Cameron works a Josh Homme-style moan into his delivery, and that comes up elsewhere on the album as well, to excellent effect. “Freeloader” is more aggressive, and probably a specific person lyrically, but vague enough in the tradition of Filter’s “Hey Man Nice Shot” to be applicable in its tale of “the death of an alcoholic,” as Cameron croons in the opening line. The chorus is mean like Meantime-era Helmet and the vocals come across likewise rougher, but the first sense of the skillful craft put into Crystal Head’s arrangements comes through when Deal joins Cameron for an extended verse later into the song. It’s a subtle touch, but just enough to indicate the meticulousness that goes into making something sound so easy. As to Cameron’s Homme-isms, they’re manifold and show up sometimes in the start-stop guitar, but like the rest of the band’s directly-attributable elements, they’re put to work in a context that renders them fresher than perhaps might come across in a review picking them out and analyzing on a track-by-track basis. This is another way the speed with which Crystal Head’s first six songs play out helps them. They’re over before you know what’s hit you.

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This is a record I heard about on the forum a bit ago but never really had the chance to write on. Amplified Heat are in the top four of the most incredible live acts I’ve ever seen, and of all the bands I’ve ever managed to catch live, they’re the one who most seemed like the only reason they started a band was because someone told them they could get chicks if they did so. I don’t know if they did or not, but okay.

Rest assured, the song I’ve had stuck in my head from the Austin, Texas, trio’s On the Hunt effort has been “Dirty Love No Romance,” but the video was for “Give it to Me,” so I feel like I’m no one to argue. In any case, Amplified Heat‘s Blue Cheer fetish comes across clearly, and that’s pretty much the point, so far as I can tell. One way or another, On the Hunt is devastatingly memorable, and a record I was glad to have picked up when I did. Better late than never, and so forth.

Podcasts aside, I’m loathe to post on the weekends, but I’ll have that Caltrop interview posted probably on Sunday. The Patient Mrs.’ brother is getting married tomorrow. After the rehearsal dinner tonight, I put on Kyuss‘s ..And the Circus Leaves Town and thought of Rock ‘n’ Roll Gina Brooks, whose tumors I’ve too often at this point internalized. There’s a longer story at this point, and I may tell it eventually, but maybe not. It depends on time.

Time, at this point, is something of which I don’t have much. I’d wanted to do that “The Canon of Heavy” post this week, and I didn’t, and there was other stuff too. Bit of a bummer. Anyway, stay tuned for that other interview, and next week, I’ll have reviews of Crystal Head and others. Worth checking back in for, if you weren’t sure.

Thanks to all who checked in. I hope you have a relaxing evening and that you’ll stop by over the weekend. I’ll be here as much as I can, what will the festivities and all. In any case, thanks much and good fun to come. My conscious head is mixing with dreams, so I’m gonna go to bed. Hope you have a great and safe weekend.

Notable for it being the band’s 11th studio full-length and for marking their transition from Nuclear Blast, which released their last three LPs as well as a handful of live albums, EPs, singles and DVDs, to Napalm Records, Psalms for the Dead is most of all a landmark for reportedly being Candlemass’ last album. Of course, history teaches us to be skeptical when it comes to people who’ve played music all their lives suddenly deciding not to play music anymore – after all, Candlemass already called it quits before and came back with their 2005 self-titled six years later, and bassist, founder and principle songwriter Leif Edling has waffled on the idea already – but working on the assumption that they are in fact finished recording and releasing albums, Psalms for the Dead puts an appropriate stamp on this last era of the band. To ask it to summarize the whole almost 30 years Candlemass has been around would be unfair, but as the third collection featuring the vocals of Robert Lowe (also Solitude Aeturnus) behind 2007’s stellar King of the Grey Islands and 2009’s Death Magic Doom (review here), Psalms for the Dead at least rounds out Candlemass’ allegedly final run with more of the quality doom fans have come to expect from one of the genre’s most pivotal and influential acts. Edling, who’s been the driving force behind the band since they began as Nemesis in 1982, upholds his standard, and while Psalms for the Dead will never be regarded as the definitive Candlemass release – probably not even by this lineup, as memorable as the songs on King of the Grey Islands wound up being despite how rushed the album was – where it stands in line with the likes of all-time genre classics like 1986’s Epicus Doomicus Metallicus or 1988’s Ancient Dreams is irrelevant. It’s legitimately better than was Death Magic Doom and worthy of being the band’s final statement. That might be the highest compliment it could possibly earn.

As always, the music is majestic. Edling and guitarists Lars “Lasse” Johansson and Mats “Mappe” Björkman deliver classic metal riffs and solos with crisp professionalism, drummer Jan Lindh provides ample push whether to more upbeat material like opener “Prophet” or the slower, low-end heavy grooves of “Waterwitch,” and Lowe’s voice is clear and his delivery powerful. Lowe, who stepped into his role as Candlemass vocalist having already fronted one of the forebears of modern doom, has come to fit even more with Edling’s writing style. As he steps back to let Johansson lead the melody through an extended guitar solo section, the verse and chorus never seem to be completely gone, and that’s a credit to him as a vocalist for leaving an impression, but also to Edling as the writer and to Johansson’s performance. The whole band seems to be contributing throughout Psalms for the Dead, and the album is stronger for it. Getting underway with a  strong trio of tracks helps a lot, with “The Sound of Dying Demons” built around a solid chorus and what might be Lowe’s most impassioned delivery as Candlemass’ singer and “Dancing in the Temple (Of the Mad Queen Bee)” having a quirk factor to go with its organ-inclusive rush. Varying the pace well, the band nonetheless maintains a consistently bleak atmosphere, and “Dancing in the Temple (Of the Mad Queen Bee)” has an immediate hook from just how bizarre the title is, and that’s half the appeal. Some will doubtless think it’s silly – it is – and dismiss it on that level, but at 3:38, it’s the shortest cut on Psalms for the Dead, so it’s over quick, and its increase in tempo after the stomp of “The Sound of Dying Demons” works well placed as it is.

The organ adds a progressive feel, following Björkman’s riffing in classic fashion, and “Dancing in the Temple (Of the Mad Queen Bee)” works because it’s as musically stripped down as it is lyrically nonsensical. Candlemass follow it with “Waterwitch,” the only track on Psalms for the Dead to top seven minutes, and move into a slower march, upping the atmospherics while also keeping the doom foremost. “Waterwitch” moves the nine-track offering into its second, middle, third. The strong opening salvo has made a solid impression, and Candlemass really start to show the personality of Psalms for the Dead with the sound of “Waterwitch,” which isn’t really vibrant, but engages in its riffy largesse and via the drama in Lowe’s vocals. It’s hard to make “Waterwitch” sound crucial – the chorus is basically the title repeated – but he does as well with it as anyone could, and though the track is hardly a high point of the album, it doesn’t really hold it back, either, fading out to make way for “The Lights of Thebe”’s keyboard-introduced semi-Eastern chugging. Psalms for the Dead is structured for linearity, not easily broken into vinyl sides (unless you get into adding bonus tracks), and “The Lights of Thebe” is the centerpiece, proffering a steady Candlemass narrative that finds Edling working in his element musically and lyrically, playing epic ideas off likeminded riffing. Still, though one might think of it like their take on “Egypt (The Chains are On),” there’s not much to stand the song out from its surroundings in terms of impact to bolster it into the centerpiece position. However, if this is to be middling Candlemass after 30 years, then it’s still a pretty high level, and it pairs well with the title-track, which follows. Organ again features heavily, filling out the verse while the guitars take their time to reel back for the bridge and chorus, and Lowe rests well in the subdued lines, changing key as the music picks up and relaxes. The middle section features from of Psalms for the Dead’s best riffing, and sure enough, by the time “The Killing of the Sun” comes on, one does feel fully engrossed in the album.

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I’d imagine if you’re in the UK and the kind of person to whom the idea might occur to do so in the first place it must be pretty hard not to immediately found a label and start signing bands. Looks like the temptation was too much to resist for your good friends and mine at The Sleeping Shaman. This morning notice came in on the PR wire that the newly-minted Shaman Recordings will release the debut LP from Liverpudlian folksy doomers Black Magician this summer. The album, Nature is the Devil’s Church, was mastered by Tony Reed, which, you know, always helps.

And yeah, I know news stories go in the news forum these days — you’ll note it’s there too — but sometimes you have to make exceptions for friends. Same team and all that. Much respect. Here’s the info:

Shaman Recordings are ecstatic to announce that their first release will be the debut album by prog doomers Black Magician, the title for which can now be announced as Nature is the Devil’s Church.

The album was recorded and mixed by Matt Richardson at Full Stack Studio, mastering is being handled by Tony Reed (Stone Axe/Saint Vitus) and will feature four tracks of mystical folk-inspired prog doom, which clocks in at just under the 40-minute mark.

Nature is the Devil’s Church is set for a Summer 2012 release featuring artwork from up and coming illustrator Andrew Sloan and will be strictly limited to 300 copies on black vinyl with a digital download (and the possibility of a CD released by the band themselves) available soon after.

Presales will be available, although no official date has been set yet so in the meantime, check out the demo track “Four Thieves Vinegar” below to give you a taste of the horror that is to come…

If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times: Nothing good ever comes from following a wood nymph into a tent. Such is the lesson learned by the strong-chinned protagonist in the new video for the track “Magic Hollow” from Norwegian post-black metal innovators Ulver‘s latest offering, Childhood’s End. The album is a collection of obscure ’60s and ’70s covers (they do Gandalf, which is pretty impressive in itself), and “Magic Hollow” originally opened side B of The Beau Brummels‘ 1967 outing, Triangle.

And though the band once appeared on The Flintstones as The Beau Brummelstones, you’ll note that Ulver‘s take on the already subdued original is pretty severe. If the visual style of the video looks familiar, the director is Justin Oakey of Burial Offerings Productions, whose work on clips by Godstopper and Hexvessel has been featured here in the past. With “Magic Hollow,” he continues to harbor a fascination with human ritual and otherworldly forest spaces. “Magic Hollow” reminds of a silent film, with a crisp narrative and evocative imagery.

Hope you enjoy:

Check out more of Oakey‘s work at the Burial Offerings Tumblr page.

It’s easy to tell right off the bat that Australian traditional doom outfit Rote Mare are well versed in the ways of their forebears. What began as a one-man project for guitarist/vocalist Phil Howlett, the band released seven CDR demos between 2005 and 2009, and after evolving into a full four-piece, wasted no time in issuing the Sorrows Path EP and the subsequent Serpents of the Church long-player via Altsphere Productions. The album, which came out toward the end of last year, consciously offers grand paeans to Black Sabbath and Celtic Frost, and winds up in the process having plenty in common with bands like Reverend Bizarre and Apostle of Solitude, who took and take a similar guitar-led, sans-frills approach, letting riffs and melodies carry across the ideas and moods they want to convey. In the case of Rote Mare, the mood is pretty singular: Doomed. Five of the total seven tracks on Serpents of the Church are over 10 minutes long – centerpiece “Funeral Song” hits 14:36 – and though the pace varies somewhat, it’s mostly from crawling to lumbering to creepy. With a total runtime of 76:20, Rote Mare’s first full-length as a complete band is a cumbersome affair. Howlett is joined in the band by guitarist Sean Wiskin, bassist Jess Erceg and drummer Ben Dodunski, and together they plod through the songs, mostly led by the guitar (the aforementioned centerpiece is an exception in this regard), and though it doesn’t lack personality, it’s a long trip to make and a long time to be drenched in Rote Mare’s woes. Serpents of the Church (as opposed to, one assumes, its “servants”) probably could have been two full-lengths and no one would’ve batted an eye. Though that kind of glut of material generally speaks of some self-indulgence on the part of the band involved, none of these tracks feel overwritten, so it may just be a case of Rote Mare, and Howlett as the one who’s probably still the guiding force despite having brought in the other three members, continuing an already established prolific nature in this form. So be it.

“Funeral Song” and “The Martyr,” which between them account for a full 27 minutes of listening time, provide a fitting summation of what Serpents of the Church is all about. Touches of Trouble show up in Howlett’s riffing, and his tradeoffs between sorrowful melodic singing and gruffer shouts, especially in “The Martyr,” remind of Chuck Brown of Apostle of Solitude, but Rote Mare seem less concerned with carving out a highly individualized niche in doom than with paying homage to their favorite bands via riffs and crashes. I’ve heard far worse done with less noble intentions, and if Serpents of the Church has anything at all, it has its heart in the right place. The first thing you hear on the record, for example, is the slow riff that becomes the central figure of the opening title-track, and as much as the already-noted later two tracks summarize the scope of the album as a whole, that initial riff tells a lot of the tale. It comes through a rough but relatively flat production and sounds downtrodden in the doomed tradition. It’s not long before Howlett’s vocals kick in – the second guitar seems to be the final element to arrive – and the slow rolling groove continues as he switches to a throatier approach during the chorus. The riffs are relatively simple, and if you’re familiar with the genre of traditional doom or have ever seen the inside of the Bizarre Reverend’s rectory, then a lot of what Rote Mare are doing here won’t be shocking. “Crossroads,” which follows the titular opener, follows a similar course, marking its territory early on a grooving doom riff and building around it, picking up its pace and filling out the sound somewhat later on, but keeping more or less the same progression throughout that process. Hey, if you can’t take slow, agonizing plod, you might as well pack it in as regards doom.

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We’re only about two and a half weeks away from Saint Vitus hitting the road to celebrate the release of Lillie: F-65. They’ll be doing a couple dates in the US, most notably at Maryland Deathfest, Scion Rock Fest and Chaos in Tejas, but as I was posting news forum stuff on Thee Facebooks a bit ago, the bill for their show May 31 at Fitzgerald’s in Houston — and particularly the Shelby Hohl poster for the show — caught my eye. Check it out:

Killer poster for a killer bill, and it’s awesome to see some native Texan acts get on the show with the doom gods on drummer Henry Vasquez‘s stomping grounds. Dixie Witch, Venomous Maximus, From Beyond (what better occasion for an EP release?), Sanctus Bellum, Texxxas, Pillcrusher and Pushmen, with Vitus headlining. It’s pretty much a festival in itself, though that’s not to diminish the actual fest lineups they’re a part of — for the full list of tour dates, including European shows, click here and an image will pop up.

In light of that and my ongoing interest in seeing the kind of impact, both in sales and in fan opinion, that Lillie: F-65 has (I know I’m stoked on it, but I’ll be interested to read and hear other reactions as it makes its way toward domestic US release — if you’ve heard it, leave a comment!), I thought we’d do some classic Wino-fronted Vitus for this week’s Wino Wednesday offering. It hasn’t been that long since last time the band was featured, but seriously, who’s gonna complain?

Below, you’ll find them busting out “Dying Inside” to what was I’m sure a flattened audience in Albany, New York, in 1987. Please enjoy, and as always, have a happy Wino Wednesday: