I remember being at Compact Disc World on Rt. 46 in Totowa (since closed, of course) one shiny springtime afternoon, thumbing through their poorly-kept racks looking for whatever I could find. That store was by and large awful, but there was always at least one thing, and ever since the time I found White Zombie’s Make Them Die Slowly on Caroline Records there I went back every so often to see what was to see.

Camarosmith’s Camarosmith sat there, used, probably filed under ‘B,’ because that’s how they rolled at CD World Totowa, with its Sabotage-style cover. This was maybe 2005 or 2006. I knew I knew the name Camarosmith, but who the band was, where they were from or what they did (other than take Sabbath-esque pictures of themselves for the front of their record), not so much. And though I didn’t buy it that day, every single time I went back to that particular store, I looked for it again, and the record stayed in the back of my mind from then on.

Finally, after resigning myself to the fact that another used copy wasn’t in my future, I picked up Camarosmith from the All That is Heavy webstore, and here’s what I’ve found out since:

1. When Jeff Matz (Zeke, High on Fire) played bass in the band, he was known as Sweet Potato Jackson.
2. Jack Endino produced the record. Never a bad thing.
3. It pretty much rocks.

Camarosmith is the only record the Seattle five-piece ever put out, and though they toured Europe, did a West Coast US run with Dixie Witch (an appropriate pairing, though Camarosmith are a little higher tempo on average), had just filmed a video for album opener “It’s Alright,” and also had the song featured on the soundtrack of the Tony Hawk’s Underground video game, after that, they were never heard from again. The last news update to their website is from 2004 and it talks about how they weren’t able to get into Canada to play some shows. I’d hate to think of Camarosmith as yet another unfortunate victim of heightened post-9/11 border security.

Vocalist Ben “Devil” Rew and drummer Donny Paycheck ran Dead Teenager Records, which put out the album (reportedly, Donny Paycheck left to pursue other projects), so presumably if they’d wanted to there was nothing to stop them from following-up Camarosmith, but instead they get to be one of those American stoner rock bands who put out one decent record and disappeared, despite members’ connections with other acts. Next time I’m stalking High on Fire, I’ll have to be sure to ask Matz wha happen. Or, you know, I could just listen to the Camarosmith record instead and kick myself in the ass for not buying it a half-decade ago. Yeah, that sounds more likely.

Okay, maybe not, but I was intensely glad to be able to get my hands on a copy of the first Fuzzorama Records release (fuzz CD001), Fuzzsplit of the Century, featuring Truckfighters and Firestone. Neither band is stranger to these parts, Truckfighters having released one of my favorite albums of last year in Mania, and Firestone’s Stonebeliever EP having been covered in a previous Buried Treasure, but to get them both on this split CD from 2003, when Truckfighters were really just getting going and Firestone was on their way out, was too much for me to resist. Fortunately, Freebird Records had a copy on the (relatively) cheap and I grabbed it from their mailorder.

In a way, it’s a “what you see is what you get”-type scenario. While the “of the Century” is as debatable as any claim of anything being the greatest anything ever is, I won’t argue it’s a fantastic bit of fuzz both bands grow from out their Orange amps. We already know Oskar Cedermalm is the link between the groups (he played guitar in Firestone and handles bass and vocals in Truckfighters), but what’s more interesting about Fuzzsplit of the Century is precisely what was alluded to in the paragraph above: hearing Truckfighters in their beginnings and what could probably be called the most realized version of Firestone before their dissolution.

As someone who encountered Truckfighters first with the Gravity X album, their more nascent approach here is less assured, and, though it carries the seeds that in context can be seen as what would later become Mania’s progressive bent, less established. They were a young band in 2003. Firestone, on the other hand, had their mission clear from the outset and so sound like the tighter unit. Of course, it’s worth saying that both bands were fuzzy as all hell at this stage in their careers.

It was a kind of curiosity purchase, bought basically so I could hear the roots of one of Sweden’s top riffing outfits, and though Fuzzsplit of the Century certainly isn’t their best group of songs, it’s a fascinating go-through nonetheless, and worth investigation for anyone who’s been mesmerized by their work since. And since Firestone remains a mystery to me (they released several EPs that, so far, seem impossible to find), having five more tracks of them at their best is definitely a win.

A while back, I did a Buried Treasure piece on the second album by Toner Low, appropriately dubbed II, and the near-universal response I got was, “You think that’s some shit, you need to get their first record.” Well, I’m basically a slave to peer pressure anyway, so I figured the recommendations of those who took the time to make them could only be steering me in the proper direction.

There’s a line in a Nine Inch Nails song from The Fragile (their last album worth a damn) that goes something like, “I listened to everyone, now I know everyone was right.” That fits very well here.

As massive as II was — and it was — Toner Low’s Toner Low has the dubious honor of being the first album I’ve ever run through my computer speakers that vibrated the mouse as I moved it. I could feel the vibrations of the bass in my hand while “Praying for Murphy’s Law to Arise” was on, and that only made me want to play the record even louder. So I did.

I promised myself I wasn’t going to get hyperbolic as I wrote this, because I’m still going on first impressions, but god damn, if you haven’t heard this record yet, you should seriously get on that as soon as possible. My suggestion is you do what I did following the advice of Obelisk attendee and commenter Bufftbone: get in touch with guitarist/vocalist Daan via the band’s MySpace to begin the purchasing process. Thanks to Bufftbone and everyone else who prodded me to do so.

Is it possible to want your money back when you got an album for free? This is the question I was asking myself after picking up ’70s proto-metallers Sir Lord Baltimore’s semi-reunion semi-album III: Raw at the Second Saturday Record Show in Wayne, NJ, over the weekend. The disc, with an inkjet cover, was in a bin of $3 albums, and when I took it up to make my purchase, I was told to just take it. In retrospect, the dude who gave it to me must have listened to it.

And in retrospect, he should have given me $3 to take it off his hands.

III: Raw has six tracks on it originally written in the ’70s for a Sir Lord Baltimore album that never materialized. Vocalist John Garner — who produced the album and seems to be in charge of preserving the band’s legacy — and guitarist Louis Dambra got back together in 2006 to record and self-release the tunes, and while I’m loath to rip on bands who put out their own stuff, as a matter of principle, I have to say, wow, this is really bad.

Garner can sing. Dambra can play. No doubt about either of those, but the songs on III: Raw sound, rather than raw, like they were reaching out for some kind of production value and falling short. Honestly, if the two players and bassist Tony Franklin recorded these songs to an analog 4-track live in Garner’s garage on Staten Island, they might at least live up to the name of the record. “(Gonna) Fill the World with Fire” and “Wild White Horses” feel overly put together, but like they were put together with Elmer’s because no cement was available.

And Garner, who also plays drums, is also really, really into Jesus. Gosh he likes Jesus. The lyrics to “Love Slave” reminded me of that episode of South Park where Cartman tries to go platinum and ends up myrrh with his sexualized god rock. I understand Sir Lord Baltimore has developed a cult following over the years because they were there when metal was just forming, but they probably would have been fine leaving their legacy alone with the Kingdom Come and Sir Lord Baltimore albums. They certainly didn’t do themselves any favors here.

If there’s one buzzword The Patient Mrs. can’t stand hearing me say, it’s “completist.” Now, whether that’s because she doesn’t think the term accomplishes anything that “collector” doesn’t or because she just doesn’t like being married to one, I don’t really know, but it drives her up the god damn wall.

On the other hand, I think “completist” describes a very specific mindset — particularly as it relates to music — that “collector” just doesn’t capture. It gets to a certain point where it’s not even about the music anymore, about the bands, their songs or any of that. It’s about the thing, about having that thing that you don’t have yet, getting it before someone else can, finishing the band’s catalog or just having one more record with that band’s name on it to sit on the shelf with the others.

Case in point: I recently purchased a Kyuss promo off eBay, titled Sky Valley Part III. After shipping and a five dollar donation to Haiti, I paid a whopping $17.98. It came in the mail yesterday, and it is, as I knew when I bought it, just the last four songs from the classic 1994 album, Welcome to Sky Valley. You get “Odyssey,” “Conan Troutman,” “N.O.” and “Whitewater” (still as one track, mind you), and that’s it.

I’m not sorry I bought it, but I don’t think there could possibly be an argument made on the side of my needing this CD. I already have two copies of Sky Valley itself (a standalone and one in the 3 for One box set), and with nothing more than the last four songs and separate artwork — an interesting journey back in time to when a label could afford something like putting a jewel case promo like this together — even I can’t say I had to own Sky Valley Part III.

Maybe it’s a status thing? Bragging rights? Like the douchebag banker and his Ferrari? I’m certainly not a better person for having paid for what someone initially got for free, but it was an impulse I couldn’t have fought if I’d wanted to, and even now, I don’t really have buyer’s remorse for having snatched it just before the auction ended. This is what I do. I’m a completist. If I’m going to be obsessive compulsive about something, at least I’m not hurting anyone other than myself, and that only fiscally.

But I think there’s a strong case to be made for the differences between collecting and completism. And if anyone needs me to make that case for them, I’d be more than happy to do so just as soon as I’m done seeing if I can get a copy of Masters of Reality’s Reality Show cheap on any of the international Amazon.com sites.

The reason this is a Buried Treasure and not a review or something — aside from album’s having been already reviewed — is that I just finally got around to buying a physical copy last night at Vintage Vinyl. I was there for the Crippled Black Phoenix, The Resurrectionists/Night Raider box and figured since opening track “As Horizons End” has been in my head for a couple days, I’d grab the 2009 Paradise Lost release as well. Maybe there was some subliminal connection because both bands are British. In any case, I had some store credit to burn.

Faith Divides Us – Death Unites Us is not an album I’ve consistently gone back to, but for some reason, I recently clicked open the folder of promo mp3s from which the review was written and gave it another shot. It’s still formulaic, but as I stood with the copy of it in my hands and debated taking it to the register, I realized formulaic was exactly what I wanted. There’s no question there’s some filler toward the record’s back half — I know that now even more than the first time around — but that’s what I wanted. A metal album. Something I could put on and not think about. A couple catchy choruses, some decent guitar work, and done. Mind-boggling complexity is wonderful, but sometimes you just want to relax.

I felt way back in August and still feel “As Horizons End” is the strongest cut on the record. It’s the one that led me back to Faith Divides Us – Death Unites Us, and a good portion of motivation for any subsequent listens will be to hear that one song. But what follows it, at least for the next four songs until you get past the title track, isn’t half bad either. I doubt the purchase will instill in me a wholesale new affection for the album, but hey, at least I know it’s on the shelf should I decide to pay it another visit half a year from now.

I was kind of bummed when CD World on Rt. 46 in Totowa went out of business, and couldn’t have cared less when Coconuts right down the road did the same. As I stood in the FYE on Rt. 10 in East Hanover with the “LAST 3 DAYS!” sign outside and all the yellow “Going out of Business — Everything Must Go!” paraphernalia strewn about the place, I was appreciative of the fact that the indies, the Vintage Vinyls and Sound Exchanges, are still going. Who knows for how long.

Everything was at least half off, and I was down that way anyway picking up my car at long last after the whole key/toilet debacle, so I figured I’d pop in. They had a few copies of Behemoth’s Evangelion left, one of which I grabbed just for the hell of it, and a disc called Super Duper by the band Valentine Saloon that was $1.99 (before the sale) and had artwork that looked like it was by Frank Kozik. It wasn’t. The album was, however, produced by Jack Endino. Unfortunately, it was also really, really bad.

The upshot was the self-titled album from Portland, OR’s Red Fang, whose new school beery/bearded boogie Melvins rocking got me wherever the hell I was going that night. The highlight of the record is probably “Humans Remain Human Remains,” although “Good to Die” has balls big enough to trip over them. There’s a definite Floor/Torche influence, which adds pop flair, and at their most unhinged, they’re not quite as break-stuffy as Akimbo — who’ve more or less mastered the art of cerebral post-hardcore violence — but they’re not so terribly far off.

It was a pleasant surprise to come upon Red Fang in that setting, where once, by sheer luck, I found a used copy of Astroqueen’s Into Submission, but even so, I’m not sorry to see FYE go. It’s a bummer for anyone if they were looking to make a lifetime career out of working there, but judging by the bored looks on the faces of the post-adolescents behind the counter, I don’t think they were too concerned. As some ring bells in memory of physical media, I’m more than happy to pick up their discarded treasures for half price. And yeah, if Beyonce stops making CDs, that’s fine, but I’m pretty sure Red Fang’s next one will be pressed to plastic one way or another. When it is, I’ll be ready for it.

Whatever moniker they happen to be using when you encounter them — Porn, The Men of Porn, Porn (The Men of), etc. — they are quite possibly one of the most stoned bands on the planet. I recently picked up a copy of their 1999 Man’s Ruin debut, Porn American Style, and it’s the kind of album you can just smell the resin coming off of while you hear it. A sticky-icky mix of punk fuck-all and sludge disgust, one listen and you can officially get pulled over for a DUI. Yes, it is quite stoned.

Notable since for guitarist Tim Moss solidifying a lineup around him including noted producer Billy Anderson on bass and Melvins‘ Dale Crover on drums (not to mention the three albums), on Porn American Style, Moss had a range of players across the 12 tracks, making the record even more disjointed and haphazard than it already was. “Comin’ Home (Smoking Pot on a Saturday Afternoon while UFO’s Drone Overhead)” is exactly the kind of album opener I love; nearly 17 minutes long and basically daring you to sit through the whole thing. “Dancing Black Ladies” and “Porch Song” both have killer riffs, but as the record goes on, it twists and turns in different directions, never quite landing in the same place twice.

And yet it’s totally ridiculous. “Ballad of the Bulldyke” and “Ode to Theodore’s” are over the top silly, and even the noisier crush of “Double Don” or the instrumental “Pyleven” clearly aren’t about to start taking themselves seriously. Porn American Style is one of those albums that kicks your ass even as it’s flipping you off because it just doesn’t care and that’s how cool it is and take that, nerd. These are the kids who said “fuck school” and meant it.

However, a word of warning to anyone who might try and search out the album: Be careful how you phrase your Google search. Just saying. A YouTube query might not be the way to go either.

Here’s a quick tip for those of you on either side of the buying and selling of goods via the webunets: USE A FUCKING PADDED ENVELOPE.

Doesn’t seem like too much to ask, right? And perhaps you’re thinking to yourself, “What the hell does it matter? I sandwiched the disc between two pieces of cardboard and sent it in a regular envelope, it should be fine.” NO. It makes a difference, and two pieces of cardboard is not the same as bubblewrap. This should be kindergarten level shit, but apparently it needs to be said.

And I say “apparently” because twice in the last month have I received packages of CDs — one off eBay and another from the StonerRock.com message board (not the All that is Heavy webstore, with which I’ve had no such issues) — where, after dashing to the mailbox and rejoicing at seeing the wanted package, I’ve opened it up and found the jewel cases smashed all to hell.

No problem, right? I’ve got extra jewel cases, and a switch is easy enough. But hey, maybe after paying $35+ for a copy of Spirit Caravan’s rare-as-fuck Jug Fulla Sun, I’d like to get it without the back liner ripped because broken shards of jewel case plastic punctured it? Same fucking thing happened with the Man’s Ruin issue of Brant Bjork’s Jalamanta a couple weeks ago, so clearly, for the good of the internet buying community at large, I need to repeat myself: USE A FUCKING PADDED ENVELOPE.

This concludes this public service announcement. Remember kids, padded envelopes save lives, or at very least make you seem like much less of an asshole to the people buying out-of-print albums from you.

Unless that Blue Cheer disc shows up in the mail tomorrow, I just received the final album I will have purchased this decade. It was Trouble, by Trouble. I bought it off Amazon used, but as close to mint as anything I’ve seen, spent $30 of an Xmas gift card and $18 of my hard-earned on top of that to get it. Worth every penny, virtual and otherwise.

The 1990 release is widely regarded as the apex of Trouble’s career, and with tracks like “Psychotic Reaction,” “At the End of My Daze” and “Black Shapes of Doom,” it’s hard to argue. The classic lineup of vocalist Eric Wagner, guitarist Bruce Franklin and Rick Wartell, bassist Ron Holzner and drummer Barry Stern (RIP) captured a defining moment in doom which even 20 years later many bands still emulate without the same kind of effect on the listener.

Whatever they’ve done since — the lineup changes, naming their yet-to-be-released new album The Dark Riff, etc. — there’s no denying the presence of Trouble, and two decades on, the power of these tracks still speaks for itself. It is an acquisition most welcome, and a fitting end to 10 years of rampant expenditure without regard for credit rating, checking account balance or common sense.

Speaking of, anyone got a lead on a CD copy of the Saint Vitus live record on Hellhound? There’s a couple extra tracks they left off the Southern Lord reissue I’d like to get my hands on.

Every year there’s a last-minute sneak onto the countdown. Two years ago, Primordial’s To the Nameless Dead came out in November and was my pick for album of the year. I stand by that, by the way. I guess the closest thing to that happening this year is Shrinebuilder, though they more or less had a spot waiting for them, it was just a matter of assigning the proper number when the time came. Last year, there were two late-released records that made my top 10 that I think are worth another mention as we get ready to close the books on 2009.

Namely, Beyond Colossal by Dozer and II by The Kings of Frog Island.

We’ll take them one at a time. For Dozer, who have since relinquished their crown as the kings of Swedish stoner metal to go on hiatus, Beyond Colossal was a further step away from their riff rock beginnings. Their fifth album overall — second for Small Stone — it was a heavy and aggressive exploration of sound that resulted in a collection of memorable tracks including “Empire’s End” and “Two Coins for Eyes,” both of which featured guest vocals from Clutch’s Neil Fallon. But it wasn’t just his appearance that made Beyond Colossal special. The energy in “The Flood,” the dynamism of “The Ventriloquist” and even the bravery of quiet closer “Bound for Greatness” all shine both within the Dozer catalog and without.

For the UK’s The Kings of Frog Island, II was an appropriately-titled second offering via Elektrohasch Schallplatten. While what I recalled of their first album was that it was fuzzy, stoned and riffy with psychedelic undertones, this one came and blew it away in almost every sense of the word. For the hair grown on the guitar tone in “Welcome to the Void” alone — the riff to which I can’t get out of my head just from thinking about it as I type — II has been a mainstay in my CD player throughout 2009. The transposed down-home blues of “The Watcher” and the darker, more sinisterly rhythmic “Witching Hour” are constant fixtures in the mental jukebox, and those are just the tracks I can think of off the top of my head. Once the record actually goes on, it’s simply a matter of being taken someplace else. Leicester, perhaps, where the band is from. Who knows.

Point is this, both Beyond Colossal and II have already shown that they can hold up for a solid year (which, as we all know, is a lot more than plenty of albums) without losing their appeal. If nothing else, that’s definitely worth some consideration. “Attention could be paid,” and so forth.

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If it hasn’t been said before in this space, I love Philadelphia. I’ll admit it doesn’t have the same sense of cosmopolitanism as New York — its history designates it a purely American city — but the people are so much nicer. It’s as though the city wasn’t constantly acting in a commercial for the city. It’s like someone turned down the asshole factor. If I could ever afford to live anywhere (which I don’t expect to be able to), I’d live there in a second. Even the hippest Philly record store I’ve been to yet, AKA Music, made NYC’s Other Music look like a parody of itself.

Along with an extensive (if somewhat disheveled) used section from which I grabbed someone’s promo of the new Alice in Chains (meh), and a dollar bargain bin that yielded a copy of Pharaoh Overlord’s II, they also had both prog and psychedelic sections. The prog section even had a krautrock subheading. Awesome. And for vinyl heads, there’s a whole other store’s worth of it in the back.

I nabbed a compilation of early Peruvian psychedelic music called The Roots of Chicha, which proved to be awesome, and the self-titled release from Iron Claw on Rockadrome’s Vintage division. Yes, the name comes from King Crimson. The record is a collection of tracks recorded from 1970-1974 from the Scottish band, most of which I’m fairly certain were unreleased before, and on the plastic wrapping of the disc there were five magic words that assured the purchase: “For Fans of Black Sabbath.”

And that more or less sums up what Iron Claw had going on nearly 35-40 years ago. According to the label, they started out by playing Black Sabbath’s Black Sabbath in its entirety during their sets along with their originals, formed in ‘69 in Dumfries, were done in ‘74, and until this exhumation, were buried by time and obscurity. The extensive liner notes detail their years together with notable shows and lineup changes and how different players affected the band, and the music is blown to hell, but a track like “Skullcrusher” still lives up to its name.

For serious devotees of the heavy ’70s new and old, Iron Claw’s a can’t miss. They can’t all be Leaf Hound’s Growers of Mushroom, but I think I prefer Iron Claw to the self-titled Jerusalem record Rockadrome put out a while back. You’ve got 16 tracks of classic hard riffing with the occasional prog freakout (“Pavement Artist”). Put that together with a city like Philly and mark it a win.

I just popped on Different Realities, the latest and fourth full-length from Swedish analog experimentalists Siena Root (on Transubstans, if you’re curious), and not only does it rock a good deal, but the concept of the record is pretty cool as well. There are 10 tracks total, but it’s two pieces of music under the headings “We” and “The Road to Agartha.” “We” is exceptionally well done retro ’70s vibes, guitar rock, intricate and a cool listen. I knew that, I’d heard either a promo of the record or some mp3s a while back, I can’t remember which.

It’s only after I got the physical album itself — do you see, downloaders, what you could be missing? — that the full dichotomy of the release made itself known. From previous listens, I just thought it was an album that started (relatively) straightforward and morphed into a huge India-style jam. Turns out not only is that on purpose, it’s the whole point. About “The Road to Agartha,” the band writes:

“The Road to Agartha” is a musical piece in the form of a raagmala. The raags, being the melodic framework of Hundustani classical music, are here presented together with both sha’abi and baladi rythms (sic) from Northern Africa. Also, the classic rock setting is in dialogue with traditional and medieval instruments from the very same places where people throughout history have been looking for entrances to Agartha. This is not only a meeting of cultures, but also a journey through time and space.

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Aside from being closest to the valley, Sound Exchange in Wayne on Rt. 23 is one of the few genuine small mom and pop stores left around these parts. I can’t even think of another in North Jersey — maybe that one in Passaic County I can never remember the name of. There used to be Mr. Muck’s right down the road, but that closed a couple years back. And even CD World (owned by FYE) and Coconuts (I think also owned by FYE) on 46 have gone and are going out of business. So really, Sound Exchange is it.

And it’s a record shopper’s store. CDs, vinyl, cassettes, used and new, with some t-shirts and books for good measure. It’s crowded, expertly organized (side-projects next to main outlets; Brant Bjork in with Kyuss, for example), and usually being perused by one or more of the local record store types. You know the type. Anywhere else in the world, they just don’t fit, but flipping the racks, they’re right at home.

Over the years I’ve accrued more buried treasure from Sound Exchange than perhaps any other single physical store, and this time, in addition to the latest Satyricon, I was happy to find used a copy of the 1996 debut full-length from Texas doomers Las Cruces, S.O.L. When last I heard from the band (last year at around this time, actually), they were looking to hook up a release for a new LP, Dusk, through Brainticket. That may not have happened yet, but that doesn’t make S.O.L. any less enjoyable on its own.

Las Cruces was a trio in ‘96, consisting of Mark Zammaron on bass and vocals, Michael Hosman on drums and Mark Lopez on guitar. None of them are in the band since the 2005 reunion, and the sonic differences even between S.O.L. and 1998’s Ringmaster are palpable. Ringmaster may have been thicker sounding, but S.O.L. puts an unmistakable Trouble influence to excellent use on straightforward doom cuts “Sophia,” “Valley of Unrest” and “Shotgun.” Lopez’s guitar is often double-tracked, and though it’s somewhat simplistic, the album is more than welcome to doom its way into my collection. For $6.98, you can’t really go wrong.

The issue was that I’d been standing in Vintage Vinyl for nearly an hour already and wasn’t any closer to finding a single thing I wanted to buy. Okay, that’s not exactly true, but there was nothing I was willing to shell out for at the new or used prices. I’d been all through the used bins, back and forth through the alphabet of the new stuff too, and nothing.

I could have just left. That probably would have been the reasonable course of action. But I’m not a reasonable man, and so — as I stared at the racks one more time and the archetypal cute record store girl behind the counter in the SunnO))) hoodie and Mastodon t-shirt with the dyed red hair began, increasingly, to give me funny looks because there weren’t that many other people in the store and I was the guy who’d been pacing around for almost 60 minutes — I finally just decided to grab something and go. That something was Across Tundras‘ 2008 full-length, Western Sky Ride.

It was right there, I was standing in front of the ‘A’ section, and I just wanted to get out of there. I panicked. And because I remembered liking the first Across Tundras record, 2006’s Dark Songs of the Prarie, well enough, I figured I’d be alright.

Wrong-o.

Out in the parking lot, I disrobed the disc of its shrinkwrap and popped it in, taking out the Them Crooked Vultures CD which I’d been listening to for the umpteenth time. The first song up was “Carrion Crow.” I don’t know what I expected of it — maybe something more atmospheric, à la Earth — but what I got was sloppy post-metal that sounded like it was recorded in a basement (and not in a good way) and immediate buyer’s remorse. And the only good riff in the song? They fucking WHISTLED over it. Hey man, I’m all for experimentation, more than most, but throw me a bone.

I didn’t make it all the way through “Thunderclap Stomp” before just skipping to the last track, “Gallow’s Pole” to see if it was a Zeppelin cover. Once I ascertained it wasn’t, out came Western Sky Ride. Maybe permanently. There goes $14 I’ll never see again. Too much hip, not enough good.