In thinking of what kept me from checking out Nitroseed for so long, the only thing I can come up with is the name, which smacks of nü-metal in a way that undercuts the band’s sound. The album art for their only full-length to date, Molt, doesn’t do much either to dispel the impression, so perhaps without knowing the parties involved or the kind of rock Nitroseed actually get down with (the rockin’ kind), I let superficialities get the best of me. What a jerk.

Nonetheless, I finally picked up Nitroseed‘s Molt, at the recent Earthride show in NYC. The band’s name was one I’d been hearing for years — bassist Rob Hampshire also plays in Earthride and Gary Isom, who drums on Molt, has been with Spirit Caravan, Valkyrie, Pentagram and at least a dozen others over the course of his career — and may or may not have seen them in or around Maryland at some point and just not bought the album, but however it came about that I didn’t own the album, it was a situation easily-enough rectified with $10. Money well spent.

On Molt, Nitroseed offer 10 tracks all within the three-to-four-and-a-half-minute range of straightforward instrumental heavy riff rock, with some highlights to be found in the tone of guitarists Shane Balloun and Tucker Orr, who on “Combined Forces” — appropriately enough — emit a groove worthy of Karma to Burn‘s Americana-gone-distortion and find it backed up by the capable hands of Hampshire and Isom, whose strength as a rhythm section lives up to their collective pedigree. The band self-released Molt in 2006, and if it was going to turn into the shape of Heavy to come, it probably would have by now, but Nitroseed still have plenty to offer instrumental buffs or riff-obsessives, as it’s essentially a showcase for the quality of the performances it contains.

Most of the material on the album could have just as easily had vocals, and apparently Nitroseed agrees, since their newer material reportedly features them. Isom has also since left the band and been replaced by Woolly Mammoth‘s Phil Adler, so when their second album materializes it will most likely find them in different shape than does Molt, if the ensuing four/however-many years wouldn’t have already. Still, as a means for getting introduced to the band, I’m glad to have picked up the record and glad I can finally say my catalog boasts an album with a track called “Gut Butt” on it. That’s got to be worth something.

One month ago today (total coincidence), I posted a review of the new Giraffes live album, Show, on Crustacean Records. In case you’re too lazy to click that link, the gist of it was, “Hot damn, I really need to hear the last Giraffes studio album.” Well now I have, and I was right. I did need to hear this record.

Prime Motivator has more in common with Queens of the Stone Age‘s Songs for the Deaf than the color red and production from Dave Catching at Rancho de la Luna in California. The Brooklyn-based Giraffes (and I’ll say again I don’t know what the hell they’re doing in Brooklyn) affect a similar kind of playfulness in their songs. Thinking of a track like “Allergic to Magnets” or the more stoner-ized “Honest Men,” the band is notably tight, but there’s a looseness, an off-the-cuff feel to the songs that just can’t be faked. Vocalist Aaron Lazar‘s croon doesn’t hurt either, either for the comparison or in general.

The absolute highlight, though, is “Medicaid Benefit Appliqué,” track six of the total 13. At just under seven minutes, it’s the longest song on Prime Motivator, but man, if you’ve ever enjoyed the chorus of any song ever, you need to hear this track. It’s immaculate. It slows the pace of the record just when it needs it, has verses that seem to be built around Andrew Totolos crash cymbal, and adds some rock crunch at precisely the right time. If sat down and mapped out the entirety of Prime Motivator and tried to recreate the feel of the song, you wouldn’t be able to do it. This shit needs to just happen. Gorgeous.

But again, get this band out of Brooklyn. Their unabashed affection for what they do runs directly in contrast to the hipper-than-thou indie/irono cock rock that seems to seep from that borough, and their willingness to be heavy, catchy (beyond belief) and still pop-oriented and accessible makes them a better fit for an anything goes town like Chicago or even the muck of Los Angeles, which I’ve no doubt that if they were given the proper opportunity, The Giraffes would be able to rise above. Prime Motivator isn’t even necessarily stoner, it’s just a killer rock record that listening to now, I regret the nearly two full years I haven’t had with it. No time like this time to make up for lost time.

The second in my Recommended Buried Treasure series, this one is an older recommendation and came courtesy of Rock ‘n’ Roll Gina Brooks, who is so rock ‘n’ roll it’s in her name. A long time ago, she burned me a copy of All That’s Heavy by Maine‘s Rotors to Rust, and only recently did I finally find a full-artwork retail version in a price I was actually willing to pay. Amazon had two copies. One was $9.99, the other $199.98. You can guess which one I bought.

All That’s Heavy (the name will be familiar to any denizens of the webstore related to StonerRock.com) was released in 1999 on Weird Space Records, and Rotors to Rust were also featured on MeteorCity‘s original Welcome to MeteorCity compilation and the Inhale 420 comp with the likes of Natas, Crowbar and Mystick Krewe of Clearlight. Info on the band, their touring or what became of the trio is rare, but All That’s Heavy rocks, and that’s what’s most important.

There are parts that are so late-’90s post-grunge heavy they remind me of Kilgore Smudge, and I think the vocals of guitarist Ed Gaines help in that, but Rotors to Rust were more riff-based than their New England countrymen, and never did the likes of Fear Factory‘s Burton C. Bell guest on one of their records on a song named for an obscure Star Wars reference (amazing, the shit we remember). If you consider that putting Rotors to Rust at a disadvantage, then to make up for it, consider the hefty distortion in Gaines‘ guitar tone or the thrust in the rhythm section of drummer Doug Wood and bassist Jason Grosso. They’re not doing anything too tricky or overly stylistic, but what they do, they do well, and it makes a track like side B opener “The Axis of Existence” go from “meh” to “definitely worth hearing,” which as we all know is a big difference.

If you can find a copy, All That’s Heavy is a decent bit of obscurity that’s worth breaking out at those times where you want to balance aggression with something not too intellectual, but not outright dumb either. It might not be the ultimate hidden gem of a listen, but it’s definitely of its era, and if you happen into a copy that costs less than $200, you’ll probably want to take note.

I noticed that I’ve picked up a couple records lately based on recommendations in the comments for this site, so this is the start of a new series of Buried Treasure posts about those albums. Hope you dig it.

A couple weeks ago when I did the Where to Start post on the Palm Desert scene, one of the responding comments was from Midwestern stoner rock luminary and all-around great guy Postman Dan (The Fallopian Dudes, Sow Belly, etc.), who said I should check out the album Gossamer by Solarfeast, which featured the guitar and vocals of Vic du Monte (AKA Chris Cockrell, Kyuss‘ first bassist), Tony Tornay (Fatso Jetson) on drums and was produced by Brant Bjork. Not the hard sell by any means, but it was enough.

There just happened to be a copy for sale on eBay at the time, so I nabbed that just before the auction ended an got the disc in the mail the other day. It’s dirty, it’s definitely of its era in the mid-’90s, and it’s plain to see why Brant Bjork didn’t make a career of producing bands, but what Solarfeast has in spades is charm. Gossamer has a lot more punk in it than I expected, but a song like “My Cradle, My Grave” goes a long way toward showing the influence the desert scene has had on the outside world.

I don’t know if I’d go as far as to pass the recommendation onto anyone just getting started with desert rock, but for those who’ve been around the music for a while, done the Kyuss thing, etc., Solarfeast‘s Gossamer is an interesting curio, and it’s cool to trace the links — Vic du Monte’s Idiot Prayer released two albums through Brant Bjork‘s Duna Records (now Low Desert Punk) and Cockrell‘s latest project, Vic du Monte’s Persona Non Grata, features Alfredo Hernandez (Yawning Man, ex-Kyuss) on drums — and see just how incestuous this scene is. Plus, it’s fun, and we all need that sometimes.

It was strange walking down the steps into Burlington, Vermont‘s Pure Pop Records this past Saturday, because I’d been there before. Six years ago, when The Patient Mrs. and I were first married, we took off headed north on the Thruway, just as a kind of mini-getaway post-wedding. Our actual honeymoon was still a few months off, and we ended up in Burlington by happenstance, just because it was there, and we must have hit Pure Pop on that trip — don’t ask me what I bought — so being back there was a dreamy deja vu. No, it didn’t affect the shopping experience.

I’d already been in and out of Burlington Records and Downtown Records (?) with no finds. I almost bought a jewel case copy of Scissorfight‘s Mantrapping for Sport and Profit from the latter, because I only own the digipak and because we’re situated right next to New Hampshire and I consider everything north of Massachusetts to be Scissorfight country, but changed my mind last minute. A choice I lived to regret. I didn’t have high hopes for Pure Pop, because it’s one of those super-indie stores that so loves being indie, but I did alright in the end.

They have an experimental/post-metal/doom/stuff-snobs-like section that runs a gamut from Acid Mothers Temple to Sleep to John Zorn, and Slayer was filed under rock, not metal, but most of what I found was in the comedy section anyway. I grabbed Mitch Hedberg‘s Do You Believe in Gosh?, Patton Oswalt‘s Feelin’ Kinda Patton and 222, which is the same show, just unedited, and from the regular old metal section on in the far corner of the store, Ereb Altor‘s second album, The End, which I haven’t listened to yet, but can only imagine from what I remember of 2008′s By Honour sounds like Bathory-style Viking metal played at half speed. Translation: awesome.

I don’t suppose it was the best haul ever — I was at least momentarily more psyched by the shaved ice flavor “Tiger Blood” that was available at the nearby outdoor market — but screw it, comedy records are good for long drives, and I’ve been doing plenty of that lately. And honestly, I’d have grabbed some stuff out of that avant/pretentious section if I didn’t already own everything I wanted from it, so no slight on Pure Pop, which had a reasonably well-organized layout and broad range of available goods.

The dude behind the counter, who seemed to have some kind of animal tooth inserted in his septum (an instant reminder of the unintentionally hilarious Walking with Cavemen; Alec Baldwin‘s finest moment of voice-over) was polite and friendly enough, not condescending to my less than stellar finds, and all in all I felt positive about the experience. Cap the day off with a trip to the Ben and Jerry’s factory off the I-89 in Waterbury and mark it a win.

In the spirit of the other day’s Buried Treasure post, I thought I’d make it known that after initial dejection and first encounters tainted by prejudice against it, I’ve finally and officially come to make peace with UK melodic proggers Anathema‘s latest album, We’re Here Because We’re Here.

This has been an emotionally charged process. First they didn’t tell me the album was coming, I had to find out and order it on Amazon and wait weeks for it to arrive, then I had to get over the fact that it’s neither A Fine Day to Exit nor A Natural Disaster, but rather a different, brighter sound altogether. We’re Here Because We’re Here is unrepentantly not the album I wanted and hoped it would be, and while it’s true I don’t know Anathema and they don’t owe me notice or anything else and it’s been seven years since the last album came out, you bet your ass I took it personally. But, I put the disc on while I was in the car last week on a trip I knew would be long enough to sustain a full sitting, and after that, I’m not ready to say I’m a full-blown convert, but I’m not holding a grudge either.

I’m sure everyone reading this and the band themselves will sleep better for knowing, so I just thought I’d share.

I’m not exactly awash in free shit, but with a backlog of promo discs and downloaded albums waiting to be reviewed, it wouldn’t be fair for me to take the time and effort away from people soliciting evaluation and grant it to stuff I bought just because I feel like talking about music I like. On the other hand, it wouldn’t be right for me to ignore good records just because I didn’t get them for free. Enter the happy medium.

Here are two records that’d be on top of the review pile had I not bought them instead:

Wovenhand, The Threshingfloor: I did an old school CD store search for this album. True, I could have bought it from Sounds Familyre, the label, but I wanted the satisfaction of finding it on a shelf and making the purchase. Only after calling and visiting more than five stores, including such heavy hitters as Vintage Vinyl and Generation Records did I finally come across a copy at Other Music in NYC. I knew they’d have it. They’re just that hip.

If you’ve never experienced David Eugene Edwards (formerly of 16 Horsepower), there are two things you need to know about him: he’s a genius and he’s super-Christian. Oh man, does he ever love him some Jesus. And it shows on the music, but if you let that bother you, you’re going to miss out. Michelangelo‘s Sistine Chapel is Christian too, doesn’t mean it’s not beautiful.

On The Threshingfloor, Edwards reminds that although he’s one of the most gifted songwriters and vocalists out there today, his true point of innovation and individuality is in arrangement. He brings in a variety of styles (from electronic drum beats and a New Order cover to Hungarian shepherd’s flute on a song about a town in Indiana) to these songs, and it might be his most accomplished collection yet. There are some downright rocking moments (“Denver City”), but Edwards is never really reigned into one genre or another. In short, I’m really, really glad I found this record, and I think when and if you hear it, you might be too.

Master Musicians of Bukkake, Totem Two: I actually bought this back in April at Roadburn, and I’ve been debating back and forth ever since whether or not to give it a full review. Helping the “no” side is laziness, since the seven-piece (plus guests) Master Musicians of Bukkake make music so complex it would literally take me days to describe every twist, turn and influence on Totem Two, their style harkening a ritualistic drone meshed with world music structures and instrumentation. Totem Two isn’t going to be for everyone, but man, there’s a small group of people out there who are going to worship at its proverbial feet.

The most recognizable figure in the band is Randall Dunn (producer for SunnO))), etc.), but Master Musicians of Bukkake isn’t the kind of outfit where one player really stands out. Rather, it’s an encompassing listening experience demanding attention, an open mind and patience. It is unrepentantly self-indulgent, unwaveringly pretentious and, in the shadow of its predecessor, Totem One (also on Important Records), so caked in complexity that you get tired just hearing it. Spiritually drained, but in a good way, as though you’ve been on some kind of auditory vision quest and glimpsed the horror of your own consuming insignificance.

…There. That’s a load off my mind. I hope you get to check out either of these records, and when you listen, I hope you dig them even half as much as I do.

It’s funny, but when CBS Radio does its traffic reports of Hudson River crossings, they never mention Route 7 in Albany. Maybe that’s because the station doesn’t come in up there (I know for trying to listen to the Yankees), or maybe they’re just lazy. Seems like an oversight to me, in any case.

On my way back for a few days to Jersey and my humid, humid valley yesterday, I made a brief pitstop at Albany‘s Last Vestige Music Shop on Quail St. It was my first time there, and I thought initially they were closed since the neon “Open” sign was off and it looked like there were no lights on. Fortunately, that wasn’t the case.

All hail the dying breed of independent music stores. They had vinyl galore, up front and in a back room, but since my buying proclivities lean me else-wise, I paid little attention to it, focusing instead on the vaguely alphabetized racks of used CDs. In the “Recent Arrivals” bin I found Lewis Black‘s latest, Stark Raving Black, which was alright, Blind Guardian‘s Live, which I apparently already own, and the Wino Daze compilation by Lost Breed on Helltown Records of Glenville, NY, a mere 40 minutes south from where I was.

It wasn’t an easy store to search through, as there was a lot in a relatively small amount of space and the organization wasn’t great, but Last Vestige seemed like a killer shop for classic rock mainstays. They had a small metal section from whence I grabbed the Lost Breed and Blind Guardian discs, but there was also most of the Judas Priest and Iron Maiden catalogs available used as well. If they’d had Rocka Rolla, I would have bought it, but no dice.

I was glad to have found Last Vestige, even if it wasn’t the most successful haul I’ve ever had. The Lost Breed disc is an interesting curio, and for that and the much-needed moment to regroup before getting on the terminally boring New York Thruway, it was easily worth the trip. I’d recommend stopping in to anyone passing through or by Albany, and as Last Vestige‘s Saratoga shop recently went out of business, and Albany‘s Music Shack also went under a few years ago, the store might just be living up to its name.

I bought three CDs from Turn it Up! in Brattleboro, Vermont, after taking the hour trip south from where The Patient Mrs. and I are staying in Belmont. They were as follows: Goatwhore‘s Funeral Dirge for the Rotting Sun (which I’ll never listen to), Eric Idle‘s solo comedy effort, The Rutland Isles (which I’ll listen to but not laugh at), and the self-titled disc by August Born, which features Ben Chasny of Six Organs of Admittance (which I’ll probably listen to but am not 100 percent sure I don’t already own). It was kind of a bummer trip.

Turn it Up! is a pretty hip shop. There’s a picture of local resident/Tee Pee Records mainstay Dave Sweetapple (of Witch and Sweet Apple) up on the wall — and the numerous used Tee Pee promos for sale make me think maybe he’s been to the store once or twice — and they seem to cater mostly to the town’s abundance of hippie/jam rockers, though there was a small metal section. My major disappointment (aside from how visibly creeped out the girl stocking the bins was by me) came in a lack of Black Sabbath bootlegs. They had Metallica, they had Beatles out the ass, Neil Young and even Led Zeppelin, but not one Sabbath boot. Nothing. Come on, man. Give me one. Anything!

No dice. Don’t mean to harsh your mellow, trust fund hippies willingly living in poverty, but you’re a long way away from Coachella. I took my time looking around the store, partially because I seemed to be imposing on the staff by doing so (they were open until 10PM and I was in there around 5:30), then clumsily bought my three discs and left, feeling like a sucker for having made the trip. I didn’t expect a fucking haven of desert rock overflowing with Man’s Ruin discs, where I’d walk in, be handed a beer and get instantly pointed to the Kyuss, Etc. section, but give me a break. The attitude, the selection, the hyper-indie mindset: blech. Keep it. If I wanted to deal with that kind of bullshit, there are any number of stores in New York I could go to, and they’d probably have the new Woven Hand in stock, which no one on the planet seems to, myself included.

Using the Record Store Day website as my guide, there are a couple stores up in Burlington I might want to visit, but after Turn it Up!, I’m not going to imagine either much success or a particularly friendly reception. Seriously, it made the passive apathy with which I’m generally greeted at Generation Records, or Vintage Vinyl, or even Resurrection Records in CT seem like a warm hug. Was a long way to go for Eric Idle, I’ll tell you that much.

I’ve been on a real Black Sabbath kick lately, which is about as close as I come to religion. You know how it is, you come and go with those records. You know them front and back, and it’s almost like you don’t have to put them on to hear them in your head. Well, lately I’ve been putting them on anyway, so when I stepped into one of Jersey‘s premiere indie stores (I’m not going to name which), the first place I went was the Sabbath section to see if there were any good looking bootlegs.

There were. I guess since Ronnie James Dio died last month the market has called for an upswing in material with him on it, because I was able to grab two discs from the 1980 Heaven and Hell tour. Yeah, it’s a little crass, but I had the demand before they had supply, so I don’t really feel all that bad feeding the machine on this one. Both Angel and Demon (live in Tokyo, Nov. 18, 1980) and We Blind the Sky (live in Sydney, Nov. 27, 1980) are CDR/inkjet jobs, but the covers are quality prints, the recordings are soundboards and they were only $15 a pop. I’ll pay that. $20′s pushing it, but I’ll go $15.

The setlists on Angel and Demon and We Blind the Sky (a bootleg formerly known as Burning the Cross because of a stage gimmick you can hear on the disc) are identical save for replacing “Lady Evil” on the former with “Die Young” on the latter, which also ends with “Paranoid” instead of “Iron Man,” and the mix sounds better on Angel and Demon, but you really can’t beat having Dio forget the words to the end of “Children of the Sea” as he does on We Blind the Sky. Other highlights include the sundry vocal effects that crop up and Geezer Butler‘s bass tone. Yes, on everything.

I know I’ve had some issues in the past with buying Black Sabbath bootlegs, so it seemed only fair to report an experience as positive as this one has proven to be. I also got Deep Purple, Made in Japan, and the 2CD version of the new Karma to Burn, the former used and the latter John Garcia-fied. All in all, chalk up a win, and for bonus points I’ll note they were playing Goatsnake when I walked into the store. Good things are bound to happen when you stumble on that.

If you’re looking for info on Sabbath bootlegs, there’s only one place to go: black-sabbath.de. They’re helpful in the way only true obsessives can be and they make the rest of us fanboys look like lightweights.

On my most recent trip there, the dude behind the counter of Wallingford, Connecticut‘s Red Scroll Records pretty much had me pegged. I don’t know if it was the shirt I was wearing (I don’t remember which it was, but all I wear are band shirts, so it could have been anyone) or what, but shortly after I walked into the store, the strains of the aforementioned Dopesmoker by Sleep started coming through the stereo system. I guess I’m an easy mark.

As most of my previous excursions to Red Scroll have been, this one was successful, yielding used records from The Gates of Slumber, Quitter, Slough Feg, reissues of the first two Enslaved albums (also used), recent comedy records by David Cross and Eugene Mirman and, as I stood at the register, like a candy bar at a grocery store checkout, a six dollar pink cassette of Torche‘s Meanderthal Demos.

Of course, I was psyched at the CD haul, but the Torche went in first. I buy cassettes because I have a tape player in my car and I feel like if I don’t use it, I’m somehow missing out on an opportunity. The Patient Mrs. thinks this is ridiculous, and she’s a little right. I enjoy the absurdity, and in the case of Torche‘s Meanderthal Demos, I was stoked to hear the band’s material in a rawer form, since, though the finished album was enjoyable, it was also incredibly polished, production-wise.

Getting to hear the roots of songs like “Grenades” and “Across the Shields” was both interesting and exciting, since it sounded good and was a cool experiment for the ears in this new context. The songs are different, obviously less developed, but enjoyable anyway, and though Torche‘s capable grasp of melody is present, there’s more edge to the demos that makes them sound a little rougher than Meanderthal itself. In other words: right fucking on.

A pink cassette is a little more hip irony than I usually allow myself to engage in, but whatever, it sounds good and it only cost six dollars, so I’d be a bigger asshole for not hearing it. And it was worth every penny, since the tracks still show off Torche‘s high-quality songwriting in their rudimentary form. I didn’t expect to come out of Red Scroll having just paid six dollars for a pink cassette, but it wound up being the highlight of the trip and something I’ve gone back to for multiple listens already. All hail the impulse buy.

In light of the badassery of Ufomammut‘s subsequent releases — 2005′s Lucifer Songs, 2008′s Idolum and this year’s excellent Eve — the band’s second album, Snailking, is a record whose legend has grown much in the six years since its 2004 release. While the Italian drone metallers made their debut in 2000 with Godlike Snake, more and more, Snailking has become the measure by which fans judge each new album.

The band did a vinyl reissue last year through their own Supernatural Cat label, but the CD has been out of print in the US since The Music Cartel, which handled the original release, went under in 2005. Amazon regularly has copies for over $100, which is unreasonable (even half that is ridiculous), and mostly on eBay it’s just the vinyl being sold and resold. Fine.

I first encountered the album when it came out and was sent a CDR with a photocopied cover as a promo that I still have today for use on the college radio show I was hosting at the time. I never bought it before it was too late, until recently I came a chance to do so in a forum listing on StonerRock.com and decided to make an offer. Sure enough, for $25, I finally got a full copy of Snailking.

Not only do I feel good about the price — which I think is a rational amount of money to pay for an album that’s legitimately out of print and rare — but it’s given me a chance to go back and actually enjoy the record instead of just frustratedly staring at the CDR’s jewel case, mad at myself for not having bought the real thing when I could have. If you’ve never heard Ufomammut‘s Snailking and collect vinyl, the reissue is probably the way to go, but given my disposition otherwise, I was glad to have stumbled upon the opportunity the way I did. Sometimes you have to take what you can get.

…I was going to call it the “Gleaming the Tubes” Edition, but figured no one would get the reference and it would sound more like I was the hippest plumber ever than just buying albums online. Don’t want to overdo it, you know.

I recently got a check for $90 for a column I write in New Jersey‘s longest-running alt weekly, The Aquarian. I get one every month for roughly the same amount, and true to form, I lost this one almost immediately. I’ve begged for a direct deposit and been roundly (and squarely) rejected. This — namely the fact that I didn’t actually have the money anymore — wasn’t going to stop me from spending it. I hit up Amazon and here’s a quick rundown of the subsequent wish list haul, the last of which just arrived in the mail today:

The Obsessed, The Church Within: I have no excuse for not already owning this album and I feel no small amount of shame for having only purchased it now. It was an oversight on my part and it’s been corrected. I’d prefer to just move on.

Church of Misery, The Second Coming: This one I have an excuse for not already owning. Two actually. First, it’s hard as fuck to find. Second, when you do find it, it’s similarly (and apparently copulatingly) expensive. Worth every penny for the frenetic, blasted-out doom that ensues though.

Dutch Oven, Electric Last Minute: I’m not even sure why I originally wanted this, but it was on my wish list for years and at this point it was a battle of will to see how long I could wait out buying it. It’s meh, but I know a long time ago when I put it on the list I must have wanted it very badly, so future me (which is now me) was basically just trusting past me’s instincts on this one. Turns out that guy’s kind of a jerk.

Trouble, Run to the Light: It’s the 1994 reissue of the 1987 album, but it’s also the last Trouble full-length I didn’t own, and I’m pretty sure I get a cookie for completing the catalog, so if you weigh it in terms of cookie/dollar value, Run to the Light just paid for itself. Suck a fat one, economy!

Pappo’s Blues, Volume 1: Early ’70s Argentinian psychedelic bluesy biker rock? Are you fucking kidding me? More please.

Color Humano, Color Humano: More Argentinian ’70s goodness. My only complaint with this is that it came in a sleeve, which is bullshit. I guess “limited edition import” means, “I’m a dick and I’m going to mail you my promo of this Sony reissue ha ha ha fuck you fuck you.” Always something lost in translation.

Beaver, Lodge: Because apparently every single time I order CDs from anywhere, ever, it has to include at least one item released on Man’s Ruin. This is cool though because it’s the promo, and because it’s not in a sleeve, I’m okay with that.

Snail, Snail: I know they just reissued it and it’s available for download through the band’s website, but I wanted the original deal and it was like four bucks, so I grabbed it and I’m not looking back. If you’ve never heard it and you’re not a complete asshole like me, buy it from the band and give them some small measure of support, since they’re good people.

Thinking about Church of Misery‘s Early Works Compilation the other day got me in a reissue state of mind, so I thought I’d take a look at some other recent re-releases. Rest assured, there’s never a shortage. Dig it:

Goatsnake: This came up in my interview with Greg Anderson, but it’s worth mentioning here as well that Goatsnake‘s 2000 sophomore outing, Flower of Disease (originally on Man’s Ruin), has been reissued on Southern Lord. Unlike when they did I/Dog Days a couple years back, there’s no new artwork or bonus material, but Flower of Disease has been out of print for probably about eight years now, and if you never managed to get a copy of it, it should go without saying that doing so is a worthwhile endeavor. It’s not the classic the first album is, but it stands the test of time nonetheless, with “Easy Greasy” and “A Truckload of Momma’s Muffins” set to kick your ass with doomed out goodness.

16: In 2009, Relapse put out 16‘s underrated Bridges to Burn reunion album and sent them off on the road like they’d never left it in the first place. Now the label has repressed the Los Angeles noise metal band’s blazing first two albums, Curves that Kick (1993) and Drop Out (1996), which for my money are right up there with Buzzov*en‘s terminally fucked up sludge and anything Unsane were doing at the time.

16 has always been one of those acts that never quite got the mass attention they deserved, and it doesn’t look like that’s about to change, but for the few who will check them out (new artwork and all), Curves that Kick and Drop Out both prove to be ahead of their time. No word on reissues of 16‘s other two albums, 1997′s Blaze of Incompetence and 2003′s Zoloft Smile.

Jameson Raid: The obscure pre-NWOBHM act formed in 1976 and barely made it past 1982, but the ever-vigilant Shadow Kingdom Records has seen to it their work will garner new appreciation (such as mine) with the discography collection, Just as the Dust Had Settled. Vocalist Terry Dark has a little Phil Lynott inflection to his voice, but it fits well over the music, which is culled from 1979′s debut Seven Days of Splendour single, 1980′s End of Part One EP and the Electric Sun demo from 1982. The songs vary in quality (and lineup), but the essential elements of the band come across even with dated production, the early Priest-isms of shining through without hindrance. Like a lot of Shadow Kingdom‘s reissues, Just as the Dust Had Settled is going to find itself a small but passionate market appeal, but NWOBHM fanatics and other curious parties should be thrilled to get their hands on it.

Impulse usually plays a very small part in my CD purchasing, and even less so for buying online. Whether it’s eBay, Amazon, All that is Heavy or what, the final click may be on a whim, but I’ve usually sat and sweated over the decision of whether or not I actually want to buy this thing for at least a day or two.

Not so for the copy of Church of Misery‘s Early Works Compilation that I recently stumbled upon and snagged off eBay. The auction had been set to end in an hour when I found it and it was only at something like eight bucks at the time, and I was bored, so I watched it until there was less than a minute, then put in my bid and got it for about $11 before the shipping. It’s the original Leaf Hound Records version, and even with four dollars shipping from Britain, that’s not a terrible deal, but the purchase was ultimately pointless.

Here’s why: Early Works Compilation was just reissued. Weeks ago — maybe even three — by Emetic Records out of Michigan. I know Leaf Hound is probably defunct, and that’s the kind of thing I usually get off on, but what the hell? I could have just gotten the reissue on the cheap and probably filled a shopping cart with other goodies and had a great time. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I got the record, but it just feels a little silly. It’s like hunting down the Man’s Ruin version of Goatsnake‘s Flower of Disease when the one on Southern Lord is exactly the same (no, I did not do this; but I probably would if I didn’t already have the original of that album). Ridiculous.

I take solace in the fact that the dude I bought Early Works Compilation off of plays in The Heads. That’s kind of cool. Like when I bought the Orange Goblin/Electric Wizard split off Mike Scheidt from YOB, also on eBay. Maybe if I keep that in mind I’ll have an easier time accepting the outright dopeyness of the “grab it!” impulse and feel a little better about the whole thing. Maybe not. Whatever. At least I won something. There’s always that sense of accomplishment when eBay‘s form letters are so happy for you. Really makes you feel the achievement. I’m gonna try reveling in that for a while and see how it goes; maybe put on some Church of Misery to accompany.