It’s okay though. I’m pretty sure Lamont were only in such a hurry to kick your ass on Thunder Boogie because they had to get to that date with your girlfriend.

During their time together, Boston-based trio Lamont put out two EPs and two full-lengths. Thunder Boogie was the first, arriving a decade ago in 2002 on Traktor 7 Records after the 1999 EP and Muscle, Guts and Luck EP and preceding their swan song, Population 3. They broke up in 2007 — guitarist/vocalist Pete Knipfing went on to play in Mess with the Bull — and since then, info on the band has become sparse to the point on nonexistence. Even their MySpace page is gone by now.

A pretty familiar story — band does stuff then breaks up — and I’d leave it there were it not for the unencumbered freeballing swagger of Thunder Boogie itself. The basic fact of the matter is if this record came across my desk for review today, I’d fall all over myself to give it a glowing overly-detailed review, and while 10 years on, it’s not exactly groundbreaking for heavy or stoner rock, it’s clear even now that Lamont‘s penchant for speed-riffing and driving grooves — rushed from the start of the blazing “Hot Wire” — wasn’t about innovation as much as it was about drinking, classic rock worship, big hooks and no bullshit.

Like the best of Boston’s heavy rock scene then and now, there’s a strong undercurrent of punk in what Lamont does. Nine tracks in 31 minutes means there isn’t much time for screwing around, and “Vegas,” “I Saw Red” and “One White Line” ensure the first half of Thunder Boogie is filled with strong choruses, motor-ready rock and a blinding sense of pace that, even when it slows, hardly gives you time to process before Knipfing, bassist Mike Cosgrove and drummer Todd Bowman are on to the next thing. By the time they get around to “Thunderboogie,” “Hell’s Got Me Runnin’,” “Psychopath” and the infectious closer “Agent 49″ — which tops seven minutes only because of the bonus track — they’re well dug in, dripping attitude on the gang vocals of “Psychopath” or the post-rockabilly brashness of the finale.

Thunder Boogie finally came into my possession just hours after acquiring the Johnny Arzgarth haul, presented to me by the man himself, whose reaction earlier when I’d told him about my trouble finding any of Lamont‘s material was, “Oh yeah, let me call Pete,” in the manner of a person who gets things done. So be it. I don’t know how I’d ever be able to pick up any of Lamont‘s other releases — unless, I was to, say, move to Massachusetts sometime in the next year and immediately begin perusing CD stores — so the chance to hear this one was certainly much appreciated.

The video’s kind of lo-res, but should be enough for you to get the point:

Lamont, “Hot Wire”

The loot was manifold. Priority Mail flat-rate boxes spread across a long table in a dining room, packed full of old promos from years past. Many of them were familiar to me — sleeves of this or that label release, jewel case demos from just a few years back when such a thing didn’t seem outlandish. Bent-corner digipaks, some of records I’ve known, enjoyed, reviewed, or put on an office shelf to languish, and many others unfamiliar, new names, or older releases from recognizable purveyors of the peculiar styles that were once lumped under the general banner of the old StonerRock.com.

Small Stone bands — Roadsaw, Lord Fowl, Freedom Hawk — played through computer speakers, which was appropriate, since it was the same night as the Boston Small Stone showcase at Radio. This, however, was earlier in the afternoon, and the boxes, the table, the computer speakers and the lovely house in Massachusetts in which they all resided belonged to one John Pegoraro, also known as Arzgarth. The promos were discs he’d accumulated over the years writing for the aforementioned and still-missed outlet, and I was more than happy to give them a good home.

There was some genuine treasure in the mix, and some albums John seemed loathe to part with — a feeling I can certainly understand, owning as I do many CDs that I’ll probably never want to listen to again and still others I never listened to in the first place and yet can’t seem to wrap my brain around getting rid of. Not to say anything against Mountain Mirrors or Whoremaon or Dark Fog or Lost Youth, whose discs I haven’t even had the chance to hear as of today, but it was probably harder to let go of older stuff like Bible of the Devil‘s 2002 sophomore outing, Firewater at My Command, Throttlerod‘s By the Horns 1999 demo, Freedom Hawk‘s Universal demo or Roadsaw‘s Takin’ Out the Trash. No joke, I was honored to be able to take these things and the rest with me when I left.

Along with stuff by Slomatics, Assrockers – from whence Borracho sprang — and Michigan devil worshipers Beast in the Field (their first and third), those were some of the highlights of the haul, but things like Mean Mother ‘s 2009 self-titled, the self-titled Telestrion and a promo-only copy of Yellow #5‘s Demon Crossing, which featured Brant Bjork on drums and Dave Catching on guitar and basked in Palm Desert weirdness, were a boon as well. I grabbed the first Mind Funk, which was recommended to me a long time ago, two records from Iron Giant, the self-titled Maligno, some Hawg Jaw, an L7 live record on Man’s Ruin, and stuff by Lords of Bastard, The Red Plastic Buddha, Obskuria, Upwards of Endtime and The Valley as well.

Collector’s impulse, which I suppose is what had me there in the first place, led me to pick up the jewel case promo of the self-titled debut from Kalas, released on Tee Pee in 2006. The band was a side-project for Matt Pike at the time, and I already own it — I actually never got a full-artwork copy, so now I just have two of the promos — but it’s not something you see around, and again, I figured better to have it than not. You never know when a meteor will strike the ‘Ka-Ki’ shelf and you might need a replacement waiting in the wings.

It was an exceptional opportunity from an exceptionally good dude (you can read Arz‘s review of that night’s showcase here), and I look forward to continuing to dig through the box, pull out discs at random, and enjoy listening. I’ve got a ways to go, but if it’s a long haul, count me in. Thanks John for the chance.

I’m sure that in your lifetime you’ve heard a line so catchy that you wanted to make a whole song out of it. Well, Electric Wizard have too. The only difference is they actually wrote the song with the catchy line in the first place as well. So what you get with “Legalise Drugs & Murder” is some of the most stripped down Electric Wizard to date, the seminal UK doomers referencing themselves lyrically — the title being taken from a verse in “The Chosen Few” from 2007′s landmark Witchcult Today full-length — even as they continue to reference a slew of horror flicks, Sabbath, and, of course, the devil.

The Dorset mainstays released “Legalise Drugs & Murder” as a 7″ single earlier this year through Rise Above, coupled with the track “Murder & Madness.” Decibel magazine included a new 2012 demo of the track “Satyr IX,” which originally appeared on 2010′s Black Masses. And ever ones for outdoing themselves, the Jus Oborn-led troupe (of which I believe the picture above is outdated in terms of rhythm section) culled together those three songs as side A of a cassette EP called, of course, Legalise Drugs & Murder, that’s included exclusively with the Oct. 2012 issue of Terrorizer, the cover story of which — well look at that — also just happens to be on Electric Wizard.

So it’s an exclusive, limited Electric Wizard tape, that they’ve released to go with this one issue of Terrorizer and then it’s gone, off into catalog completist obscurity. Should go without saying I was dying to get my hands on one. I put word out on Thee Facebooks that if any kind soul in the UK could help me out, I’d gladly pay for the mag, shipping, etc., and it wasn’t five minutes before a hero emerged. Huge thanks go out to Phil Steventon of Stafford for taking it upon himself to send me a copy of the mag and the tape. It’s been kicking ass all over the tape  players in my car and office since.

The song itself emphasizes the best parts of Wizard‘s do-a-lot-with-a-little ethic, cycling its title line as a chorus a chant while peppering in a few verses for good measure and rounding out with hypnotic repetition of the line “children of the grave.” I had thought maybe they’d include a “Satan’s slaves” to complement, since that’s how it worked in “The Chosen Few,” but they don’t even go that far, just letting the sleepy groove and malevolent fuzz carry the song out. “Satyr IX” is a grittier version of the original and “Murder & Madness” is five and a half minutes of horror atmospherics, nodding low end and whispering creepiness — a decent setup for the perversions that ensue on side B.

One might recognize “Patterns of Evil” from Black Masses, but not by much. The remix Electric Wizard – Oborn is credited as producer/mixer, though guitarist Liz Buckingham shares songwriting credit — have given the song has made it altogether rougher-sounding than it was on the album, and if they weren’t pleased with the original version, I can only wonder what that might mean for the sound of their next record, if they’re thinking that far yet. “Lucifer (We’ve Gone too Far)” is darkly psychedelic as was “Murder & Madness,” though more manic, with repetitive incantations of either one portion of its title or the other amid samples and a bizarre rush, and though the closer “Our Witchcult Grows…” is no less referential than the track “Legalise Drugs & Murder,” the song itself actually has little in common with the Witchcult Today title-cut from which it’s derived.

Instead, they close out the Legalise Drugs & Murder tape with strange, effects-laden chanting. It might be filler, but if so, it’s effective on the level of mood, keeping the cult horror vibe at the fore to end of an already strange listen. If this tape is any indication of where Electric Wizard are headed with their next full-length, then things could be taking a turn for the weird any minute now. Of course there’s no sure guarantee that it is or isn’t a sign of their direction overall, but it’s fun to speculate, and Legalise Drugs & Murder may just end up as a blip on the band’s discography, but it’s a cool listen and something I was glad to get while the getting was good.

It had been a while since I’d been to the Second Saturday Record Show in flood-prone Wayne, NJ. In fact, relatively speaking, my load of CD acquisitions has been light of late, a combination of pricing myself out of the market, saving cash to move, being annoyed at digital promos, etc. But Saturday was the record show and I happened to be in the state, so I wasn’t going to miss it.

The Wayne Firehouse, which is where the show has been held since before time began, was as packed as I’ve ever seen it, and with more vinyl. Believe the hype, I guess. People were pushing through the aisles at crowded tables, and even though I was working under my self-imposed limit to CDs and tapes, I wavered when I happened upon an original LP of the first Goatsnake record. I didn’t buy it, because it was $75, but I came close.

Treasures persisted though. Here’s a quick rundown.

Among the CDs, the self-titled Electric Wizard was the highlight, no doubt about. Original jewel case issue on Rise Above. I’d only had the reissue before that paired it with Come My Fanatics and the digipak that came out even later, so to get the first version was a treat. Of course the album rules, but I already knew that going into it.

Tapes were three for two bucks at one seller’s table, so I grabbed the Dio, Sacred Heart, and Black Sabbath, Mob Rules and Born Again tapes from him, as well as the three-tape set of Carl Reiner and Mel Brooks‘ The 2,000 Year Old Man, which is a classic. The Ozzy tape came from his as well, which threw off the three-for-two thing, but it was worth the extra 50 cents anyway. I think actually I only wound up paying $2.50 anyhow. Fucking awesome.

The Hendrix tape in the top right corner I bought off a different dude for a buck. It’s a dub of “Top Gear”/BBC stuff (click here to pop up the full tracklist), and yeah, it’s probably all been officially released at this point, but it fucking rules anyway, front to back. 1967. Gorgeous.

The 1996 debut by Canada’s Sheavy was in the same bin as the Electric Wizard (and some Death SS, which I picked up as well), but might have been an even bigger surprise, if only because it was so random. I’ve never been really hooked by the band — though they do take Sabbath worship to a different level entirely and there’s something inherently admirable in that — but the record’s cool and it’s got a handmade-looking foldout included detailing the bonus tracks and even a little pyramid-shaped piece of paper that seems to be a kind of mail-order catalog:

And here’s the foldout, when folded out:

Pretty cool that that stuff would be with the album after all these years, and in impeccable shape at that. The CD was obviously well loved, kept out of sunlight, and so on. Hard not to appreciate stumbling on something like that, no matter how attached to Sheavy‘s work I may or may not be.

One of my main reasons for going in the first place, however, was the hope of picking up a turntable on the cheap. I’ve invested about as much time and effort into trying to repair the one at my office as I care to, and it’s time to move on. They didn’t have any at the record show, which was a bummer, but en route to other errands, The Patient Mrs. found a $40 Best Buy gift card that’s apparently been in my wallet since 2009. Could only be providence, right?

We shot over to the local big-box — a desert of outdated technologies (which actually gave it a certain charm in my eyes) — and grabbed the floor model of one of those “put your LPs on your iPod” turntables for what turned out to be $24 after the gift card was applied. Brought it to the office this morning, and of course it didn’t work. Now I’m 0-2 and I’ve got two busted record players one on top of the other on top of my office shelf unit, which I think makes me some kind of warped reality redneck.

Some you win, some you lose. I’ll try to return it and see if I can give it another go, and I’ve got plenty to keep me busy in the meantime. If nothing else, the growling and howling in “Hound Dog” on that Hendrix tape has the little dog Dio eyeballing the speaker curiously, and that’s bound to be hours of entertainment. Rock and roll.

Sometimes in life, you happen into albums. Sometimes, they happen into you, as was the case with Medamaki‘s Warbird EP and I. The UK five-piece released the four-track, 21-minute EP back in 2007 and then — well, okay, I don’t really know what, but let’s call it “half a decade” happened — and I ran into guitarist Sean Phillips at Stoner Hands of Doom XII two weekends ago and he very generously gave me a copy of the record. It’s a small scene and it’s full of very nice people everywhere you go. These things happen.

Medamaki have changed their name to the far more stonerly moniker Smoke Pilot, and that makes me somewhat curious to hear what their new material might sound like. Five years ago had them a burly double-guitar fivesome with standalone vocals from Max Ward, sharing more in common with Orange Goblin than their singer’s last name. The songs, whether it’s the thickened shuffle of the title-track or the surprising growls — almost death metal barks, never really sustained, but effective in conveying a more extreme past — from six-stringer Rich Wright on opener “Mouth of God,” “Solar Plexus” or closer “Poison the Well” (presumably not named for the post-hardcore band), are well written and catchy, with a production that’s newer school digital-sounding, but not lifeless as so many are and a vitality that I’d also be interested to hear how it’s held up half a decade later.

There’s a shift in the sound of the recording between “Warbird” and “Poison the Well” — you can hear mostly in drummer Paul Ford‘s snare and the prominence of Wright‘s backing vocals — but the Kyuss-isms in the verse of the final song carry across nonetheless, even with the more metal chorus and the more individualized melody in the chorus of the song prior. It’s an EP though, and from everything I can gather, it was the band’s first, so things like changes in production value are much less of a concern than they’d otherwise be, and I find I’m much more focused on the strength of the hooks in “Mouth of God,” which references Monster Magnet in its chorus (moving from the mouth to the spine) and talks about rolling boulders into god’s mouth, whatever that might mean, and “Solar Plexus,” which runs a quick seven minutes and seamlessly integrates a percussion-led jam in which all but bassist Shaun Webb and Wright take part — the former’s busy holding down the groove on bass, the latter ripping a solo — before swinging back around to the chorus one more time, hinting at a mindfulness of structure that presumably could only serve them well in whatever their next endeavor might finally prove to be.

Included on the CD are a photo gallery with a handful of out-of-focus-type shots of the band and a video for the song “Warbird” that, if it’s counting the number of cuts from one shot to another there on the bottom right (mind you I don’t know that it is), features over 210 of them. Pretty complex stuff, and probably their best song of the four to boot, so while we wait to find out what Smoke Pilot have in store, here’s the clip for “Warbird,” with my thanks to Phillips for passing along the material.

I consider myself pretty progressive, politically speaking. As in all facets of my existence, I’m at very least an opinionated dick. But even though I’ll rant about wealth redistribution and the need for violent uprising among the American working and middle classes against the corporate fascists and right wing demagogues stealing their potential for social advancement and polluting their bodies and minds, there’s still a part of me that gets all imperialist when it comes to limited runs and “I have it and you don’t.”

That being the case, I was all the more stoked when Massachusetts stonerly doom stompers Olde Growth sent over a copy of their Tour EP 2012, a limited-to-50 tape release that they brought with them on their Spring 2012 tour. I almost got to see them on that string of shows (almost-review here), but even though I creeped myself out in the process, the band was kind enough to mail in the last remaining copy of the cassette, along with a CD version of earlier mixes of the tracks that apparently wasn’t ever for sale.

The tape, which is hand decorated as you can see above, is blown way the fuck out. Like, into the next room blown out. Like, went down the street to the deli blown out. I guess when bassist/vocalist Stephen LoVerme and drummer Ryan Berry had James Plotkin master the thing, they didn’t share the info that it was going to be a cassette. I like that about it, but the gnarl is strong in this one, running through each of the four tracks that, though Berry‘s snare is a little high and raw in the mix, sound much clearer on CD.

Apart from the whole appeal of having it, though, I wanted to post about Olde Growth‘s Tour EP 2012 specifically to note the quality of the songs themselves. There are four tracks on the tape — “Brother of the Moon,” “Warrior Child,” “Tears of Blood” and “Edge of the Sea” — and even in relation to their 2010 MeteorCity self-titled debut, growth is evident in their songwriting and overall approach. LoVerme‘s vocals are clearer, and cleaner, the melodies more prevalent, and though the songs are kind of barebones in terms of the recording itself, there’s a natural feel that sounds recorded live, and the songs are almost instantly familiar, the opener and closer being particularly memorable.

There’s noise to bridge the gaps between the cuts, and it you didn’t get the chance to get Tour EP 2012 when Olde Growth were on the road earlier this year, rest easy, as I hear there’s a vinyl release in the works for 2013. One imagines it’ll get a different name between now than then — any one of the four would do for a title-track, though “Brother of the Moon” has a special ring to it — but either way, the EP is a more than suitable follow-up to what was an impressive debut, and something to look out for when it comes to vinyl. In the meantime, I’m stoked to have my nerdly completist greed sated and glad I got to hear these songs.

The sun-drenched wonder you see in the photo above is the shelf unit at my office (I work here). Top to bottom, it’s got a turntable that needs a new belt, a Mini-Disc player (I used to use them for interviews and just kind of happened into the thing; it’s there now because I think it’s neat), dual cassette deck, 5-CD changer and receiver. The speakers on either side are Infinity studio monitors acquired at a discount for review, and there’s a subwoofer below that’s not pictured. I don’t always use it, because frankly my computer has some decent speakers as well and so I don’t really need it all the time, but sometimes, when I’m working late and no one else is around, there’s nothing else quite like it.

Of the components, the cassette deck is the newest. I hooked it up just this afternoon after finding it the other day laying around the house. I asked The Patient Mrs. what was up with it and she said it was part of the stereo she had as a kid (we’ve been together long enough that I already knew that), and as it was currently not in use, I immediately raised an eyebrow at the possibility.

That was a few days ago, and it wasn’t until today that I finally brought the thing to work and plugged it in. Thinking I was all smart, I grabbed what I thought were some spare A/V cables to go with but turned out to be the camera connector. Fortunately, also at the office, I found these laying around:

Monster Cables! That’s right. Today, I hooked up a cassette player with Monster Cables. A format that’s only “come back” as much as it has over the last couple years because it sounds crappy — hooked up like it’s part of an overpriced home theater. Hey, I roll with what I can find that I don’t have to pay for.

The impetus for this whole thing was the recent purchase of three tapes from Acid Punx Records. I’ve bought tapes here and there for a while now — I have a cassette player in my car and have considered it a point of pride for the seven years I’ve had it — but these were different. Mostly those tapes cost about 50 cents. These tapes cost $10 each.

Yes. I spent $30 on tapes. $35, actually, when you add shipping. I’d been turned onto Boston doomers Ice Dragon‘s newest album, Dream Dragon, in a thread on the forum, and I really dug it. In an all-too-familiar mix of impulse and strategy, I thought as I investigated various purchase options that I’d better pick up some older stuff that was available in limited runs before I missed out. The psychedelically cinematic Dream Dragon — which came out last month and is a pay-what-you-want download at Ice Dragon’s Bandcamp page — doesn’t seem to have a physical pressing yet anyway, so from Acid Punx, I got their 2007 self-titled and 2011′s The Sorrowful Sun instead.

Both tapes are first pressings, limited to 100 copies (the self-titled is a reissue) and pretty clearly homemade — all of which I like about them. While I was putting them in my virtual shopping cart, I stumbled on an Elder tape also for sale called Demos & Live (2007-2010) and couldn’t resist. The result:

It was actually pretty nerve-racking waiting for them to come in the mail. Not that Acid Punx took an exceedingly long time to send them or anything, but I’ll admit to feeling a little silly having shelled out $35 for three tapes. If I was at the grocery store, I’d be staring at the “Unit Price” sticker and punching myself in the head. Nonetheless, when they finally came, I heaved a sigh of relief and immediately put the Elder on in the car.

With the anticipation of seeing them over Labor Day weekend at SHoD in Connecticut mounting and that recent stream of their Armageddon Records vinyl, Spires Burn/Release, I’ve been on something of a kick. Of the tape, I’ll say that Elder were a much, much different band in 2007 than they are half a decade later. Guitarist/vocalist Nick DiSalvo lets loose some pretty vicious sludgy screams, and especially on tape, it sounds like the material was recorded right on a room mic in the rehearsal space.

There are three demo tracks — “1162,” “Red Sunrise” and “Black Midnight” — and two live cuts — “Gemini” recorded at SHoD in 2009 and “Riddle of Steel” from Valley Homegrown TV in 2010.  As you might expect, the newest is the cleanest-sounding of the bunch, but overall, it’s a pretty concise look at how far the three-piece has come in their time together. Whatever faux-authenticity might come from listening to a bona fide demo tape in this day and age, Demos & Live (2007-2010) is legitimately a cool release, and I was glad to have picked it up.

I’ve got more digging into the two Ice Dragon tapes (both of which are also streaming on their Bandcamp) — and wanting to do that was a big part of why I finally caved and brought the tape player into the office — but on a cursory listen, they sound righteous in their lo-fi classicism, The Sorrowful Sun being more melodically developed than its self-titled predecessor. Both feel caked in blown-out-cone distortion and are pretty well suited to the format. I was glad to get them out of the car so they wouldn’t get any further warped by the heat. From what I’ve heard so far, they’re plenty warped on their own.

And while I get to know them better, I’ve got the joy of staring at the spines on my desk:

Even for $35, I could do much worse than that. Just for kicks, here’s the stream of Ice Dragon‘s Dream Dragon, which inspired all this silliness:

I was avoiding work recently, as I have a tendency to do when there’s a lot of it. Dicking around on eBay in my usual scouring the intertubes for Clutch promos, I did a search specifically for frontman Neil Fallon‘s name, to see perhaps if his advice book on beard maintenance (that’s not a real thing) had come out yet, or if there might be some oddity I’d missed along the way.

One look through the CD category later, I stumbled on a CDR for sale in a slimline jewel case of the Fallon solo single “Instant Winner.” The song originally appeared on the 2003 Chrome Peeler Records compilation You’ve Got Your Orders Volume One, but this was marked as being the unmastered final mix of the track. And it was the label itself selling it. Having been involved in the past in the compilation procedure, I knew that generally tracks are turned in in final mix form, then the whole thing is mastered together.

So it didn’t seem unreasonable for me to presume that this could be the disc that Fallon turned in as his contribution to the comp, the project of which was that Chrome Peeler dealt out song titles to a variety of artists — House of Low Culture, Erik Larson, Hella and Thurston Moore all appear on Volume One, among many others — and told them to work from that. Hence the giving of orders. Fallon turned “Instant Winner” into a smooth-sounding acoustic psych pop, reminiscent more of Mollusk-era Ween than his own work in Clutch, with a higher-register vocal to go with.

Of course, Fallon is still immediately identifiable by the rhythm of his delivery, and whether or not this is the actual CDR he sent Chrome Peeler to be included on You’ve Got Your Orders, it’s still a pretty cool listen and I’ve got no regrets for picking it up. If you haven’t heard it before, here’s an HD version of the finished product:

And Chrome Peeler has made the entirety of You’ve Got Your Orders Volume One available via their Bandcamp site, if you want to hear more.

At the end of last year, when I made my Top Five Records I Didn’t Hear in 2011 list, I said that hopefully I’d run into Pittsburgh trad doom merchants Argus at a show and be able to buy their second full-length, Boldly Stride the Doomed, from them directly. That very thing happened at Days of the Doomed II in Wisconsin, and I suddenly felt like a weight was lifted from my shoulders. Until I actually put the record on. Then the weight — the formidable tonnage of Argus‘ hyper-refined doomly classicism — was right back where it started and then some.

Every time I hit the short bass solo from Andy Ramage in “Wolves of Dusk,” I get a chill up my spine, and Boldly Stride the Doomed is filled with those little moments, flourishes here and there that stand out from the already strong performances. John Mucio and Erik Johnson‘s guitars are full of them, and Butch Balich proves on “The Ladder” alone why he’s one of the most underrated vocalists in doom, American or otherwise. The former Penance singer is a focal point throughout the 10 tracks, and rightly so, but the band behind him (and as regards the mix, the vocals are very much at the fore) more than stands up, whether its the guitar solos (who’s playing what is in the liner notes) or drummer Kevin Latchaw‘s footwork driving the rhythm of “Fading Silver Light.”

Piano adds grandeur to “42-7-29″ and the recent podcast inclusion “Pieces of Your Smile,” at well over 11 minutes, is epic metal without the pomposity. Trouble and Candlemass influences persist, but Argus is very quickly becoming their own band sonically, and it’s not just Balich, who proved his mettle long ago. It’s the whole band, working as a band, that makes Boldly Stride the Doomed land with such heavy feet. As madly catchy as cuts like “Devils, Devils” were from the first record, I wouldn’t trade “A Curse on the World” or “Durendal” for anything.

So yeah, lesson learned. Don’t let another Argus album slip when it comes down the line for review. Hopefully I get the chance to put that wisdom to good use before too long. Until then, if you haven’t heard the album yet, here’s “Durendal,” just because it happens to be the song I have on at the moment:

Click the image above to bask in the full scale awesomeness that was my Midwestern CD haul. Sure, I wrote a little bit about the driving I did last weekend, and a lot about the Days of the Doomed II (seriously, even I was a little surprised at the length Day One and Day Two reviews), but one thing I didn’t mention was the record shopping I did on the way.

I’ll confess that was on purpose. The three stacks above I felt deserved some special attention. Left to right, there are the hauls from Ramalama Records in Toledo, Ohio, Flat, Black and Circular in Lansing, Michigan, and the fest itself, which took place in Cudahy, Wisconsin. Three states, three stacks — a mini-tour of irresponsible spending that served to remind me of why I went back to work full-time in the first place.

Here’s how it went down:

This was my second visit to Ramalama Records in Toledo, and like the first, I found it to be a haven of heavy wares. Last time when I got there, they were playing YOB, and this tie it was High on Fire‘s Surrounded by Thieves, which once again led me to strike up a conversation with the dude working the counter. They’d reorganized some since the last time I was there, but it seems mostly to have been a move to make room for more vinyl, which now takes up the whole left wall when you walk in. Good stuff. They didn’t have a lot used that I was really looking for — lots of metal, some I had, some I wasn’t interested in — but I took the opportunity on my way to Lansing to stock up on a few recent releases I hadn’t yet gotten physical copies of; the special edition of Candlemass being a highlight as well as new albums from Paradise Lost and Pelican and Solitude Aeturnus‘ recent reissue of their early works. The Diagonal and Spaceboy records were used, and I got some Funkadelic in there because that shit is awesome. Not bad for a way to stretch my legs between I-75 and I-280.

I wanted to make sure I stopped in at Flat, Black and Circular (or just FBC to the natives) before I left Lansing to go to the fest in Wisconsin, so last Friday morning, under the careful navigational guidance of Postman Dan — the unofficial mayor of Lansing, Michigan — I hit it up and found that although it’s got a name that hints at vinyl, it’s also a treasure trove of small, rectangular and plastic. Aside from a silver-backed disc Alice in Chains bootleg, I got the Diwphalanx issue of Church of Misery‘s The Second Coming (a double), as well as the newest Master Musicians of Bukkake, the first Six Organs of Admittance, some live Amebix, Yeti by Amon Düül II, the first Saturnalia Temple — which was a surprise — another Funkadelic album, some Unsane on Man’s Ruin, Monster Magnet‘s Tab 25 on Glitterhouse, which is a perfect complement to Hawkwind‘s In Search of Space, a Greenslade disc at random because I liked the cover (album is proggier than expected, but not bad) and the Satan-loving latest album by Lansing locals Beast in the Field, Lucifer, Bearer of Light. Top it off with Unorthodox and you have one of the finest CD hauls I’ve had in a long time. Lot of great shit to happen into and a lot of records there I’m happy to have adopted.

Once I’d effectively space trucked my way through Chicago’s legendary “make you want to stop and eat dinner here” traffic and actually arrived in Wisconsin, I found Days of the Doomed to be a trove of merch that I didn’t yet own that I should own. From Beelzefuzz — the unfortunates who arrived late having blown their tire and then later gave their stuff away for free (I mistakenly said I bought one; nope) to Sanctus Bellum, who were kind enough to give me a copy of the album to review, to Orodruin, whose Epicurian Mass I already owned (it was Claw Tower I needed) to Earthen Grave, whose CD showed up in the mail when I got back to New Jersey, it was hit or miss as regards the outcome of the purchases, but I can’t argue with new Apostle of Solitude demo material (streaming here) or finally getting the chance to pick up Argus‘ Boldly Stride the Doomed, or Earthride‘s new reissue of their self-titled EP with tracks from SHoD last year, I mark the whole thing a win. Picking up Orodruin‘s limited version of In Doom and the Blizaro stuff too was a bonus, and discs from Super Invader and their prior incarnation, Bullets for Baby, have given me something to look forward to checking out. Just as soon as I stop listening to that Apostle of Solitude demo. Any day now…

I could go on, but the fact is, I came out of last weekend with so much stuff, I’m going to use it all to make a new podcast over the next couple days, so I’ll have more up about it one way or another and I’m sure that’ll be good times. Stay tuned for more to come.

The be-sunglassed rock and roll stallions you see in the photo above are known as Roadsaw. For the better part of 20 years, Roadsaw have been Boston’s foremost guardians of the riff (one assumes that picture was taken outside the riff’s castle, in the moat), updating ’70s heavy rock for each decade they’ve corrupted with their lecherous touch and predating much of the American stoner rock movement in the ’90s. They took a lengthy break between 1997′s Nationwide and the 2007 issue of Rawk ‘n’ Roll, but 2012 finds them in a similar position as their close British allies, Orange Goblin, as the statesmen of their scene.

In fact, thinking back to Orange Goblin‘s latest and most crisply produced album, A Eulogy for the Damned (review here), one can’t help but wonder if they weren’t inspired by Roadsaw‘s 2011 self-titled, which also had a surprising sheen in its overall sound. Either way, the realistic possibility that Roadsaw might be influencing also-influential bands across an ocean speaks to their position within heavy rock’s well-populated underground. As it was all too easy to observe at this year’s London Desertfest, which featured both bands in its lineup, Roadsaw are at the top of their game.

So this must be the part where I say, “But that wasn’t always the case,” right? Well yeah, it is that part. In 1994, the then double-guitar four-piece released their first 7″, containing the tracks “Fancy Pants” and “Handed You Your Ass.” The next year, those two and eight others comprised Roadsaw‘s first full-length, One Million Dollars (also written as $1,000,000) on the local Curve of the Earth Records. At that time, the band was drummer/vocalist Craig Riggs, bassist/vocalist Tim Catz and guitarist/vocalists Steve Malone and Darryl Shepard, the latter soon to solidify his position as guitarist for Milligram. They recorded the album early in 1995 with Tim O’Heir in Cambridge, and though it’s rough around the edges, a lot of what’s made them the sultans of swagger they are today was already present in the band even then.

Probably the most notable difference in One Million Dollars and Roadsaw today is the lineup. Not only was Riggs not the frontman of the band, he wasn’t out front at all. He was in back, playing drums. Vocal duties are shared, mostly between he and Catz, but Shepard and Malone have some parts as well, each pretty different from the rest. Those familiar with the band will be able to pick Riggs out as he contrasts Catz on One Million Dollars opener “Gotta Go” or takes the lead for the verse of “Fell off the Earth,” but the interplay between vocalists is intriguing and especially well done on the slower, more grooving “Sickest Ride” or the organ, mellotron and sax-infused closer, “Starcock,” on which the depth of arrangement is obviously not limited just to the singing.

But what’s most consistent in putting One Million Dollars and Roadsaw side-by-side is the band’s show of personality. I don’t think they’d make a song like “Fancy Pants” today, with its silly high-pitched cackling toward the end, but the echoing drums that underscore the psychedelic drones and Echoplex-type manipulations of “Theme From ‘Hassle’” seem to be directly realized on “Electric Heaven” from the self-titled, and the blazing guitars of “Rotted Out” likewise find motoring companionship from “Too Much is Not Enough” or “The Getaway.” The main difference — aside from a considerable jump in audio fidelity — is maturity.

Riggs and Catz are joined now by lone guitarist Ian Ross (Shepard toured Europe with them in 2009 and pops up occasionally, from what I understand) and many-tasked drummer Jeremy Hemond (also of Cortez and Black Thai). Ross came aboard for Rawk ‘n’ Roll, which is considered by some to be Roadsaw‘s defining statement, and Hemond for 2008′s See You in Hell, which, though solid, did little to preface the cohesiveness the self-titled showed in 2011 with almost unbearably catchy and impeccably structured tracks like “Weight in Gold,” “So Low Down” and “Long in the Tooth.” Smoother production from Sean Slade highlighted the melodic development in Riggs‘ voice — listen to the end of “Thinking of Me” for an example — and managed to cut a balance between a natural sound and professional presentation. The best of both worlds.

Also working considerably in their favor is the fact that they’re one of the tightest rock acts on the Eastern Seaboard. Catz and Hemond are devastating as a rhythm section, and Ross‘ guitar seems to fire off killer solos at will. Couple that with Riggs‘ inability to stand still while performing, running from one side of the stage to the next and swinging the mic to where you think standing in front that it’s about to hit you in the face. That vitality bleeds into the songs of Roadsaw‘s Roadsaw, and where it was there in a more rudimentary form on One Million Dollars, the purposefulness behind the songwriting now brings a whole new sense of accomplishment to the chaos.

Clearly, they’ve earned their sunglasses.

I could go through some big longwinded explanation and say I bought Abramis Brama‘s 2005 fourth album, Rubicon, because I think it’s important or has some measure of standing in the lore of Swedish heavy and/or classic rock, but fuck it. I bought this record because I wanted to hear it and that’s the story. I’d seen a couple things kicking around saying it’s the way to go as regards the Stockholm homage-payers, and I figured it was high time I picked up the album and gave it a real shot.

It’s not my first experience with the four- and apparently sometimes five-piece. I’ve written about them a few times here, including a review of their last album, 2009′s Smakar Söndag, which I dug a lot. They’re one of what seems to not be that many Swedish acts who refuse to sing in English, and though I speak literally no Swedish, I still have to admire the ethic. They compromised on it just once, but even the title of Nothing Changes — the 2003 English-language sidestep predecessor of Rubicon — seems to throw a middle finger up at the very idea of changing their approach. Some stubbornness is awesome, and with Rubicon, Abramis Brama went back to their mother tongue with a vengeance.

By the way, I’m assuming that along with Swedish their mother tongue is “riff,” because as much as they speak one language, they certainly also speak the other. Rubicon is about as genuine a modern interpretation of classic heavy rock as I’ve ever heard come out of Sweden, Abramis Brama having clearly honed their craft in the first eight years of their existence (they formed in ’97 and debuted with 1999′s Dansa Tokjävelns Vals) to a point where they could expand comfortably and put their own stamp on the form. I’m sure I won’t be the first to compare Ulf Torkelsson‘s vocals to Chris Cornell, but whether it’s the prog ending of “Guldgruva” or the pure “Dazed and Confused”-style chorus of the nine-minute “För Mitt Blödande Hjärta,” Torkelsson gives an absolutely killer showing. Pipes for days, it seems.

Speaking of “För Mitt Blödande Hjärta,” though, I had a head-turning moment when that chorus kicked in and immediately went back to Graveyard‘s “The Siren” from Hisingen Blues, which seems to have adapted pretty much the same progression to suit its own ’70s-worshiping purposes. Cool to hear something Abramis Brama were doing more than half a decade beforehand and give another context to the work of their countrymen, but really, the highlight of Rubicon isn’t comparing it to what’s come before or after, it’s enjoying its open, natural grooves on their own level. The more I listen to Abramis Brama and the more of their albums I hear — I’m coming for you, När Tystnaden Lagt Sig… — the more I appreciate what they’re doing both ethically and musically. The refusal to compromise coupled with the righteously formidable riffing of Per-Olf Andersson, the bass of Dennis Berg and Fredrik Jansson‘s drums on Rubicon are like a dogwhistle signalling a love of heavy rock. I can hear it, I can dig it, whatever language Torkelsson is speaking.

So mark Rubicon down among the slew of killer records I’ve picked up and wanted to recommend to anyone who might be open to such a recommendation. Their obvious love of the classics speaks for itself when you listen, so I’m going to leave it at that and put on the especially killer “Drottning Av Is” instead. Hope you dig it:

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:

I seem to recall being in touch with Nasoni Records at one point in my life and reviewing their stuff, but these days, any chance I get to buy Nasoni releases at non-import prices is both a rarity a boon. As I perused the Exile on Mainstream merch area at a certain European fest in the Netherlands a couple weeks back that I think I may have already mentioned once or twice, I was able to pick up a few Nasoni discs without thinking twice, and one of them was the 2010 sophomore outing from Peru/Argentina heavy psych trio Tlön.

Called simply Tlön II, it’s a record that makes its bed on organic low-end warmth. Tlön was founded by drummer Walo Carillo, who was a member of early ’70s curios Tarkus, and so they come by the heavy rocking traditionalism honestly. Joined by Marcus Coifman of Reino Ermitano on bass and principal songwriter Christian Van Lacke on vocals and guitar, Carillo dutifully marches into echoing caverns of groove. Van Lacke is occasionally given to a classic falsetto as on opener “El Banquete De Los Niños” or the acoustic-led later cut “Ave Azul,” and it adds an oddly mystical element to his songwriting, but is never fully cartoonish. It’s just one more way in which Tlön present their ethereality.

The band take their name from the noun-less fictional world in the 1940 short story “Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius” by Argentine writer Jorge Luis Borges, and sure enough, Tlön II has an otherworldly feel to it. Its 10 songs vary some in mood, but all are presented as though from a distance, and even the doomed pacing of “El Día Aquel” or the crunch in Van Lacke‘s intro riff for closer “50 Siglos” seem beamed in from a sonic elsewhere. I don’t really have a full grasp on the vibe as yet — my sense is that to get one would take more than a little while — but it’s a record I’ve been digging since I first put it on, so I thought maybe I’d recommend it to anyone else who might be interested.

Tlön have two other albums to date: a 2009 self-titled debut and this year’s apparently-vinyl-only Tlön III, both on Nasoni, so if you’re up for it, there’s a bit of investigation to do. To get you started, the band have a track from each record on their Bandcamp, and the label’s site has notes about each release, including the different and varying limited editions of the LP versions, should you want to go all out. If you don’t feel like clicking off, here’s the live version of the band doing “El Día Aquel” in 2010:

The thing wasn’t just that I’d been priced out of my league by copies of Colour Haze‘s debut CD, Chopping Machine — I’d never even seen it for sale — online, in a store or at their merch table, either at Roadburn or at Emissions from the Monolith, when they played that. I mean, there’s “out of print” and then there’s “gone,” and Chopping Machine was most definitely the latter.

And then it wasn’t. Holding a permanent position on the shortlist of my favorite bands — there are four and usually a rotating fifth slot; ask me about it after I’ve had a few beers sometime (please!) — Colour Haze is a regular on my nightly eBay search rounds, and I couldn’t believe it was true when I saw the copy of Chopping Machine for sale. I had to look up what “NOS” meant. “New Old Stock.” The thing was supposed to be in perfect condition.

I wasn’t the only one who wanted it, but you’ve got to figure the field is pretty small. You’ve got Colour Haze fans. Then you’ve got those Colour Haze fans who use eBay. Then you’ve got the ones who search for the band at just the right time, then those willing to pay stupid prices for what — if the band actively didn’t want to disown it — probably would’ve been reissued already on guitarist/vocalist Stefan Koglek‘s label, Elektrohasch Schallplatten. I always imagine there’s one other nerd out there opposing me on these things. Just one guy (sorry ladies, but I credit you with more practicality; it has to be a dude) who wants all the same stuff I do. He beats me sometimes. This time, I wasn’t going to lose.

Warning was issued to The Patient Mrs. days ahead of time. It might have been a full week, or at least the six-day length of the auction. She rolled her eyes, wisely buried her head in the sand. It wasn’t going to go for more than student loans cost. It wasn’t going to go for more than gas for a month costs. It was going to be a lot for a CD, but I wasn’t going to let it get away, never having seen it before, and I felt she needed to know that.

Chopping Machine is 60 minutes long. I paid a dollar a minute, plus $16. I admit it’s too much. I know I could’ve just downloaded it, or looked it up on YouTube, or whatever. I could’ve done that. But then I wouldn’t own it. It wouldn’t be mine. It’s the same story as always: Owning it is half the appeal.

It’s more than I ever wanted to pay for a CD. More by half than I’m generally willing to spend for something rare. But you know what? Fuck it. The fact of the matter is this: I don’t have kids. My most major expenses are beer, wine and takeout. Shit, I don’t even pay rent. I’m 30 years old and (for a few months more, anyway) I live with my mother-in-law. I work a full-time job that I made more money doing five years ago, I have whole days where I don’t talk to anyone except my dog and last night when I came home and found the package waiting for me from Munich, it was only to drop said dog off on my way to the emergency room to see my mother, who — whoops — mixed codeine cough medicine and vicodin and didn’t remember why she was hazy when she woke up from her nap this afternoon. So fuck it. You’re god damned right I’m paying $76 for a CD. What else have I got? It’s Colour Haze or heroin. Comfort’s gotta come from somewhere.

What was I supposed to do, not buy it, agonize over not having bought it and then wait seven years for it to show up again and wind up paying twice as much later? Screw that. And whatever, the album isn’t that good. I knew it wouldn’t be. That’s not the point. The point is it’s mine. I give the band kudos for opening with the 14:25 semi-jam “Subversive,” but other than that, it’s pretty rudimentary post-grunge noise rock — too aggressive to give anything to indicate the brilliance that would come once Koglek calmed down a bit and replaced the rhythm section. I like that about it. I like the fact that it’s something that’s been kept hidden, a relic despite the readily available digital presence. Hell, I did my time chasing those ghosts.

Give me the real thing — I’m apparently willing to pay for it — and gawd knows I spend enough hours with mp3s on promo downloads. Every label these days, including Elektrohasch (my heart broke as I followed the link to the new Ararat record and saw jpegs of the liner and cover art), sends downloads, so I’m not short on fodder for my iTunes. Let me hold a CD. I promise I’ll give it the best home it can have, and while everyone else in the world, except that one other doofus on eBay, has abandoned the format in favor of vinyl, I’m more than happy to appreciate everyone’s castoffs.

Speaking of, if anyone knows where I might find a copy of Colour Haze‘s second album, Seven, from 1998, hit me up. Now that I have the first one, I’m in the market to see where they went from here before the genius really kicked in full-throttle.