Based in Austin but generally found rambling through one open-highway tour or another, Cortége encapsulate a particular vista with their latest EP, Under the Endless Sky. Out May 10 as a self-release from the avant heavy post-Americana outfit — who in 2021 had two offerings on Desert Records in featured in the Legends of the Desert: Vol. 2 (review here) split with The Penitent Man and the prior short release Chasing Daylight (review here) — it resides very much in the band’s sphere of sounds that resonate traditionalism in their cinematic Westernism while also serving as the studio introduction for multi-instrumentalist April Schupmann, whose trumpet is a standout high-end complement to founder Mike Swarbrick‘s low frequency bass VI and the cymbal wash from drummer Adrian Voorhies as “Under the Endless Sky, Pt. 2” sweeps in following the two-minute sounds-of-outside-plus-synth opener “Under the Endless Sky, Pt. 1” in a near-immediate showcase of the dynamic that’s manifest in the band’s sound since Schupmann joined in 2021.

Those first notes resonating from “Under the Endless Sky, Pt. 2” are presented with a starkness that calls to mind Angelo Badalamenti‘s work on the tv show Twin Peaks, which is also in the wheelhouse of alt-universe Americana, so fair enough. Eight years on from their debut EP, Cortége for sure have a defined modus they’re working from, but Under the Endless Sky emphasizes what the true appeal of the band has become, which is their evolution toward that ideal. The process of becoming. “Under the Endless Sky, Pt. 1” is barely there at the start, with some rustling and wind chimes on a neighbor’s porch, layers of drone, a rattle, a vague threat looming before piano emerges to clear the air, soon joined by keyboard in the transition to the second part. One might wonder why Cortége would bother including an intro at all to an 18-minute release, but the easy answer is because it matters, especially when mood is so much of the point.

The tubular bells in “The Relentless Sun” — premiering below, and the only one of the included pieces not titled as part of the “Under the Endless Sky” procession, which I’d call a ‘cycle’ were it not so god damned pretentious to do so — will be familiar to those who’ve encountered Cortége throughout their tenure, but what emerges from that churchy beginning, bolstered by melodica from Schupmann as well as the drums and surrounding percussion, is a klezmer-esque bounce. With a bassline you could liken to Fugazi more than Morricone (gotta change it up, right?), what sound like handchimes for melodic flourish and choral keyboard, “The Relentless Sun” is only a little over three minutes long, but it brings new ideas to Cortége and finds a playful moment as it passes through its middle en route to the sharp turn at 2:24 when the bass returns. Tone and crash echo in the stops, and the drum fills between are tense, but Cortége have bigger fish to fry, aesthetically speaking, than just a volume-burst payoff.

Waiting on the other end of the final crash and wash of “The Relentless Sun,” an image of which you’ll recognize if you’ve ever driven across the Great Plains surrounded by the titular ‘endless sky’ itself that seems to touch the ground on all sides of you, deep blue with maybe some high clouds mercifully breaking up a monotone in which one just might drown — ironic since the ocean’s promise of escape is so far away — is “Under the Endless Sky, Pt. 3,” which embarks on a lumbering roll in the drums and bass. Punctuated by tolling bells, synth and a melody that’s there in layers of keys and maybe-piano, it is most evocative for being somewhat vague and unknowable, and made huge by virtue of the bass, drums and its depth of mix.

That Cortége could construct such a feeling of place isn’t a surprise given what they’ve done over the course of their two albums and various other offerings — I think they’ve discovered the EP format suits them, and it does, but there’s nothing to say a third full-length couldn’t or wouldn’t happen — but the mature grace with which they execute the eight-minute focal-point of the release isn’t to be understated, and neither is the breadth of the arrangement as horns and keys harness grandiosity with the rumble of bass still beneath like gravity stopping it all from floating away. As “Under the Endless Sky, Pt. 3” rolls into its second half, some flourish of keyboard circa 4:30 steps out as more X-Files than Gunsmoke — not a complaint; I want to believe… in an expanded sonic palette — and over the course of the next minute, shift toward a droning stretch with the bells and thud/crash/wash of drums holding out. It becomes increasingly obvious they’re not coming back.

And just in case you thought they forgot or that they’d leave a plot thread unresolved in the otherwise so mindfully immersive sprawl, “Under the Endless Sky, Pt. 3” caps by fading out that last crash-laced synth/bass drone and returning briefly to a reprise of the EP’s intro, going so far as to include the windchimes again, which I swear to you I’m not imagining, however much that breeze seems to keep blowing after the track has actually stopped. There’s a lot to take in for a release that’s under 20 minutes long, but Cortége are that much more able to let the listener process what they’re hearing by conveying a sense of overwhelm — as surely the state of being Under the Endless Sky will do — without actually being too much or doing more than the songs seem to call for. More textured and progressive than they’ve yet been, and maybe more patient, which is saying something, Under the Endless Sky establishes this semi-new incarnation of Cortége in the band’s oeuvre while expanding the conceptual parameters there included.

In its overarching atmosphere and in the adventurous courses of its individual pieces, it shows Cortége‘s commitment to ongoing creative growth and leaves a trail behind of hints as to where that may be headed. Hitting play again to go back through Under the Endless Sky for another round, I can only look forward to discovering where it leads.

“The Relentless Sun” premieres below, followed by more info from the PR wire including your dates Swarbrick will do with Destroyer of Light, for good measure.

Enjoy:

CORTÉGE IS SET TO RELEASE THEIR INSTRUMENTAL POST-WESTERN CINEMATIC OPUS TITLED, UNDER THE ENDLESS SKY, ON MAY 10, 2024

Preorder: https://cortege.bandcamp.com/album/under-the-endless-sky

Instrumental, post-western, retro-futurism innovators Cortége will release their new album titled, Under The Endless Sky, worldwide on May 10, 2024.

Cortége (pronounced kor-‘tezh) is the French word for funeral procession. The band was co-founded in 2012 by Mike Swarbrick, who holds a degree in Mortuary Science. Originally rooted in doom, Cortége expanded into the realms of drone and electronic soundscapes. Drawing from early electronic composers, progressive rock icons of the ’70s, instrumental music, film score elements and the cowboy psychedelia-drenched guitar twang of famed Lee Hazelwood discovery Duane Eddy, the band’s sound continued to evolve and draw influence from the aesthetic of the old West. A hallmark of the trio’s sound is their use of tubular bells both in the studio and live.

Austin-based drummer Adrian Voorhies (Humut Tabal, Canyon of the Skull) joined the band in the fall of 2017. By 2021 April Schupmann (Sniper 66) joined on trumpet and percussion. Cortége will appeal to fans of Bell Witch, Earth, Pink Floyd, King Crimson, Spindrift and Federale.

Under The Endless Sky was recorded at Red Star Mule Barn Sound Studio in Austin, Texas, and engineered by Sam Whips Allison. “The name of the album, came from touring and driving across the plains in ‘big sky country,'” says Mike Swarbrick.

The band has shared the stage with acts such as Mdou Moctar, Rezn, Hippie Death Cult, The Well, Duel, The Schisms and Dead Register. Cortége plans to tour and perform frequently in 2024. They are confirmed to play Surf by Surf East in Austin, Texas on March 2, 2024 at Hi Sign Brewing.

Under The Endless Sky track listing:
1. Under The Endless Sky part 1
2. Under The Endless Sky part 2
3. The Relentless Sun
4. Under The Endless Sky part 3

Sam Whips Allison: Engineering
Matthew Barnhart: Mastering
John Pesina, Bryan Haile: Photography
David Paul Seymour: Logo
April Schupmann: Layout
Rosie Armstrong: Saxophone
Kurt Armstrong: Trombone

Mike Swarbrick of Cortége on tour with Destoryer of Light:
4/10 – El Paso @ Rosewood
4/11 – Tempe, AZ @ Yucca Tap Room
4/12 – Las Vegas, NV @ The Usual Place
4/13 – Oceanside, CA @ The Pourhouse
4/14 – Palmdale, CA @ Transplant Brewing
4/16 – San Francisco, CA @ Knockout
4/17 – Portland, OR @ High Water Mark
4/18 – Seattle, WA @ Substation
4/19 – Boise, ID @ Realms
4/20 – Salt Lake City @ Aces High
4/21 – Denver – @ Black Buzzard
4/23 – Lawrence, KS @ Replay Lounge
4/24 – Oklahoma City, OK/Wichita, KS @ TBA
4/25 – Tulsa, OK @ Whittier Bar
4/26 – Van Buren, AR @ Iron Horse Records
4/27 – Little Rock, AR @ White Water Tavern
4/28 – Arlington, TX @ Growl

Cortége is:
Mike Swarbrick: bass VI, synthesizers, tubular bells, piano
Adrian Voorhies: drums
April Schupmann: trumpet, melodica, percussion

Cortége on Bandcamp

Cortége on Facebook

Cortége on Instagram

Desert Records on Facebook

Desert Records on Bandcamp

Desert Records store

Tomorrow, March 15, is the release date of the fourth Långfinger full-length, Pendulum. It’s the Gothenburg, Sweden, classic heavy rock trio’s first long-player since 2016’s Crossyears (review here), which, if you live in an anachronistic time bubble as I do, I’ll remind you was eight years ago. Even with their 2019 live album, aptly-titled Live (review here), and a concurrent split shared with countrymen JIRM, plenty of live work in the intervening time and guitarist Kalle Lilja‘s involvement with Wolves in Haze, Toad Venom and Welfare Sounds Studio, the latter being where Pendulum and Crossyears and a whole bunch of stuff for other bands have been recorded over that span of time, it’s probably been long enough. Comprised of 10 tracks — the player on their Bandcamp lists “Towering” twice, so shows 11 — the well-appreciated check-in from Lilja, vocalist/bassist Victor Crusner, who caps the aforementioned track with Mellotron as well, and drummer Jesper Pihl reminds of their foundation vintage-style heavy songcraft while expanding on the modern sound with which the album prior presented it.

Offered with a clarity of vision and sharp, clever twists of craft across its 36 minutes, Pendulum has no time to waste at its outset as “A Day at the Races” all but dispenses with intro formalities to start with its verse. That makes the trip to the chorus that much more efficient, and with a Spidergawdian electric surge in its hook and a quick glimpse in the bridge at some of the bluesy Greenleafery to come as “Dead Cult” caps side A and answers back to the strut and clearly purposeful kick-in-the-pants momentum-gathering of “A Day at the Races” and the subsequent “Cycles,” which is more brash as it proceeds through a still-efficient three-plus minutes, as well as some of the moodier Graveyard-style groove of “Arctic” before that song’s especially fervent payoff, with a full tonal push, lead notes in the chorus, and an adrenaline-bent last course of riffing. “Arctic” makes it clear that Långfinger are doing more on Pendulum than straight-ahead rocking, but in both that and “Towering,” which starts out mellower and lets its chorus largesse rear up from the verse with unhurried-but-not-lifeless guidance — also a ripping solo just past the middle before Lilja breaks out the Mellotron near the end; a stark change but well in line with both the traditions Långfinger are playing toward and the flow of the track itself — Pihl, Crusner and Lilja resonate with a command over their twisting grooves, melodies and structures that they’re not the same kids who put out Skygrounds in 2010, though even that debut knew where it wanted to be sound-wise.

And to that, weren’t Långfinger a boogie band? Retro ’70s vintage heavy? Wasn’t that the thing? Yeah, that’s part of it, but it’s hard to ignore Pendulum swinging like some kind of summary of the last two decades of pan-Scandinavian heavy highlights or the manner in which the three-piece place themselves in that same sphere. If they’re playing classic heavy, they are the classic heavy ideal they’re working toward. Side B rolls out with the two-minute instrumental “Observationsnivåer,” which meets its early drum gallop with a slap of Iommic shred — and did I actually hear piano flourish in that transition after? — and the saunter of “Team Building” that becomes a light lumber as the second verse sets up the solo turn at 2:05. Do they bring back the chorus of course they bring back the chorus. How do you think teams are built? “Orbiter,” which follows, is the longest inclusion on Pendulum at 4:33, and is more charged than “Team Building” while working in a similar atmosphere early on, bringing together some of the impulses from side A and finding its own balance. A brief moment of heavier pummel gives over to a psychedelic wash of effects and toe-tapper shimmer-prog, but by this point the listener can readily trust Långfinger won’t lose the thread, and indeed they don’t.

The arrival of the organ that leads into the penultimate title-track stands it out from its surroundings, but becomes a grounding element for a song that seems to find the farthest points of shove and drift on the album that shares its name. As they have all the while, Långfinger demonstrate a particular attention to endings, and “Pendulum” races to its own to let closer “Skuggornas Hov” stand apart with the returning Mellotron and what I’m pretty sure are the first in-Swedish lyrics they’ve ever had for a song. Led by acoustic guitar with its vocals sounding farther off the mic and loosely folkish, “Skuggornas Hov” is no less considered in not kicking into full-weight tone and half-shouted urgency than “Towering” or “Pendulum” were in doing so. It’s been a hell of an eight years for just about everybody on the planet one way or the other, and Långfinger — who were actively tracking a follow-up to Crossyears in 2021 — are no exception, but the maturity that bleeds through Pendulum‘s component material delivers the record as a whole with a firm sense of intention, and however much went into its construction over whatever stretch of that time, it was anything but wasted.

Pendulum premieres in its entirety below, followed by the album info unceremoniously hoisted from Bandcamp.

Please enjoy:

Stalwarts of the underground rock scene in Sweden for the better part of two decades, Långfinger is set to release their fourth album “Pendulum”. An album that is as much of a retrospective as it covers new methods of noise as the band reemerges for the first time since 2016’s LP “Crossyears”.

“Pendulum” delivers direct, intense and playful rock music in an immersive long play format which might not make sense in the grown-up digital age, but for Långfinger, rock n roll is not about growing up, or making sense for that matter. It’s about the exploration and continuum of all things related to their sound that was, is and will be.

Tracklisting:
1. A Day at the Races
2. Cycles
3. Arctic
4. Towering
5. Dead Cult
6. Observationsnivåer
7. Team Building
8. Orbiter
9. Pendulum
10. Skuggornas hov

Produced by Olle Björk, Johan Reivén & Per Stålberg
Recorded at Welfare Sounds by Olle Björk, Johan Reivén, Per Stålberg & Kalle Lilja
Mixed by Olle Björk at Welfare Sounds
Mastered by Johan Reivén at Audiolord Mastering
Additional Engineering & Editing by Kalle Lilja
Artwork: Tage Åsén
Cover Design: Emma Lilja

Långfinger are:
Kalle Lilja – guitar/backing vocals
Victor Crusner – vocals/bass/keys
Jesper Pihl – drums

Långfinger on Facebook

Långfinger on Instagram

Långfinger on Bandcamp

Långfinger website

Swedish gruel-sludgers Walk Through Fire will self-release Till Aska on April 12. And, I mean, you can like the record if you want, but they’re not gonna take it easy on you. By design, Till Aska is extreme in sound and intense of purpose, with quiet stretches throughout like the intro to its opening title-track (and thus the record as a whole) and the first-five-minutes dirge reply of the finale “Rekviem” that are creepier than they are bludgeoning, but still carry a violent threat. With Andreas Olsson‘s low end punching you repeatedly about the head as the four-piece slog through churning wretched miseries made all the more monolithic by virtue of the lyrics being in Swedish — that is, the language barrier becomes part of the heavy — and delivered at the fore of the mix in harsh, mid-range, nodule-forming post-hardcore barks.

I’ll spare you the Ingmar Bergman comparisons, but yes, Till Aska‘s 53-minute/five-song stretch is plodding of tempo and seems to drain all the color from the world surrounding. It is either the band’s fourth or fifth album, depending on whom you ask, and follows the live-recorded 2020 outing Vår Avgrund, which, guess what, was also really, really fucking heavy and miserable, with longer songs and more noise. Lineup changes between the two releases have seen the band go from two guitars to just that of Ufuk Demir — who’s also the one self-flagellating those vocals — and brought Esaias Järnegard in on organ, while Olsson and drummer Juliusz Chmielewski give shape to the sad motion of the down, down, downer riffs in “Fall I Glömska” as the band conjure visions of being buried alive after tree roots pull you under the dirt by your ankles.

With the guitar so densely distorted, the bass chucking concrete throughout most of the proceedings and Demir‘s unipolar viciousness as a defining element, there are times like in the later reaches of centerpiece/shortest-track “Genom Sår” where Järnegard‘s organ is the only thing coming close to some kind of melody, and as that takes the form of sad notes floating and drawn out over the measures, even the idea of hope seems distant. They very clearly made it to be unsettling, and it is.

Till Aska is my first experience with Walk Through Fire — though they appeared here when announced for Desertfest London 2015, then supporting 2014’s Hope is Misery and sharing a stage with (among others) Noothgrush, which fits — and the spaces they leave open in the material, whether loud or subdued as they are building into the lurch of “Självförintelse,” are like traps for the listener. Some bands hook you with catchy choruses and uptempo movement, etc. Walk Through Fire, with an abiding bleakness of atmosphere and roiling aggression, feels as it plays out like you’re sinking deeper. The crash and feedback and scathe of “Självförintelse” gives way shortly before the nine-minute mark to a drone that’s not actually a sample of a cardiac monitor flatlining, but is evocative of one all the same, and it’s from there that “Rekviem” begins its instrumental course, mournful and disdaining.

Yeah, I was being glib above with ‘you can like it if you want,’ blah blah, but the truth is that Till Aska comes across as being precisely what Walk Through Fire wanted to make it, even unto the way the songs are laid out with the two longest pieces bookending and the others working toward the shortest in the middle. The seething, low, slow grind feels born of sludge but is darker, less punk and leant an almost gothic presence at times by the organ, and like a lot of extreme music across a spectrum of microgenres heavy or not, it’s not the kind of fare every listener is going to call accessible. That’s probably putting it mildly. “Resonates omnidirectional disgust” might be a better way to phrase.

But you know, sometimes that’s just what you need.

“Fall I Glömska” premieres below, followed by the preorder link and more info from the PR wire:

Walk Through Fire on “Fall I Glömska”:

This song was written on a piano and had the working title Nortt (referring to the Danish artist). The lyrics are a mantra repeating, “fall i glömska, fall isär, fall på plats” — “fall into oblivion, fall apart, fall into place.”

Walk Through Fire – Till Aska

Out on April 12, 2024 | Pre-order: https://walkthroughfire.bandcamp.com/album/till-aska

The Swedish avant-garde doom/sludge stalwarts Walk Through Fire are releasing their fourth full-length Till Aska on April 12, 2024. A monolithic portrayal of loss and grief, Till Aska – “To Ashes” in English – will first debut only on digital formats and streaming platforms. While physical releases aren’t currently planned, the band are open to label collaborations should the opportunity arise.

Representing the finest edge that their respective genres can offer on a global scale, Walk Through Fire has been steadily cementing themselves as a notable phenomenon over the past seventeen years. Blending down-tuned oppressive soundscapes with contemporary and classical music, the sonically unrelenting act has crafted a unique appearance for itself by means of uncompromisingly expanding the perimeters found in the more common understanding of what heavy music can be, resulting in an annihilating force to be reckoned with. Whether the black metal tendencies of their debut Furthest From Heaven or the dirges for life tones of Vår Avgrund, Walk Through Fire’s musical focal point has always been to become an aural catharsis – Till Aska being perhaps the most potent and poignant example of reaching that exact state.

From the most profound hellish depths to the soaring heights, the five tracks of Till Aska contain the very essence of Walk Through Fire while stretching the spectrum wider than ever before. The over fifty-minute endeavour is equally captivating as it is difficult, guaranteeing an immersive and rich experience to anyone willing to place themselves under its crushing weight. Walk Through Fire are no strangers to the transcendence of dread and its multiple manifestations, and while Till Aska crawls around its listener’s spine as a fiery serpent, it also offers resolve and spiritual consummation unlike ever heard before.

Walk Through Fire – Till Aska
1. Till aska (11:39)
2. Fall i glömska (10:50)
3. Genom sår (7:24)
4. Självförintelse (11:43)
5. Rekviem (12:09)

Recorded, mixed and mastered by Linus Andersson at Elementstudio, Gothenburg
Original artwork Frau mit totem kind (1903) by Käthe Kollwitz

Ufuk Demir — Guitars & Vocals
Andreas Olsson — Bass
Juliusz Chmielewski — Drums
Esaias Järnegard — Organ

Walk Through Fire on Facebook

Walk Through Fire on Bandcamp

Mario Lalli and the Rubber Snake Charmers hit Australia in the company of Stöner in Fall 2022, and their debut full-length, Folklore From the Other Desert Cities, was recorded on Sunday, Nov. 5 at Mo’s Desert Clubhouse. The show was featured on a streaming series called ‘Desert TV’ the audio issued on notably-limited cassette through Northern Haze before the band — spearheaded of course by namesake Mario Lalli, of Fatso Jetson, Yawning Man, etc. — signed on to release it March 29 through Heavy Psych Sounds. There are differences from the set video/live tape to the four-song/38-minute Folklore — some editing to let it flow as an album and shape songs, the mix/master from Mathias Schneeberger, etc. — and the result is an engrossing, sometimes lush, sometimes spacious, exploration of desert psychedelics. Lalli himself holds down bass in place of Nick Oliveri, who’d have been on the tour as part of Stöner but for visa issues as frontman/lead-poet Sean Wheeler informs at one point while introducing the band, and Brant Bjork and Ryan Güt, both also of Stöner, rounded out the lineup on guitar and drums, respectively.

I was lucky enough to see the semi-conjoined outfits together in Sept. 2022 (review here) before they headed Down Under, and the setup was much the same. That night, it was Lalli, Wheeler and all three members of Stöner on stage to jam, hypnotize, reach into the ether and give Wheeler‘s desert-punk bohème proclamations the textural setting they deserve. The Rubber Snake Charmers took the stage first and Stöner closed out. Super-casual. And the who-knows-where-we-might-end-up-but-let’s-go approach of the project that was so vivid that night in Jersey resonates in the loose sway and swing throughout Folklore From the Other Desert Cities, which transitions mid-jam between “Creosote Breeze” and “Swamp Cooler Reality” (note the video for the latter premiering below), mid-lyric between “Other Desert Cities” and “The Devil Waits for Me,” and puts its side flip between two standalone spoken lines from Wheeler. Clearly the intention is that the album should be taken as a whole — said the dude premiering a single track; I take what I can get — and it has more than enough fluidity between its two sides to support that experience. You can get lost in it, and I’m not about to tell you that you shouldn’t.

Some crowd noise at the outset of “Creosote Breeze” places you in the room, but a humming e-bow guitar and underlying drone silence most of the conversation. Güt gives a quick cymbal wash and they shift to a meditative riff laid out by Lalli as their true launch point. What unfurls from there does so with a chemistry that shouldn’t shock anyone familiar with the players involved — Bjork and Lalli‘s storied history in the Californian desert scene, Güt‘s near-decade drumming with Bjork between Stöner and Bjork‘s solo band, and Wheeler‘s long involvement with the Palm Springs weirdo underground in fronting Throw Rag, and so on — but they’re not so much riding pedigree here as they are pushing themselves outward, and that’s the whole point. This record, this amorphous band, wouldn’t exist without the creative passion that so clearly fuels it. The chance to tap something not yet known and see what you can make. That first riff in “Creosote Breeze” is almost surprising with a kind of brooding vibe, but they open it up cosmic and are funky long before the eight-plus minutes allotted to the track are done.

Schneeberger is credited with keys, and as the band settles into a roll before the guitar steps back circa 6:40 to let Wheeler start his next spoken recitation — he weaves back and forth between singing and spoken word, and it’s not always perfect and that’s why it works — they seem indeed to be dubbed in as part of the molten wash, but that feels fair enough for Folklore From the Other Desert Cities being based on a live set and presented as the band’s debut album. It’s not supposed to be easy to categorize outside of itself. You might say that’s how ‘desert rock’ happened in the first place; it wasn’t already another thing. “Creosote Breeze” entrances and “Swamp Cooler Reality,” mid-groove at its outset, finds its own way to build on that movement. Standout lines from Wheeler give impressionistic visions in rhythm as Bjork clicks on the wah and the drive gets accordingly funkier. They’ll mellow out a few minutes later, as one would expect, but that’s fleshed out with synth or other effects and some self-gathering-style meander comes together around the bass and drums to an open but satisfying finish of its own, “Other Desert Cities” kicking in either immediately or after the platter flip, depending how you’re listening.

But the vibe is set and the this-night incarnation of Mario Lalli and the Rubber Snake Charmers carry it through to the finish of “The Devil Waits for Me,” Wheeler steering them into a desert-themed take on the blues classic “In the Pines” that allows for no sleep whatsoever. The longer-form trip they’re on in terms of the whole set has plenty of space for that kind of thing, but it’s not like they’re doing a cover or something — it’s the immediate pursuit of inspiration and the moment captured in the recording. A thing that happened that day. A short while later, in “The Devil Waits for Me,” they seem to purposefully submerge in volume, fuzz and the underlying earthy groove, but not before the whole Gold Coast crowd gets invited back to L.A. for what one assumes would be a party worth the requisite travel.

If you didn’t see them on the tour that produced Folklore From the Other Desert Cities, the recording represents well the untethered spirit that seems to be at heart in Mario Lalli and the Rubber Snake Charmers and expands on it in how the material is delivered structurally and sonically. At the same time it’s their debut, it’s also right in its moment, and by it’s very nature, whatever Lalli and not-necessarily-the-same-company do next will likewise stand on its own. What one wonders is if how much Mario Lalli and the Rubber Snake Charmers appreciate that they themselves are part of the folklore they’re portraying, even in this new form and modus, just by getting together and weirding out. Hasn’t that always been the idea?

Enjoy the video for “Swamp Cooler Reality” below, followed by more info from the PR wire:

Mario Lalli and the Rubber Snake Charmers, “Swamp Cooler Reality” premiere

The first release from this band of pioneering Desert rock musicians captures the band and its purest form exercising the desert born ethic and approach of rock improvisation, psychedelic and flowing, heavy and explorative.

Tracklisting:
1. Creosote Breeze
2. Swamp Cooler Reality
3. Other Desert Cities
4. The Devil Waits For Me

Recorded live at Mo’s Desert Clubhouse, Gold Coast Australia by Guy Cooper and mixed and mastered by Mathias Schneeberger at Donner & Blitzen Studios, California. The band’s first release features BRANT BJORK, SEAN WHEELER, RYAN GUT and MARIO LALLI, capturing the band in a engaging special performance in Gold Coast Australia.

The album will be issued on March 29th on vinyl, CD and digital via Heavy Psych Sounds. Enjoy!

MARIO LALLI & THE RUBBER SNAKE CHARMERS is:
Mario Lalli – bass and vocal
Sean Wheeler – vocals and poetry
Brant Bjork – Guitar
Ryan Güt – Drums
Mathias Schneeberger – keys

Mario Lalli and the Rubber Snake Charmers, Folklore From the Other Desert Cities (2024)

Mario Lalli and the Rubber Snake Charmers on Facebook

Mario Lalli and the Rubber Snake Charmers on Instagram

Heavy Psych Sounds on Bandcamp

Heavy Psych Sounds website

Heavy Psych Sounds on Facebook

Heavy Psych Sounds on Instagram

Cork, Ireland-based atmospheric sludge/post-metal four-piece Coroza will release their second album, As Within, through Cursed Monk Records on May 20. Today they’re premiering their video for the title-track, which takes the familiar notion of a band-in-a-place-type clip and uses it as a means of emphasizing the mood and character of the music. As the 10-minute finale of the LP that bears its name unfolds, its quiet intro pulls back from the colorful stained glass of the initial shot and shifts into black and white as the pullback from the window reveals Coroza set up on the floor of what looks to be a fancy university library or some such. At about a minute in, both the song and the clip burst to life around a heavier part change, the color returns with vivid clarity and the band play through the closing cut that gives the album its name.

That visual change is thoughtful, not haphazard, and like the various mirror effects and swirls throughout, it coincides with where the song is going and highlights the considered aspects of Coroza‘s craft. In following their 2019 debut, Chaliceburner (review here), guitarist/vocalists Jack O’Neill and Ciarán Coghlan, bassist Tomás O’Brien (who makes his first recorded appearance on the album) and drummer Oliver Cunningham depart from some of the ultra-extended fare on offer such that, where only one song on Chaliceburner was under 10 minutes long, on As Within, the only track that crosses the same line is “As Within” itself, however close others might come.

It’s not a huge upheaval in aesthetic terms, but at five songs and 42 minutes, As Within gives a more efficient impression even in the take-a-moment-to-commune-with-the-deity-or-deities-of-your-choice-before-the-riff-hits break in the penultimate “Scorched Earth.” Whether that’s a purposeful change of approach, mindful creative progression or simply the shape the songs took as the bludgeoning nods were compiled, I don’t know, but like when the color pops back on in the “As Within” video, the methodical manner in which the bordering-on-extreme heft of “Immersed” is delivered, and the way the instrumental “The Shifting Sands” follows its quiet-loud-quiet pattern as something of an interlude-plus for the centerpiece of the digital and CD versions of the album, it feels like they meant for it to happen.

But to be sure, the crux of As Within is in its crush, conveyed immediately upon the start of opener “Myrrh,” which has well-I’m-sure-this-is-about-as-heavy-as-it’ll-get written all over it until “Immersed” comes on some nine minutes later and is even more trenchantly apocalyptic. Given space in the reverb on that low distortion as well as in the vocal tradeoffs between Coghlan and O’Neill — a guttural rasp reminiscent of Celestial-era Isis meeting with chant-like meditative melodies in the cleaner parts — As Within opens further in “The Shifting Sands” en route to the renewed intensity of “Scorched Earth” and the title-track’s subdued intro and ensuing productive destruction resolved in mood and thoughtful in execution. If it’s never occurred to you to say the phrase, “Hail Irish heavy” out loud, the monolithic lumber and roiling tension of “As Within” might get you there.

They provide a bit of relief around six minutes in, and the leads in the second half carry an airier reach not entirely removed from the plod-and-tremolo finish of “Myrrh,” the opener and closer giving a symmetrical feel to As Within while further emphasizing the sense of purpose brought to the album as a whole work. They know of what they obliterate — which is to say they’re schooled in genre and I don’t think anyone here would try to get away with saying they’d never heard Neurosis — but Coroza‘s second full-length takes significant strides in establishing the band’s place in the harder-hitting depths of the post-metallic sphere, doing so with distinct, affecting and cathartic force.

Coroza will play at Cursed Monk Records‘ 2024 edition of Monk Fest on July 6, performing As Within in its entirety. I hope someone gets video with soundboard audio.

More on that (including the ticket link) and about the record (including the preorder link) follows the video premiere below, courtesy of the PR wire.

Please enjoy:

Coroza, “As Within” video premiere

Cursed Monk Records are thrilled to announce that we will be releasing Coroza’s sophomore album “As Within.”

Not only will Coroza be joining us for this year’s Monk Fest, but they will also be playing their new album “As Within” in full! Monk Fest 2024 will take place on July 6th. Monk Fest is in aid of Temple St. Children’s Hospital. Tickets are available here: https://www.eventbrite.com/e/monk-fest-2024-tickets-765729105367

Preorders: https://cursedmonk.bandcamp.com/album/as-within

Coroza was formed in Cork, Ireland in mid-2015 and over the course of two years honed their sound into a devastatingly heavy form, which encompasses heavy blues, metal, sludge, doom and stoner elements, leading to the release of their well-received self-titled demo in 2017.

Extensive gigging cemented them into the local scene and soon Coroza began appearing on bills around Ireland, landing support slots to international touring bands such as Conan, Bolzer and Tusker. 2019 saw the release of their debut album Chaliceburner which was met with positive reviews.

Coroza’s second album titled “As Within”, was recorded and mixed by renowned producer Aidan Cunningham and mastered by Magnus Lindberg (Cult of Luna).

Says the band: “We would like to thank Aidan Cunningham – Mixing for recording and mixing this album. All tracks were recorded live in the room with some overdubs added afterward. Aidan’s work ethic, knowledge and insight was invaluable and we cannot thank him enough for how this album turned out. He captured the exact sound we were hoping for. Also, a huge thanks to Magnus Lindberg Productions for mastering the album and ensuring it gets heard perfectly in all formats.”

‘As Within’ releases May 20th on LP, CD, Cassette, and Digital!

Preorders are open via the Cursed Monk Bandcamp: https://cursedmonk.bandcamp.com/album/as-within

Tracklisting:
1. Myrrh (9:40)
2. Immersed (8:51)
3. The Shifting Sands (4:24)
4. Scorched Earth (9:03)
5. As Within (10:14)

AS ABOVE – SO BELOW
AS WITHIN – SO WITHOUT

Coroza are:
Ciarán Coghlan – guitar/vocals
Ollie Cunningham – drums
Tomás O’Brien – bass
Jack O’Neill – lead guitar/vocals

[Live photo by Shane J. Horan Photography.]

Coroza on Facebook

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Coroza on YouTube

Cursed Monk Records website

Cursed Monk Records on Facebook

Cursed Monk Records on Instagram

Cursed Monk Records on YouTube

The first thing to know about Kommune I is that, contrary to what one might think from its title, it isn’t Zack Oakley‘s debut LP. The guitarist, vocalist, songwriter and emergent bandleader based in San Diego and known for his work in acts like Joy, Volcano and Pharlee (in which he drums) launched his Kommune Records DIY imprint with 2022’s Badlands (review here), a dizzying and progressive interpretation of classic heavy rock that continues exploring around its central boogie-prone ideology on the five songs of Kommune I, sacrificing untold strings to the gods of wah and whammy. This is done in the name of a worldly, funky, mindfully casual approach spearheaded by Oakley, who recorded the 43-minute offering along with tracking engineer Cory Martinez (who also adds guitar, synth and vocals) and a cast of players returning and new.

Which brings us to the second thing to know about Kommune I, which is that it’s Oakley‘s name out front, but ‘Zack Oakley‘ on the album cover delivers the material as a full band. In addition to Oakley and Martinez, Kommune I sees a return appearance from Jody Bagly (Loosen the Noose) on Rhodes piano and B3 organ, both of which become vital elements in the malleable character of the material. Also back from Badlands is Travis Baucum (Red Wizard), whose harmonica appears as an offset for lead guitar from the outset in “We Want You to Dance” and side A capper “Look Where We Are Now” as well as album-closer “Demon Run.” He also adds vocals, and a bit of theremin somewhere on the record, perhaps in the 16-minute side-B leadoff jammer “Hypnagogic Shift,” where there’s a spot for everybody and listener besides. The lineup is completed by drummer/vocalist Justin De La Vega (Warish), whose snare work doesn’t so much ground the proceedings as give shape to the motion of the whole, keyboardist/synthesist/vocalist Garret Lekas, bassist/vocalist Peter Cai, and flutist Tom Lowman, who harnesses an unironic optimistic future in “Further,” giving flourish to the verse lines in answer to the sharp strums of guitar.

And with those two items in mind, we get to the crux of Kommune I, which is in the scope and nuances of its songs. Side A, with “We Want You to Dance,” “Further” and “Look Where We Are Now,” can be seen loosely as something of a thematic narrative of realization, but with schooled-in-it purpose, Oakley touches on a range of aspects of funk and soul, even bringing some of the Afrobeat impulse that defined Volcano into “We Want You to Dance” in such a way as to lend a decolonize-your-brain bent to the act of dancing itself, while its atmospheric midsection break touches on vibes from The Supremes (thinking “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” and “You Keep Me Hangin’ On” specifically), lets the harmonica howl instead of the guitar and takes its time to jam fluidly back into its verse on the other end, because that’s what serves the song. They want you to dance. They say it. It’s the core message. “Dance’ll kill your ego.” The song’s lyrics and bouncy start-stop groove become a pushback on cruel modernity, a voice from outside, but there’s more happening in it than complaining about social media. They want you to dance.

No less catchy, but each with its own aims in expression and style, “Further” and “Look Where We Are Now” nonetheless back the opener in its physical urgency. “Further” builds up around nighttime bug sounds, ambient guitar noodling that shortly becomes wah, and duly sauntering toms. The guitar builds to a strum as it and the flute mark out the chorus instrumentally ahead of the verse — an aspect of ’60s pop that’s demonstrative of Kommune I‘s multifaceted take on classic ideas; it’s not just a retro veneer, and it’s not limited to heavy rock — so you already know its shove when it hits. Also somehow it’s space rock. The vocals are layered and emphatic, drawing on the harmonized gang-vocal methods of early psych-funk and bringing them into Oakley‘s songwriting in a way that helps bridge the jumps surrounding from one part, one song, and to a degree, one aesthetic to the next, staving off a disjointed feel through consistent tonality, a mix made for dynamic rather than volume, and, in perhaps a more primeval way, that gang of voices. If everybody’s making the leap from Afrobeat heavy soul rock to proggy turns and a condensed jammy sprawl — and they are — it’s that much easier for the listener to be carried by the momentum of the going.

As “Look Where We Are Now” underscores some of these notions — the wah of the ’70s soul intro like Isaac Hayes doing “Shaft,” howls making it a party behind the funky first movement, an array of voices, the stellar and foundational performance of De La Vega, and so on — it distinguishes itself as well in how its chorus comes forward, and as both of the first two tracks did, speaks directly to the audience while changing the frame in which that happens. The swap from ‘you’ in “We Want You to Dance” and ‘we’ in “Look Where We Are Now” is notable, as though, having gone “Further,” there has been some transformation of consciousness or state. Its call-and-response chorus feels mid-’60s or maybe even later British Invasion, but “Look Where We Are Now” also gives itself over to harmonica an earned for-a-walk instrumental break with the guitar solo at its halfway mark, at least one rhythm and lead layer working together, if not more, then goes back to the hook, which is quadruple-repeated as they roll out a last wash of swirl and snare. The proverbial tight band sounding loose, bolstered by production that puts you in the room as it’s happening.

Side B presents something of a different face in the aforementioned “Hypnagogic Shift” and “Demon Run,” inevitably defined in large part by the jammy gamut (jamut?) of the former, and brought more in line with Kommune I‘s first three tracks by the hook of the latter, which also accounts in its whole-LP summary for the breadth of “Hypnagogic Shift,” which arrives ready to take its time at the outset and fleshes out to an especially rich portrayal of this band at work. Rhodes and Hammond both seem to be accounted for in its reaches, and there’s an initial structure being worked and weaved around, and while as a result of that there’s clearly a plotted course in among all the part-changes and redirects, having a verse to return to even as they approach 10 minutes in is an asset that lets Oakley and company maintain the outward accessibility of “Further” or “Look Where We Are Now” without giving up either the nuance behind “We Want You to Dance” or the internal (in the band, instrumentally) or external (with the listener, in the music and lyrics) conversations happening simultaneously. Some Norman Whitfield-ish string sounds that might actually be theremin coexist with a solo of Thin Lizzy-style poise complemented by rhythmic swing, guitars lining up in harmony as keys, bass, drums, all direct themselves into the ether as they bring it to an end as they invariably would live.

As with all of Kommune I, it might take a few listens before the level of accomplishment in “Hypnagogic Shift” fully reveals itself. With so many pivots and twists throughout, it can be easy to feel untethered, especially in the longer track, but that’s where the solidity of structure comes in to provide clarity amid the trance. “Demon Run” completes the perhaps inadvertent narrative spanning the album — which seems to live out its ‘dance’ as actualization and the experience of broader knowledge as side A shifts to side B — by representing both ends in its eight minutes. Not as insistently verse/chorus as “Look Where We Are Now” or “Further,” its wah-coated unfolding lets party harmonica and keys sneak out past the overwhelm of “Hypnagogic Shift,” organ taking a solo before the guitar signals a U-turn to the verse, instruments answering vocals, the bop of the hook, which is mostly just the title line repeated and held out just before six minutes in as they hot-shit their way into the chorus-topped last push. Everything drops out for a from-the-belly,” deeeeemon ruuuun,” ahead and as part of the ensuing cymbal wash/build-up finish, residual feedback eventually snapping on a snare hit to a more mindful, twisting end.

And not to end with another list, but there are a couple levels on which Kommune I comes across as especially declarative. Foremost, it takes all its influences from across a spectrum of styles — maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t, but Oakley sure sounds like he’s got all the records — and creates something from them that can most of all be called itself. It communicates live-band ambitions that are undeniable, and indeed Oakley has a lineup and last month digitally released a set, Live at Drunkards Dream, as further demonstration of that intent. Third — and this is true even unto its title, which hints at a series beginning — it feels sustainable, for the process of Oakley leading the recording and release, and for how its songs are expansive with room to continue the growth already resonant here from Badlands onto subsequent outings. It may not be, of course, but Kommune I could very well set the pattern even more than its predecessor for Oakley‘s solo craftsmanship and the band operating under his name — live they’re billed as the Zack Oakley Band, which is straightforward enough — and if that turns out to be the case even for the medium term, it will be well worth keeping an eye for where it goes as well as answering the call put forth in these songs. Remember: they want you to dance. Be ready to.

Zack Oakley, Kommune I (2024)

Kommune I vinyl preorders at Kickstarter

Zack Oakley on Facebook

Zack Oakley on Instagram

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Zack Oakley website

Kommune Records on Bandcamp

Kommune Records website

This Friday, March 8, marks the arrival of Hijss‘ debut album, Stuck on Common Ground, which is many things throughout its varied 10 tracks but pointedly not stuck and well removed from common ground in terms of style. Issued through Heavy Psych Sounds, the first offering from the Northern Italian three-piece of guitarist/vocalist Alexander “Lois Lane” Ebner, bassist/synthesist Heinrich Pan and drummer Maurice Bellotti (also Deadsmoke), is both strikingly ambitious and admirably low-key about it.

It’s an aural meld they call “cosmic grunge,” which is a tag I’ve used here as descriptor for acts like Hijss‘ labelmates Oreyeon, as well as Sun Voyager, Terry Gross, and a couple others over the years, but that doesn’t necessarily encapsulate the totality of what they do. Following the loose-swing-into-emergent-push of opener “Ingraved” — and mind you I’ve seen the band’s name, album and track titles in both all-caps and all-lowercase, so I’m writing it normal because perhaps the situation is fluid, which actually fits the record’s character well — the modern heavy space boogie of “1234me” solidifies around its bassline and dug-in drumming, guitar and vocals in their own place until the harder tone kicks in and is consuming. Like side B leadoff, “1234me” was a prior single, posted by the trio in 2021 — the tracks have been taken down, but I was assuming they’d re-recorded them for the LP, which was engineered, mixed and mastered by Toni Quiroga and co-produced by the band — and its rhythmic urgency serves as preface to the quirky, krauty bounce in “Train Tracks” supplemented with synth, as well as the motorik vibing in “Narcolepsy” or even the lighter post-punk resonance around the three-minute mark in “Black Disease.”

Drawing the material together is an organic-but-not-necessarily-low-fi production that sits Ebner‘s throaty vocals over Pan‘s blunt-object-impact low end, and that allows for “Headless Blues” to chug in its sneaky linear build like a ’90s downer before its payoff offers a brief moment of shimmering expanse. Hijss broaden the album’s atmospherics further with the drifting “Interlude #1” on side A, with a melancholy contemplation of standalone guitar, and “Interlude #2” on side B, on which Pan joins and some backing drone lingers behind before sweeping into the penultimate “Blow Out,” but they’re hardly so compartmentalized or otherwise rigid that the swaying “Ingraved” doesn’t also serve as a whole-album intro while establishing the punker undercurrent noted in the PR wire info below — consider the vocal delivery and some of the shove in the riffier sections, even coated in effects as they may be — and six-minute capper “Tilt Mode” doesn’t feel like a corresponding summary of the record’s scope at the finish. It doesn’t always sound like it, which is part of the appeal, but there’s a plan at work in each of these pieces and in the flow of their arrangement on the LP itself.

Modern in their point of view lyrically as well as in the transmogrification of space rock and terrestrial tonal heft — I don’t know if they’d get lumped in the post-King Gizzard, post-Slift spheres, but maybe; they strike me as mellower on the whole — Hijss offer the assessment, “Everyone is socializing but human contact is very rare,” in semi-spoken fashion on “Black Disease.” It’s a standout line cleverly marking one of the ironies of our age in the loneliness that can take hold when interpersonal communication becomes a mass broadcast instead of a conversation, the effect of social media on discourse, culture and mental health. “Black Disease” doesn’t linger or grow indulgently philosophical, instead hitting its mark and then drifting out, and is just one of the places Hijss go sonically, but gives timely relevance to correspond to a style drawing from decades’ worth of influences, including those from punk rock.

As “Blow Out” offers the tightest instance of songcraft and “Tilt Mode” the most spacious back-to-back at the record’s finish, I’m not ready to call Hijss settled really on any level, and in the context of the songs I mean it as a compliment. They’re exploring here, and accordingly Stuck on Common Ground is an adventure to undertake, manageable at 36 minutes, and I’m sure when they follow it up either in five years or five months from now (it really could go either way; time is fun pretend) one will be able to hear the foundations of their progression in hindsight with these songs, but I’m not about to hazard a guess as to where they’re headed or how the intention here will shake out subsequently. Which is exciting. It’s the beginning point of an excursion into the unknown, and Hijss bring immediate, stark individuality in a complex aesthetic that feels most traditional in its spirit of defying tradition. Maybe that doesn’t make sense now, but it might if you listen. Be ready to contradict your expectations.

And if you made it through reading the above, thanks. Looking back at it, I interrupted myself a lot there and kind of jumped around, but Hijss have that restless energy too, within and between its songs. Makes its own kind of sense. I’ll take the lesson and try to do the same.

If you’re up for it, Stuck on Common Ground premieres in full below, followed by more from the aforementioned PR wire.

Please enjoy:

Hijss, Stuck on Common Ground album premiere

HIJSS – Stuck on Common Ground

EU/ROW PRESALE: https://www.heavypsychsounds.com/shop.htm#HPS294

USA PRESALE: https://www.heavypsychsounds.com/shop-usa.htm

Stuck on common ground is the debut album of the Italian Power Trio hijss.

With a mixture of heavy blues influenced riffs and synthesized Krautrock parts hijss tries to create a high dynamic range that will keep your attention at all time. On top of gritty basslines and ferocious drums lie cosmic guitars, tantalizing vocals and arpeggiated electronic drones. All three band members come from a vast musical background. Their common denominator is without a doubt a punkish attitude.

The album was produced by Toni Quiroga and hijss, drums were recorded at Nologo Recording Studio, Laives by “holy barbarian” Fabio Sforza. Engineered, mixed and mastered at accept productions by Toni Quiroga, album cover by Luca Guarino.

TRACKLIST

SIDE A
INGRAVED – 02:48
1234 ME – 04:37
HEADLESS BLUES – 03:12
INTERLUDE #1 – 02:30
TRAIN TRACKS – 04:08

SIDE B
NARCOLEPSY – 04:19
BLACK DISEASE – 04:14
INTERLUDE #2 – 00:56
BLOW OUT – 03:43
TILT MODE – 06:12

CREDITS
Composer Name: Alexander Ebner, Heinrich Pan, Maurice Bellotti
Songwriter: Alexander Ebner
Producer: accept productions, Toni Quiroga & hijss
Label: Heavy Psych Sounds Records
Recorded: drums at Nologo Recording Studio, Laives (BZ) by “holy barbarian” Fabio Sforza
Engineer: accept productions, Toni Quiroga
Mixed: accept productions, Toni Quiroga
Mastered: accept productions, Toni Quiroga
Cover Artwork: Luca Guarino

HIJSS is
Lois Lane – guitar/vocals
Maurice – drums
Pan – bass/synth

Hijss on Facebook

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Hijss on Bandcamp

Heavy Psych Sounds on Facebook

Heavy Psych Sounds on Instagram

Heavy Psych Sounds on Bandcamp

Heavy Psych Sounds website

Madrid-based instrumentalists Deriva will release their new four-song EP, Nona/Décima/Morta, on March 13 through LaRubia Producciones. The video for the previously-issued single “Aqua Vitae” premieres below, and as its low-lighting balletic undulations unfold amid ambient guitar ahead of the band diving into the 28-minute outing’s most outwardly crushing procession, so too there arrives a poem to set the mood. I’ve included it under hte video player in the original Spanish, and if you have the captions on as I always do because I’m old, you can see the English translation, which relates to the notion of sleep as a kind of death and dreams as visions we forget much as humans live entire lives in denial of mortality. As the band play through the song amid stark spotlights, a ceremonial-feeling cutting of ties, some light fetishism and arthouse mosh from dancer Miroslava Fernández, and so on, these ideas linger like a guided meditation and the music grows correspondingly more intense, the push that takes over following the midsection atmospheric break peppered with double-kick to add physicality to the surge.

Over the course of the outing, Deriva — who made their self-titled full-length debut in 2016, followed with the three-songers Haiku I and Haiku II in 2019 and 2021, respectively, and have apparently had this EP in the works for a while as opener “Ignis ex Cinere” was issued as a single in 2022 — apply metallic precision and progressivism to an atmospheric backdrop. “Ignis ex Cinere” gathers itself over its first minute-plus around jazzy drums from Rory Reagan and bass punch from Javier Justo before evening out to let the intertwining guitars of Javier “Muñi” Muñoz and Daniel “Minchi” Garea lead with tricky up-front float toward the next volume surge, which by the time they’re three minutes into the seven-and-a-half-minute cut, has peaked again in consuming style and dropped to guitar soon joined by violin in a momentarily serene, pastoral stretch, Reagan‘s toms returning to mark the beginning of the build in earnest, and they don’t tease the last payoff long before they’re in it because they don’t need to. A wailing solo over an intentionally angular, choppy closing section cuts out and “Aqua Vitae” arrives with a switch back to post-rocky airiness.

But again, the inevitable burst isn’t far off. Deriva work in volume trades throughout Nona/Décima/Morta — the title with similar flex in having multiple potential translations; I don’t know which is correct and I’d rather not embarrass myself by getting it wrong — but “Aqua Vitae” is both the shorted inclusion on the EP and the most metal, the clear, full production of Alex Cappa at Metropol Studios in Madrid allowing the impact of the kick drum to coexist with the guitar in the midsection break, which is also shorter than that of “Ignis ex Ciniere” and slams starkly at 3:10 into a hard-riffed wall of distortion. Establishing itself with declarative hits before shifting into the actual march that defines the procession for its remainder, “Aqua Vitae” turns corners you didn’t realize were there, a twist of lead guitar and emergent soloing matching the adrenaline of the drums, dark and majestic but not hopeless. It comes to a head and ends, Russian Circles-style, bringing the synthier landscape of “Lux Aeris” — Julio Martin is credited with contributing the synth — as a plotted line of guitar smooths the shift into the next heavy section.

The structural pattern becomes familiar, but Deriva do well in giving each of these four pieces its own character, whether that’s the headbang-fodder bounce of “Aqua Vitae” or the way each song has its movement from a subdued intro to a push of heavy progressive metal but does it a bit differently. Where “Aqua Vitae” can’t wait to dig into its crunch, “Lux Aeris” spreads out over the course of its start. There’s room — it’s the longest track at 8:29 — and they use it. The first two and a half minutes or so build up patiently and don’t so much suddenly ignite in full, distorted tone as draw a more complete line from one end to the other in that time, handing one part to the next, almost seamless. Intricate rhythmic jumps and tremolo guitar, so much organized chaos, persist over a central pattern of groove, and as with “Ignis ex Ciniere” and “Aqua Vitae,” they’ll finish loud, but getting there routes through a resonant, bright clearing, as the more all-at-once shove back to full-impact lurks in the background, never quite gone. In a suitable-enough meta-level manifestation of their aural back and forth, Nona/Décima/Morta also shifts between longer and shorter pieces in succession, “Mortuus Terra” rounds out by finding something of a middle ground between the two extremes of Deriva‘s sound.

I’m not sure if they intentionally paired “Lux Aeris” (‘the light of the air’) and “Mortuus Terra” (‘dead earth’) next to each other for any reason more than the fluidity with which the finale takes hold from the song before it, but given the level of consideration throughout in sound and presentation, I’d be willing to believe it. And “Mortuus Terra” is a build as well — ebbs and flows; that’s life — though it holds back its flood for longer than did “Lux Aeris,” and while it moves into cycles of guitar chug and low-end punctuating, tom runs and snare adding to the round-we-go vibe, lead guitar releases that tension in a way that’s about more than just clicking on this or that pedal, and once they hit thar stride, there’s no real going back. The single movement at the end feels like it’s underscoring the point, and all the more because its execution stands out from its three companions while being rooted in similar tones and atmospherics. A concept, extrapolated, that is emblematic of the sculptor’s care put into Deriva‘s craft and the effectiveness with which they immerse the listener in their dynamic.

It will ring familiar enough on first blush, but the deeper you go, the more you’ll find. I don’t know if the video is NSFW or not. Depends on where you work, I guess. Either way, if you need to click off the tab, the song is still there, and the Bandcamp player that will hold the full release is at the bottom by the links. I know you know. I kept the poem and recording info in Spanish. Minimal language barrier, appropriate to aesthetic and the band’s intent. You’ll be fine.

Enjoy:

Deriva, “Aqua Vitae” video premiere

“Los sueños son pequeñas muertes,
tramoyas, anticipos, simulacros de muerte,
el despertar en cambio nos parece,
una resurrección y por las dudas,
olvidamos cuanto antes lo soñado.
A pesar de sus fuegos, sus cavernas,
sus orgasmos, sus glorias, sus espantos.
Tal vez quiera decir que lo que ansiamos,
es olvidar la muerte,
apenas eso.”

“Aqua Vitae” Grabado en Metropol Studios con Alex Cappa 2023, en colaboración de Julio Martin a los sintetizadores.
Video producido por David AJ y protagonizado por Miroslava Fernández.

Grabado en Metropol Estudios Madrid por Alex Cappa

Deriva is an instrumental cinematic post-metal machine from Madrid, Spain. Deriva creates “movies for your ears” that encompass raw emotion ranging from melancholy and contemplation to rage and explosivity. From beginning to end of each composition, each note and phrase is meticulously rendered to perfection to create an emotive effect that draws attention and tells a story throughout the music. Each instrument weaves a delicate tapestry and is highly conversational amongst the instruments. As if in a heavy discussion, the guitars converse in a way that is both supportive and opposing of each other throughout the story. Like the microscopic intermingling layers of carbon fiber, the bass and drums create a rhythmically robust foundation that is both lightweight and extremely strong in which the guitars can float upon. Deriva is the Ennio Morricone, Danny Elfman, and Hans Zimmer of post-metal.

Tracklisting:
1. Ignis ex Ciniere (7:37)
2. Aqua Vitae (5:44)
3. Lux Aeris (8:29)
4. Mortuus Terra (6:30)

Deriva live:
Mar 21 Moby Dick Club Madrid, Spain
Mar 26 Bloc Glasgow, UK
Mar 27 Retro Manchester, UK
Mar 28 Little Buildings Newcastle Upon Tyne, UK
Mar 30 The Dev, Camden London, UK

Deriva are:
Javier Muñoz (Muñi) – Guitar
Rory Reagan – Drumms
Javier Justo – Bass
Daniel Garea (Minchi) – Guitar

Plus:
Alicia Nurho – Violin
Julio Martin – Synth

Deriva, NONA/DÉCIMA/MORTA EP (2024)

Deriva on Instagram

Deriva on Facebook

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