Posted in Whathaveyou on April 21st, 2023 by JJ Koczan
At some point this morning — probably about 15 seconds after I close my laptop to attend to whatever domestic task has suddenly popped into my head — an announcement will come through the PR wire for the new Somnuri record, which is titled Desiderium and will be released as the Brooklyn trio’s label debut through MNRK Heavy (formerly eOne Heavy). You can see the preorder link below. I got it from the video, which I searched out on YouTube after I saw the banner with the release date on social media and a new pic of the band (above) in the same color scheme that one assumes is to coincide with the release announcement that, again, is probably coming today. Is it in my inbox yet? I’ll check. Nope.
Fair enough. That hasn’t stopped me from digging into the three-minute aggro burst of the song itself. It put me right in mind of when High on Fire signed to E1 in 2010 and went on to unveil Snakes for the Divine, which remains a treasured piece of their catalog. I don’t know what’s in store for Desiderium as I haven’t heard more than the three minutes of “What a Way to Go” in the video at the bottom of this post, but if you weren’t already betting on Somnuri after 2021’s Nefarious Wave (review here), there just might be enough energy here to get you off your ass and on board with their assault.
Plus, Justin Sherrell eats dirt in the clip, and that’s a sacrifice worth honoring.
When and if I see the actual album announcement — 10AM Eastern? oh! oh! maybe it’ll have cover art and recording info and a tracklisting and oh! well organized biographical and lineup information! oh that’d just be the best! — I’ll be glad to update this post with it [EDIT: Obviously that happened]. Until then, it’s you, me, a buncha links and a new Somnuri song, which as it turns out is plenty.
Enjoy:
SOMNURI: Brooklyn Sludge Metal Trio To Release Desiderium Full-Length July 21st Via MNRK Heavy; “What A Way To Go” Video/Single Now Playing + Preorders Available
Brooklyn, New York sludge metal trio SOMNURI will unleash their third full-length, Desiderium, on July 21st via MNRK Heavy, today unveiling the record’s artwork, first single, and preorders.
SOMNURI does not keep their feet planted in surface reality. The band’s flavor of heavy metal stomps from genre to genre with the fervor and confidence of a band ready to cross thresholds of all that’s perceivable and possible. Composed of lead guitarist and singer Justin Sherrell, drummer Phil SanGiancomo, and bassist Mike G, their latest effort is a true testament to the band’s insatiable work ethic cementing them as one of heavy metal’s most exciting emerging acts.
Recorded at Gojira’s Silver Cord Studios, mixed by Justin Mantooth at Westend Studios, and mastered by Brad Boatright at Audiosiege Mastering, on Desiderium, the band weaves seamlessly through a variety of tempos and sounds, giving some well-trodden genres new roads to travel. Songs like “Paramnesia” swing in like a sludgy wrecking ball, calling to mind the likes of Eyehategod and Crowbar in their heaviest moments. Instead of going for all-out mosh parts, the band pulls back, allowing Sherrell to get a few clean vocals in before charging back up on full assault. Sherrell’s voice is insanely versatile, both able to deliver soul-filled clean vocals and some grim screams. It’s the perfect counterpoint to the band’s instrumentals, weaving a ladder between sludge, grunge, psych-rock and more. All of this leads to something like Alice In Chains if they got way into acid and wanted to go full-tilt heavy.
SOMNURI’s flow from genre to genre works well, much like being in a fever dream of sound. The album’s lyrical themes blossomed from Sherell experiencing a chain of dreams wherein he lived a multitude of different lives and realities. These dreams concluded with Sherrell witnessing a suicide that embodied both a tragic end and a strange new beginning. “Was I experiencing a dream state and experiencing someone else’s reality? Or was that just me leaving my cocoon to start a new life?,” Sherell wonders. The dream stuck with Sherell, informing the album’s title, which is defined as a feeling of loss or grief about something lost.
Front to back, the abundant ideas and soundscapes turn SOMNURI’s Desiderium into a prism of sound. Every song is an amalgamation of what makes rock kinetic, bridging a gap between acts like Helmet, Karp, Handsome, and Quicksand with the sonic journeys of Isis or Jesu. It’s this thirst for exploration that makes SOMNURI who they are: they’re an ascendant band, not constrained by any label or descriptor.
In advance of Desiderium’s release, today the band presents a video for the record’s first single, “What A Way To Go.”
Elaborates SanGiacomo of the track, “‘What A Way To Go’ is an anti-authoritarian kick in the teeth. With all of the corruption in the world, it’s hard not to feel like you’re being buried alive sometimes, the song came about while trying to vent that frustration. It’s straight to the point and urgent, with less twists and turns than some of our other material.
Adds Sherrell, “Susan Hunt, who directed the video, captured the imagery perfectly along with a sense of being hounded and surveilled. This is the first single from our new album, Desiderium, and we couldn’t be more excited to set the tone with it and let people know what kind of energy they can expect this time. The album is the pinnacle of our sound thus far and we can’t wait to unleash it.”
Desiderium, which comes cloaked in the cover art of Alex Eckman-Lawn, will be released on CD, LP, cassette, and digital formats. For preorders, go to THIS LOCATION.
Desiderium Track Listing: 1. Death Is The Beginning 2. Paramnesia 3. Pale Eyes 4. What A Way To Go 5. Hollow Visions 6. Flesh & Blood 7. Desiderium 8. Remnants 9. The Way Out
SOMNURI Live Lineup: Justin Sherrell – guitar, vocals Phil SanGiacomo – drums Mike G – bass
Posted in Reviews on April 14th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
If you work in an office, or you ever have, or you’ve ever spoken to someone who has or does or whatever — which is everybody, is what I’m saying — then you’ll probably have a good idea of why I cringe at saying “happy Friday” as though the end of a workweek’s slog is a holiday even with the next week peering just over the horizon beyond the next 48 hours of not-your-boss time. Nonetheless, we’re at the end of this week, hitting 50 records covered in this Quarterly Review, and while I’ll spend a decent portion of the upcoming weekend working on wrapping it up on Monday and Tuesday, I’m grateful for the ability to breathe a bit in doing that more than I have throughout this week.
I’ll say as much in closing out the week as well, but thanks for reading. As always, I hope you enjoy.
Quarterly Review #41-50:
Black Helium, UM
It’s just too cool for the planet. Earth needs to step up its game if it wants to be able handle what London’s Black Helium are dishing out across their five-song third record, UM, from the sprawl and heavy hippie rock of “Another Heaven” to the utter doom that rises to prominence in that 12-minute-ish cut and the oblivion-bound boogie, blowout, and bonfire that is 15:47 closer “The Keys to Red Skeleton’s House (Open the Door)” on the other end, never mind the u-shaped kosmiche march of “I Saw God,” the shorter, stranger, organ-led centerpiece “Dungeon Head” or the motorik “Summer of Hair” that’s so teeth-grindingly tense by the time it’s done you can feel it in your toes. These are but glimpses of the substance that comprises the 45-minute out-there-out-there-out-there stretch of UM, which by the way is also a party? And you’re invited? I think? Yeah, you can go, but the rest of these fools gotta get right if they want to hang with the likes of “I Saw God,” because Black Helium do it weird for the weirdos and the planet might be round but that duddn’t mean it’s not also square. Good thing Black Helium remembered to bring the launch codes. Fire it up. We’re outta here and off to better, trippier, meltier places. Fortunately they’re able to steer the ship as well as set its controls to the heart of the sun.
A demo recording of a single, 29-minute track that’s slated to appear on Seismic‘s debut full-length based around the works of H.G. Wells sometime later this year — yeah, it’s safe to say there’s a bit of context that goes along with understanding where the Philadelphia instrumentalist trio/live-foursome are coming from on “The Time Machine.” Nonetheless, the reach of the song itself — which moves from its hypnotic beginning at about five minutes in to a solo-topped stretch that then gives over to thud-thud-thud pounding heft before embarking on an adventure 30,000 leagues under the drone, only to rise and riff again, doom. the. fuck. on., and recede to minimalist meditation before resolving in mystique-bent distortion and lumber — is significant, and more than enough to stand on its own considering that in this apparently-demo version, its sound is grippingly full. As to what else might be in store for the above-mentioned LP or when it might land, I have no idea and won’t speculate — I’m just going by what they say about it — but I know enough at this point in my life to understand that when a band comes along and hits you with a half-hour sledgehammering to the frontal cortex as a sign of things to come, it’s going to be worth keeping track of what they do next. If you haven’t heard “The Time Machine” yet, consider this a heads up to their heads up.
Something of an awaited first long-player from Chicago’s These Beasts, who crush the Sanford Parker-produced Cares, Wills, Wants with modern edge and fluidity moving between heavier rock and sludge metal, the three-piece of guitarist/vocalist Chris Roo, bassist/vocalist Todd Fabian and drummer Keith Anderson scratching a similar itch in intensity and aggression as did L.A. sludgecore pummelers -(16)- late last year, but with their own shimmer in the guitar on “Nervous Fingers,” post-Baroness melody in “Cocaine Footprints,” and tonal heft worthy of Floor on the likes of “Blind Eyes” and the more purely caustic noise rock of “Ten Dollars and Zero Effort.” “Code Name” dizzies at the outset, while “Trap Door” closes and tops out at over seven minutes, perhaps taking its title from the moment when, as it enters its final minute, the bottom drops out and the listener is eaten alive. Beautifully destructive, it’s also somehow what I wish post-hardcore had been in the 2000s, ripping and gnarling on “Southpaw” while still having space among the righteously maddening, Neurot-tribal percussion work to welcome former Pelican guitarist Dallas Thomas for a guest spot. Next wave of artsy Chicago heavy noise? Sign me up. And I don’t know if that’s Roo or Fabian with the harsh scream, but it’s a good one. You can hear the mucus trying to save the throat from itself. Vocal cords, right down the trap door.
Comprised of Cucho Segura on guitar and vocals, Sara Gdm on bass and drummer Rafa Pacheco, Ajeeb are the first band from the Canary Islands to be written about here, and their second album — issued through no fewer than 10 record labels, some of which are linked below — is the 11-song/42-minute Refractions, reminding in heavy fashion that the roots of grunge were in noisy punk all along. There’s some kick behind songs like “Far Enough” and “Mold,” and the later “Stuck for Decades” reminds of grainy festival videos where moshing was just people running into each other — whereas on “Mustard Surfing” someone might get punched in the head — but the listening experience goes deeper the further in you get, with side B offering a more dug-in take with the even-more-grunge “Slow-Vakia” building on “Oh Well” two songs earlier and leading into the low-end shovefest “Stuck for Decades,” which you think is going to let you breathe and then doesn’t, the noisier “Double Somersault” and closer/longest song “Tail Chasing” (5:13) taking the blink-and-it’s-over quiet part in “Amnesia” and building it out over a dynamic finish. The more you listen, the more you’re gonna hear, of course, but on the most basic level, the adaptable nature of their sound results in a markedly individual take. It’s the kind of thing 10 labels might want to release.
One might be tempted to think of Porto-based funeral doomers OAK as a side-project for guitarist/vocalist Guilherme Henriques, bassist Lucas Ferrand and drummer Pedro Soares, the first two of whom play currently and the latter formerly of also-on-Season–of–Mist extreme metallers Gaerea, but that does nothing to take away from the substance of the single-song full-length Disintegrate, which plies its heft in emotionality, ambience and tone alike. Throughout 44 minutes, the three-piece run an album’s worth of a gamut in terms of tempo, volume, ebbs and flows, staying grim all the while but allowing for the existence of beauty in that darkness, no less at some of the most willfully grueling moments. The rise and fall around 20 minutes in, going from double-kick-infused metallurgy to minimal standalone guitar and rebuilding toward death-growl-topped nod some six minutes later, is worth the price of admission alone, but the tortured ending, with flourish either of lead guitar or keys behind the shouted layers before moving into tremolo payoff and the quieter contemplation that post-scripts, shouldn’t be missed either. Like any offering of such extremity, Disintegrate won’t be for everyone, but it makes even the air you breathe feel heavier as it draws you into the melancholic shade it casts.
“Are we cursed?” “Is this living?” “Are we dying?” These are the questions asked after the on-rhythm sampled orgasmic moaning abates on the slow-undulating title-track of Ultra Void‘s Mother of Doom. Billed as an EP, the five-songer skirts the line of full-length consideration at 31 minutes — all the more for its molten flow as punctuated by the programmed drums — and finds the Brooklynite outfit revamped as a solo-project for Jihef Garnero, who moves from that leadoff to let the big riff do most of the talking in the stoned-metal “Sic Mundus Creatus Est” and the raw self-jam of the nine-minute “Måntår,” which holds back its vocals for later and is duly hypnotic for it. Shorter and more rocking, “Squares & Circles” maintains the weirdo vibe just the same, and at just three and a half minutes, “Special K” closes out in similar fashion with perhaps more swing in the rhythm. With those last two songs offsetting the down-the-life-drain spirit of the first three, Mother of Doom seems experimental in its construction — Garnero feeling his way into this new incarnation of the band and perhaps also recording and mixing himself in this context — but the disillusion comes through as organic, and whether we’re living or dying (spoiler: dying), that gives these songs the decisive “ugh” with which they seem to view the world around them.
Italian trio Aktopasa — also stylized as Akṭōpasa, if you’re in a fancy mood — seem to revel in the breakout moments on their second long-player and Argonauta label debut, Journey to the Pink Planet, as heard in the crescendo nod and boogie, respectively, of post-intro opener “Calima” (10:27) and closer “Foreign Lane” (10:45), the album’s two longest tracks and purposefully-placed bookends around the other songs. Elsewhere, the Venice-based almost-entirely-instrumentalists drift early in “It’s Not the Reason” — which actually features the record’s only vocals near its own end, contributed by Mattia Filippetto — and tick boxes around the tenets of heavy psychedelic microgenre, from the post-Colour Haze floating intimacy at the start of “Agarthi” to the fuzzy and fluid jam that branches out from it and the subsequent “Sirdarja” with its tabla and either sitar or guitar-as-sitar outset and warm-toned, semi-improv-sounding jazzier conclusion. From “Alif” (the intro) into “Calima” and “Lunar Eclipse,” the intent is to hypnotize and carry the listener through, and Aktopasa do so effectively, giving the chemistry between guitarist Lorenzo Barutta, bassist Silvio Tozzato and drummer Marco Sebastiano Alessi a suitably natural showcase and finding peace in the process, at least sonically-speaking, that’s then fleshed out over the remainder. A record to breathe with.
There’s heavy metal somewhere factored into the sound of Philadelphia’s Troll Teeth, but where it resides changes. The band — who here work as a four-piece for the first time — unveil their Underground Vol. 1 EP with four songs, and each one has a different take. In “Cher Ami,” the question is what would’ve happened if Queens of the Stone Age were in the NWOBHM. In “Expired,” it’s whether or not the howling of the two guitars will actually melt the chug that offsets it. It doesn’t, but it comes close to overwhelming in the process. On “Broken Toy” it’s can something be desert rock because of the drums alone, and in the six-minute closer “Garden of Pillars” it’s Alice in Chains with a (more) doomly reimagining and greater melodic reach in vocals as compared to the other three songs, but filled out with a metallic shred that I guess is a luxury of having two guitars on a record when you haven’t done so before. Blink and you’ll miss its 17-minute runtime, but Troll Teeth have four LPs out through Electric Talon, including 2022’s Hanged, Drawn, & Quartered, so there’s plenty more to dig into should you be so inclined. Still, if the idea behind Underground Vol. 1 was to scope out whether the band works as constructed here, the concept is proven. Yes, it works. Now go write more songs.
Lead track “Jukai” hasn’t exploded yet before Finis Hominis‘ Sordidum Est EP has unveiled the caustic nature of its bite in scathing feedback, and what ensues from there gives little letup in the oppressive, extreme sludge brutality, which makes even the minute-long “Cavum Nigrum” sample-topped drone interlude claustrophobic, never mind the assault that takes place — fast first, then slow, then crying, then slow, then dead — on nine-minute capper “Lorem Ipsum.” The bass hum that begins centerpiece “Improportionatus” is a thread throughout that 7:58 piece, the foundation on which the rest of the song resides, the indecipherable-even-if-they-were-in-English growls and throat-tearing shouts perfectly suited to the heft of the nastiness surrounding. “Jukai” has some swing in the middle but hearing it is still like trying to inhale concrete, and “Sinne Floribus” is even meaner and rawer, the Brazilian trio resolving in a devastating and noise-caked, visceral regardless of pace or crash, united in its alienated feel and aural punishment. And it’s their first EP! Jesus. Unless they’re actually as unhinged as they at times sound — possible, but difficult — I wouldn’t at all expect it to be their last. A band like this doesn’t happen unless the people behind it feel like it needs to, and most likely it does.
With its title maybe referring to the communion among players and the music they’re making in the moment of its own heavy psych jams, Losing Time Finding Space is the second studio full-length from Belfast instrumentalist unit Space Shepherds. The improvised-sounding troupe seem to have a lineup no less fluid than the material they unfurl, but the keyboard in “Ending the Beginning (Pt. 1)” gives a cinematic ambience to the midsection, and the fact that they even included an intro and interlude — both under two minutes long — next to tracks the shortest of which is 12:57 shows a sense of humor and personality to go along with all that out-there cosmic exploratory seeking. Together comprising a title-track, “Losing Time…” (17:34) and “…Finding Space” (13:27) are unsurprisingly an album unto themselves, and being split like “Ending the Beginning” speaks perhaps of a 2LP edition to come, or at very least is emblematic of the mindset with which they’re approaching their work. That is to say, as they move forward with these kinds of mellow-lysergic jams, they’re not unmindful either of the listener’s involvement in the experience or the prospect of realizing them in the physical as well as digital realms. For now, an hour’s worth of longform psychedelic immersion will do nicely, thank you very much.
They’re not wrong, you know, about the strangeness. When Brooklyn trio The Golden Grass, born a decade ago out of the harmony-prone collaboration between vocalist/guitarist Michael Rafalowich and vocalist/drummer Adam Kriney, released their first tape, 456th Div. (review here), it was a different time. And make no mistake, life was pretty strange then too, but the sunshiny melodic focus and unironic classic early-1970s heavy rock spirit they wrought on that 2013 EP and their subsequent, Svart-issued 2014 self-titled full-length debut (review here) distinguished them as an unapologetically optimistic presence in the heavy underground.
Throughout the remainder of heavy ’10s, The Golden Grass grew increasingly progressive, signing to Listenable Records for 2016’s Coming Back Again (review here) — their first with bassist/backing vocalist Frank Caira in the lineup — and their 2018 third album, Absolutely (review here), while touring internationally, amassing a reputation as craft-minded artists digging into their approach with a mind toward continued growth and flourishing of sound, and a sound that was made to flourish and grow. Melody, always, at the core.
That was half a decade ago, and what a five years it’s been. They did the live album, Heavy Colour in 2020, and the title-track of 2019’s 100 Arrows EP (review here) appears as the centerpiece on their fourth long-player, the Heavy Psych Sounds-delivered Life is Much Stranger, so at least some of the material on the seven-song/37-minute offering dates back that far, and you’ll pardon me if I spare you (and myself) recounting the multifaceted and encompassing trauma clusterfuck that the unfolding of the 2020s was and still is, but it leaves the looming question over Life is Much Stranger: is there a place in this world for The Golden Grass?
Life is Much Stranger opens with its longest piece (immediate points) in the six-minute “Howlin'” (premiered here) and the first lyrics of the record as delivered by Kriney would seem to be an acknowledgement of the bent timeline in which the album manifests. The initial verse begins, “I just don’t wanna carry on/’Cuz all my friends are dead and gone,” and has been the case all along in their work, that’s not accidental. The Golden Grass have always been a considered band, and that remains true on Life is Much Stranger as, they mostly take the issue head on, and much of what follows is informed by that perspective laid out right there in “Howlin’.”
Note that it’s not “I can’t carry on,” it’s “I don’t wanna.” This is a huge difference in terms of where the speaker is coming from in terms of mental state. Elsewhere in the proceedings, they explore the somewhat cynical “Not Without its Charm” — that cynicism is set to tambourine-inclusive Humble Pie-style funk boogie, mind you — and twisting leads from Rafalowich over Kriney‘s steady snare taps in “Island in Your Head” on side A, its proto-metallic central riff nestled a companion for second cut “Springtime on Stanwoods,” the “she’s a bad go-getter” chorus there feeling more like escapism than narrative after the confession of the opener, even with the woodblock keeping time. For a band whose initial purpose was in no small part to keep it light, some of the sentiment on Life is Much Stranger feels pretty heavy.
But if one would ask why, look no further than the title. Recorded by Andrea Zavareei, Lou DeRose and Kriney (who also helmed additional tracking afterward) at Urban Spaceman in Brooklyn with mixing by Jeff Berner at Studio G and mastering by Myles Boisen at Headless Buddha, the overarching vibe of Life is Much Stranger is one of reclaiming that space that the band once occupied in their listeners’ consciousness. From less capable songwriters, the contradictions between theme and their sonic expression — that is, the feel of the tracks themselves — would be too incongruous to coincide, but The Golden Grass are accordingly fluid on Life is Much Stranger, true to what they’ve done in the past while seeking out new ways to groove in hard times.
Kriney and Rafalowich mostly swap lead vocal duties — Kriney starts with “Howlin'” while Rafalowich picks up “Springtime on Stanwoods,” Kriney does “Island in Your Head” and “100 Arrows,” Rafalowich “Not Without its Charm,” Kriney the penultimate “The Answers Never Know” and Rafalowich the closer “A Peculiar Situation” — while complementing each other’s work thoughtfully. They trade lines and verses (nothing is so one-or-the-other cut and dry), come together in the rampant hooks for lush but willfully unpretentious arrangements, with Caira backing while thickening the twisting progression at the finish of “Island in Your Head,” underscoring the prowling shuffle that emerges following the Scorpions-esque harmony about 90 seconds into “The Answers Never Know,” and insuring via smoothness of tone in “A Peculiar Situation” that they cap on a highlight.
Across the span, the songs are bright in the high end, with shimmering guitar and outgoing vocals working against the more introverted aspects, and are perhaps that much more urgent for the sincerity of the search The Golden Grass are undertaking, which almost makes it a shame they already put out a record called Coming Back Again when one considers the back-at-it nature of this outing, arriving after the longest break between albums of the band’s career to-date. Rafalowich seems to answer Kriney direct in the first verse of “A Peculiar Situation” with the lines, “Trying to keep it together/But my mind’s like a restless child,” and that’s as much emblematic of the cohesion of purpose in The Golden Grass as the down/up nature of Life is Much Stranger as anything else, but one should not understate the sense of release in this material.
To most humans, finding catharsis in realizing existential angst in uptempo positivist boogie rock might be counterintuitive. It’s another day at the office for The Golden Grass, and they offer reassurance to their audience both in the ease of movement in “Island in Your Head” and the sweet jazzy meander tucked into “Springtime on Stanwoods” as well as the crisp, pro-shop production, chops-heavy-but-not-too-showy performances captured, and the unhurried nature of their transitions. Does Life is Much Stranger succeed in shaking off the negativity of its era? It’ll be impossible to know until they do another if they do (one never knows), but no question they take the untethered atmosphere of the time since Absolutely came out and use it to sculpt relatable and engaging songs, conveying exhaustion without giving the impression of actually being exhausted.
So, to return to the question, is there a place in this world for The Golden Grass? Was there ever? Is there a place for anyone? I’m not sure, but the fact remains that they tapped into something distinctly theirs 10 years ago, and in the tumult-defined years since have only managed to move it forward in style and substance. And there’s depth to Life is Much Stranger that goes beyond the layered voices singing out through the headphones. That they even made fourth record is heartening, never mind actually hearing the thing, and if offering comfort is going to be the hallmark of this era of their work, they appear ready for it and up to the task. They’re survivors and they sound like it.
Brooklyn-based semi-industrial, post-punk-informed heavy goth rockers Matte Black were last heard from with the dark-grey hued fuzz of Psyche in 2019, their third full-length continuing a progression that sees them mark a decade in 2023 since their first offering, Lowlands. On May 5, and subsequently on June 2, the band will offer two follow-ups in their fourth and fifth records, titled Portrait and Landscape, respectively.
Their lineup has been pared down at least for these releases to guitarist, bassist, vocalist, keyboardist, thereminist, etc.-ist Matthew McAlpin and drummer Fidel Vazquez — both also of MatteBlack‘s psych-tinged sister band Dead Satellites — but the music remains expansive, even though Portrait‘s 10 songs only run 26 minutes and Landscape‘s 12-song/48-minute stretch is comprised of often-minimal works on piano titled in Roman numerals “I” through “XII,” some of which, like the 5:27 “V” — longer than anything on Portrait, and not the longest on Landscape as the subsequent “VI” tops six minutes — get so quiet as to barely be audible. But they are both full-lengths, despite Portrait‘s brevity, and are obviously intended as complementary releases. I haven’t tried playing them at the same time to see if they synch up anywhere, but with shades of Badalamenti in Landscape‘s “X” and the second half of Portrait‘s “Pontifica” proving once and for all that Ministry was a punk band, it’s worth remembering that we live in a universe of infinite possibilities.
Premiering below, “Mr. Whispers” is both opener and longest track (immediate points) on Portrait, and it begins with a roll that reminds distinctly of Elephant Tree‘s “Sails” after a quick buildup; a strident launch to a procession of songs most of which aren’t half as long, with a hint of bleak psychedelia in the keys later and a grounded hook of lyrical repetition — the album doesn’t make you wait long for the theremin, either — setting up a wide spectrum that only grows more expansive as “Obliterate” picks up with a riff transposed from desert rock to whisper-topped rain-glistening-on-sidewalk-at-night vibes, echoing melodic reach later over deep-mixed keyboard drama cutting off after two minutes because screw it what’s the point of anything anyway. “Deep Dive,” “The Game” and the goth-kids-dancing-in-space “Take the Hit” are similarly riff-based, but that base rests deep beneath despondent theatrics in the vocals and varies in its overarching degree of intensity, as demonstrated in the shout before the last shove and sample-topped crashes of “Pontifica” or the make-the-darkness-swing ethic of “Obliterate.”
At 1:33, “No Time” is the shortest piece on either record, with McAlpin working vocals over keys alone in brooding but not inactive fashion, coffee-and-cigarettes in mood but with the easy cool of its own urbanity behind it. It’s also not the last hint Portrait drops as regards the fare on Landscape, with the later serenity that builds to the mellow rocker verse of “Remains” ahead of the penultimate “At the End” drawing the line in guitar between goth and black metal and the concluding “I Love You” standalone piano in a clear moment of transition from one release to the next that’s nonetheless a fitting conclusion to the album on which it appears. Like much of Portrait, that finale begs closer examination, and in its expression it comes across as no less crucial than the crunch in the pairing of “Deep Dive” and “The Game” earlier on, particularly when one considers the aural thematic fleshed out in Landscape to come.
There are moments throughout the numbered proceedings that will inevitably take listeners to different places, whether it’s Beethoven‘s “Moonlight Sonata” on “I” or some of Anathema‘s later musings on the string-sound-inclusive “VI,” but the intention is immersion, and the sit-still-and-listen aspect of Landscape, the gentle piano strikes of “IV” and the soft wobble-drone behind “XI,” will present a challenge to brains perpetually on fire with a given day’s urgencies. It’s not so much a reminder to breathe — though maybe it’s that too — as a reminder to feel, and although there’s palpable longing in the sparse notes of “XII” or the evocative-of-realization “VII” (also premiering below), that comes paired with a kind of serenity as well. Maybe not peaceful, but accepting. Composed and played by McAlpin alone,Landscape is entirely instrumental and feels somewhat experimental for that; certainly Psyche and the prior Halloween 2015 LP, Dust of This Planet had their ambience, the latter tapping Western spaces for its closer “Rio de las Animas Perdidas,” but the shift in focus, as an exploration of aural purpose, is distinct, however related it might otherwise be to Matte Black‘s general style.
One way or the other, Landscape lands a bit like the resonant echoes of Portrait, and taken in succession — which I acknowledge listeners won’t be able to do until both are actually released in their entirety, but, well, they’ll be ‘out’ for much longer than they’re ‘coming out,’ so I’ll argue relevance of the full front-to-back two-album cycle given their complementary nature — it’s that much easier to be subsumed in the piano and drone of “II,” the relaxing electronica of “III” marked with subtly foreboding low end swells, and the more purely tonal-dronal excursion that is “VIII” before the more sci-fi keyboard of “IX” reminds of just how seamless McAlpin makes the blending of organic and inorganic elements. Neither Landscape nor Portrait will be for everybody, and they’re not intended to be, but the atmospheric breadth cast in both is bound to grab willing ears, and the movement across Portrait — not manic or lacking poise, but quick nonetheless — and its contrast of not-actually-still-but-sounds-still in Landscape are emblematic of a band being willing to take chances outside of genre in a way not everyone is willing or able to do.
Keep an open mind as you listen to “Mr. Whispers” and “VII” below, and be patient in letting the material go where it does. It’s not the kind of thing I cover all the time, but neither is its value limited to the novelty of that. In any case, I’ve included the tracklistings for Portrait and Landscape below (with time stamps) and recording info, for clarity’s sake.
I hope you enjoy:
Matte Black, “Mr. Whispers” track premiere
Matte Black, “VII” track premiere
Portrait: All songs written + performed by Matte Black Tracks 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 9 recorded + mixed by Charles Burst at The Belvedere Inn in Stamford, NY Track 5 recorded by Matthew McAlpin + mixed by Mitch Rackin Track 8 recorded + mixed by Mitch Rackin at Deep Dive Recording in Brooklyn, NY Track 10 recorded + mixed by Matthew McAlpin Additional recording and production on tracks 3, 6, 9 by Mitch Rackin Mastering by Mitch Rackin at Deep Dive Recording
Tracklisting: 1. Mr Whispers 04:59 2. Obliterate 02:22 3. Deep Dive 01:59 4. The Game 02:49 5. No Time 01:33 6. Pontifica 02:24 7. Take the Hit 02:17 8. Remains 02:29 9. At the End 03:28 10. I Love You 01:35
Landscape: All songs written + performed by Matte Black Recorded, mixed, + produced by Matthew McAlpin at LXS Mastering by Mitch Rackin at Deep Dive Recording
Tracklisting: 1. I 02:26 2. II 03:38 3. III 04:18 4. IV 04:15 5. V 05:26 6. VI 06:27 7. VII 03:47 8. VIII 03:57 9. IX 04:08 10. X 03:46 11. XI 04:01 12. XII 02:29
Thirty years of River Runs Red hardly seems like enough, which I suppose makes it fortunate that the count will keep going. The debut album from Brooklyn four-piece Life of Agony, released in 1993 through a very-much-not-owned-by-a-major-label Roadrunner Records — though I seem to recall getting the CD from Columbia House, so distro was on point — is not shy about showing its age. Produced by Type O Negative‘s Josh Silver with that band’s former drummer, Sal Abruscato, on drums with a sound that will be recognizable to anyone who’s heard Bloody Kisses, which came out a couple months before — August as opposed to October — LOA‘s first record was ahead of its time in a few ways in the manner in which it borrowed toughguy swagger and thud from New York Hardcore (and I capitalized the genre name there because ‘Hardcore’ was a sixth borough back then) and blended it with an emotional fragility that aligned the band in perspective with the then-nascent sing-about-your-crappy-upbringing nü-metal movement as typified by the emergence of Korn‘s debut the next year and the boom it would help inspire through the remainder of the 1990s.
They could be brash like knucklehead forerunners Biohazard with the intense and maddeningly catchy opener “This Time,” “Respect” or the semi-rapped “Method of Groove” — the rap-rock thing, also just getting going back then; words like “cultural appropriation” didn’t exist yet — deeply weighted as in “Words and Music,” with its gang-shout chorus, righteously preaching in “Underground,” or they could showcase some genuine fragility, as also done in “Bad Seed” or “Words and Music” with their barely audible keyboard (a daring inclusion at that point) and soaring, wrenching vocal performances, particularly in respective second-half slowdowns, or “Through and Through,” the chorus of which seems to embody the ethic put forth in “Words and Music,” finding support in community, friendship, and volume. And they did it while remaining consistent with a thickness of sound and aggressive spirit that the band — then comprised of Abruscato, who stuck around for 1995’s brilliant Ugly before departing for 1997’s Soul Searching Sun (he now plays in A Pale Horse Named Death), as well as bassist/principal songwriter Alan Robert (anyone remember Among Thieves?) vocalist/keyboardist Mina Caputo (anyone remember Freax?), guitarist Joey Zampella (anyone remember Stereomud?) — would never have again. It was a one-time thing; a record made by kids that hit enough of a nerve that they came through here like two weeks ago touring it for the anniversary. There’s a big part of me that wishes I’d gone; I was all over River Runs Again in 2003 when they first got back after their breakup. Alas.
Running 13 tracks — 10 songs and three ‘skits’ titled after the weekdays “Monday,” “Thursday” and “Friday” in which an unnamed teenaged protagonist loses his job, girlfriend, gets shit from his nasal-voiced NY-accent mom, and, finally, slits his wrists in a bit of proto-ASMR that’s still jarring to hear — and 50 minutes, River Runs Red is definitely a CD-era progression, but the material invariably holds up as one would hope for a classic album, speaking to the point at which they were written and by now more than a little nostalgic, but still aurally forceful and heavy in its procession. Suicide is the theme, whether it’s in “River Runs Red” itself, or “My Eyes” — “Just give me one reason to live/I’ll give you three to die” — “Through and Through,” “Bad Seed” or pre-“Friday” finale “The Stain Remains.” Opening with its longest track (immediate points) in the 5:41 “This Time,” the language of depression almost immediate in the lyrics as delivered by Caputo, who channeled youthful disaffection into a rousing, dynamic and distinct performance, just as able to dwell in the quiet space of the intros to “Bad Seed” or “The Stain Remains” as the coursing shove of the title-track and the anthemic “calling from the underground” that set so much of the tone for the record. Whether brooding, raging or soaring, River Runs Red is a dense-toned gamut, and it remains visceral these three decades after the fact.
I hear it with different ears as an adult, and different ears as a parent, especially as relates to the conversations happening between the songs themselves, as with “Bad Seed” dealing with the fallout of a parent killing themselves and “My Eyes” a few songs later not seeing the devastating effect the speaker’s own suicide would have on those around them, or in the community celebration of “Underground” and “Words and Music” when taken together, the talk of brotherhood, etc., emblematic of the band’s roots in hardcore while taking at least in part a new direction in sound. Even the way “Bad Seed” and “This Time” form a narrative (reversed order in the tracklisting, but still) of a broken home and a kid who — even before the current teen mental health crisis — needed help and didn’t get it, further conveyed in the three skits, which like “Method of Groove” or “Respect” or even “Underground” are a hallmark of their day but interact with the surrounding material in complementary ways, forming the linear story that ends with “The Stain Remains” seeming to pick up where “Bad Seed” left off lyrically. Therapy for everyone.
I won’t claim to have been on board with it from the time of the release — my only excuse is I was 11 — but I recall as clearly as I can through what was a resoundingly beery fog hearing it with new ears when I got to college and was on staff at the radio station WSOU, where Life of Agony were a mainstay. And amid strong associations there of being a part of something bigger than my own ego, I have loved this album deeply. Between the aforementioned River Runs Again 20 years ago, the major-label flirtation of 2005’s return LP Broken Valley or the seeming acceptance of where they came from in their most recent work — 2017’s A Place Where There’s No More Pain and 2019’s The Sound of Scars — the legacy of their debut looms significantly in the arc of their career as more than just memories of who they were when they started. It’s not timeless and it would be wrong to expect it to be, but there was precious little like it when it came out and 30 years later I’m just thankful it exists at all to be revisited like old friends and, maybe, family.
As always, I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading.
—
A frustrating morning after a frustrating week with which I would be glad to be done if it being the weekend made any difference in terms of relief, which it doesn’t.
And rather than go on, I’m gonna leave it there this time. Thanks for reading, have a great and safe weekend. Next week is full and I’m already behind on news so there you go. Wa. Hoo.
Posted in Bootleg Theater on January 20th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
Now pared down to a solo-project from Jihef Garnero, Brooklyn’s Ultra Void herald the coming of their new album with the new single/video “Mother of Doom.” Garnero, who was one of three songwriters and served as bassist/vocalist/mixer on Ultra Void‘s 2021 self-titled debut EP, steps forward as multi-instrumentalist, frontman and auteur, and the sound of the band, which had been a swampy, sludgy kind of heavy rock, groovy but able to veer into and out of screamier and more aggressive sludge, has taken a turn for the dark.
At just under seven minutes, “Mother of Doom” rumbles to life and fades in the slog of its drums. The tones are punchy and fuzzed and layered (obviously), with a solo kicking in hard after the first minute ahead of sampled moans presumably of pleasure. Garnero rides that groove for a bit and brings the first vocals at about 2:05, also layered, a kind of harsh and clean chant combined, cultish, forward in the mix, but fitting the slog vibe of the song as a whole. They may take some getting used to, but if you can go with it, you should. The verse ends and there’s a buried laughing sample, some purely Cathedral-style spoken word lines, and then the title hook is delivered for the first time, another solo coming in behind for the middle section of it.
There’s a bridge and the line “Are we dying?” leads to a longer solo over the central riff, which is hypnotic in kind with the atmosphere of lysergic, somewhat deranged, lurch. “Mother of Doom” cycles through its chorus again at around the six-minute mark, and finishes there with residual noise, cutting to silence where the next song on the album — title TBA — might kick in. One of the aspects that made Ultra Void‘s first outing so engaging was the band’s ability to explore different influences in their songs while tying them together via tone and general atmosphere. I don’t know what the rest of the band’s next release will sound like, but “Mother of Doom” is a roil of psychedelic doom that’s bleaker than anything the prior EP had on offer. What it may foretell remains a mystery for the time being.
Classic horror and B-movie clips compiled together by Spencer Maxwell make up the video, and while Ultra Void aren’t the first to employ the method — also I’m pretty sure I’ve seen at least one of these movies on Mystery Science Theater 3000 — it does fit better and more hypnotically with “Mother of Doom” than for many, and the effects manipulation put on the track make it even more suitable, while familiar. In any case, I don’t think anyone’s claiming to be first on anything here, but it’s a fascinating turn from the EP — not to mention the complete reconstruction of the band — and I’ll be interested to hear the rest of the record when the opportunity may present itself.
Till then, enjoy:
Ultra Void, “Mother of Doom” video premiere
When I originally recorded the song it was only bass and drums. On the verse the chords kept ringing in expanding waves. Hitting the riffs on the 1st and the 4th beat made it sound ominous and disorienting. I had a mental picture of a cracking glacier with the wind blowing ferociously. I knew the theme of nature was the DNA of the song but I didn’t have a clear direction yet.
Then I thought about the ancient pagan tribes and wondered what life would be like if a thunderstorm for instance would be seen as a punishment from the gods. So “Mother Of Doom” is just that. A little horror story of a pagan society trying to survive by way of sacrifice to the mother of us all.
It is a reminder that even though we know better these days we’re still not in charge. Experiencing the lockdown was truly brutal in that regard. It almost happened overnight. All of the sudden you were on your own trying to figure out the best way to survive knowing that the immediate future was a blurry concept at best. Dealing with somber thoughts was expected:
“Are we cursed, are we dying, are we lied to, is this living ?”
The idea of an offrand or sacrifice is also my way of saying too much compromise can kill a man.
You’re trying your best to navigate the ups and downs – “play with us, play against us”, trying your best to make things work and you woke up one day feeling like some “broken souls”.
The video was edited by Spencer Maxwell @orangeechofilms. I am really excited to share it. It’s a work of art. It’s like the doom is pouring out of every frame.
It doesn’t feel like that long since the last time The Golden Grass had an album out until you remember that 2018 was five years ago. That record, Absolutely (review here), seemed to push its more progressive impulses against the band’s established modus of classic heavy rock, sometimes-boogie, sometimes-jammy songwriting. They issued their 100 Arrows EP (review here) in 2019 to take on tour in Europe, but the upcoming Life is Much Stranger is their first offering since then, and can anyone think of anything major that’s happened over the course of those years since? Hmm?
Yeah, you don’t have to go far to find at least an interpretation (if not the interpretation) for the title of The Golden Grass‘ fourth full-length, and while they emerge from the figurative plague-bunker like so many others, take a look around and assess the state of the world around them, the seven songs on Life is Much Stranger sound accordingly like a reset. I’ll spare you the review (for now), but in addition to the album announcement below, you’ll find the premiere of “Howlin’,” which is the opener and longest track (immediate points), on the player below, marrying together upbeat shuffle with bluesier lyrics. Recommend you dig into that and enjoy with the promise of more to come.
Life is Much Stranger is out April 7, 2023, as The Golden Grass‘ first release through Heavy Psych Sounds. Preorder link and more follows, courtesy of the PR wire:
Band quote: “The Golden Grass is thrilled to be an official part of the HPS family one of the best contemporary true underground heavy rock/psych labels! In 2012 while on tour with my old band La Otracina I was high on LSD and I wandered upon a late-night psychedelic Dunajam freakout on the beach in Sardinia Italy and immediately began drumming with them. After the music stopped is when I first met HPS label-head Gabriele who was playing bass in this impromptu supergroup. Since then we have stayed great friends and it has been a pleasure to watch his label grow exponentially and for HPS to become our natural new home! We look forward to growing with HPS and keeping shit weird heavy and boogie-ing into the wild unknowns!” – Adam/The Golden Grass
Band bio: Hard and heavy swinging progressive boogie rock…that’s THE GOLDEN GRASS! This NYC power trio embodies the glory of harmony filled catchy and tough rock n roll of the 60s/70s! But these boys are no revisionists! They are post-modern collagists connecting the dots between heavy glam rock boogie jazzy psychedelia stompin’ proto-metal bluesy prog rock and southern hard rock! They weave a NEW and NOW sonic tapestry a linear and logical aural narrative that pushes beyond and delivers a show stopping feel-good golden sound that is NEEDED in these dark times! Formed in 2013 the band has released an impressive discography on esteemed underground labels such as Svart Records Electric Assault Records Listenable Records and Who Can You Trust? Records. In 2023 they will release their 4th studio LP on Heavy Psych Sounds Records !!
THE GOLDEN GRASS is: Adam Kriney – drums/lead vocals Michael Rafalowich – electric guitar/lead vocals Frank Caira – electric bass guitar/backing vocals
Posted in Reviews on January 2nd, 2023 by JJ Koczan
Here we are. Welcome to 2023 and to both the first Quarterly Review of this year and the kind of unofficial closeout of 2022. These probably won’t be the last writeups for releases from the year just finished — if past is prologue, I’ll remain months if not years behind in some cases; you do what you can — but from here on out it’s more about this year than last in the general balance of what’s covered. That’s the hope, anyway. Talk to me in April to see how it’s going.
I won’t delay further except to remind that we’ll do 10 reviews per day between now and next Friday for a total of 100 covered, and to say thanks if you keep up with it at all. I hope you find something that resonates with you, otherwise there’s not much point in the endeavor at all. So here we go.
Winter 2023 Quarterly Review #1-10:
Buddha Sentenza, High Tech Low Life
With a foundation in instrumental meditative heavy psychedelia, Heidelberg, Germany’s Buddha Sentenza push outward along a number of different paths across their third album, High Tech Low Life, as in the second of five cuts, “Anabranch,” which builds on the mood-setting linear build and faster payoff of opener “Oars” and adds both acoustic guitar, metal-impact kick drum and thrash-born (but definitely still not entirely thrash) riffing, and later, heavier post-rock nod in the vein of Russian Circles, but topped with willfully grandiose keyboard. Kitchensinkenalia, then! “Ricochet” ups the light to a blinding degree by the time it’s two and a half minutes in, then punks up the bass before ending up in a chill sample-topped stretch of noodle-prog, “Afterglow” answers that with careening space metal, likewise progressive comedown, keyboard shred, some organ and hand-percussion behind Eastern-inflected guitar, and a satisfyingly sweeping apex, and 12-minute finale “Shapeshifters” starts with a classic drum-fueled buildup, takes a victory lap in heavy prog shove, spends a few minutes in dynamic volume trades, gets funky behind a another shreddy solo, peaks, sprints, crashes, and lumbers confidently to its finish, as if to underscore the point that whatever Buddha Sentenza want to make happen, they’re going to. So be it. High Tech Low Life may be their first record since Semaphora (review here) some seven years ago, but it feels no less masterful for the time between.
Captured raw in self-produced fashion, the Sept. 2022 debut album from Magma Haze sees the four-piece embark on an atmospheric and bluesy take on heavy rock, weaving through grunge and loosely-psychedelic flourish as they begin to shape what will become the textures of their sound across six songs and 42 minutes that are patiently offered but still carry a newer band’s sense of urgency. Beginning with “Will the Wise,” the Bologna, Italy, outfit remind somewhat of Salt Lake City’s Dwellers with the vocals of Alessandro D’Arcangeli in throaty post-earlier-Alice in Chains style, but as they move through “Stonering” and the looser-swinging, drenched-in-wah “Chroma,” their blend becomes more apparent, the ‘stoner’ influence showing up in the general languidity of vibe that persists regardless of a given track’s tempo. To wit, “Volcanic Hill” with its bass-led sway at the start, or the wah behind the resultant shove, building up and breaking down again only to end on the run in a fadeout. The penultimate “Circles” grows more spacious in its back half with what might be organ but I’m pretty sure is still guitar behind purposefully drawn-out vocals, and closer “Moon” grows more distorted and encouragingly fuzzed in its midsection en route to a wisely understated payoff and resonant end. There’s potential here.
Instrumental in its entirety and offered with a companion visual component on Blu-ray with different cover art, The Kybalion is the ambitious, 40-minute single-song debut long-player from Richmond, Virginia’s Future Projektor. With guitarist/vocalist Adam Kravitz and drummer Kevin White — both formerly of sludgesters Gritter; White is also ex-Throttlerod — and Sean Plunkett on bass, the band present an impressive breadth of scope and a sense of cared-for craft throughout their immersive course, and with guitar and sometimes keys from Kravitz leading the way as one movement flows into the next, the procession feels not only smooth, but genuinely progressive in its reach. It’s not that they’re putting on a showcase for technique, but the sense of “The Kybalion” as built up around its stated expressive themes — have fun going down a Wikipedia hole reading about hermeticism — is palpable and the piece grows more daring the deeper it goes, touching on cinematic around 27 minutes in but still keeping a percussive basis for when the heavier roll kicks in a short time later. Culminating in low distortion that shifts into keyboard revelation, The Kybalion is an adventure open to any number of narrative interpretations even beyond the band’s own, and that only makes it a more effective listen.
Berlin duo Grin — one of the several incarnations of DIY-prone power couple Jan (drums, guitar, vocals, production) and Sabine Oberg (bass) alongside EarthShip and Slowshine — grow ever more spacious and melodic on Oct. 2022’s Phantom Knocks, their third full-length released on their own imprint, The Lasting Dose Records. Comprised of eight songs running a tight and composed but purposefully ambient 33 minutes with Sabine‘s bass at the core of airy progressions like that of “Shiver” or the rolling, harsh-vocalized, puts-the-sludge-in-post-sludge “Apex,” Phantom Knocks follows the path laid out on 2019’s Translucent Blades (review here) and blends in more extreme ideas on “Aporia” and the airy pre-finisher “Servants,” but is neither beholden to its float nor its crush; both are tools used in service to the moment’s expression. Because of that, Grin move fluidly through the entirety of Phantom Knocks, intermittently growing monstrous to fill the spaces they’ve created, but mindful as well of keeping those spaces intact. Inarguably the work of a band with a firm sense of its own identity, it nonetheless seems to reach out and pull the listener into its depths.
Though clearly part of Teverts‘ focus on The Lifeblood is toward atmosphere and giving its audience a sense of mood that is maintained throughout its six tracks, a vigorousness reminiscent of later Dozer offsets the post-rocking elements from the Benevento, Italy, three-piece. They are not the first to bring together earthy bass with exploratory guitar overtop and a solid drum underpinning, but after the deceptively raucous one-two of the leadoff title-track and “Draining My Skin,” the more patient unfurling of instrumental side A finale “Under Antares Light” — which boasts a chugging march in its midsection and later reaches that is especially righteous — clues that the full-fuzz stoner rock starting side B with the desert-swinging-into-the-massive-slowdown “UVB-76” is only part of the appeal rather than the sum of it. “Road to Awareness” portrays a metallic current (post-metal, maybe?) in its shouty post-intro vocals and general largesse, but wraps with an engaging and relatively spontaneous-sounding lead before “Comin’ Home” answers back to “The Lifeblood” and that slowdown in “UVB-76” in summarizing the stage-style energy and the vast soundscape it has inhabited all the while. They end catchy, but the final crescendo is instrumental, a big end of the show complete with cymbal wash and drawn solo notes. Bravo.
An engrossing amalgam of lurching extreme doom and blackened metal, the second long-player, Ex Est, by Tilburg, Netherlands’ Ggu:ll is likewise bludgeoning, cruel and grim in its catharsis. The agonies on display seem to come to a sort of wailing head in “Stuip” later on, but that’s well after the ultra-depressive course has been set by “Falter” and “Enkel Achterland.” In terms of style, “Hoisting Ruined Sails” moves through slow death and post-sludge, but the tonal onslaught is only part of the weight on offer, and indeed, Ggu:ll bring dark grey and strobe-afflicted fog to the forward, downward march of “Falter” and the especially raw centerpiece “Samt-al-ras,” setting up a contrast with the speedier guitar in the beginning minutes of closer “Voertuig der Verlorenen” that feels intentional even as the latter decays into churning, harsh noise. There’s a spiritual aspect of the work, but the shadow that’s cast in Ex Est defines it, and the four-piece bring precious little hope amid the swirling and destructive antilife. Because this is so clearly their mission, Ex Est is a triumph almost in spite of itself, but it’s a triumph just the same, even at its moments of most vigorous, slow, skin-peeling crawl.
Fulanno & The Crooked Whispers, Last Call From Hell
While one wouldn’t necessarily call it balanced in runtime with Argentina’s Fulanno offering about 19 minutes of material with Los Angeles’ The Crooked Whispers answering with about 11, their Last Call From Hell split nonetheless presents a two-track sampler of both groups’ cultish doom wares. Fulanno lumber through “Erotic Pleasures in the Catacombs” and “The Cycle of Death” with dark-toned Sabbath-worship-plus-horror-obsession-stoned-fuckall, riding central riffs into a seemingly violent but nodding oblivion, while The Crooked Whispers plod sharply in the scream-topped six minutes of “Bloody Revenge,” giving a tempo kick later on, and follow a steadier dirge pace with “Dig Your Own Grave” while veering into a cleaner, nasal vocal style from Anthony Gaglia (also of LáGoon). Uniting the two bands disparate in geography and general intent is the dug-in vibe that draws out over both, their readiness to celebrate a death-stench vision of riff-led doom that, while, again, differently interpreted by each, sticks in the nose just the same. Nothing else smells like death. You know it immediately, and it’s all over Last Call From Hell.
Not all is as it seems as Mister Earthbound‘s debut album, Shadow Work, gets underway with the hooky “Not to Know” and a riff that reminds of nothing so much as Valley of the Sun, but the key there is in the swing, since that’s what will carry over from the lead track to the remaining six on the 36-minute LP, which turns quickly on the mellow guitar strum of “So Many Ways” to an approach that feels directly drawn from Hisingen Blues-era Graveyard. The wistful bursts of “Coffin Callin'” and the later garage-doomed “Wicked John” follow suit in mood, while “Hot Foot Powder” is more party than pout once it gets going, and the penultimate “Weighed” has more burl to its vocal drawl and an edge of Southern rock to its pre-payoff verses, while the subsequent closer “No Telling” feels like a take on Chris Goss fronting Queens of the Stone Age for “Mosquito Song” on Songs for the Deaf, and yes, that is a compliment. The jury may be out on Mister Earthbound‘s ultimate aesthetic — that is, where they’re headed, they might not be yet — but Shadow Work has songwriting enough at its root that I wouldn’t mind if that jury doesn’t come back. Time will tell, but “multifaceted” is a good place to start when you’ve got your ducks in a row behind you as Mister Earthbound seem to here.
Surely retro sword-bearing theatrics are part of the appeal when it comes to Brooklyn’s potential-rife, signed-in-three-two-one-go doom rockers Castle Rat‘s live presentation, but as they make their studio debut with the four-and-a-half-minute single “Feed the Dream,” that’s not necessarily going to come across to all who take the track on. Fortunately for the band, then, the song is no less thought out. A mid-paced groove that puts the guitar out before the ensuing march and makes way purposefully for the vocals of Riley “The Rat Queen” Pinkerton — who also plays rhythm guitar, while Henry “The Count” Black plays lead, Ronnie “The Plague Doctor” Lanzilotta is on bass and Joshua “The Druid” Strmic drums — to arrive with due presence. With a capital-‘h’ Heavy groove underlying, they bask in classic metal vibes and display a rare willingness to pretend the ’90s never happened. This is to their credit. The sundry boroughs of New York City have had bands playing dress-up with various levels of goofball sex, violence and excess since before the days of Twisted Sister — to be fair, this is glam via anti-glam — but the point with Castle Rat isn’t so much that the idea is new but the interpretation of it is. On the level of the song itself, “Feed the Dream” sounds like a candle being lit. Get your fire emojis ready, if that’s still a thing.
Immediate impact. Mountains‘ Tides End is the London trio’s second long-player behind 2017’s Dust in the Glare (discussed here), and though overall it makes a point of its range, the first impression in opener “Moonchild” is that the band are already on their way and it’s on the listener to keep up. Life and death pervade “Moonchild” and the more intense “Lepa Radić,” which follows, but it’s hard to listen to those two at the beginning, the breakout in “Birds on a Wire,” the heavy roll of “Hiraeth” and the rumble at the core of “Pilgrim” without waiting for the other shoe to drop and for Mountains to more completely unveil their metallic side. It’s there in the guitar solos, the drums, even as “Pilgrim” reminds of somewhat of Green Lung in its clarity of vision, but to their credit, the trio get through “Empire” and “Under the Eaves” and most of “Tides End” itself before the chug swallows them — and the album, it seems — whole. A curious blend of styles, wholly modern, Tides End feels more aggressive in its purposes than did the debut, but that doesn’t at all hurt it as the band journey to that massive finish.
