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

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

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

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

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

Connecticut darkened self-sustaining metallers When the Deadbolt Breaks have announced a partnership with the recently-launched FuzzTown Records. The now-four-piece outfit is responsible for some seriously deranged, murderous, brutally slow doom, and as much as I’d like to give the album a review, ethics and the fact that I sing vocals on the track “As Flies for Flesh” oblige me otherwise. Suffice it to say, Deadbolt play some incredibly fucked up shit and every time I play it I feel like there should probably be pills to stop whatever it is I’m thinking.

Here’s the PR wire with the news and where you can get your free download of the new album, The Last Day of Sun.

FuzzTown Records is amped to announce the signing of psychedelic dirge metal vagabonds When the Deadbolt Breaks. Their devastating new release, The Last Day of Sun, is a double CD that promises to be the darkest and most musically evolved CD this cult of nomads has released to date.

This collection marks the next two twisted chapters in the audio mindfuck of producer/vocalist/guitarist Aaron Lewis. The band (rounded out by Mike Connor on drums, Jon Harrison on guitar and Roman Garbacik on bass and vocals), brings new levels of aggression to the songwriting all the while bathing The Last Day of Sun with endless depths of low-end riffage and trippy psychedelia.

To mark the launch of FuzzTown Records, a label dedicated to bringing new and innovative music to the public, we’re releasing When the Deadbolt Breaks’ The Last Day of Sun as a free download, exclusively through FuzzTown Records! Tell your friends, spread the word! Enjoy!

Download When the Deadbolt Breaks, The Last Day of Sun here.

Connecticut was where I ended up this past weekend after much back and forth indecisiveness. A familiar enough setting by now, I can even navigate around Wallingford without a map, which came in handy when for the third time (here’s the second) I stopped in at Red Scroll Records on North Colony and hit their precariously positioned used rack to see what I could find. Of note, they had both Croatan‘s Curse of the Red Queen and Soulpreacher‘s Sonic Witchcraft, which I picked up in Maryland at SHoD X, and there were a couple other points of interest along the way, but what I ended up leaving with, paramount in the haul, was Lamentations by UK epic doomers Solstice and Suspect Symmetry by Ontario sludge-grinders Buried Inside.

I’ll be honest, I almost didn’t buy the latter. After reviewing their latest record earlier in the year I barely listened to it, and Suspect Symmetry didn’t seem to justify my $7.50, but curiosity won out, and since this was the record that ostensibly got them signed to Relapse, I figured it was at least worthy of hearing. And yeah, I guess it was.

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It was a three-night tour and I, being a colonel among the weekend warriors, missed Friday night in Boston, but hopefully made up for it Saturday and Sunday in Maryland and Connecticut, respectively. Afforded a chance to catch the likes of Cortez, Ichabod and When the Deadbolt Breaks live two nights in a row, it was not an opportunity I was going to pass on. They called it the Amped for the End tour. Pristina was on the bill as well, but fuck Pristina. They blew Saturday, played their wannabe Meshuggahcore first and then split before the next band even went on. It’s not there were so many people there; it was basically the bands playing to each other and a few sporadic others. Splitting was a dick move.

Sunday they didn’t even show up. They live in Connecticut. Screw those guys. Who names a record Boner Jams?

The other three bands, by contrast, were killer. The sound at Krug’s Place in Frederick (where Stoner Hands of Doom X will be held next weekend) was a little muddy, but everyone seemed to be having a good time anyway, and it’s not like Deadbolt was about to break out the catchy corporate number that required absolute clarity. This is doom. Muddy works. It was clearer at the El n Gee in scenic New London the next night anyway, so in watching the three bands, you got a taste of both worlds.

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I never got around to writing up the official Buried Treasure entry for my first trip to Red Scroll Records on N. Colony St. in Wallingford, CT (it seems like everything in Wallingford is on N. Colony). The standouts in my mind now — and I’ll allow this is perhaps because I’m staring directly at that section on my CD rack — are an original issue of Saint Vitus‘ V on Roadrunner that may or may not be a European import, the Brownhouse release of Welcome to the Western Lodge by Masters of Reality and Acid King‘s Zoroaster. They also had a $15 copy of Dozer‘s In the Tail of a Comet, which I almost bought on principle even though I already owned it. There were many others.

It’s my wife’s family on the shore of the Long Island Sound in Connecticut, which is why I leave the valley so often on weekends and head up there, and in between my sister-in-law’s house and my grandmother-in-law’s house — wouldn’t you know it, just a short detour away — is Red Scroll Records. It was two Saturdays ago, maybe. Whenever the Clutch show wasn’t and not this past weekend. Come to think of it, it might have been a Tuesday. “Is this a weekday? What day is this?”

Regardless, the stipulation from The Patient Mrs. was that I had no longer than 13 minutes to do my shopping. Red Scroll Records is not especially large, but 13 minutes isn’t enough to properly peruse even the barest of used sections. Something is better than nothing. I issued myself the challenge: if I could find one CD in 13 minutes, I’d buy it.

So what the hell is challenging about that?

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I didn’t even know there was a Salem, Connecticut, let alone a burly heavy rock duo who’d been collectively named ruling monarch of it. King of Salem is comprised of drummer Mike Petrucci and guitarist/bassist/vocalist Simon Tuozzoli — who has played in Vestal Claret, Guerra and Earthlord — and are a sometime-studio project with three releases under their belt in their 11 year existence, including the latest, the independently produced?Prophecy, which came out last month in a limited physical pressing of 100 copies each on CD and vinyl. There is a downloadable version as well.

Prophecy is more straightforward in its origins than either the doomy Vestal Claret or Earthlord, but retains an element of riff rock that comes through on tracks like the boozy “Bonny Monster.” There’s a definite ’70s influence in Tuozzoli‘s guitar, but his vocals come from somewhere more metallic. On opener “Blood of the Enemy” they might feel a little too up front in the mix, but on the semi-title track “The Prophet” (which one assumes is the start of Side B on the vinyl if the artwork gives any clue) they fit right in, so a balance is struck. Musically too, King of Salem stems from more than just one place. The short bursts of “Feudal Lord” are classic rock to be sure, but “Matter of Time” has a more modern, melodic, almost Southern feel overall.

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When last I heard from bleak Connecticut doomers Sea of Bones, it was the 2006 Grave of the Mammoth EP, and since the track listing of that release was three songs titled as chapters I-III, and on the self-released cardboard digipak full-length The Harvest (which has apparently been out for a while but I just got my hands on), it’s IV-VI, I’m going to assume I didn’t miss anything between. Except maybe some growth on the band’s part, because while The Harvest retains the oppressive darkness of its predecessor, Sea of Bones have clearly thickened up their sound — evidenced in the massive, inhumane guitar tone of Tom after a few minutes of ambient intro on opener “Chapter IV.”

They’re down to a trio now after having whited out the name of second guitarist Al, but there’s nothing missing from the band, as densely packed as these songs are with sludge riffing. Kevin‘s drumming could stand to be higher in the mix, but the way the vocals of both Tom and Kevin plus bassist Gary are buried under the instruments as well it works in an encompassing and/or apocalyptic kind of way. Listening to The Harvest, you get the sense that this is the way things have to be. Hopelessness is nothing new to doom — particularly doom as afflicted as this — but Sea of Bones make an old aesthetic vital once again with their raw passion and unbridled turmoil.

The songs respectively check in at 17:20, 15:15 and 20:13 (saving the epic for last, obviously), and each one hypnotically traces a path from initial stillness to gratifying apex — sometimes going there more than once — taking structural cues from the post-metal set without giving themselves over completely to that sound. The tortured screams on “Chapter V” over the always-risky-in-doom double-kick drumming are particularly blood-curdling, and the song’s quicker pace gives it a different feel from the chapter right before. Sea of Bones are evolving and their music is becoming more complex. Not a bad thing.

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