Posted in Reviews on January 8th, 2024 by JJ Koczan
One should know immediately that the two bands involved in this split, Lotus Thief and Forlesen, are intricately connected. Lotus Thief‘s lineup has been an evolutionary process that here finds them a six-piece, but three of those six players — vocalist Beth “Bezaelith” Gladding (also bass, guitar, mandolin, synth), screamer Alex “Ascalaphus” Lindo and guitarist/synthesist Petit Albert Yeh — also make up 75 percent of Forlesen, which is completed by Sam “Maleus” Gutterman on drums. And Gutterman was in Maudlin of the Well (which begat Kayo Dot), and Gladding and Lindo were both in Botanist and Yeh has played with the piano-driven Wreche, who like both units here are also on I, Voidhanger Records.
Lotus Thief has Mohrany (Heather) on backing vocals, Romthulus (Kevin) on guitar and Sonnungr (who I would imagine was born with a different first name) on percussion alongside Gladding, Lindo and Gutterman, they and Forlesen both offer one mostly-side-consuming track around 12 minutes long — Lotus Thief‘s “In Perdition” is 11:56, Forlesen‘s “Black is the Color” checks in at 12:19 — while highlighting the similarities of mindset and the beyond-genre outreach each makes in its own direction. Not discounting anyone else’s contributions to the material, but it’s Gladding at Lotus Thief‘s conceptual core, and the band’s established methodology of adapting obscure ancient texts — “In Perdition” draws lines from the first story of Giovanni Boccaccio’s 1353 story collection The Decameron, which tells the tale of a Master Ciappelletto in suitably lofty religious tones. I don’t think you were allowed to write anything in Europe before 1700 that wasn’t about God. Ask Galileo. Or Copernicus.
But it is amid a spacious strum that Gladding sets the foundation for “In Perdition,” moving smoothly into harmony with Mohrany with an air of Americana that feels as much 16 Horsepower as all the talk of perdition and paradise put one in mind of Lingua Ignota, but at about two and a half minutes, Lotus Thief transition to a resonant melodic wash and from there burst out with soaring goth metal lead guitar (that is to say, soaring, but still sad) and a slow roll punctuated by Sonnungr‘s crash and plod. By the time another minute has passed, Lindo has arrived with the first screams and the entire context of the song has shifted, but that’s not to be unexpected considering the avant garde nature of both these bands. But the moment of post-extremity works well and when the fog clears, Lotus Thief take a moment to examine how the texture has changed in “In Perdition,” Gladding ultimately stepping forward for a next verse as the track heads toward its midpoint.
I’ll cop to a lack of familiarity with The Decameron, but the thing seems to be that Master Ciappelletto was “The worst of men,” and died without confession, was named a saint, and the point of the story seems to be he was an asshole. Fair enough. A blackened push, winding of riff, echoing of scream, charged and tense but progressive and melodic in ambience, gives over to a stately guitar solo before Gladding returns for a final verse and the fluid ending, which I don’t want to call doomgaze because it feels like an insult or a too-easy summary for such a headphone-worthy depth of layering, but at least on paper is an interpretation of the style.
It’s a comedown at the end, and it’s from there that Forlesen — who are the newer of the two bands, with two LPs out to Lotus Thief‘s three (not that it’s a contest) — pick up with the gradual forward percussive build, low rumble and vague melodic vocal of “Black is the Color,” which rises in its first four minutes to a crash-laced duet from Gladding and Lindo. A duly foreboding, brooding lumber takes hold, with charred whispers and screams far back as a hairier lead guitar accompanies strikes of piano in dramatic fashion.
And drama is for sure part of the crux for both Lotus Thief and Forlesen, the latter of whom issued a cover of Type O Negative‘s “Red Water (Christmas Mourning)” (posted here) last month in time for the holidays, and that influence can be heard in the lead guitar on “In Perdition” and “Black is the Color” as well, the latter oozing into an atmospheric slog laced with what might or might not actually be far-back screams and whispers, vague presences moving through, with grounding by the drums and piano as it turns to its most minimal point, with drum thud in open space, whispers, and crashes that feel inevitable as a next step forward on the marching progression. Yeh‘s piano is all the more resonant circa 7:45 just before Gladding and Lindo return on vocals (both clean singing), but when they do, the song has clearly hit its crescendo.
In it, Forlesen are poised enough to stand up to Lotus Thief “In Perdition,” but the backdrop against which that happens is darker, and however much both groups come across like they’re working to push their respective sounds — which are different, no matter how much they might have in common — as far into the unknown as they can, they’re still writing songs as a part of that process, it’s just what “song” means that changes, and that, as an ethic, is something to be admired. The repeated line, “We’ll be as one,” with Gladding in more of a lead spot mix-wise, caps the nodding last section of “Black is the Color,” and after all the lurch and distortion, it’s the quietly thudding drums and the melodic delivery of those lyrics that end the split, which in about 24 minutes’ time has given a fitting summation of what each of these projects is about, working on its own respective wavelength while complementary to the other.
Lotus Thief and Forlesen aren’t the first to put out a split while sharing members, and I’ll emphasize again that each has its own persona and purpose, and that those are brought to life with no less clarity than the tonal aspects or aesthetic intentions that might be common between them under a kind of progressive post-black metal/doom/this-genre-is-still-being-made-check-back-later-for-a-clever-name umbrella. By bringing the two entities together as they do here, what they’ve done is to essentially let each give a sampling of what they’re about in a way that, as neither act’s sound is particularly accessible despite being at least periodically gorgeous, allows those who might hesitate in the face of something so outsider-art, even in a heavy context, to take both on and get a preliminary understanding for what they’re about. To do so, especially for those who haven’t before, feels like a fast track to mind expansion.
Posted in Whathaveyou on December 13th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
Silent in terms of output since the release of their consuming second album Black Terrain (review here) late last year, now-Oregonian progressive post-black metallers Forlesen leave a mark on 2023 in seasonal form with the Type O Negative cover “Red Water (Christmas Mourning).” Originally on the seminal Brooklyn goth/doom metallers’ landmark 1996 LP, October Rust (discussed here), which fuck yes I listened to in high school, the track has been encased in obsidian and buried alive from the sound of the treatment Forlesen give it, but the stately plod of the original is intact within that. This isn’t the only heavy Xmas song out there this year by any means, but if you’re out shopping or some such and that Mariah Carey song comes on, at least you have something to clean the slate afterward.
The PR wire sent the release info. No word on a third Forlesen yet, which if I’m honest is kind of a relief since 2024 is already slammed with releases and the prospect of something that might be more realized than Black Terrain is intimidating. But hopefully they get there sooner or later, and some unexpected fun — yeah, fun — in the meantime is an invite to fans to dig further into the band’s influences. I also heartily approve of doom claiming Type O Negative in hindsight, just so you know.
Song is out Friday, which is in two days. You’ll make it. Here’s that info:
FORLESEN draws from dark ambient, epic doom, black metal and slowcore, to create a dynamic and experimental sound. The quartet are preparing to unveil their black metal cover of TYPE O NEGATIVE’s “Red Water (Christmas Mourning)” on streaming platforms on December 15th.
Vocalist and guitarist Ascalaphus comments:
“TYPE O NEGATIVE were foundational for me, serving as my gateway into doom metal and remaining one of my favorite bands since. In a spirit of Saturnian revelry and sincere mournfulness, we offer this cover of the Drab Four’s grimmest of holiday songs, one that emphasizes the duality that made them such a special band – embers hardly alight after the evening’s celebration, a dark chill entering the room, a sense of both grandeur and nostalgia, along with a very sharp sense of loneliness and despair.
In our cover, then, we simply implemented that duality through the black metal prism. A lushness of melody and atmosphere that provides the backdrop to basically any and every TYPE O NEGATIVE song, cut to the core with the brute strength of raw, piercing, unfiltered emotion. In many ways this is TYPE O NEGATIVE’s bombast taken one step further, and their cruelty and hardship perhaps one step further than that.
TYPE O NEGATIVE did a lot of covers and always made it sound like themselves. There’s an irony to the fact that for a band who could make whatever they touched their own, so many other bands now try (and fail) to imitate them or are fairly literal in their interpretation. So paradoxically, I think the best way to honor what made a song of theirs special is to reinterpret it.
God Jul! Io Saturnalia! Ho ho ho…”
The track has premiered on the Machine Music digital compilation titled Milim Kashot Vol. 5, featuring alongside the likes of PANOPTICON, GNAW THEIR TONGUES and TRHA. All sales of the compilation go to For The Wildlife, a wildlife rescue and rehabilitation center.
About FORLESEN: FORLESEN formed in San Francisco at the end of 2016 and released their debut, Hierophant Violent, in 2020. Comprised of two side-length tracks, it soon found a cult following. Now based in Portland, OR, FORLESEN’s compositional evolution continued with the release of Black Terrain in 2022, which saw the band expand into previously untapped musical realms.
FORLESEN is: Ascalaphus (ex-BOTANIST) – Vocals, guitars, synth, harmonium, bass Bezaelith (LOTUS THIEF) – Vocals, bass, guitars, synth Petit Albert (LOTUS THIEF) – Guitars, synth, Hammond B3 organ, backing vocals Maleus (ex-KAYO DOT, ex-MAUDLIN OF THE WELL) – Drums
Posted in Features on December 21st, 2022 by JJ Koczan
[PLEASE NOTE: These are not the results of the year-end poll, which is ongoing. If you haven’t contributed your picks yet, please do so here.]
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I believe we are in the midst of a generational turnover among artists and bands. Some have reshuffled as a result of either the pandemic or a basic desire to explore new creative reaches, and some are just plain younger, finding their way into a heavy underground that now has the fanbase ecosystem to support their work. The last couple years have not been easy for anyone, but this wouldn’t be the first instance of hard times making for good art.
The music that will define this decade is being made now. Fresh perspectives and new ideas have broadened the definitions of what makes a sound heavy, and while the change can feel and has felt excruciatingly slow, rock and roll has grown more diverse, much to its benefit. The boundaries between microgenres have become ever more porous, resulting in a vibrant shifting of styles and breadth that, even when playing directly to familiar ideals, is evolution at work. As/if you make your way through the lists below, consider the veteran acts and newcomers, young and old, how many debuts and sophomore albums and how many bands on their fifth, sixth, seventh, etc. Not that there’s nothing between, but the divide feels stark.
As war returned to Eastern Europe and the American political system teetered worryingly toward collapse, music was both respite and reportage, escape, therapy and critique marked by a blanket expressive urgency, no matter which side of which argument one was on. The ‘return’ of touring and live shows was a boon for escapists and celebrants, and one found new appreciation for the simple act of gathering. Some of the most beautiful moments I’ve ever seen on a stage happened in 2022.
In this spirit, I ask as I do every year to please, if you comment on this post in either agreement or disagreement, please, please keep it civil. For both my own sensitivities — yes, I take it personally — and those of anyone else reading. I thank you for reading, and if you feel compelled to respond, thank you for that too. I’m a human being. You’re a human being. Let’s just be nice. That’s all.
Okay. Deep breath in… and plunge:
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The Top 60 Albums of 2022
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Maybe you think a Top 60 is ridiculous. Fair. Too much? Okay. Anything else? No? Then let’s roll.
Precedent for this was set last year, and I found the trouble this time was not only sorting it by number — once you pass a certain point it’s more about including the names than the actual ordering, I’ll admit — but actually keeping it to 60. Believe it or not, these are packed in, and there were more than a handful of others I was heartbroken to have to leave out of the numbered list.
Here goes:
31. Ecstatic Vision, Elusive Mojo
32. Josiah, We Lay on Cold Stone
33. C.Ross, Skull Creator
34. Samavayo, Pāyān
35. Abronia, Map of Dawn
36. CB3, Exploration
37. Brant Bjork, Bougainvillea Suite
38. Valley of the Sun, The Chariot
39. Mos Generator, Time//Wounds
40. Edena Gardens, Edena Gardens
41. Cities of Mars, Cities of Mars
42. Dreadnought, The Endless
43. Clutch, Sunrise on Slaughter Beach
44. Tau and the Drones of Praise, Misneach
45. Nebula, Transmission From Mothership Earth
46. Birth, Born
47. Ufomammut, Fenice
48. Supersonic Blues, It’s Heavy
49. Naxatras, IV
50. Come to Grief, When the World Dies
51. Toad Venom, EAT!
52. Earthless, Night Parade of 100 Demons
53. Hazemaze, Blinded by the Wicked
54. Experiencia Tibetana, Vol. II
55. Les Nadie, Destierro y Siembra
56. MWWB, The Harvest
57. Obiat, Indian Ocean
58. Messa, Close
59. JIRM, The Tunnel, the Well, Holy Bedlam
60. Somali Yacht Club, The Space
Notes:
Some killer records. And not just things to be appreciated critically, either, but stuff I actually listened to a fair bit. Cities of Mars, Obiat, Tau and the Drones of Praise, Brant Bjork’s always a go-to. Seeing Ecstatic Vision and Josiah next to each other makes me want to book a UK tour for them together. And then you get into the gleeful acid fuckall of Nebula, Naxatras’ full-on-prog-rock pivot, Clutch being Clutch, Supersonic Blues’ right on debut — finally! — and Obiat’s first record in 13 years. Dreadnought and Edena Gardens and JIRM and CB3, Abronia. There isn’t a clunker in the bunch.
Don’t ignore this list, please, and please don’t think that because something’s not in the top 30 with the cover art right there I don’t think you should check it out. If that was the case, I’d cap the list at 30. There’s genuine treasure here to be found, and it’s my sincere hope you’ll take the time to find it.
My only hope is it wasn’t a one-off that Jason Haberman (Yeahsun), Ian Blurton (Ian Blurton’s Future Now, etc.), and Jay Anderson (Lammping) came together to form this classic psychedelic soul project. With guest vocalists, the six songs on this self-titled debut ranged from flowing extended jams to tight acid disco pop, as memorable as they were righteous. Sleeper hit.
By no means the only cause to rejoice to emerge over the last few years from Hungary’s Psychedelic Source Records collective, River Flows Reverse‘s second offering brings a crafted focus on organic, natural-world psychedelia that results in an affecting beauty and warmth all its own. It is the acid folk of another world; varied in instrumentation, exploratory, welcoming and wonderfully serene.
Long-since proven as songwriters, Virginia Beach’s Freedom Hawk one-upped themselves again with their sixth album. It was an effective summary of what has made the band so crucial and so largely undervalued during their time, bringing together elements from classic metal, classic heavy rock, desert riffing, and even some flourish of psychedelia in a DIY recording that told us we all need rock and roll and went on to demonstrate why.
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27. Lamp of the Universe, The Akashic Field
Released through Headspin Records & Astral Projection. Reviewed Jan. 10.
I’ll gladly cop to being a sucker for the long-running lysergic solo-project of Hamilton, New Zealand’s Craig Williamson (ex-Arc of Ascent, ex-Datura), and as he makes ready to unveil the more riff-heavy, still-solo band incarnation Dead Shrine in 2023 (info here), this offering from Lamp of the Universe pushed through a transitional spirit as though he was passing a torch… to himself. More than 20 years on, this project still evolves, can still surprise.
A beautiful bludgeoning. Metallic in its aggression, hardcore in its soul and sludged to its monstrously-proportioned gills, the latest from Los Angeles’ 16 felt tighter in its songwriting and meaner even than 2020’s Dream Squasher (review here), but maybe that’s the difference between being punched in the stomach and the solar plexus. This was the one that took the air right out of your lungs, and did so with purpose beyond the simple violence of the act.
Recorded (with Billy Anderson) during the general awfulness of 2020, this awaited third long-player from the Portland, Oregon, outfit led by former SubArachnoid Space guitarist/vocalist Melynda Marie Jackson harvested a vision of progressive black metal likewise expansive and dug into the dirt of its making. It was not easy listening by any stretch, but to undertake the challenge it issued listeners was to engage with a churning cosmic extremity that only emphasized the limits and folly of genre.
The follow-up from guitarist/vocalist Brant Bjork, bassist/vocalist Nick Oliveri and drummer Ryan Güt to 2021’s Stoners Rule (review here) had its challenge in continuing to speak to the rawest-form desert punk of the project’s debut while nonetheless growing the sound and moving forward. Stöner did this by making it a (pizza) party, with cuts like “A Million Beers,” “Driving Miss Lazy” and “Strawberry Creek (Dirty Feet)” bringing further vocal integration from Bjork and Oliveri as they blanketly refused to not have a good time. Easy record to dig, and it was dug.
One hates to use a cliché like “now more than ever,” but the return of UK lumberchuckers Conan was especially well-timed, and Evidence of Immortality spoke to the overwhelming strangeness of our times with clever metaphor while maintaining the trio’s punishing heft and extreme noise-doom onslaught. By now, their tonality is rightly the stuff of legend, and they know it and they play into it with particularly rampaging glee, but the six-track outing also showed how central atmosphere has become to their pummel, as heard on the 14-minute instrumental closer “Grief Sequence,” a somehow fitting complement to the all-in plod of leadoff “A Cleaved Head No Longer Plots.”
It is remarkable how distinctive My Sleeping Karma have become over time. Their ever-instrumental approach is progressive and reliably able to broaden beyond its root arrangements of guitar, bass, drums and synth, but at the same time, their meditative psychedelia is only ever their own. This was their first studio album in seven years, and while its component material played out with an overarching melancholy that seemed to look inward as much as at the state of the world at large, the four-piece likewise presented an answer in the catharsis of their expression. An essential reminder of the healing art can provide, Atma‘s resonance was an immersive comfort in its own right Like a weighted blanket, and accordingly warm.
New York’s Sun Voyager provided their own best descriptor of how their second full-length and first for Ripple functions in the song title “Rip the Sky.” The trio/sometimes-four-piece took cosmic bikerisms and classic punk/grunge shove, superheated them like they were about to fuse atoms, and accordingly scorched their way through a sans-nonsense-yet-full-of-nonsense 32 minutes and seven songs that, while varied enough in tempo, remained defined by their urgency. Last month, bassist/backing vocalist/keyboardist Stefan Mersch and drummer Kyle Beach announced Christian Lopez stepping in on guitar in place of Carlos Francisco, and whatever the future holds, they’re that much stronger for this wind pushing them forward.
This band is three-for-three in my mind, and as their third full-length, Psychic Forms fostered the most realized vision of their take on progressive heavy rock to-date while feeling not at all like a culmination. In its range and atmospheric focus, it built on what came before, but in pushing as far as it did, it seemed to open as many doors as it went through. Does that make any sense? Did I mix metaphors enough? Point is, the Boise, Idaho-based four-piece seem to develop new ideas and incorporate new influences every time out, and while their material becomes more complex as a result of that, they have yet to put those adventurous impulses to any use that does not best serve the song in question. Psychic Formsis what I wish the word ‘Americana’ actually meant.
On some level/levels, Mythosphere could be seen as a continuation of Beelzefuzz, the former outfit of guitarist/vocalist Dana Ortt and drummer Darin McCloskey (both also of Pale Divine). That simplistic view, however, doesn’t account for the shift in dynamic of bringing in Victor Arduini (ex-Fates Warning, Entierro, Arduini/Balich) on lead guitar or Ron “Fezz” McGinnis (Pale Divine, Admiral Browning, etc.) on bass. The latter two play a massive role in building on the foundation of Ortt‘s recognizable style, and as they unfurled Pathological, the sense was that they were stronger for the members’ familiarity with each other even as they undertook developing this new dynamic. One of the strongest and most progressive debut albums Maryland doom has ever produced in my view.
As the year went on, the sophomore long-player from Oregon’s Charley No Face just wouldn’t let go. Songs like “Mosaic Sky,” “Big Sleep,” “Satan’s Hand” — they just kept calling me back to hear them again. Languid fuzz, dual-vocals both delivered in dreamy breaths, the odd bit of cultish tendencies, all of it feeding into tracks catchy, heavy and miraculously unpretentious; Eleven Thousand Volts wasn’t necessarily reinventing a genre aesthetic or anything so grandiose, but its tracks were impeccably well done and seemed built for repeat listens, from the mellow-heavy strut of opener “Eyes” through the sweeping culmination of “Death Mask” at the end. Charley No Face nailed it. 2020’s The Green Man (discussed here) set the course, but in bringing in keyboardist/vocalist Carina Hartley alongside guitarist/vocalist Nick Wulfrost, bassist Brad Larson and drummer Tim Abel, they leaped beyond even the most unreasonable of expectations.
The combination in Atlas of breadth, spaciousness of sound, of rhythmic crunch, and of melody, put it in a stylistic category of its own. The Swedish fivesome whose moniker well-earned its own pronunciation guide have managed to grow and change each time out, but between the confident and soulful delivery of Lea Amling Alazam, the wide-spread tones of guitarists Andreas Baier and Staffan Stensland Vinrot, and the inherited-from-Dozer rhythm section of bassist Johan Rockner and drummer Erik Bäckwall, this felt like the moment where the band became themselves and seemed to realize the intentions they’d laid out at their beginning. Not bad for a self-produced second record, and not to be lost in the narrative of their ongoing maturation is the fact that for all their expanse, the songs seemed to get correspondingly tighter and more efficient structurally, which made them all the more engaging.
While the Dubuque, Iowa, duo remained somewhat defined by the split of their initial lineup that left guitarist/vocalist Alex Baumann — joined now by drummer Rockwel Heim — as the lone remaining founder, Telekinetic Yeti pressed ahead with self-aware riff-led stoner metal that demonstrated a special kind of revelry for the form even as Primordial left its own elephantine footprint thereupon. Unrepentant in their crushing fuzz, the band tapped into the lizard-brain-thrill of celebrating aural heft, but did so without neglecting songcraft, taking melodic cues from Floor and others while sounding fresh even as they seemed so utterly covered in dense, caked-on mud. As they move forward, they’re another act from an up-and-coming generation of players whose potential at this point seems only beginning to manifest, and while Primordial hardly put one in mind for evolution thematically, Telekinetic Yeti remain one of tomorrow’s brightest hopes for riffslinging.
Just about a year ago, I was lucky enough to be invited to the studio (features here and here) with Kingston, New York, trio Geezer while they put down the basic tracks for what would become Stoned Blues Machine. Even at that early point in the record’s making, it was apparent that they’d outdone even what was their definitive statement in 2020’s Groovy (review here). In terms of songwriting, the performances captured from guitarist/vocalist Pat Harrington, bassist Richie Touseull and drummer Steve Markota, and the scope of the record, Geezer took the lessons of their best album yet and made a new best album yet. Rife with hooks in “Atomic Moronic,” the title-track, “A Cold Black Heart,” etc., they dug into songs like “Eleven” and “Saviours” with an honest and sincere music-as-escape mindset and honored their jammier side with the tripped out “The Diamond Rain of Saturn.” I’m a fan of these guys, and Stoned Blues Machine was more than I’d have asked for, even holding them to the high standard I do.
Yeah, I said as much in the album review, and maybe-not-surprisingly my opinion hasn’t changed in the last two weeks, but if Sky Pig represent the future of sludge metal, that’s cool by me. The Sacramento outfit’s debut full-length takes the urgent crush of 2020’s Hell is Inside You EP and presents its maddening charge with offsetting, sometimes disturbing drone complement, sometimes resolving in steamroller-over-your-brain riffs and sometimes refusing to resolve at all. No matter how many times I put on the record, it’s a challenge. It’s not an easy listen, and where in many cases it wouldn’t be worth the effort, meeting Sky Pig on their level is thrilling and refreshing, which is so weird to think of about an album that so expertly seems to harness an atmosphere of decay. I won’t predict what the years to come will bring, or where Sky Pig will go from It Thrives in Darkness in terms of craft, but their first LP is both a significant accomplishment in individualizing stylistic impulses and overflowing with potential. A beast that hypnotizes, strikes, and hypnotizes again, purely because it can.
Listening to it, it seems somewhat cruel on the part of Los Angeles trio Sasquatch that, after being mastered in March 2020, Fever Fantasy sat in the proverbial can for more than two years before seeing release this June. Fortunately for all who’d take it on — only to be overwhelmed and consumed by the unruly dense fuzz of guitarist/vocalist Keith Gibbs and bassist Jason “Cas” Casanova en route to being punched upside your fool head by Craig Riggs‘ snare — the nine-song outing lost none of its edge for that time, and songs like “Lilac,” “Voyager” (dig that organ) and “Save the Day, Ruin the Night” hold firm to their on-the-beat intensity, a flawless uptempo heavy rock execution broadened by the flowing roll of the eight-minute “Ivy” and the full-bore-volume finish in “Cyclops” (dig that organ too). They’ve been on a streak for, I don’t know, the better part of two decades, and if the shove of “It Lies Beyond the Bay” doesn’t get you, then maybe the fact that in all their time they’ve never sounded this brazenly heavy will. Wouldn’t’ve minded it sooner, but it was certainly welcome this year. Inimitable energy in Sasquatch.
What do you say to a seven-track/75-minute Wo Fat album except maybe “yes please?” Could be the now-veteran Dallas-based three-piece — guitarist/vocalist Kent Stump, bassist Zack Busby, drummer Michael Walter — were making up for lost time, having not had a studio album since 2016’s Midnight Cometh (review here) when they’d previously been on an every-two-years pattern like relative clockwork, but whatever it was, The Singularity was an album by which to be engulfed. The riffs, of course, the riffs, but consider that quick break of bright noodling in 13-minute opener “Orphans of the Singe,” or the delve into next-level heaviness that followed in “The Snows of Banquo IV.” While keeping to their core approach in jazz-informed, jam-prone-but-still-hooky bluesy fuzz rock, Wo Fat seemed to purposefully screw with their own formula, giving “The Unraveling” a tense chug and finding new realms of vastness in 16-minute closer “The Oracle.” Maybe it’ll be two years for their next one, maybe six, maybe never, but Wo Fat answered the call in 2022 as only they could, and one could only be grateful for their return.
It’s my nature to dig a lot of bands. I’m left in awe by far fewer. The second album from Forlesen, recorded mostly remotely as at least some portion of the band is now based in Oregon, Black Terrain was stunning enough that I couldn’t bring myself to even review it until about two months after it was already out. Beautifully arranged and set to purposes that were at times genuinely terrifying, this four-song answer to 2020’s debut, Hierophant Violent (review here), felt more patient even as it drew thicker lines between its movements and seemed to begin a process of melding styles through which one can only hope Forlesen‘s style will continue to develop. Sad and aggressive, wholly immersive and still challenging to the listener, Black Terrain was just as likely to tear open the cosmic fabric in “Harrowed Earth” as to drone itself into oblivion on its title-track, but it was the enthralling nature of the album as a single work — never mind that triumphant final solo in “Saturnine” — that was the real accomplishment. Most of all, Forlesen stood on their own, as themselves, and set their own path forward into the actually-unknown, with all the gorgeousness and horror that might imply.
The way “Pleading to the Cosmic Mother” seemed to actually plead, and the swap in perspective for “Last Words of a Dying God.” The sinister underpinning in the lyrical promises of “One More Step.” The devotional sensibility and swirl of “Seven Rays of Colour” at the outset and the corresponding regret of “We Lost it Somewhere” at the end. That hook in “Now’s the Time.” The complement across sides in “Valleys and Hills Pt. 1 – Peel Away the Layers” and “Valleys and Hills Pt. 2 – Pure Illumination.” Church of the Cosmic Skull‘s fourth album not only brought founding guitarist/vocalist Bill Fisher‘s whole-album compositional sensibility to new heights, but was truly classic in feel and the ways in which the songs spoke to each other, worked off each other, melodically, rhythmically and in theme. Gorgeously harmonized as ever, the cult-minded UK seven-piece gave up nothing of craft in service to their audio/visual aesthetic, and even just on the level of a-thing-to-put-on, the utter listenability and welcome that There is No Time offered was no less resonant than the calls to sing along to any number of the choruses. There is no one else out there like them, no other band among the hundreds covered here who can do what they do, and yes, I mean that. They are special, transcendent.
Granted, as regards narrative, the story of All Souls‘ third album behind 2020’s Songs for the End of the World (review here) and 2018’s self-titled debut (review here) was always going to be that the Los Angeles-based then-trio of guitarist/vocalist Antonio Aguilar, bassist/vocalist Meg Castellanos (both ex-Totimoshi) and drummer Tony Tornay (also Fatso Jetson) recorded with producer Alain Johannes (Eleven, Queens of the Stone Age, etc.). And the songs bore his mark for sure, in backing vocals and lead guitar, complementing and fleshing out the root heavy punk rock-isms of the band, who, well, were down a guitarist anyhow and had room for such contributions. I don’t know what the impetus was behind the collaboration, but even just in the performances captured from the trio, the songs felt like the best versions of themselves, and went beyond third-record realizations in terms of stepping forward from where All Souls were two years ago. They remain woefully undervalued in my mind, and I have the feeling that might be the case even if they were millionaires, but the spirit in Ghosts Among Us, that intangible atmosphere and sonic persona that emerged was both intimate and sprawling, deeply singular and heartfelt while bringing the listener along for the journey across its still-humble 39 minutes. Records like this don’t happen every year. You should hear it.
Formerly (?) the drummer of New Paltz, New York, psych purveyors It’s Not Night: It’s Space, self-recording multi-instrumentalist Michael Lutomski is the lone figure behind Okkoto, and Climb the Antlers and Reach the Stars was his second full-length under the banner after 2019’s Fear the Veil Not the Void. Across five individualized but flowing pieces, Lutomski harnessed a meditative ambience that pushed into homemade intimacy and aural distance in kind, the songs serene as they evocatively conjured a three-dimensional world of length, width, depth. With just a couple guest appearances adding to his own performances, Lutomski found balance in exploration, and the resonance of “Wind at the Gated Grove,” the birdsong in “First Drops in the Cup of Dawn” and the ethereal presence in the soft, rolling nod of finale “Where the Meadows Dream Beside the Sea” all fed into an impression that one might call “striking” were it not so gently, carefully handled. Climb the Antlers and Reach the Stars felt like an offering in the truest sense of the word, and brought soulful purpose to its experimentalism, giving comfort to the listener in its willful contradiction of anxiety; not so much ‘for our times’ as beyond time. It established Lutomski as a noteworthy auteur and creator, and engaged with the organic on every level in a way unforced, loving and hypnotic. Everything was exactly as it needed to be.
There was so much happening at times throughout the 40 minutes of Axexan, Espreitan that it could be hard to keep up with, but in fusing together heavy psych and classic, progressive heavy rock with their native Galician folk influences, Moura found a sound unlike anything else I heard this year. It was such a palpable sense of sharing; an expression of the internalized value of culture. Even as “Romance de Andrés d’Orois” seemed at its outset to float in the antigravity space created by the prior intro “Alborada do alén,” it did so with humanity and made itself memorable in its arrangement and across-language-barrier total-dialogue, conversing with itself, history, the future and the listener. It could be traditionally heavy, as in the scorcher guitar work in the second half of “Pelerinaxes” or the closing stretch of “Lúa vermella,” but showed in songs like “Encontro cunha moura fiadeira en Dormeá” that Axexan, Espreitan was about more than where a given linear build was going, but about the sights and meetings along the way. On just their second full-length, Moura displayed a rare mastery of their approach and made each piece feel like a celebration of something beyond themselves and their songwriting, whether that was the relatively minimal “Cantar do liño” or the kosmiche thrust of “Baile do dentón.” Could be head-spinning, could be tranquil, but whatever else it was at any given time, it was wonderfully complete and engrossing.
ColourHaze are not only one of the most pivotal and influential European bands of their generation — heavy psychedelic rock would not exist as it does without them, period — but even more importantly, they’re a group who have refused stagnation outright. Sacred was the Munich-based four-piece’s 14th album, and it presented a shift in the dynamic in marking the studio introduction of bassist Mario Oberpucher — taking on the role held for more than two decades by Philip Rasthofer in the rhythm section alongside drummer Manfred Merwald — and found Stefan Koglek‘s guitar playing off Jan Faszbender‘s keys and synth in ever more engaging ways. It wasn’t just about stepping back and giving space to one instrument or the other anymore, but about how they can converse together and bolster the songs, push each other as players and bring the best out of each other to the ultimate strengthening of the record itself. Like so much of what Colour Haze do, this is organic; a natural process happening over time, and to be sure, their next album will likewise be an outgrowth of what they accomplished in Sacred, their songs so undeniably their own even as they explore new reaches and ideas. A bit of lyrical cynicism in “Avatar,” “See the Fools” and the defiant stance of “Goldmine” spoke to the moment of their creation, but Sacred provided its own best argument for love over hate, and perhaps the highest compliment that can be paid is that it’s a record worthy of the band that made it.
This was my album of the year for most of the year, and there’s a big part of me that continues to think of it on those terms. The eighth full-length from San Diego solo industrialist Tristan Shone — who brought Ecstatic Vision‘s Doug Sabolick on tour as guitarist — branched out melodically from 2018’s Beastland (discussed here), which was his first for Relapse, which could be heard likewise in his own not-just-harsh vocals and in the use of melodic programmed synth as well on a song like “Maiden Star.” At the same time, an uptick in production value gave cinematic presence to the storytelling of “Drone Mounting Dread,” “Centurion” and the concluding title-track (among others), and a corresponding increase in engagement with non-synth instrumentation — needing a guitarist was not a coincidence — brought weighted bass to “Centurion” and live drums to “Misery,” further broadening the scope of what was an examination of pandemic-era life in America, the dystopian nature of the US circa 2021 presented as the backdrop upon which the songs took place; see “Incinerator,” the electronic-noise overload of “Blacksmith” and even the masculine voice through which the Portishead cover “Glorybox” was manifest. Shone reaffirmed his place miles ahead of almost the entire sphere of industrial metal, and gave the everything-is-whole-planet-death-and-it’s-our-fault moment the cruel sense of tragedy it deserved, mourning chaos even as it acknowledged a place for love within it.
In the name of all that is good and right in the universe, have you heard this album? With it, Caustic Casanova — bassist/vocalist Francis Beringer (who wrote the best lyrics I read all year, hands down), drummer/vocalist Stefanie Zænker, and guitarists Andrew Yonki and Jake Kimberley — outdid themselves, the pandemic and the legacy of Theodore Roosevelt in five songs and 45 minutes of unflinchingly perfect quirk. Are they punk, noise, prog, stoner rock, post-hardcore or sludge? Yes. Also no. Also a little bit, maybe? I’ve been through Glass Enclosed Nerve Center — the band’s fifth album and first written as a four-piece — a bother-my-family-with-it amount of times, and I’m still up in the air on where it rests categorically, and perhaps that’s in part because the one thing it did not do was rest. Even in the multiple stages of 22-minute finale “Bull Moose Against the Sky,” which I promise you is the only reason I’m even doing a Song of the Year part of this post below, their moves were considered and unpredictable in kind, and whether it was the weight of “Lodestar,” the sunrise at the outset of “Anubis Rex,” the yes-it’s-been-like-that mania of “A Bailar Con Cuarentena” or the hypnotic-plus-dizzying then massive “Shrouded Coconut” on side A, Caustic Casanova were able to pivot from one part the next while making hooks out of single measures and crafting an outing that went beyond even the sundry weirdo triumphs they’ve had to this point in their tenure. A special record on every level one might want to consider, and quintessentially the band’s own.
When Salt Lake City, Utah’s SubRosa ended after releasing the best album of 2016 in For This We Fought the Battle of Ages (review here), the heart ached for the expressive artistry and distinct style that was snuffed out when it seemed the band still had so much more to say. The emergence of The Otolith, with former SubRosa members Sarah Pendleton and Kim Cordray (violin and vocals, both), Levi Hanna (now guitar/vocals) and Andy Patterson (drums, percussion, production, mixing, mastering) — four-fifths of the band that was — and their presentation of the debut album Folium Limina, has been the flower growing on top of that grave. Together with bassist/vocalist Matt Brotherton, the atmospheric, almost-gothic-but-too-in-the-real-world, gracefully flowing post-metallic five-piece didn’t so much pick up where the last band left off as use that ending to mark a new beginning of their own exploration. Increased use of sampling (at least one big one in the penultimate “Bone Dust”), keyboard/synth, and deeper arrangements of harsh/clean vocals on songs like “Ekpyrotic” and the finale “Dispirit” diverged in intent and the full album maintained a mournful, critical, intelligent-but-emotive poetic voice that carried across the entirety of its consuming 63 minutes. This made Folium Limina of a kind with its high desert/mountainous, surrounded-by-dangerous-fanatics-and-duly-frightened-and-defiant predecessor, but even better, it declared The Otolith as ready to step out of that significant shadow and flourish as something new.
The third of three was perhaps a definitive statement of who King Buffalo are as a group. The Rochester, New York, trio of guitarist/vocalist/synthesist Sean McVay, bassist/synthesist Dan Reynolds and drummer Scott Donaldson released two albums in 2021 in The Burden of Restlessness (review here), which was my pick for last year’s album of the year, and the also-in-the-top-five, cave-recorded Acheron (review here), the seven-song Regenerator, as their fifth full-length overall, faced the biggest challenge of any of their studio work to-date in completing their unofficial pandemic-era trilogy of LPs written during covid-19 lockdown in 2020. Regenerator not only rose to the occasion, but deftly served as keystone for the series in tying together the progressive psychedelia of The Burden of Restlessness with the exploratory, speaking-to-the-natural-world communion of Acheron. Whether it was the opener/longest track (immediate points) “Regenerator” itself, the tight push of tension in “Mercury” or the later melodic fleshing out of “Mammoth” and “Avalon,” or the all-embracing conclusion in “Firmament,” Regenerator tied together the two albums before and stepped forward as something new, finding an ideal balance for the band’s increasingly multifaceted approach without sacrificing songcraft in its individual pieces. These last two years have seen King Buffalo ascend among the foremost purveyors of heavy psychedelia, and the genre is stronger for the efforts they’ve made to reshape it in their image. The truly horrifying part is I’m convinced their best work is still ahead of them. Amid trauma and cynicism, King Buffalo made it okay to feel optimistic.
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2022 Album of the Year
1. Elder, Innate Passage
Released by Stickman Records & Armageddon Shop. Reviewed Nov. 17.
Sometimes the obvious answer is the answer. In the last decade, the first-Massachusetts-then-mostly-Berlin, first-trio-then-four-piece Elder became a defining presence in progressive heavy psychedelic rock, with 2011’s Dead Roots Stirring (review here), 2012’s Spires Burn/Release EP (review here), 2015’s landmark among landmarksLore (review here), and 2017’s Reflections of a Floating World (review here) each taking forward steps to create a sound influential even as it seemed to be constantly coming to fruition. This is their best album, no, this is their best album. In this decade, they stand astride their aesthetic as masters. As the follow-up to 2020’s moment-of-transition Omens (review here), the five-track Innate Passage is an arrival; a vision of Elder as mature and still evolving, veterans ahead of their time while most of their generation are upstarts, and on a wavelength of their own despite the increasing pervasiveness of their predominance. The flexibility of their songwriting, and the ability of founding guitarist/vocalist/keyboardist Nick DiSalvo — joined by founding bassist Jack Donovan, guitarist/keyboardist Mike Risberg and drummer Georg Edert — to marry parts together that would in other hands be too disparate to connect have never been so resonant, and in cuts like “Endless Return,” “Catastasis,” and the 14-minute two-parter “Merged in Dreams/Ne Plus Ultra,” Elder harvested their most accomplished melodicism to-date (guest vocal harmonies from Samavayo‘s Behrang Alavi and the production of Linda Dag at Clouds Hill Studio were both notable contributions to this aspect of the work), while simultaneously keeping mindful of the dynamic potential of the songs to be tonally and rhythmically heavy, as in “Coalescence” the otherworldly finisher “The Purpose” and indeed, impact-minded stretches in “Catastasis” and “Merged in Dreams/Ne Plus Ultra.” This emphasis felt daring from a band who had purposefully moved away from lumbering-style riffing a decade earlier, and the seamlessness with which Elder integrated these ideas into their proggy aural macrocosm helped make Innate Passage a standout even in their unflinchingly forward-moving discography, even as the title itself reminded that this too is likely only another step along their path. Off they go again, ascendant.
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The Top 60 Albums of 2022: Honorable Mention
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Strap yourselves in, kids. We’re not done yet.
The year wouldn’t have been as sonically stellar as it was without:
40 Watt Sun, 10,000 Years, Aawks, Abrams, Alunah, Ararat, Artifacts & Uranium, Basalt Shrine, Behold! The Monolith, Black Capricorn, Black Lung, Black Space Riders, Blue Heron, Boris, Brujas del Sol, Burning Sister, Cachemira, Candlemass, Carcaño, Carson, Cave In, Chat Pile, Church of the Sea, Circle of Sighs, Come to Grief, Crippled Black Phoenix, Crowbar, Michael Rudolph Cummings, Deathwhite, Deer Creek, Desert Wave, Deville, Dirty Streets, DRÖÖG, DUNDDW, Dune Sea, Dystopian Future Movies, Early Moods, Electric Mountain, El Perro, E-L-R, End Boss, Evert Snyman & The Aviary, Firebreather, Foot, Fostermother, Freebase Hyperspace, FutureProjektor, Fuzz Sagrado, Garden of Worm, Gaupa, Gnome, Goatriders, Greenbeard, Half Gramme of Soma, Horehound, Humanotone, Ian Blurton’s Future Now, James Romig/Mike Scheidt, Jawless, Kadavermarch, Kaleidobolt, Kanaan, Kandodo4, Kryptograf, LáGoon, Erik Larson, Les Lekin, Lydsyn, Madness, Mammoth Volume, Melt Motif, Mezzoa, MIGHT, Mirror Queen, Mother of Graves, Motorpsycho, Mount Desert, Mount Saturn, My Diligence, Mythic Sunship, Nadja, Ode and Elegy, Oktas, Olson Van Cleef and Williams, Ol’ Time Moonshine, Onségen Ensemble, Orango, Øresund Space Collective, Papir, Paralyzed, People of the Black Circle, Pia Isa, Pike vs. the Automaton, Psychlona, Red Eye, Reverend Mother, Rickshaw Billie’s Burger Patrol, Rocky Mtn Roller, Ruby the Hatchet, Russian Circles, Seremonia, Sergeant Thunderhoof, Sergio Ch., Seven Nines and Tens, Sleepwulf, Slowenya, Soldat Hans, Somnus Throne, Sonja, Sons of Arrakis, Steak, Știu Nu Știu, Sula Bassana, Sum of R, Supplemental Pills, Swamp Lantern, The Swell Fellas, Tekarra, T.G. Olson, Trace Amount, Uncle Woe, Vitskär Süden, Voivod, Eric Wagner, Weddings, Wild Rocket, and Yatra.
Notes:
Some of these, in comparison to the year-end poll, are more popular picks than others. As always, part of what I base my list on is my own listening habits, so if my list is different than yours, well, I’m a different person. Mystery solved.
That said, I acknowledge that especially at post-time, this is preliminary and I am — at times overwhelmingly — fallible. While I keep a running list all year of standout records, based on my preferences as well as what I perceive as critical value separate from them within a given subset of styles, and despite the fact that I’ve gone back through the more than 300 releases that have been reviewed (so far) in 2022 to make this list, it’s possible and indeed likely I’ve forgotten somebody, left someone out who deserves to be here.
If that’s the case — and based on just about every other year I’ve done this, it very likely is — I ask again that you please be kind in pointing out whatever that may be and whyever you believe it should be where it isn’t. Maybe your pick for the best release of 2022 isn’t here at all. Instead of calling me a dipshit and an idiot, let’s try to celebrate the fact that in a single heavy underground, there can be such a diverse range of opinions and different artists and styles to appreciate, and how fortunate we are to be alive at a time when so much incredible art is available at the click of a make-believe button. Also indoor plumbing and penicillin, but that’s a different conversation entirely and best left to another day.
Last year, I limited honorable mentions to 60 to correspond with the numbered list. I’ve got over 115 bands listed above, and if in combination with the top 60 itself you find that to be an insurmountable swath of releases, good. That’s the point. We are surrounded by beauty every day. It can be difficult to keep this in mind, but there is little that’s more important than knowing that. I thank you for your attention and hope, as ever, that you find something in all of this that speaks to you.
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Debut Album of the Year 2022
The Otolith, Folium Limina
Other notable debuts (somewhat alphabetically):
AAWKS, Heavy on the Cosmic
Arð, Take Up My Bones
Basalt Shrine, From Fiery Tongues
Burning Sister, Mile High Downer Rock
Burn the Sun, Le Roi Soleil
Chat Pile, God’s Country
Church of the Sea, Odalisque
Come to Grief, When the World Dies
DRÖÖG, DRÖÖG
Early Moods, Early Moods
Edena Gardens, Edena Gardens
El Perro, Hair Of…
Elk Witch, Beyond the Mountain
End Boss, They Seek My Head
Faetooth, Remnants of the Vessel
Freebase Hyperspace, Planet High
The Gray Goo, 1943
High Noon Kahuna, Killing Spree
Jawless, Warrizer
Kadavermarch, Into Oblivion
Kamru, Kosmic Attunement to the Malevolent Rites of the Universe
Les Nadie, Destierro y Siembra
Limousine Beach, Limousine Beach
London Odense Ensemble, Jaiyede Sessions Vol. 1
Lydsyn, Lydsyn
Magnatar, Crushed
Maunra, Monarch
Mother Bear, Zamonian Occultism
Mount Desert, Fear the Heart
Mount Saturn, O Great Moon
Mythosphere, Pathological
Ode and Elegy, Ode and Elegy
Oktas, The Finite and the Infinite
People of the Black Circle, People of the Black Circle
Pia Isa, Distorted Chants
Reverend Mother, Damned Blessing
Rocky Mtn Roller, Haywire
Room 101, Sightless
SAPNA, SAPNA
Sky Pig, It Thrives in Darkness
Sonja, Loud Arriver
Sons of Arrakis, Volume 1
Supersonic Blues, It’s Heavy
Supplemental Pills, Volume 1
Swamp Lantern, The Lord is With Us
UWUW, UWUW
Venus Principle, Stand in Your Light
VoidOath, Ascension Beyond Kokytus
Voidward, Voidward
Yawn, Materialism
Notes:
I struggled this year with what counted as a debut album. As noted above, four-fifths of The Otolith were in a previous band together. Is this a first record or a continuing collaboration? What about Mythosphere, born out of Beelzefuzz? Come to Grief? Edena Gardens? Lydsyn? Ultimately I decided to err on the side of inclusion, as you can see, and count it all. I will not apologize for that.
The Otolith’s Folium Limina stood alone as the year’s best debut, but other personal favorites here were Sky Pig, Mythosphere, Early Moods (who are among the brightest hopes for traditional doom in my mind), Supersonic Blues, Mount Saturn, End Boss, Les Nadie and UWUW, and Edena Gardens — if you’re looking for recommendations of places to start before diving into the weedian mischief of The Gray Goo. Some of these got more hype than others, and there’s a fairly broad range of styles represented, but even as grim as the material on this list gets, these acts and artists are united by the potential they represent for pushing heavy music forward, covering new ground and exploring new ideas as only fresh perspectives can.
At the beginning, I asked you to note how many second LPs were included in the overall list, and it did feel like a lot to me. With the quality in this list as well, I would not expect that to change in the next few years to come, as generational turnover and post-covid reshuffling continue to shake out.
Short Release of the Year 2022
Domkraft & Slomatics, Ascend/Descend Split LP
Other notable EPs, Splits, Demos, etc.:
Ascia, III
Black Math Horseman, Black Math Horseman
Blasting Rod, Mirror Moon Ascending
Bloodshot Buffalo, Light EP
Captain Caravan & Kaiser, Turned to Stone Ch. 6
The Cimmerian, Thrice Majestic
Elephant Tree, Track by Track
Fatso Jetson & All Souls, Live From Total Annihilation
The Freeks, Miles of Blues
Lammping, Stars We Lost
Lightrain, AER
Naxatras, Live in Athens
Pyre Fyre, Rinky Dink City/Slow Cookin’
Red Mesa, Forest Cathedral
Ruby the Hatchet, Live at Earthquaker
Sâver & Frøkedal, Split
Saturna & Electric Monolith, Turned to Stone Ch. 4: Higher Selves
Slugg, Yonder
Temple Fang, Jerusalem/The Bridge
Torpedo Torpedo, The Kuiper Belt Mantras
Trillion Ton Beryllium Ships, Consensus Trance
Warpstormer, Here Comes Hell
Notes:
First I’ll say that of all the lists in this super-listy post, this is the least complete. I don’t know if I just sucked at keeping track of EPs this year, but if you’ve got more you’d like to add to the above, I’m all ears.
Slomatics and Domkraft took the top spot early. Yes, I did the liner notes for that release, but between Majestic Mountain’s presentation of the vinyl, the bands covering each other and their own original work, it was too substantial to not be considered as it is. Temple Fang were a late contender, and I’ll note the work of Torpedo Torpedo and Lightrain, who are newer acts of marked potential as well. I look forward to debut albums from both of them, if not in 2023 then hopefully 2024.
Some live stuff from Elephant Tree, Naxatras, Ruby the Hatchet and Fatso Jetson/All Souls. The always-welcome Lammping. Trillion Ton Beryllium Ships continuing their intriguing progression, Slugg with a single-track statement, Ascia marching forth, Red Mesa branching out — there’s a lot here to dig, even if it’s not everything. Note two of Ripple’s ongoing Turned to Stone split series being included, and the Sâver and Frøkedal split, which was among the year’s boldest outings while still relatively brief. That in itself is a thing to be honored.
Song of the Year 2022
Caustic Casanova, “Bull Moose Against the Sky”
Tracks from Conan, UWUW, Chat Pile, Temple Fang, CB3, The Otolith, Elder, King Buffalo, Ruby the Hatchet, Melt Motif, Forlesen, My Sleeping Karma, Author & Punisher, Church of the Cosmic Skull, -(16)-, River Flows Reverse, Telekinetic Yeti, Wo Fat, on and on and on, were also considered.
But they were considered after the fact of Caustic Casanova’s “Bull Moose Against the Sky.”
The 22-minute side-B-devouring epic tale — multiple speakers and Greek chorus included — spanned progressive Americana, heavy rock and roll, punk, black metal blastbeats, disco keyboards, and historical narrative with nigh-on-impossible fluidity, mining cohesion from confusion in a singular achievement and at a level of execution that most bands simply never touch. Though its purposes were different, I rate “Bull Moose Against the Sky” of a quality that stands alongside the likes of grand declarations like Ancestors’ “First Light” and YOB’s “Marrow” as the kind of song that happens only a couple times in a decade. As I said above, it is the reason I’m including a song-of-the-year section in this post at all. If you have not heard it, I tell you with all sincerity that you’re missing something special.
Looking Ahead to 2023
With the eternal caveat that release plans change and that production delays in vinyl and label release schedules are fluid, malleable things, here are some of the artists I’m watching for in the New Year to come, presented in some semblance of alphabetically:
Ahab, Ahrbeka, Aktopasa, The Awesome Machine, Azken Auzi, Benthic Realm, Big Scenic Nowhere, Bismut, Black Rainbows, Blackwülf, Carlton Melton, Cavern Deep, Child, Church of Misery, Clouds Taste Satanic, Dead Shrine, Dirge, Dozer, Draken, Endtime & Cosmic Reaper, Enslaved, Ethyl Ether, Fatso Jetson & Dali’s Llama, Fever Ray, Fuzz Sagrado, The Golden Grass, Gozu, Graveyard, Greenleaf, Green Lung, Gypsy Chief Goliath & End of Age, Hail the Void, High Leaf, High Priestess, Hippie Death Cult, Iron Void, Isaak, Jack Harlon and the Dead Crows, Katatonia, Kind, Kollapse, KVLL, Lord Mountain, Love Gang, The Machine, Mansion, Mars Red Sky, Mathew’s Hidden Museum, Merlock, Monarch, The Necromancers, Negative Reaction, No Man’s Valley, Obelyskkh, The Obsessed, Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs, Polymoon, Raum Kingdom, REZN, Ridge, Rotor, Ruff Majik, Sacri Monti, Saint Karloff, Seum, Shadow Witch, Siena Root, Solemn Lament, Stinking Lizaveta, Stöner, Super Pink Moon, Tidal Wave, Tranquonauts, Trillion Ton Beryllium Ships, Westing, Witch, Witch Ripper, Witchthroat Serpent, Yawning Balch, Yawning Man, Zeup
Thank you
A bit about what’s gone into making this post: In the ‘Notes’ doc by which I organize the bulk of the part of my life that deals with music, I have sections devoted to the various best-of categories you see above. These are always in progress. I began to keep track of 2022 releases in 2021, just as I’ve begun already to consider what’s in store for 2023 (and beyond). It does not stop.
Because of this, I cannot give you an accurate count of the hours involved in this project, but as it always seems to be, it is the biggest post I’ve written this year — over 8,000 words as of this paragraph, the most time-consuming, and second in importance in my mind only to the results of the year-end poll still to come. On this actual writing, I’ve spent the last week involved in prep work, from early mornings that start at four on my laptop and end when my son (now five) wakes up and immediately demands to watch Sesame Street, to frantically swiping words into my phone in between the sundry tasks of my ensuing day.
I’m not telling you this to brag — in fact I don’t think it’s anything to brag about — but to make the point that without your support, none of this would be worth my time. Year in and year out, I thank you for reading, and the longer I run this site, the more continually astounded I am that anybody beyond myself gives a crap about what goes on here. From the bottom of my heart to the farthest reaches of Hawkwindian space, I am grateful, humbled, and appreciative to my core. Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
And thanks to my wife, The Patient Mrs., through whose support and love all things are possible.
I’m gonna try my damnedest to take tomorrow off, but rest assured, there’s more to come. Here’s to the next round, and thanks again for reading.
Posted in Reviews on December 6th, 2022 by JJ Koczan
A thing to celebrate. The advent of a second Forlesen album, titled Black Terrain and issued by the respected I, Voidhanger Records, comes after the band’s striking 2020 debut, Hierophant Violent (review here), and finds the now-Portland-based four-piece reveling in a lush aftermath of contemplative cross-genre singularity. At four songs, 59 minutes, it carries over the debut’s predilection toward longform craft, but offers more variety in that regard as “Strega” (19:57) and “Saturnine” (18:07) bookend as the opener and closer, respectively, with “Black Terrain” (8:58) and “Harrowed Earth” (12:29) between. This structure is complemented by a linear thread that carries through across the entire span, bolstered by strong divisions of movements in “Strega” and “Black Terrain” especially — perhaps an indicator of shorter pieces coming together as part of the recording process to make each piece; it wouldn’t be a surprise if Forlesen had a four-minute song on their next record, if only because they seem so intent on breaking rules that they’re bound to turn that inward at some point — and results in an overarching flow that presents Black Terrain as one consuming entirety.
This union happens despite the individual tracks having a distinct direction and style, and makes moments like the bursting-forth of “Harrowed Earth” from out of the drone-hypnosis of “Black Terrain” another level on which the care put into this creation can and should be appreciated. At times horrific, Black Terrain is no less engaging for its wretched aspects. It finds Alex “Ascalaphus” Lindo (vocals, guitar, bass, keys, harmonium), Beth “Bezaelith” Gladding (vocals, guitar, bass, synth, lyrics on “Black Terrain”) and drummer Sam “Maleus” Gutterman — who all have arthouse-worthy pedigrees that I’m not going to list because, two albums in, Forlesen is pedigree enough — joined by “Petit Albert” Yeh (guitar, Hammond, backing vocals, synth), with guest glockenspiel and trumpet from (the) Leila Abdul-Rauf, and manifests a sense of world-creation that is its own. It is and isn’t black metal, doom, post-whatever, was reportedly three years in the making — that puts at least some of it as contemporary to the first album, which is interesting — and offers depth enough to truly lose oneself within. An active listen, be it headphones-on or not, is rewarded with boldness of scope, confidence of performance and a sense of the progression underway in Forlesen‘s sound, different styles beginning to fuse themselves into something new, as might happen on something that feels both so epic and personal.
“Strega” begins with a mounting horror drone, almost like cats but maybe people — if you saw Nope, the mind might go there — and piano-laced doom emerges. A layer of guitar seems just to be for maybe-looped noise, but there is an immediate melodic complexity, even before vocals align with organ in the verse. Drums depart for mournful prog shoegaze, keys reminding of Ancestors‘ “First Light,” so too the breadth of the sweep that ensues at four minutes in. Layers and multiple singers top a slow ascending progression, almost ceremonial, and blackened, screaming vocals first enter subtly at the end of a verse, deep in the mix for atmosphere. This will happen again. Already there is motion, the listener is picked up and transported in it. The lead guitar feels skeletal but isn’t at all, adding to the drama of the proceedings before being complemented by the clean vocals and more prominent keys, holding on through the ensuing march again upward. Screams return to mark another verse ending, much less imaginary-feeling this time, and ghoulish layers of probably-vocals lead into a goth rocker riff that could unite doom, duly poised and unrepentantly heavy in tone. Hearing it, I find I can’t get away from feeling like it is religious.
There’s a deadpan layer in the vocals, which makes the “Strega” sound even more like chanting. They sweep again, the guitar solo this time leading the movement toward a more decisively black metal verse progression, running through some particularly cavernous effect. It is at least part psychological trauma. From there everything drops out right at about 11:01 and a raw and badass riff is teased for a measure before far-back strum hits into that same verse, basically alone though everyone still feels present in the room, sonically speaking if not actually there (most recording took place in home studios).
A folkish verse starts and the melody from Gladding brings SubRosa‘s depressive triumph “Despair is a Siren” to mind, splash cymbal behind for punctuation. It’s still a build. Whispers enter, voices joining in, one of them Bowie-esque in the line that ends with “fire.” There’s a chorus of voices then, nearly ’70s pop and praise upon it, until a scream hits at 15:49 and the song eats itself again. Screams and Gladding‘s and Lindo‘s clean vocals together; guitar solo duly grandiose as the screams leave and the instrumental hook line is reinforced. The last guitar solo is still of the extreme metal variety, but gorgeous and not at all glib about the over-the-top progression surrounding where it feels like it could be. With less than two minutes to go, the screams run deep in the mix as things have started to come apart but pick up a final wind to close with an earned-feeling verse on their part. It is done, beautifully.
Noise at the beginning of the title-track echoes the start of “Strega” but is less nightmarish, forming the bed of what will be essentially a single linear build over the course of the song’s just-under-nine-minutes. If it’s theatrical, it’s experimental theatre. Vocals enter softly in repeated melodies — what might be words, it’s hard to tell — and the guitar is there almost before its presence registers in the mind, the patience extending to the introduction of drums. There are layers of chanting vocals soon enough to complement the barely-there verse, but the heavier guitar strum at 5:05 marks a definite arrival, touching ground in a way that even the far-back, maybe-looped drum progression — intentionally vague like the verse in a whirling fog moving intentionally maddeningly into and through harmony with the chant behind, lead guitar waking up and adding a few notes to the morning prayer — wouldn’t quite harness.
That moment when the guitar hits, there’s an inhale right before that’s not audible on the recording but definitely there, and the riff is a drone as well, playing off the when-did-that-happen established melody of the vocals, becoming grand with the keyboard behind and the chanting drone, distortion ringing out in all this open space. Then a voice howling more distinctly, almost shouting those notes, then screaming, turning hellish at about 7:30 in, deep under cymbal wash. The air turns gruesome; body gore, a visceral twisting. Cymbals are looped, backwards, maybe everything is looped, I can’t even tell you. Maybe the universe is looped. Maybe you’re looped. It is a headfuck of a moment of a song. And then it ends suddenly, exploding.
So enters “Harrowed Earth,” seamlessly and with immediate thrust from the title-track. The sprint is full, heads down black metal intensity, righteous blasting rising, still black metal, churning. Screaming, vocals are deep back, then scathing at the fore. Spitting words. Furious. Glorious. There is a line of melodic guitar standing out in the mix, sort of surveying the devastation being wrought, minimal but surrounded by these furies. It’s psychedelic, truly, and some of the best psych metal I’ve ever heard. And it’s barely half the song. It turns clear-headed in bite for a moment but shifts back to that world it has begun to rip apart, howls and screams and growls dwelling in it viciously. That melodic guitar line is still there, sounding more discordant amid the pummel.
For all its black metal pageantry, whole-album-shifting presence, and this-is-where-we-wreck-shit mentality, “Harrowed Earth” is still fairly trippy in this stretch, crashing into so a running lead guitar can take off at the head of the mix. It sings past four and a half minutes with the drums chasing behind but is ultimately swallowed by the vocals, mostly high-throated and universally nasty, then human shouting, then human screaming. Crash again, the fading cymbal hits, distorted guitar. “Harrowed Earth” is brought almost to silence at about six minutes in, the stark break to the second movement letting it begin more or less as a new song with the song, and yes, the pairing is important.
A re-arrival of vocals is announced with kick drum, subsequently used to punctuate harmonized verse measures. At 7:50, it thunders into death-doom, melodic vocals over low growls, rolling movement, slow and marching; spiritual-trial-underway, not victory or funeral yet. Screams mark change to a guitar solo atop the lumbering, hypnotic than dramatic but definitely both, and plotted in its transitions as part of the unfolding drama. Piano, if that’s what it is, joins vibrantly. Vocals and lead guitar and there’s still growling somewhere in there until a whole bunch of everything drops out for a bit before being revived as the song’s final movement. The funeral, incidentally. There’s melody belted out mournfully, lines folkish and graceful and immersive, and it might be keys, or Hammond, guitar, who knows, as it fades out. Little to do but survey the dead.
“Saturnine” begins with a misdirection of heavy, distorted guitar drone. Four weighted strums before it disappears. Not yet a minute in, the finale of Black Terrain has filled out the residual feedback with another intertwining ambient hum, and this becomes the bed for much of what ensues, building one measure at a time toward a yet-unknown but inevitable destination, mirroring somewhat the title-track, but changed for the proceedings there and in “Harrowed Earth” between. Just after three minutes in, a more prominent hum takes hold and carefully places the central melody in the listener’s mind, where it will become a theme to which Forlesen return throughout. They’re building toward introducing the drums but refuse both being rushed and rushing it, and having already done the work to debunk expectation across the three songs prior, the inclination to follow where “Saturnine” leads feels natural.
It’s not necessarily percussive, but there’s a rhythmic echo behind, and a bell is struck (harmonium?) with these probably-loops surrounding, with Abdul-Rauf entering on duly melancholic trumpet at about 6:30, which they keep vague and deep in the mix — plenty of room — rather than have it burst outward, not quite a drone instrument by its nature, but long notes just the same. 8:17, harsh feedback and low distorted riff, slow, slow, slow still. It’s a major change and over the course of the next minute-plus, one can almost hear ghost vocals screaming lines that may or may not actually be there, but it feedbacks out and fades and at last, the drums begin just past the 10-minute mark. There’s clearer guitar now, echoing the earlier melody if not following the pattern exactly, and a heavy shoegaze gradually moves forward led by a central riff and the surrounding keys. The backing drones are gone but there’s a layer of lead guitar hitting the root notes before Lindo begins singing the verse, soon joined in harmony before a full roll begins at about 12:45, drones rising alongside.
The echoing voices, the drums stepping back to give space but keeping time on hi-hat, and the once more ascendant progression of the march — there might even be a layer of backward guitar there — all seem to call back to “Strega,” but “Saturnine” has its own personality as well, post-black metal in its airy melodicism but still doomed even in its defiance of that spirit. The big finish, then, is emotional. Circa 15:45, a quick thud-thud-thud-thud buildup on drums brings on a held vocal note and a guitar solo that is the crescendo for closing track and album alike; the rhythm guitar track going so far as to throw in a pickslide just in case the message didn’t come through clear enough. As a unit, a band, they ride that part and give due justice to the entirety of the work they’ve done before, crashing into another Gregorian-style verse before, at last, everything seems to let go suddenly. An amp hums, there’s a wisp of feedback, and that’s it.
I don’t imagine many, if any, who started out reading this review have made it this far. Fine. If you take nothing else away from the glut of play-by-play above, take that it seemed warranted given the creative achievement that Forlesen have in what’s still just their second record. One doesn’t want to get into hyperbole (too late), but at a time of year when best-of-this-and-that is on the brain, it’s hard not to think of Black Terrain as something that will outlast 2022, and its reach and sense of flourish will continue to speak to listeners for years to come. In the best case scenario, Forlesen would influence others to try and harness the same heights and depths, but I’m shaking my head as I write this because honestly, what they do here is so much their own that it’s hard to imagine another band taking them on as an influence and not falling flat. But it’s happened before; Forlesen have their influences as well.
As Black Terrain followed Hierophant Violent, so too something will follow it, at least hopefully. For everything accomplished here, it’s worth reiterating that the growth that Forlesen have undertaken between the first album and this one does not feel finished. They do not sound like they’ve said all they have to say as either emotive songwriters or bringers of aural extremity, and whatever they might do subsequent to it, Black Terrain feels like a landmark, regardless of genre. Recommended.
Posted in Radio on November 25th, 2022 by JJ Koczan
A rare congruence of themes here. Last episode, which was all-Greek and started with a 13-minute track, an all-long-songs show idea was bandied about the Gimme chat. I’ve done this kind of thing before, and in more extreme fashion — there was the ep where I played “Dopesmoker” that time — so I set myself to the task of finding what for me passes as some kind of balance: a full show with songs having a minimum length of 10 minutes.
Easy, right? Too easy, as it turns out. So, since we’re coming on end o’ the year anyhow, I also decided to limit the playlist to songs that came out this year and use it as a beginning for the Some of the Best of 2022 coverage, which I was gonna start next episode anyhow. I’ve never done a year-end wrap that’s felt vaguely comprehensive, so if adding a third in the series this time gets me closer to that, I’ll take it.
Maybe it will, maybe it won’t — it’s been a pretty decent year for music, as most are when it comes to it — but I’m willing to roll the dice since I was headed in that direction anyway. I’ve made it 98 episodes without running out of shit to play. Somehow I don’t imagine I will now either.
Okay, that’ll do. Thanks for listening if you do, thanks for reading if you are.
The Obelisk Show airs 5PM Eastern today on the Gimme app or at: http://gimmemetal.com.
Full playlist:
The Obelisk Show – 11.25.22 (VT = voice track)
Artist
Song
Album
The Otolith
Sing No Coda
Folium Limina
Elder
Catastasis
Innate Passage
VT
River Flows Reverse
Birds
The Homing Bird’s Trace
SAPNA
Oracle
SAPNA
Forlesen
Harrowed Earth
Black Terrain
Eight Bells
The Well
Legacy of Ruin
Onségen Ensemble
Naked Sky
Realms
Conan
A Cleaved Head Never Plots
Evidence of Immortality
Wo Fat
Orphans of the Singe
The Singularity
VT
Okkoto
Where the Meadows Dream Beside the Sea
Climb the Antlers and Reach the Stars
The Obelisk Show on Gimme Metal airs every Friday 5PM Eastern, with replays Sunday at 7PM Eastern. Next new episode is Nov. 25 (subject to change). Thanks for listening if you do.
Posted in Questionnaire on October 19th, 2022 by JJ Koczan
The Obelisk Questionnaire is a series of open questions intended to give the answerer an opportunity to explore these ideas and stories from their life as deeply as they choose. Answers can be short or long, and that reveals something in itself, but the most important factor is honesty.
Based on the Proust Questionnaire, the goal over time is to show a diverse range of perspectives as those who take part bring their own points of view to answering the same questions. To see all The Obelisk Questionnaire posts, click here.
Thank you for reading and thanks to all who participate.
The Obelisk Questionnaire: Ascalaphus from Forlesen
—
How do you define what you do and how did you come to do it?
Most broadly, I exist, fleetingly, like everyone else. Where that begins and ends is probably outside the scope of the question. It feels pertinent to begin there because the music we make is often about the loss universal to existence and seeking the transcendent. And everything else is context dependent.
More narrowly, I am a musician and songwriter. If I had to concisely describe our sound, I’d say something like Pink Floyd’s Dogs or Echoes filtered through doom and black metal, though that leaves a lot out. But I’ve written songs since I was a kid and became more serious about it roughly 20 years ago.
I was deeply immersed in black metal and dark ambient and from there got into doom through stuff like Skepticism and Khanate. That creates a backdrop for a lot of my sensibilities, but then I was studying composition and theory in college while obsessively listening to Sigh’s Imaginary Sonicscape and Sunn O)))’s Flight of The Behemoth. Some of my teachers were people that had albums out on Tzadik – including Milford Graves! – so that experimental, avant-garde, sometimes revolutionary way of thinking about music felt within reach. I don’t feel like I can claim that lineage in my music, but it certainly influenced me. Speaking of Tzadik, Kayo Dot’s Choirs of the Eye was another album that meant a lot to me. It’s still really a trip that someone who played on that album is part of Forlesen.
I think all that crystallized into wanting to make music that was as ambitious and grand in scope as classical or modern composition, but with a sensibility that hit a listener on a visceral level. Not that classical can’t do that, but I mean like Tony Iommi, Lou Reed or Michael Gira. Music that leaves space for you to be leveled by the right two to three notes repeated ad nauseam if that’s what is going to be most powerful. I wanted to claw open new sonic space the way Black Sabbath, Swans, Bathory and Neurosis all did. A lot of the time when you see someone cite one of those bands as an influence, it means they basically sound like audio fan fiction, some quite good of course. But I wanted, and suppose still want, not to sound like those bands, but to be like them.
Lastly, working with Bezaelith has dramatically impacted how I think about writing. Everyone in the band helps shape the sound immensely, but she and I began this together and her mark is indelible.
Describe your first musical memory.
Probably my dad playing acoustic guitar or my mom singing to me.
Describe your best musical memory to date.
I’ve been fortunate to have a lot of really cool experiences, both as a musician and as a fan. I’ve played shows that felt like a scene from a movie and I’ve witnessed truly uncanny things in live settings. But as a creator, the best musical memory I have is always the most recent instance of hearing whatever I am working on come to life, especially when other people are involved. There isn’t some time in the past that was better.
As far as life changing experiences go, when I was 12, my dad took the family to Woodstock 94. I saw Nine Inch Nails play their (in)famous set, the one where they were covered in mud. While they aren’t a band that I actively listen to at all these days, that absolutely set my path. It felt dark in a way I hadn’t experienced before. In a certain sense, I’d call it a spiritual awakening. I was seeking out whatever I could find that was dark from that point forward. While my tastes and interests are more evolved and less unidirectional now, that hasn’t stopped.
When was a time when a firmly held belief was tested?
I feel like if you have any spiritual/animistic tendencies, this is essentially what it is to be alive every day in the modern materialist/materialistic world. This is not a romanticization of some mythic past that for the most part never existed, but it is a prerequisite to endure and navigate if one wants a life beyond the mundane while still existing within society. I certainly fall prey to it myself.
Where do you feel artistic progression leads?
As a creator, ideally to the here and now, and from there, the future. But perhaps that’s reversed. Being with what is alive here and now and creating from that place hopefully breeds progress. Then again, Motörhead will always be one of my favorite bands. And for a lot of bands, their best work is obviously at the beginning of their career. So, true inspiration must be present, but presence is essential to receive that. Though I’ll note the irony in that statement, given that we sometimes spend 4+ years refining and adding layers to a song.
Within the world, I think new art can unlock new or hidden parts of the universe. It changes people’s minds, perhaps extremely subtly, but certainly sometimes less so. And for that matter, we shouldn’t discount the subtle. The subtle can be quite powerful.
How do you define success?
Any success still exists within a process of losing. The world is on fire and we’re all doomed and damned. This is an eternal truth, but especially so these days. But there’s a freedom that comes with that too. So if you’re someone who feels called to bring something into the world, especially something with a sense of Otherness to it, and you somehow get to do it, you’ve won. You might just get to score the soundtrack to the fucking apocalypse. Everything else is a bonus. Though it’s much easier to say that when it feels like things are going well. And let’s not make this overly pos. Even if through a certain lens just the act of making music is winning, there is certainly plenty of bad art out there.
So, internally: Forging new paths. Doing something that feels unsafe and honest as well as you possibly can. Being a torchbearer, defiantly holding a dwindling light as the world is subsumed by darkness. Or raining darkness upon the light of the obsequious. Getting to make music that feels inspired, in the true sense of the word, with people that I respect.
Externally: Making music that means to someone else what the most important music in my life has meant to me. And hopefully, for it to have as broad an opportunity to reach those people as possible.
What is something you have seen that you wish you hadn’t?
There’s a lot that’s deeply horrific and sad in the Anthropocene, but I think it’s better to recognize it than to turn a blind eye or live in denial. There are wounds we all bear, trauma from what we have been shown of the world, of life, of other people’s behavior and of our own. I don’t know that that’s for the best, in fact, I think by definition it isn’t, but it is a feature of being alive. So the work isn’t to not see it, but to not be blinded or paralyzed by it. That said, I have to acknowledge the relative safety I live in and the amount of horrific shit out there that many people in the world are confronted with on a daily basis. I haven’t been forced to watch war crimes perpetrated against my family.
With that acknowledged, I had an experience with DMT where it felt like the hologram of consensual reality completely shattered and I was being chewed up in the gears of what exists behind it. While on some level even “bad” experiences like that are still pretty interesting, and I do have an interest in the otherworldly and monstrous, it gave me a firsthand appreciation for the Lovecraft quote about the terrifying vistas of reality that would drive us mad if we understood them.
Describe something you haven’t created yet that you’d like to create.
A body of work that carves out its own sonic space within music. But that’s only something that can happen as a byproduct of being successful in the ways described above.
What do you believe is the most essential function of art?
To create/destroy. To be as god. Or to be God. Union. The most essential function is in the doing/being. There are certainly many important places this can lead both internally and externally, but they are secondary.
Something non-musical that you’re looking forward to?
Posted in Radio on September 2nd, 2022 by JJ Koczan
Two weeks ago I was at Psycho Las Vegas, and so didn’t get to post the playlist for episode 91. For posterity’s sake and because I plainly love looking at lists of band names, it’s below along with the playlist for the episode airing today, which is #92. The march to 100 continues.
The esteemed Dean Rispler (who also plays in Mighty High and a bunch of other bands) is in charge of putting the shows together on a practical level from the lists I send, and to him I extend my deepest appreciation. I’m constantly late. I suck at this in general, and worse, I know it. So yeah. Dean does a bit of hand-holding and I am thankful. He emailed me this week and asked if I was thinking yet about episode 100 and would I be doing anything special?
Well… yes. I have been. And I’d like to make it a blowout or some such, but you know what the truth is? I’m more about the work. When it comes to something like that, the most honest thing I feel like I can do is keep my head down, do another episode and then do one after that two weeks later. I’d rather feel good about a thing in myself and move on. I’m not sure I can get away with that. So maybe I’ll hit up Tommi Dozer and see if he wants to chat sometime in the next few weeks.
Thanks if you listen and thanks for reading.
The Obelisk Show airs 5PM Eastern today on the Gimme app or at: http://gimmemetal.com.
Full playlist:
The Obelisk Show – 09.02.22 (VT = voice track)
Elephant Tree
Aphotic Blues
Elephant Tree
Might
Abysses
Abyss
Author & Punisher
Misery
Kruller
VT
Lord Elephant
Hunters of the Moon
Cosmic Awakening
Swarm of the Lotus
Snowbeast
The Sirens of Silence
Big Business
Heal the Weak
The Beast You Are
The Otolith
Sing No Coda
Folium Limina
VT
Elder
Halcyon
Omens
Gaerea
Mantle
Mirage
London Odense Ensemble
Sojourner
Jaiyede Sesssions Vol. 1
Northless
What Must Be Done
A Path Beyond Grief
Conan
A Cleaved Head No Longer Plots
Evidence of Immortality
VT
Forlesen
Strega
Black Terrain
And #91, which was a pretty damn good show:
Dozer
The Flood
Beyond Colossal
Orange Goblin
Blue Snow
Time Travelling Blues
Monster Magnet
King of Mars
Dopes to Infinity
Red Fang
Fonzi Scheme
Arrows
VT
Slift
Citadel on a Satellite
Ummon
Russian Circles
Gnosis
Gnosis
Faetooth
Echolalia
Remnants of the Vessel
Caustic Casanova
Lodestar
Glass Enclosed Nerve Center
Brant Bjork
Trip on the Wine
Bougainvillea Suite
Josiah
Saltwater
We Lay on Cold Stone
Blue Tree Monitor
Sasquatch
Cryptids
VT
Torche
Tarpit Carnivore
In Return
Telekinetic Yeti
Rogue Planet
Primordial
Mezzoa
Dunes of Mars
Dunes of Mars
Thunderbird Divine
Boote’s Void
The Hand of Man
Omen Stones
Burn Alive
Omen Stones
1000mods
Vidage
Super Van Vacation
VT
Truckfighters
Con of Man
Mania
The Obelisk Show on Gimme Metal airs every Friday 5PM Eastern, with replays Sunday at 7PM Eastern. Next new episode is Sept. 16 (subject to change). Thanks for listening if you do.
Posted in Whathaveyou on August 29th, 2022 by JJ Koczan
No doubt you’ve seen this album announcement by now, as I’m perfectly willing to admit the unveiling of cover art, details, etc. happened a couple weeks ago for Forlesen‘s second album, Black Terrain. The streaming track “Strega,” however, is newer. it would seem to be one of three inclusions on the follow-up to 2020’s legitimately-ballyhooed Hierophant Violent (review here), and it brings the band with members of Lotus Thief, Botanist and Kayo Dot further toward the outer charted limits of what constitutes progressive doom, black metal and so on, beginning with a note of glockenspiel before a sense of mounting horror noisy fade-in leads to a massive, doomed roll, lush melodies, volume trades, an arrangement as deep as you want to plunge, and later, throwing it all down to build up from minimalist maybe-guitar to a consuming and urgent but still slow finish.
If you heard the first record and dug it, you’re either already listening to the song at the bottom of this post or you already caught wind of it when it premiered elsewhere late last week, so either way, I hope you’re digging it. For anyone experiencing the band for the first time now, just open your mind and let yourself follow where the band lead and know that you won’t regret it.
Breathe in, and…:
FORLESEN – Black Terrain – Oct. 28
FORLESEN have offered up the first taste of their upcoming album with new their new single “Strega”. Taken from their upcoming album, Black Terrain, out on October 28th via I, Voidhanger Records, the band draws from dark ambient, epic doom, black metal and slowcore, subverting traditional songwriting.
FORLESEN formed in San Francisco at the end of 2016 and released their debut, Hierophant Violent, in 2020. Comprised of two side-length tracks, it soon found a cult following. Now based in Portland, OR, FORLESEN continues their compositional evolution with Black Terrain, expanding into previously untapped musical realms.
As with their debut, Black Terrain’s monolithic songs, at times approaching twenty minutes in length, fully immerse the listener in a contrast of the serene and cacophonous. “Strega” begins shrouded in eerie atmosphere before embarking on a journey from vulnerable ballad to hymnal dirge. The ferocity of “Harrowed Earth” thrusts the album into the realm of black and doom metal. In the aftermath, “Saturnine” brings the album full circle, culminating in an ethereal mantra.
Black Terrain evokes a sense of the grand, but also the intimate. Each instrument and voice is carefully placed and each musical transition seamless to prevent the mesmerizing spell from being broken. FORLESEN have crafted a stunning cinematic masterpiece.
FORLESEN is:
Ascalaphus (ex-BOTANIST) – Vocals, guitars, synth, harmonium, bass Bezaelith (LOTUS THIEF) – Vocals, bass, guitars, synth Petit Albert (LOTUS THIEF) – Guitars, synth, Hammond B3 organ, backing vocals Maleus (ex-KAYO DOT, ex-MAUDLIN OF THE WELL) – Drums
Credits:
Glockenspiel and trumpet performed by Leila Abdul-Rauf. Music and lyrics by Ascalaphus except lyrics on Black Terrain by Bezaelith. All music arranged by Forlesen. Drums and Hammond B3 recorded by Justin Phelps at the Hallowed Halls, Portland, OR. All other recording done in various home studios between 2018 and 2021. Mixed by Jack Shirley at the Atomic Garden, Oakland, CA. Mastered by Garrett Haines at Treelady Studios, Pittsburgh, PA. Artwork by Benjamin A. Vierling
