The self-titled debut EP from Melbourne, Australia’s Motherslug arrives in a CD jewel case with green artwork on the front and a fuzzy black and white band pic on back, over which the four component songs — “Symptoms,” “Rollin’,” “Devils Rise” and “Space Man” — are listed in the Scorpions logo font. Some records just bleed stoner rock, and Motherslug‘s first outing is most assuredly that, moving from an initial Sleep reference at the very start of “Symptoms” — think the beginning of “Dragonaut” — all the way to a bigtime ride-this-riff slowdown at the end of the eight-and-a-half-minute closer. If nothing else becomes clear at the end of the EP’s 26 minutes, you can at least say Motherslug know what they like.

But in fact, a lot becomes clear by the EP’s end, and it’s not so much about seeking out hidden breadth — though to that end, I’d note the psychedelic break in “Rollin’,” which thankfully was not a Limp Bizkit cover — as it is about approaching Motherslug on the level of their intent. Having been a band for just over a year now, not even a year when they put these cuts to tape, there’s a lot about Motherslug that sounds exploratory, feeling out different ideas to see what works in their songwriting, but Cam (vocals), Fergus and Matt (both guitar), Cyn (bass) and Nick (drums) come out of the gate with a solid presentation of their genre and a clear idea, basking in the glow of Sabbath‘s “Hole in the Sky” in the early verses of “Rollin’” even as they push their thickened riffs into churning crash later in the track before putting the second half of the riffy bookend in place. Cam‘s singing reminds mostly of middle-era Alabama Thunderpussy or any number of other stoner singers, but he shows some drive toward fleshing out his approach as well on “Devils Rise” with a Cathedral-style cadence, and though high in the mix, his vocals don’t grate like so many heavy rock singers’ do.

And Motherslug are hardly the first nascent heavy rock unit to put their frontman out front, but with a song like “Devils Rise” — a little slower, a little more on the doom end of stoner doom — one really does want that sense of being swallowed whole by the riffs, and burying the vocals under the guitars and bass is how that happens. Again though, I’m not about to hold that against a self-releasing band on their first EP. By and large, the sound on Motherslug‘s Motherslug is crisp and professional — not too clean, but clean enough to display some will toward accessibility on their part. The closer, longer by two full minutes than anything else on the EP, keeps to a middle pace between the more shuffling “Rollin’” and “Devils Rise,” beginning with winding guitar and quickly locking in its central groove. Cyn provides the bridge between the opening run and the aforementioned final slowdown of the track with viscous, satisfying low end that pushes air en route to the rest of the band joining back in just past the five-minute mark.

That slowdown lasts for about the last three and a half minutes of the song, and though Motherslug have left themselves some room to grow, they’ve also made their intentions thunderously apparent. For listeners long inducted into the realm of stone, the tracks on the Motherslug EP should more or less feel like coming home, and though the band live quite literally on the other side of the planet, I can still just imagine the pint glasses raised in their honor in some darkened venue. Not revolutionary, not aiming for revolutionary, but a thoroughly enjoyable listen for the converted and something to build from should Motherslug seek further development.

Motherslug on Thee Facebooks

Motherslug on Bandcamp

Caking a ’90s alternative influence in fuzz, heavy riffs and a gnarly feedback bent, Aussie heavy rockers Drifter unveil their gritty debut EP, Head, with few frills and a pervasive garage-type rawness. The five-song release is over in 13 minutes, so you know the Melbourne-area trio aren’t wasting much time getting down to business, and sure enough they don’t. Cuts like “I’ve Been Bad” and the punkier “Priest” run from point A to B, and even the crunchier, grunge-derived “Halo” keeps to a more or less basic structure and lack of pretense, leading into closer “So Long,” which reminds of something Nick Oliveri might have brought to the table in Queens of the Stone Age, filling out sound-wise in the chorus behind the half-screamed vocals of guitarist Dan King, bassist Scott Fraser and drummer Dave Payne.

Each of the five tracks ends in feedback, and it’s King‘s guitar leading the way for almost the entirety of the proceedings, but Drifter do find room to work some complexity into their approach and their style. It’s a jump in aesthetic from “Halo” to “Priest” that’s striking even with “All Over Town” between them, the latter working off an almost pop-punk progression to showcase its “take that, maturity”-type chorus while the former churns and builds a considerable tension in just a three-minute span while also proffering one of those in-spite-of-itself hooks that made grunge so powerful a pop force in the first place. In terms of the sheer fuzz, “All Over Town” might be my favorite track. King‘s riff is simple and the vocal cadence touches on Fu Manchu without ever going overboard. Like the EP as a whole, it’s also over before you know it.

That works though, since if Drifter started spacing out it would take away from the immediacy of their hooks and the punkish base they show on Head. The CD arrived in a creatively-folded sleeve with the recording info, tracklisting and a cartoon cover of caveman beardos in shorty-shorts, so it’s good to know that whatever else Drifter have going on, they’ve got a good sense of weirdness to match. Can only help them going forward, and in the meantime, they work a bit of that into the music as well. You can hear the tracks on Head by hitting up the Drifter Bandcamp or looking them up on Thee Facebooks. Here’s the EP in its entirety for your perusal:

From the gong and the very first guitar jangles and cymbal washes of “Fists of Stone,” the opening cut on Fortress of Narzod‘s debut EP, Power in the Hands of Fools (on Chief Designer Records), I thought for sure the three-track release was going to be a wash of Hawkwind space rock as filtered through Monster Magnet‘s ’90s-style swagger. Turns out the Aussie trio had other plans in mind, as “Fists of Stone” quickly thickens up its riffing as guitarist Andrew Pickering kicks into a more distorted tone and both bassist Jim Lewis (also vocals) and drummer Scott Pridham are keen to match pace.

Heavy psych vibes persist, though, and the crux of Power in the Hands of Fools seems to stem from playing one side off the other. “Fists of Stone,” “(Now) There’s No Way Out” and the longer closer “Mighty Isis” offer solid riff-led groove, but there’s an impulse at work here too that comes from jamming, and particularly in Lewis‘ tone, one gets a sense that Fortress of Narzod could ride out a part for a solid eight to 10 minutes if they felt like it. They don’t come close, even on “Mighty Isis,” which tops seven, but flourishes like video game-style “space organ” and a mid-’60s psych guitar line to the centerpiece “(Now) There’s No Way Out” speak to ideas beyond those of simplistic stonerisms. Lewis‘ vocals come in more blown out but still well balanced in the mix in classic punk fashion, and when he delivers the titular line as the chorus, the effect isn’t catchy — that is, it’s not an over-the-top hook — so much as memorable.

“(Now) There’s No Way Out” also “gets heavy” in the sense of stomping into thicker fuzz in its second half, but even then, Lewis keeps his vocals consistent despite the louder guitars and drums from Pickering and Pridham and the effect is almost like the song is swallowing its own chorus. Pickering layers in a plotted but effective solo and Pridham punctuates Lewis‘ runs with snare pop and straightforward cymbal work that nonetheless does much to fill the sound before the bluesy solo is cut short and Lewis opens “Mighty Isis” with a bassline immediately grooving over cascading feedback and soon alternating lumber and grungy verse progressions.

The extra runtime between “Mighty Isis” and “Fists of Stone” or “(Now) There’s No Way Out” — which run 4:13 and 4:33, respectively — can be attributed to jamming out in the middle and at the end of the song. Pickering snakes through another impressive solo at the halfway point that leads back to the verse and soon enough, Fortress of Narzod are making good on that whole “ride a part out for a long time” thing, Lewis’ bassline being the force tying the pieces together while Pridham gives it another go on the gong before hitting into a fill that relaunches the riff and leads the way out of the song and the EP as a whole, the guitars offering last-minute slow wah swirl and crunchy fuzz in kind as the progression fades perhaps just a little too quickly.

My longstanding affection for Aussie heavy taken into account, Fortress of Narzod‘s debut probably doesn’t offer much that will honestly catch experienced listeners off guard, but Lewis, Pridham and Pickering give a solid showing of genre on Power in the Hands of Fools and enough of an indication of their style to make me curious to see where their blend of stoner and psych might lead and if they continue to expand on the nascent affinity for extra touches like the gong, the organ, 12-string acoustic, etc. Here’s a video for “(Now) There’s No Way Out” to see if you don’t agree:

Fortress of Narzod on Thee Facebooks

Fortress of Narzod’s website

Noise-infected Aussie five-piece Whitehorse specialize in the kind of death/doom that’s so lurching and massive in its brown metal tonality that it sounds slow even on the few occasions the band decides to speed things up. The Melbourne, Victoria, group have released enough live albums and EPs since 2005 to be called prolific, but the sludge-grooving Progression (Sweat Lung Records) is only their second full-length in that time, following a 2007 self-titled released by 20 Buck Spin. At a vinyl-ready 38 minutes, Progression is preceded in 2011 by the Document: 250407 EP, and a split with Rhode Island avant doomers The Body has already followed, but the album was clearly made to stand on its own, and it does, inflicting its dreary, darkened atmospherics well beyond the point of oppression. Whitehorse – guitarist Adrian Naudi (ex-The Berzerker), bassist Pete McLean, drummer Dan McKay, noise-maker David Coen and vocalist Peter Hyde – delve into the depths of viciousness, the ultra-slow riffing providing some groove that, again, is more prominent in the faster stretches, but still holds firm to some doom-based ideals and sets a firm ground for Hyde to launch his all-out brutal vocal assault in the forms of death growls and blackened metal screams that play well off each other on songs like the later “Time Worm Regression.”

Nothing polarizes quite like harsh vocals. Some people just can’t take it. I’m not one of them. If you can scream or growl effectively, fit with the rhythm and the atmosphere set by the music, then I’m all for it, and as far as that goes, Hyde has a handle on both technique and presentation. His growls echo over McKay’s crashes and the thudding riffs of Naudi and McLean, sounding disenfranchised and inhuman at the same time. Given Australia’s history of death/doom (dISEMBOWELMENT walks by and waves), Whitehorse aren’t exactly innovative, but they do what they do well, and Coen’s added noises and electronics do much to distinguish the band from others of their ilk. At their heart, they are unrelentingly heavy, and as the five tracks of Progression – “Mechanical Disintegration,” “Progression,” “Control, Annihilate,” “Time Worn Regression” and “Remains Unknown” – play out, Whitehorse’s blend of sludge and death/doom becomes even more effective, until finally the same plodding drums that introduced “Mechanical Disintegration” lead the way out of the 10:45 “Remains Unknown.” Hyde is a big part of that heaviness, since he never wavers in the filthiness of his approach, but each member of the band plays a part, including Coen, whose presence is immediately felt on the opener, playing off McKay’s drums with echoing rhythmically-timed noises of his own. There is a sense of foreboding about the opening of Progression, and Coen is a big factor in it.

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A death/doom outfit in the gloomy and mournful tradition, Subterranean Disposition (website here) is comprised of one man: Terry Vainoras. The Melbourne, Australia, native has played in acts like Insomnius Dei and The Eternal, and with Subterranean Disposition (one can only assume someone out there calls the band SubDis, whether it’s Terry himself or not), he explores the sorrowful aspects of European-style metallic melodrama.

Very European-style, actually. The song Vainoras has uploaded to Subterranean Disposition’s SoundCloud page shows a heavy My Dying Bride influence, particularly in the vocals, which in their spoken parts are more acted out than sung. Ranging musically from heavy thuds and expressions of an Iliad of woes to the open space that sampled ocean waves provide, the song “The Most Subtle of Storms” moves deftly between its parts and offers a considerable taste of what Vainoras has to offer.

Helping the song in that respect is that it’s almost 15 minutes long. Taken from Subterranean Disposition’s upcoming self-titled full-length, it’s rougher production-wise than most Eurodoom these days (one generally thinks of something lush and elaborate, and Vainoras isn’t there yet), which gives it a feel tossing back to the ’90s earlier days of the genre sound-wise with the complexity of the modern style. There are some kinks yet to be worked out in terms of the mix (at least until the saxophone kicks in; it’s smooth sailing from there), but here’s “The Most Subtle of Storms” from Subterranean Disposition’s Subterranean Disposition:

When done right, stoner/doom riffage and brutal vocals can be a lethal combination. Melbourne plodders Clagg go out on a limb to prove the idea again on their third full-length, Lord of the Deep. The album, which was originally released as five-tracks in 2009 and issued again in 2011 with closing Iron Monkey cover “Big Loader” added on Obsidian Records, is an unrepentantly filthy monster of huge sonic proportions. If nothing else, it proves the double-guitar Aussie five-piece know what they’re talking about. The band, which formed in 2002, chose the album’s name, imagery and thematics well. They’re not the first to marry gargantuan tones with oceanic imagery, but damn if they don’t do it well.

That’s pretty much the story with the whole album, as it happens. Lord of the Deep runs the better part of 66 minutes, spread across the already-noted six tracks, and I’ll say flat-out that there’s nothing revolutionary happening here. I’ll add to that, however, that I don’t think there should be. The dark, dense and pummeling atmosphere Clagg is able to affect through their songs is potent enough that it puts you in a headspace where you care less about what’s being broken down and remade than you do about where your next beer is coming from and how hard you can actually thrust it in the air before spilling any. The first three songs of Lord of the Deep – “Carrion,” “Lord of the Deep” (which has two parts subtitled “They Dream Fire” and “At the Rising of the Storm”) and “Buried” comprise over 40 minutes’ worth of material alone, and though there are a few breaks in the action here and there, moments to catch your breath before the next wave hits, etc., Clagg never stray too far from the brutality. Even as fourth cut “The Harvest” works some clean singing from Scotty (it’s a first-name-only deal across the board), the music is dementedly heavy behind, and the sense is that the throat-searing isn’t over. And indeed it isn’t. In its back half, “The Harvest” (a mere seven minutes long, as opposed to the first three tracks, which are all over 11 minutes, or the first two, over 15) has some of Lord of the Deep’s most brutal growling. We’re talking Cephalic Carnage-style. Real deal.

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Australian noisemaking duo destructo Hotel Wrecking City Traders have put up a page at IndieGoGo.com (not an amateur stripping site, as it turns out) asking for donations to help them record their next full-length album. Now, the thing here is that in donating, you’re basically buying a copy of the album, because I don’t think Hotel Wrecking City Traders have a release out yet — they put out their own material through drummer Ben Wrecker‘s Bro Fidelity imprint — that they haven’t given away for free, either via their Bandcamp site or some other distribution channel.

So if you’re hesitant to donate, don’t think of it necessarily as giving away money so a band can hit the studio, just think of it as preordering a copy of the record before it’s put out on the 12″ vinyl. If past is any kind of prologue, Hotel Wrecking City Traders material is worth the investment, and you get the smug satisfaction of knowing you helped independent artists. That alone is easily worth the 10 bucks or however much you want to give either via Paypal or credit card.

Here’s the link to donate. Have at it.

The cumbersomely-named Australian instrumental duo Hotel Wrecking City Traders have been in the business of noisemaking since 2007, releasing an EP and their Black Yolk full-length through drummer Ben Matthews’ own imprint, Bro Fidelity. They’re shortly to issue a collaboration with Gary Arce of desert rock legends Yawning Man, but in the meantime have issued the Somer/Wantok 7” single on their own, which finds the production somewhat stripped down from Black Yolk, but the songs comparatively tighter as well.

Matthews’ snare pops quickly on “Somer,” and the somewhat groovier “Wantok,” and the guitar of his brother, Toby Matthews, is appropriately tight and feels much more condensed sound-wise than it did on Black Yolk, keeping the band’s “one guitar/one drumkit” thoroughly in mind. As the cover suggests listening to “Wantok” first, I took that approach and found myself quickly lost in Toby’s riffs, which come through with a tone not dissimilar from but hardly imitating early Pelican. There is an isolated feel in the music, but more on “Wantok” than “Somer,” there are sweet melodies to offset that loneliness. And for what it’s worth, neither track is long enough for you, listening to it, to miss vocals.

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