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Friday Full-Length: SubRosa, More Constant Than the Gods

Posted in Bootleg Theater on March 3rd, 2023 by JJ Koczan

SubRosa aren’t two and a half minutes into the 14-minute “The Usher” on More Constant Than the Gods before they’ve set an atmosphere of intricacy, tension, beauty and sadness. That opener and longest track (immediate points) consumes, explodes, recedes, surges, rolls, runs and flies. It begins with Rebecca Vernon (also guitar) having a duet with Death as played by Jason McFarland and is likewise gorgeous and raw, and then it’s gone, though the poetry of the lyrics continues even after the wash of echoing guitar and strings, the long stretch of stomping hits in the middle and the melancholy melodicism that follows at around seven and a half-minutes in; the payoff in the quiet verse beginning “You’re more constant than the stars…” as the vocals build, adding harmonies in the third of four lines, the last of which is the title-line of the album: “You’re more constant than the gods/Because sometimes when we call they don’t answer at all.” Then, explosion again. Melodic wash, Death returns (I hear that’ll happen), and they ride the descent into a last few minutes of oblivion, getting noisier as they go with violin scathe before the immediate nodding lumber of “Ghosts of a Dead Empire” (11:05) answers back how much the universe mourns our various passings.

Released in 2013 as the band’s second outing through Profound Lore and their third album overall, More Constant Than the Gods was a moment of arrival for the Salt Lake City band. Andy Patterson, who had engineered (and played harmonica on) 2011’s No Help for the Mighty Ones (review here), joined the band as drummer in 2012, and alongside Vernon, bassist Christian Creek (bassists; they had a few), violinist/vocalist Sarah Pendleton and violinist/backing vocalist Kim Pack — also cello on “Ghosts of a Dead Empire” and closer “No Safe Harbor” — proved to be an essential component to the lineup.

The cymbal taps behind that “More constant…” verse in “The Usher” is all you need for an example there, let alone the scope of the recording itself (Magnus “Devo” Andersson mixed and mastered) or the smooth punctuation given the elephantine start of “Ghosts of a Dead Empire,” which has room in its breadth for that as well as the plucked strings behind the chorus that feels so particularly American in its context for the word “slavery,” as well as deep-mixed growls behind the forward melody, guest guitar spot by Bill Frost, and an abiding nod as the cello sounds like a war horn, strings growing airier in the subsequent verse to herald a break to come. Distortion and rising violin notes stretch into the second half until it breaks out at 8:09 and unfolds its crashing realization, resonant in multiple regards.

Comparatively, “Cosey Mo” (7:31) is straightforward and hooky with its promises to dig up every unmarked grave searching for the title character, SubRosa More Constant Than the Godsbut the atmosphere so central to the first two more extended pieces remains and the arrangements are consistent, emphasizing the malleability of SubRosa‘s approach. That underlying Americana in “Ghosts of a Dead Empire” is there in “Cosey Mo” as well; it has a folkish underpinning in its lyrical use of second-person address, but at the same time, it echoes the punk defiance in the verses of “The Usher,” where “Fat of the Ram” (12:18) takes hold, opening with distorted strum and dual vocals specifically placing the proceedings in Salt Lake City (“city by a dead lake”), with some creepy whispers worked into the background before it takes off at around three minutes in with more of a rhythmic push, unfolding.

Shouts, crashes, more whispers, ripping, tearing, existentially brutal, the standout line “There’s no shelter for me in the halls of the righteous” pure in its declaration. It’s not quite a chorus like in “Cosey Mo,” but it comes around again and is welcome next time too amid so much tumult — the song seems twice to fall down a flight of stairs, as regards transitions — and when that stops shortly before the seven-minute mark and they go to ground on standalone guitar and vocals, building gradually, patiently back to a launch point, the over the next two-plus minutes, the harmony is no less spine-shiver than the eventual sway of the heavy return and crescendo that caps.

Transitional noise, a drone and some static, leads out of “Fat of the Ram” and into “Affliction” (9:49), with a siren of guitar at its start and subsequent slog, almost otherworldly in its initial doomed march. The pace picks up after the first verse — the lyrics again tapped into folk balladry; a mournful mother speaking of a cruel husband in the first three verses before the song switches to a more analytical perspective with “There is a darkness born out of time…” in the second half — but the cymbal wash feels especially prevalent.

The song almost breaks in two pieces with feedback bridging the divide, and the post-midpoint adrenaline rush is willfully contrasted with calming strings like someone telling you it’s okay when you know it isn’t and your blood won’t stop boiling and your brain feels like it’s on fire with your own misery and there’s nowhere else to put it but into the air in hopes of getting it out of you. Before hitting eight minutes, it evens out back to the verse plod with the siren guitar behind, the last lines a prayer for death that alludes back to “The Usher” with enough subtlety to call it “mercy” instead of “death” that’s being wished for. If you don’t believe art can be moving, or you don’t know what emotional labor is, here you go.

Piano begins “No Safe Harbor,” with complement from flute by April Clayton and clarinet by David Payne, and the drumless finale of More Constant Than the Gods ends the record by using those keys for rhythm as well as melody behind a vocal highlight, not so much leaving open space where heft and stomp might otherwise be but changing how that space is used while holding to the atmosphere that’s been cast over the album as a whole. VernonPendleton and Pack are together singing by the time the first half is done, and though the threat of heaviness is paid off at 6:41 with the arrival of dense, open-strummed guitar — again declarative, but differently so — and flute setting up a finish relatively subdued (ha) considering some of the surroundings but no less encompassing for that, coming apart around violin and some tapped something-or-other that’s the final element to go, contemplative even as it bounces into nothingness.

I missed More Constant Than the Gods when it was released. I have reasons — excuses, really — for that (I moved, the transition at the time between physical and digital promos, the hype around it, etc.), but the bottom line is the same. The album turns 10 years old in September and was a breakthrough moment for SubRosa that would lead to 2016’s swansong For This We Fought the Battle of Ages (review here), which I’ll still put against anything you want to sit next to it as one of the best records of its decade. In light of the band’s dissolution in 2019, the victorious return of PendletonPack, Patterson and later-bassist Levi Hanna in The Otolith for 2022’s best debut album, Folium Limina (review here), the launch of a new exploration that would represent, and the prospect of Vernon‘s The Keening still to manifest, I’m almost glad I hadn’t really dug into this to write about it until now.

It seems like cheating to know how the story ends, maybe, but, well, I feel like hearing these songs with the ears I have today lets me appreciate them more than I might have 10 years ago — I’d probably have said the same thing 10 years ago about listening in the dawn of my 20s, mind you, and been right about that too — which one might read as testament to the power of the release itself to flourish with age. I read it that way, at least.

As always, I hope you enjoy. Thank you for reading.

It’s 5:40AM now. I’ve woken up early enough all week that the thought of sleeping until the alarm goes off at 4AM feels “late,” and I feel like the tradeoff, generally speaking, is in not feeling rushed while I’m writing. That doesn’t account for The Pecan coming downstairs at 5:15 this morning as though shot out of a cannon — the ADHD diagnosis standard is “driven, as if by a motor,” which has become a running gag around the house; emphasis there on ‘running’ — but as expected he’s willing to sit still long enough to eat his regular morning yogurt when Sesame Street is on.

He goes through phases with tv, wants to watch one show or two — right now it’s this and Bluey, which is obnoxious and encourages imitation of its obnoxiousness, but well written and, in the third season, feels as much for parents as kids — but I’m going to be sad when he’s eventually done with Elmo and Cookie Monster and company. I feel like there isn’t enough open advocacy for kindness in children’s media. Everything is the casual violence and franchise indoctrination of Spider-Man or the copaganda of Paw Patrol, both produced to sell toys like so many of the shows I grew up watching. I still miss Peep & The Big Wide World as well. PBS is a fucking treasure and if it had half the funding of the US military there’s no question the world would be a better, kinder place. Alas.

In any case, I finished the above while he plotzed around the living room, making probably enough noise to wake The Patient Mrs. in bed if she wasn’t already up, and that’s how it goes. Yesterday he almost made it to 6AM, and that felt pretty glorious.

He continues to enjoy Tae Kwon Do, this week got a ‘star card’ for being the best in class and he was so excited he ran and jumped in my arms while Master Acevedo, who runs the place and is great with kids, was still talking about what great concentration and attention he had showed. I could live 400 years if I could remember the look on his face of delight, pride, expressive happiness where he’s so often reserved in the sprit of his mother, me, his cousins, etc. I guess we’re not the best at feeling feelings, any of us. I’m pretty good at being miserable, if that counts?

Today is Bandcamp Friday, and there’s a ton of stuff out as a result. If you’re looking for things to spend money on, the playlist for today’s The Obelisk Show on Gimme Metal might be a good way to go. That airs at 5PM at http://gimmemetal.com.

I expect to be in the chat, hopefully stoned as the day rolls into the evening after The Pecan has had dinner and we move toward winding down, so if you’re there, please say hi and I’ll awkwardly say hi back and thanks for listening, etc. It goes like that these days.

Dude is draped across my lap now, smoothed out some after going to the bathroom and having his yogurt, and that’s fine. This is all pretty standard. He’s growing. Yesterday was his last day at speech therapy, which was also emotional, and he did pretty well not beating me up as a result of said emotions, which he generally processes through physicality. Excitement is literally running in circles, and so on.

This week had a couple genuinely awesome records. Sandrider and Stoned Jesus will be in my top 30. Next week has more. Monday is a Child review, and I’m streaming the REZN album in full on Tuesday. Santo Rostro after that and a combined premiere for the Duel and The Atomic Bitchwax live records Heavy Psych Sounds is putting out on Thursday, a cool video from High Noon Kahuna on Friday, and a couple fun announcements along the way. I feel like the site is in a decent place right now, rolling along. I’m overwhelmed, but glad to be writing about what I’m writing about most of the time, and that’s pretty much the standard I go by. If you’re going to be busy, being busy with good music is the way to go. Wednesday this week was frustrating since I kind of meandered away from getting the things done that I needed to, but yesterday I got back on track. The challenge is part of the appeal. Also we’re hanging cabinets in the kitchen. I’ve been enjoying going swimming in the mornings and trying to be mindful of not being psychotic or self-punishing about it as I always am about exercise. Life proceeds.

On that note, and as Mr. Noodle learns what a conga drum is and the episode from season 40 draws close to its finish, I’ll leave it there. I hope you have a great and safe weekend and I hope to see you back on Monday if not before in the Gimme chat. Either way, have fun, be safe, and thanks as always for reading. All the best, and no, I don’t mean that passive-aggressively.

FRM.

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The Otolith Post “Andromeda’s Wing” Video

Posted in Bootleg Theater on November 11th, 2022 by JJ Koczan

The Otolith

Though it’s fair to call The Otolith‘s debut album, Folium Limina (review here), urgent on any number of levels as regards emotional resonance or sonic push, the surge at the beginning of second track “Andromeda’s Wing” is about as immediate as they get. And it’s pretty immediate, so there you go. That moment, especially coming out of album opener “Sing No Coda,” is crucial to the early impression the album makes, a claim to intensity present and, hopefully, future, that also maintains the atmosphere of the track before as it begins to unfold its melody from there. It is, in other words, one hell of a 30 seconds or so of music, and the nine minutes that follow are nothing to shake a stick at either.

Soar and crush, both readily on display across the record, are at the core of “Andromeda’s Wing,” but in one of the band’s most fortunate inheritances from members’ prior outfit SubRosa, their vision of post-metal is deftly arranged such that what essentially breaks down on paper to trades between loud parts and quiet parts are a richer experience than just the simple back and forth. And no, that’s not just an effect of the violins or the largesse of tone they captured in the studio. It’s in how everything comes together through the guitar, bass, synth, drums, vocals, and strings; a wholly consuming effect that can feel like a wash, totally overwhelming, or can be a world in which to dwell, depending entirely on the moment, the listener, and the course of the song in question.

Like much of Folium Limina, “Andromeda’s Wing” is complex and engrossing, severe and melodic, a beauty-in-darkness kind of pummel and spread that is emblematic of the individualized creative spirit that makes the album so substantial. I haven’t decided yet if it counts as a debut, really, since it’s more like a lineup and name change than a new band being formed, but if it is, it’s the best one of 2022. Maybe that’s a thing worth celebrating anyway in the spirit of hope that they do more sometime in the next couple years. Or, you know, ever. I’d be satisfied with ever.

Enjoy the clip:

The Otolith, “Andromeda’s Wing” official video

Salt Lake City’s symphonic doom and post-metal unit THE OTOLITH (with members of SubRosa) share their brand new “Andromeda’s Wing” video today. Their debut album “Folium Limina” is out now on Blues Funeral Recordings.

About the video, the band says: “We wrote this song in Levi’s [Hanna, guitar] basement during the winter, huddled in a circle of chairs next to his computer and his pinball machine. It came together over a couple of weeks, and at one point, Kim [Cordray, violin/vocals] had a beautiful idea for an outro vocal melody and some lyrics. Then I connected her idea with these recurring dreams I have about aliens. After that the lyrics sort of tumbled out. The protagonist is sleepwalking in the deep countryside, passing by nocturnal animals who watch as she journeys. She has the feeling of leaving her body and looking down at herself in the road. She comes to a natural spring and speaks with alien visitors about what can be done to slow the destruction of the planet.”

THE OTOLITH is the avant-garde doom and post-metal band formed by former SubRosa members Kim Cordray, Levi Hanna, Andy Patterson and Sarah Pendleton, alongside bassist Matt Brotherton. Following the same muse of cathartic and cataclysmic melancholy as their previous outfit, their debut album “Folium Limina” draws no line between beauty and doom, with ghostly symphonic strings interlacing with crushing bass, guitar and percussion, while all four vocalists conduct signals across time and space to arrive through cosmic storms to a sea of liquid stars. A cathartic and mind-elevating experience without a doubt!

THE OTOLITH is
Kim Cordray – Violin, Vocals
Levi Hanna – Guitar, Vocals
Andy Patterson – Drums, Percussion
Matt Brotherton – Bass Guitar, Vocals
Sarah Pendleton – Violin, Lead Vocals

The Otolith, Folium Limina (2022)

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Album Review: The Otolith, Folium Limina

Posted in Reviews on October 28th, 2022 by JJ Koczan

The Otolith Folium Limina

There’s just so much happening. It’s like life. From the tolling bell, crow calls and subtle bass-led progression — almost dance — soon joined by a tense chugging guitar line, peppered ambient notes of who knows what, and emergent violin in the first two minutes of “Sing No Coda” to the ultra-melancholic wash in the end of closer “Dispirit,” with its weaving lines of rhythmic static, sad, slow strings, and noise on an eventual fade, yes, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed. The first lines of the Folium Limina arrive with Utah-ready puritanical severity behind them, vocalists Sarah Pendleton and Kim Cordray, both of whom also play violin, finding their way into and around harmony while they, guitarist/vocalist Levi Hanna, bassist/vocalist Matt Brotherton and drummer/percussionist Andy Patterson — who engineered, mixed and mastered the recording, as he will — begin to unfurl the bleak majesty that is the backdrop before which their debut album takes place.

The this-is-mostly-slow-but-all-urgent sensibility that persists throughout the six pieces/63 minutes and the outright elephantine tonal heft of their heaviest chapters, as well as basic elements like the vocal harmonies, violins, immersive post-metallic claustrophobia, longer-form songwriting, etc., are The Otolith‘s chief inheritances from SubRosa, and if the argument being made in Folium Limina is that the prior band had more to say — that they weren’t done when they were done — it’s one that prompts easy agreement with the songs making that point.

Pendleton (also of Asphodel Wine) steps into a lead vocalist role and Hanna swaps bass for guitar in the new outfit, and he and/or Brotherton are perhaps more prominent as male/harsh vocalists (pardon me if I don’t break out percentages) as demonstrated at the and-go!-surging-lurch beginning of “Andromeda’s Wing” and the sweeping midsection of the aforementioned “Dispirit,” which at 11:08 bookends Folium Limina with “Sing No Coda” (which opens with its longest track, thereby earning ever-coveted ‘immediate points,’ at 13:29; everything else is between nine and 10 minutes), but aesthetically, there’s little question that The Otolith are moving outward from what SubRosa became across their four full-lengths, even as they begin to lay claim to a path of their own apart from the songwriting contributions of Rebecca Vernon (now of The Keening), whose departure from SubRosa effectively ended the band, and fair enough.

Narrative, blessings and peace upon it, has its contextual role to play, but knowing SubRosa‘s work is not a barrier to engaging The Otolith in the slightest. That is, it’s not too late before you’ve begun to listen. Their songwriting happens in waves, with “Sing No Coda” establishing the movement-based methodology that persists through much of the outing and seems to bring each individual part to a certain place of ceremony, whether it’s the winding and pushing of “Andromeda’s Wing” or the offsetting of massive plod in the highlight-among-highlights “Ekpyrotic” (if you’re looking for a “Stones From the Sky” moment; it’s there), which seems to howl into an abyss of American expanse: “Great birds once human gather to drink in the high desert night” setting the stage for the culminating lyric “We are the light,” which even the growls in Latin that follow somehow don’t outdo for heft, general aural gorgeousness or listener consumption. It is the sound of porcelain created with care, crushed to powder, and remade, over and over.

The Latin phrase at the end of “Ekpyrotic,” ‘amor vincit omnia,’ translates as ‘love conquers all’ (‘truth’ is similarly exalted earlier in the track; again, fair enough) and that seems to be the core message of the album in general — unless you count the creativity of the snare in “Andromeda’s Wing” and the toms in “Dispirit” as their own kind of message in their signifying the attention paid to every note and measure of this work; the layer of whispers in the short break in “Hubris” before the next wave of volume brings the hook in its own time, and countless other examples of critical minutiae that help give Folium Limina such impossible but inevitable depth — but it serves especially well as a lead-in for “Hubris,” “Bone Dust” and “Dispirit,” which follow on the second half of the tracklist and play through a legible storyline of perseverance in the face of “hubris like smoke in your mane” and the reminder that, “Each of us holds a seed of power/That cannot be thieved.”

“Bone Dust” places this more directly in the context of preserving the US experiment as a multicultural democratic nation — mixed results, to-date, to say the least — against encroaching authoritarianism, both through its own battle cries amid the full-breadth tones that awaken from the subdued opening stretch of violin and soft bass and guitar, and through the soliloquy sampled from Charlie Chaplin’s 1940 film, The Great Dictator, in which a leader clearly intended to be a nazi casts off repressing the populace in favor of encouraging freedom and democracy. It is strikingly, tragically relevant, presented over a chugging, purposefully repetitive riff and crash intended to give it space. Chaplin urges, “do not despair” since so long as men die, freedom will never perish, and pledges to fight for a new, better, more just world.

the otolith

It’s hard to know if it’s wishful thinking or mourning for the fact that our reality bears so little resemblance to that one, but “Disprit” gets final say. Made tense through ambience and strings initially, it conveys the exhaustion of good souls being steamrolled as it builds toward its eventual payoff — that tom part; yes — and hits into full volume at the 4:30 mark, though that burst is by no means as far as The Otolith are willing to push it. One more time before Folium Limina is done, the five-piece offer years’ worth of depth and hear-something-new fodder as textures of violin, the driving shove of the guitar, bass, drums, shouted vocals, whatever else is happening there in those troubled reaches, all coalesce around the singular idea of loss of cause through dismay, a kind of nod from within to the apocalypse-fatigue that may well cost the United States its political system — and to the detriment of everybody, there’s no fully-automated luxury gay space communism this time; it’s christian nationalism and radical capitalist exploitation for all; sure hope nobody beats your kid to death for being trans, but if they do, hey, thoughts and prayers, right? all part of white American god’s plan, like mass shootings! — raging for the next three minutes before subsiding into a humming drone, piano and violin, with the already-noted static and noise behind, outlasting like some vague notion of justice and rightness the existence of which, sadly, isn’t enough to make it real. This is a hard, mean, world. Among its few saving graces: records like this one that go through it with you.

The story of the album is unavoidably the shift from SubRosa to The Otolith, and it may be another record or two — touring, obviously, if that’s a thing that might happen — before The Otolith are more distinguished from the majority of its members’ prior group, but clearly part of what’s being accomplished here is to continue that creative growth as a unit and the aesthetic statement that made SubRosa‘s swansong, 2016’s For This We Fought the Battle of Ages (review here), a landmark for them as well as for post-metal across the board, while exploring new expressive avenues. They succeed in that, readily.

And that they’re doing that work at all is one of Folium Limina‘s greatest strengths as a debut album — it’s almost unfair to call it one; four-fifths of this band isn’t a new band — but it’s the clear sense of purpose, of creating meaning in a time when even the definition of what’s real around us has become a partisan void, when as a species we’re beaten by disease and dismay both and the only ones who seem to have any strength left are the villains, that ultimately positions it as such a thing of beauty. An idea planted in troubled, near-poisonous ground, that has blossomed into something sad but beautiful.

In the interest of complete disclosure, Folium Limina was issued first as an exclusive for Blues Funeral‘s PostWax vinyl subscription service, for which I do the liner notes and am (theoretically, if I ever get to send Jadd my Paypal) compensated. This review was written after discussions with the band, and if you have that version and have read those notes — first, thanks — and second, the story of the album there is somewhat different than here. I’ll put that up to living with Folium Limina longer, hearing it differently, and the fact that listening to great records isn’t a thing that happens and then you put them away; they’re art you experience, and your impressions and an album’s realizations can both change with time and context. In any case, I’m not just repeating the liner notes here because that was their tale to tell about the songs and this is mine — on a procedural level, no one else is approving drafts of a review before it’s published, as evidenced by all the likely typos, half-thoughts and grammatical errors — even if I’m the wordy bastard whose name is on both. Still, compelled to mention it by some in-the-end-meaningless notion of integrity, so it’s been mentioned now. Diligence done.

Given that, and given that The Otolith took on the challenge of writing an album that’s (at least in part) about being absolutely battered by the world around you while waking up to face another day of it and still managed to make it sound not like a drag is emblematic of the roots they’re expanding from and the expansion itself; the effort and the work, then and now. Folium Limina is by no means an easy listen, but these are not easy times, and while it feels like the very gravity of the planet is working to rip the air out of your lungs and take your breath from you, let it be art for salvation. Sing no coda. This is no end.

The Otolith, Folium Limina (2022)

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The Otolith Announce Debut Album Folium Limina

Posted in Whathaveyou on August 24th, 2022 by JJ Koczan

The Otolith

You wanna hear something dumb? I’m on my way to The Land of Make Believe — an amusement park and Northern New Jersey institute of future childhood injury memories — with The Patient Mrs. and The Pecan for the day, manically trying to cram as much summer in as we can. That’s not the dumb part. The dumb part is I’m all in a panic that I need to get this post up right now because The Otolith’s Folium Limina is so god damned good. Couldn’t wait till tomorrow? Later this afternoon? Evidently not.

“Sing No Coda” is the opening track and first single from the album. It’s brilliant. Listen to it. In my head canon it’s called “Sing No Fucking Coda” because it’s so awesome, but I don’t call it that to anyone because I don’t have friends and if I do they haven’t heard it yet. But you can hear it now, and we can be friends, and then I can say it. That’d be nice.

Preorders are up. And blah blah I did the liner notes for the PostWax release, but I don’t even care. Just listen to the song.

Okay we’re parking the car and I’m out of time. From the PR wire:

The Otolith Folium Limina

Salt Lake City avant-garde doom unit THE OTOLITH (w/ SubRosa members) announce debut album on Blues Funeral Recordings; first track streaming!

Rising from the ashes of Salt Lake City’s beloved avant-garde and symphonic doom juggernauts SubRosa comes THE OTOLITH, who will release their debut album “Folium Limina” on October 21st through Blues Funeral Recordings. First single “Sing No Coda” is available on all streaming platforms, with album preorders now online!

When SubRosa announced its breakup in 2019, the heavy music community felt the loss of their uniquely elegant and intensely heavy atmospheric doom devotionals. Rather than wonder what velvet darkness might still await, however, SubRosa’s Kim Cordray, Levi Hanna, Andy Patterson and Sarah Pendleton swiftly emerged as a new entity called the Otolith, with the addition of Matt Brotherton on bass. Following the same muse of cataclysmic melancholy, THE OTOLITH is ready to shepherd their highly anticipated debut double LP “Folium Limina” into the world, first as part of Blues Funeral Recordings’ revered PostWax Vol. II series*, then in a standalone edition available worldwide.

Drawing no line between beauty and doom, THE OTOLITH’s debut album reveals the musical mutations and mystical wanderings of a soul, scanning the edges of the known universe through cracked glass. Ghostly symphonic strings interlace with crushing bass, guitar and percussion; voices conducting signals across time and space to arrive through cosmic storms to a sea of liquid stars.

Of the epic album opener, violinist and vocalist Sarah Pendleton says: “The riffs for Sing No Coda were cooking in our cauldron for a while, but it wasn’t until after we had weathered 2020 that I started to write the lyrics. I developed a strange, intense hypochondria throughout that year, and I know a few others who did as well. It became maddening, trying to discern fear from reality. But far worse was the loneliness, feeling like the most important relationships and friendships were stretching thin and growing tattered, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Now that the world is (mostly) out of the woods and we are seeing faces and traveling and playing again, it is massively cathartic to sing those words: Sing no coda, by the stream. Instead, my friends, wait, wait for me!”.

The overpowering feeling that emanates from the album’s tar-thick hymns is a stirring combination of exhaustion and determination as if THE OTOLITH took Samuel Beckett’s words to heart: “I can’t go on, I’ll go on.” Every wrenching emotion across the hour-long journey is honest and hard-earned, and you can feel the band digging deep to find a catharsis of collective release. The world is a heavy place, and sometimes it’s good to sit with an old friend and pick up where you left off. With “Folium Limina”, The Otolith invite you to bring your burden and find it lightened – even a little – through the cleansing ritual of richly mournful atmospheric metal.

Stream debut single “Sing No Coda” and preorder The Otolith’s album:
https://fanlink.to/theotolith

THE OTOLITH Debut album “Folium Limina”
Out October 21st on Blues Funeral Recordings
Get more info & subscribe to PostWax Vol. II at this location: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/bluesfuneral/postwax-vol-ii

TRACKLIST:
1. Sing No Coda
2. Andromeda’s Wing
3. Ekpyrotic
4. Hubris
5. Bone Dust
6. Dispirit

Given the band members’ shared history within Salt Lake City’s revered avant-garde doom unit SubRosa, it’s no surprise that THE OTOLITH’s “Folium Limina” is both a continuation of an existing musical conversation and a herald of something entirely new. The album’s six songs are devastatingly heavy, but the band gives equal attention to speaker-rupturing riffs and to dark, immersive atmospheres. Levi Hanna’s guitar and bass steer the ship in a thick, rumbling tandem, while Kim Cordray’s and Sarah Pendleton’s violins push from the center out, sometimes painting the canvas with sharp, melodic leads and others sawing deep into parallel riffing. Andy Patterson’s drums are thunderous and thoughtful, and when the band hits a huge, all- hands-on-deck downbeat, it feels like a mountain tumbling into the hungry sea.

Those who loved SubRosa will find a familiar face of heaviness in THE OTOLITH, but with a more pronounced emphasis on darkwave and neofolk, calling to mind Amber Asylum or Worm Ouroborus. Cordray’s and Pendleton’s vocals are often a lilting dance or somber incantation in close harmony, while Hanna’s bellowing roar is used sparingly but to towering effect. Although the interwoven strings and vocals rush along with graceful intricacy, The Otolith’s primary approach is full-stop heaviness, and they will rattle our bones with the earth-churning tumult of Neurosis as well as the meditative trance of Om.

Readying their live configuration with the addition of Matt Brotherton on bass and preparing to appear at this year’s Monolith on the Mesa festival in Taos, New Mexico, THE OTOLITH will release “Folium Limina” on October 21st, 2022 via the purveyors of immaculate heaviness at Blues Funeral Recordings.

THE OTOLITH is
Kim Cordray – Violin, Vocals
Levi Hanna – Guitar, Vocals
Andy Patterson – Drums, Percussion
Matt Brotherton – Bass Guitar, Vocals
Sarah Pendleton – Violin, Lead Vocals

The Otolith, “Sing No Coda”

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Harvest of Ash Premiere “I – Prodrome”; Ache and Impulse Due Sept. 23

Posted in audiObelisk, Reviews on August 10th, 2022 by JJ Koczan

harvest of ash

Salt Lake City’s Harvest of Ash will release their debut album, Ache and Impulse, on Sept. 23 through Horror Pain Gore Death Productions. And contrary to the Roman numerology, “I – Prodrome,” which is premiering below, isn’t the opener. The eponymous “Harvest of Ash” leads off and earns its place by heralding the dirt-camouflaged complexity of the death-sludge rock that follows. But “Prodrome” is a beginning, launching a four-song suite that brings the as-stated-below central theme of Ache and Impulse forward using the suffering of migraines as a metaphor for toxic humanity.

No shortage of subject matter there, obviously. Ache and Impulse essentially begins again with “I – Prodrome,” which unfurls as the first of two seven-minute pieces before two 10-minute pieces, so clearly the intention is to draw the listener deeper into the atmosphere being created. And it’s that atmosphere that makes the placement of “Harvest of Ash” first make sense, since with its fading in feedback and standalone impression, it does crucial work in setting the mood and letting the audience know where they’re headed — down, down, down, then maybe a little up — throughout the rest of the 41-minute LP. On paper it looks like “Harvest of Ash” was tacked onto a concept record. In real life, the five-minute introduction of the gritty fuzz in Pepper Glass‘ guitar and the wrenching gurgle of his accompanying vocals, of the density and heft in Grahm Reynolds‘ bass and the sharpness of Mike DiTullio‘s snare cutting through to ground the forward motion and underscore the subtle dynamic of the material in terms of tempo. And just before the four-minute mark, Glass‘ guitar gives a little hint of shimmer through all that mud, and that’s crucial to understanding “I – Prodrome” and everything else that follows as well.

The word ‘prodrome’ means an early symptom or the beginning of onset of a disease or condition. It is getting the headache, in this case. Production by Andy F’ing Patterson, who is my write-in candidate for president in 2024, assures that when “I – Prodrome” crashes in after about a minute of its ambient guitar intro, the effect feels like it’s putting due pressure on your skull. Ache and Impulse runs contrary to genre in a few ways, whether the genre in question is death metal, doom, heavy rock, post-whathaveyou orHarvest of Ash Ache and Impulse sludge, and though in some ways it’s defined by the gutturalism of Glass‘ vocals, the accompanying sense of space in the material isn’t to be understated. “I – Prodrome” picks up this cue from the opener and expands on it, while the centerpiece “II – Aura” — referring to a sensory experience that might induce or worsen a migraine; sensitivity to light, sound, etc. — with a slog of drum thud and sparse guitar building its doomly presence over the first three minutes before the full roll takes hold, leading to an intense lead that’s clearly designed to convey pain or an unsettled feeling. But for the vocals, you might call it post-rock sped up, but its shimmer continues until the crunched-noise finish and is almost a manic answer back to the guitar in the second half of “Harvest of Ash.”

This leaves “III – Headache” and closer “IV – Postdrome,” which together represent more than half Ache and Impulse‘s runtime and which bring Harvest of Ash to places psychedelic, extreme and at very least thoughtful if not progressive, despite their arguments for their own primitivism. “III – Headache” touches on post-metal in its midsection with quick jabs-at-your-temples of feedback and resolves in a righteously thudding march into held-out distortion that leads directly into the guitar intro for “IV – Postdrome,” the longest song by three seconds, the only one to feature any kind of clean vocals — they arrive 17 seconds into the song like a plot twist in the last chapter of the story — and hold surprisingly graceful sway over that three-plus-minute procession into the ensuing lumber. Your symptoms may have abated, but it’s not quite over yet. A scathing passage of guitar at around six minutes in calls back to “II – Aura” in twisted fashion, layers to be consumed shortly by the sheer weight of what’s to come. This feels like the apex of the record, but the three-piece aren’t there yet, and the actual crescendo comes right before it’s over, a push and wash that builds as it goes until finally crashing out to silence, presumably sleep or even just the moment when you realize your head doesn’t hurt anymore and you try not to think about it too hard lest the headache hear your thoughts and return.

A debut that has this much nuance beneath its surface doesn’t happen every day, and in terms of potential, Harvest of Ash come across like they’re ready to pursue any and all avenues they’ve already laid forth. Whether it’s the most drowned-in-mud deathly stretch, an immersion in comedown atmospherics, or the might-just-take-off-and-fly guitar work, Ache and Impulse offers thrills for those who can handle it and are willing to dedicate attention to its thematic and sonic depth. I suppose if you want to just listen and think of it as being run through a compactor of rib-collapsing riffs, that’s probably fine too — I doubt you’d hear the band complain — but there’s no doubt that as you return to that experience again and again, the richness of their approach is there waiting, with hints dropped along the way for where they might be headed in the longer term: Down, down, down. Then maybe a little up.

Enjoy “I – Prodrome” on the player below, followed by more from the PR wire:

Salt Lake City’s HARVEST OF ASH is unleashing their debut full-length – Ache and Impulse. Metal maestro Andy Patterson (Sub Rosa, The Otolith) recorded the album. The band has signed to Philadelphia’s Horror Pain Gore Death Productions and the album is set for release on September 23.

Ache and Impulse builds from a migraine headache’s four stages. We become ensnared in the morals of broken people (prodrome and aura). These narrow standards stifle our instincts and gifts (headache). Yet, we can emerge from this mental fog and embrace who we truly are (postdrome).

Anchoring this journey is a meticulous blend of doom and post-metal, sludge, and hardcore. Colossal riffs, spacey interludes, and triumphant resolutions fill these tracks. Enthralling and devastating, HARVEST OF ASH pushes the boundaries while bringing the beatdown.

This eclectic sound is little surprise given the band’s origins. It is the culmination of members Grahm Reynolds (bass), Mike DiTullio (drums), and Pepper Glass (guitar and vocals) playing for decades in both East and West coast projects. After they found themselves in Utah, they found each other.

And the experience of creating a migraine-themed album? With a wry smile, they’ll tell you that it’s been one big headache.

Tracklist:
1. Harvest of Ash (5:27)
2. I – Prodrome (7:46)
3. II – Aura (7:22)
4. III – Headache (10:33)
5. IV – Postdrome (10:36)

HARVEST OF ASH is:
Grahm Reynolds – bass
Mike DiTullio – drums
Pepper Glass – guitar and vocals

Harvest of Ash on Facebook

Harvest of Ash on Instagram

Harvest of Ash on Bandcamp

Horror Pain Gore Death Productions on Facebook

Horror Pain Gore Death Productions on Instagram

Horror Pain Gore Death Productions on Bandcamp

Horror Pain Gore Death Productions website

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Friday Full-Length: Dwellers, Pagan Fruit

Posted in Bootleg Theater on December 17th, 2021 by JJ Koczan

 

Hot damn. I don’t know that I’d forgotten how good this album is, but the refresher of putting it on again is certainly welcome. Salt Lake City’s Dwellers came about in 2009, and were of immediate note because of the involvement of guitarist/vocalist Joey Toscano, whose previous band, Iota, who once upon a 2008 put out a record called Tales (discussed here, discussed here) that no home should be without. As with any number of very good things, Iota didn’t last, and from their first posted tracks, Dwellers seemed to carry some elements forward while also exploring a heavier, psychedelic blues style. This would turn to be prescient on the part of the three-piece, which also included drummer Zach Hatsis and bassist Dave Jones, both then of SubRosa. As rhythm sections go, not too shabby.

Pagan Fruit (review here) followed behind 2012’s Good Morning Harakiri (review here; vinyl review here), with Jones adding organ, Hatsis vibraphone and Rhodes and other synth, Toscano playing a bit of harmonica, and so on to add to its bluesy flair. Seven years after the fact, in addition to the languid swing that is such a defining factor from early cuts “Creature Comfort” and the mega-catchy “Totem Crawler” onward into the even-more-open “Return to the Sky,” the album — released in 2014 as their second LP on Small Stone — remains organic in its production by Andy Patterson (who was in Iota as well and would eventually drum in the final incarnation of SubRosa; he’s also been in any number of other projects), deep in the mix by Eric Hoegemeyer and abidingly fluid in its construction. One can hear early All Them Witches showing up in the dreamy Rhodes notes floating over the end of “Return to the Sky,” and the later inclusion of Genevieve Smith‘s cello on “Spirit of the Staircase” adds to that song’s sense of foreboding in a way that only reaffirms the forward potential that still existed in Dwellers at this stage of their run.

So too the rollout of “Rare Eagle” at the end of side A and the album finale “Call of the Hallowed Horn” — guest vocals in the latter by Raven Quinn — both of which are longer form works despite being individually immersive along their own course. That is, it’s not just Dwellers jamming out twice in the same way from one to the other, though honestly, if it was, I doubt I’d be sitting here complaining about it. “Rare Eagle” hypnotizes after the salvo of hooks in “Creature Comfort,” dwellers pagan fruit“Totem Crawler” and “Return to the Sky,” where “Call of the Hallowed Horn,” with the prominent organ work, layered vocal melody earlier and the guest spot arriving later, pays off some of the moodier aspects of “Son of Raven” and “Spirit of the Staircase” while also accounting for the twisting solo work on “Devoured by Lions” and the boogie shove in the penultimate “Waiting on Winter” — side B is a back and forth in terms of tempo and the physical momentum of the songs — in its tonal fullness and motion persisting despite the drifting sections of its second half.

Does it all. It slices, it dices, it purees. It shreds and contemplates. It worships. It casts forth on a 47-minute course of nine songs each of which I’m thankful for since it turned out that Pagan Fruit was the final Dwellers studio record, followed just by a digital-only live release, also in 2014. When I went back to dig into links for this post (very purposefully didn’t read the reviews), there’s not a peep from the band by the end of 2014. They were in that year’s best-of coverage, but then that’s it. Of course, one doesn’t know if they had any idea going into Pagan Fruit that it was going to be their final release, but if I feel like sometimes a band has a sense for when things are winding down even if they don’t realize it. Maybe it’s a feeling that they’ve pushed as far as they can go along a particular path and it’s time for something else? I don’t know. It doesn’t have to be conscious.

I’ve spent some significant time wondering what a third Dwellers album would’ve been like, speculating on where they might’ve gone sound-wise in terms of building on the post-Black Keys vibe to which they add such weight of tone and atmosphere here. Would they have stripped back? Added more to the arrangements? There’s so much to build on in the songs on Pagan Fruit — each track has something to it, even if it’s the chorus of “Son of Raven” or “Totem Crawler”‘s non-sexist overtly sexual longing — that it’s easy to think they might have continued to broaden the psychedelic aspects at work in these tracks, to have pushed deeper into the airy dug-in stretches of “Call of the Hallowed Horn” — while we’re talking about sex… — but at the same time, if they did an entire record like “Rare Eagle,” just running out on jammier fare altogether, or decided to go full-time with a cello and composed an entire collection of songs with “Spirit of the Staircase” as a foundation, who the hell would have argued?

This is a record of which I was and am a genuine fan. I wrote a lot about Dwellers (not in the last seven years, apparently, but at the time) and even before I put Pagan Fruit on, from the moment I had the idea to close out this week with it, I could hear the songs in my head. The word is “memorable.” This is a memorable album, comprised of memorable tracks, on whatever format one might encounter it, be it CD, vinyl, download, etc. There might even be a tape version out there somewhere, I don’t know. My ideal is someone who’s never heard it hears it and is like, “oh shit, I never knew,” but really, I’m just happy to have had the chance to hit play on this after some measure of time. If you might be as well, that’s cool too.

Together, perhaps, we can wonder “Oh, what could’ve been” on a third album, and hold an asterisk that crazier things have happened than a band coming back after seven, nearly eight, years to put one out.

As always, I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading.

So. Tomorrow, I’m going up to Woodstock, New York, to do an in-studio with A BAND for the weekend. I’m not sure I’m allowed to say who it is or what. I guess I’ll figure that out tomorrow and that will dictate how I handle the ensuing, inevitable, writing and photography. Maybe I’ll have a post or two up next week about it, maybe they’ll prefer I don’t post until later. King Buffalo had me hold off for months about Acheron, and I’m not gonna be like “hey freedom of the press don’t tell me what to do!” when a band is kind enough to invite me to see their process like that. I’m just not that kind of asshole. So I’ll talk to THE BAND and see what they think and go from there.

Next week though is also year-end coverage. Don’t expect much on Monday or Tuesday as I’m trying to put my final lists together and get the writing done. I’m both looking forward to and dreading it, to be honest, which is how I know it’s time to do the doing.

I’m pretty sure the Gimme Metal show that was supposed to air last week and didn’t will also air next week. I don’t think they’re adjusting schedules for my ass, in any case.

The Patient Mrs. and I finished the Get Back documentary this week. I take my Beatles very personally. Like Charles Manson, only without the underlying psychopathology that would have me believe they’re only speaking to me in their songs — in fact they’re speaking to everyone at a one-on-one level — and we saved the rooftop concert to watch with The Pecan. Highlight of my time as a parent so far to look over at him next to me on the couch and see him tapping his foot to “Get Back” and to shimmy a little bit to “One After 909.” Fucking a. Amid my myriad failures, at least I’m doing something right.

I’ll end on that note since it’s a positive one and last week was such a bummer. I got a few nice messages from people, comments, etc., and I very much appreciate that. But it’s not why I write something like that. I feel the need to say that because I don’t want anyone to be like, “Oh man, dude’s bumming again I now feel obligated to say something nice.” Please don’t. It’s something I need to do. I need to be honest to the moment I’m in when I’m in that moment. It’s not about spreading awareness of dudes with comfortable lives being depressed. I’m pretty sure anyone who sees anything I write knows that exists. I’m not trying to make some grand statement. I just want to work through my own shit, and for me, a big part of that is writing about when I’m having a hard time. Again, thank you for your support, and huge thanks to everyone who reached out, but I don’t want anybody to feel like I’m some cloying vagueposting shit trying to get attention for himself. I’m trying to feel my way through the end of a long week.

Today, I’ll note, feels better than last Friday at this time. That’s what life is. Ups and downs. Both are worth sentences in my mind.

Have a great and safe weekend. Depending on what THE BAND says, I’ll either be posting social media/other updates or just working on my year-end list while I’m up north. Either way, it’ll be a good time. I’ll do my best to remember to hydrate and hope you will as well. Be safe out there. Back Monday with… something…. maybe. Ha.

FRM.

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Quarterly Review: Amenra, Liquid Sound Company, Iceburn, Gods and Punks, Vouna, Heathen Rites, Unimother 27, Oxblood Forge, Wall, Boozewa

Posted in Reviews on July 14th, 2021 by JJ Koczan

the-obelisk-fall-2016-quarterly-review

You’ll have to forgive me, what the hell day is it? The url says this is day eight, so I guess that’s Wednesday. Fine. That’s as good as any. It’s all just 10 more records to my brain at this point, and that’s fine. I’ve got it all lined up. As of me writing this, I still haven’t heard about my busted-ass laptop that went in for repair last Saturday, and that’s a bummer, but I’m hoping that any minute now the phone is going to show the call coming in and I’ll just keep staring at it until that happens and I’m sure that will be awesome for my already brutalized productivity.

My backup laptop — because yes, I have one and will gladly argue with you that it’s necessary citing this week as an example — is a cheapie Chromebook. The nicest thing I can say about it is it’s red. The meanest thing I can say about it is that I had to change the search button to a caps lock and even that doesn’t respond fast enough to my typing, so I’m constantly capitalizing the wrong letters. If you don’t think that’s infuriating, congratulations on whatever existence has allowed you to live this long without ever needing to use a keyboard. “Hello computer,” and all that.

Enough kvetching. Too much to do.

Quarterly Review #71-80:

Amenra, De Doorn

Amenra De Doorn

I’ve made no secret over the last however long of not being the biggest Amenra fan in the universe. Honestly, it’s not even about the Belgian band themseves — live, they’re undeniable — but the plaudits around them are no less suffocating than their crushing riffs at their heaviest moments. Still, as De Doorn marks their first offering through Relapse Records, finds them departing from their Mass numbered series of albums and working in their native Flemish for the first time, and brings Caro Tanghe of Oathbreaker into the songs to offer melodic counterpoint to Colin H. van Eeckhout‘s nothing-if-not-identifiable screams, the invitations to get on board are manifold. This is a band with rules. They have set their own rules, and even in pushing outside them as they do here, much of their ideology and sonic persona is maintained. Part of that identity is being forward thinking, and that surfaces on De Doorn in parts ambient and quiet, but there’s always a part of me that feels like Amenra are playing it safe, even as they’re working within parameters they’ve helped define for a generation of European post-metal working directly in their wake. The post-apocalyptic breadth they harness in these tracks will only continue to win them converts. Maybe I’ll be one of them. That would be fun. It’s nice to belong, you know?

Amenra on Facebook

Relapse Records website

 

Liquid Sound Company, Psychoactive Songs for the Psoul

Liquid sound company psychoactive songs for the psoul

A quarter-century after their founding, Arlington, Texas, heavy psych rockers Liquid Sound Company still burn and melt along the lysergic path of classic ’60s acid rock, beefier in tone but no less purposeful in their drift on Psychoactive Songs for the Psoul. They’re turning into custard on “Blacklight Corridor” and they can tell you don’t understand on “Who Put All of Those Things in Your Hair?,” and all the while their psych rock digs deeper into the cosmic pulse, founding guitarist John Perez (also Solitude Aeturnus) unable to resist bringing a bit of shred to “And to Your Left… Neptune” — unless that’s Mark Cook‘s warr guitar — even as “Mahayuga” answers back to the Middle Eastern inflection of “Blacklight Corridor” earlier on. Capping with the mellow jam “Laila Was Here,” Psychoactive Songs for the Psoul is a loving paean to the resonant energies of expanded minds and flowing effects, but “Cosmic Liquid Love” is still a heavy rollout, and even the shimmering “I Feel You” is informed by that underlying sense of heft. Nonetheless, it’s an acid invitation worth the RSVP.

Liquid Sound Company on Facebook

Liquid Sound Company on Bandcamp

 

Iceburn, Asclepius

iceburn asclepius

Flying snakes, crawling birds, two tracks each over 17 minutes long, the first Iceburn release in 20 years is an all-in affair from the outset. As someone coming to the band via Gentry Densley‘s work in Eagle Twin, there are recognizable elements in tone, themes and vocals, but with fellow founders Joseph “Chubba” Smith on drums and James Holder on guitar, as well as bassist Cache Tolman (who’s Johnny Comelately since he originally joined in 1991, I guess), the atmosphere conjured by the four-piece is consuming and spacious in its own way, and their willingness to go where the song guides them on side A’s “Healing the Ouroboros,” right up to the long-fading drone end after so much lumbering skronk and incantations before, and side B’s “Dahlia Rides the Firebird,” with its pervasive soloing, gallop and veer into earth-as-cosmos terradelia, the return of Iceburn — if in fact that’s what this is — makes its own ceremony across Asclepius, sounding newly inspired rather than like a rehash.

Iceburn on Facebook

Southern Lord Recordings website

 

Gods & Punks, The Sounds of the Universe

gods and punks the sounds of the universe

As regards ambition, Gods & Punks‘ fourth LP, The Sounds of the Universe, wants for nothing. The Rio De Janeiro heavy psych rockers herein wrap what they’ve dubbed their ‘Voyager’ series, culminating the work they’ve done since their first EP — album opener “Eye in the Sky” is a remake — while tying together the progressive, heavy and cosmic aspects of their sound in a single collection of songs. In context, it’s a fair amount to take in, but a track like “Black Apples” has a riffy standout appeal regardless of its place in the band’s canon, and whether it’s the classic punch of “The TUSK” or the suitably patient expansion of “Universe,” the five-piece don’t neglect songwriting for narrative purpose. That is to say, whether or not you’ve heard 2019’s And the Celestial Ascension (discussed here) or any of their other prior material, you’re still likely to be pulled in by “Gravity” and “Dimensionaut” and the rest of what surrounds. The only question is where do they go from here? What’s outside the universe?

Gods & Punks on Facebok

Abraxas on Facebook

Forbidden Place Records website

 

Vouna, Atropos

vouna atropos

Released (appropriately) by Profound Lore, Vouna‘s second full-length Atropos is a work of marked depth and unforced grandeur. After nine-minute opener “Highest Mountain” establishes to emotional/aural tone, Atropos is comprised mostly of three extended pieces in “Vanish” (15:34), “Grey Sky” (14:08) and closer “What Once Was” (15:11) with the two-minute “What Once Was (Reprise)” leading into the final duo. “Vanish” finds Vouna — aka Olympia, Washington-based Yianna Bekris — bringing in textures of harp and violin to answer the lap steel and harp on “Highest Mountain,” and features a harsh guest vocal from Wolves in the Throne Room‘s Nathan Weaver, but it’s in the consuming wash at the finish of “Grey Sky” and in the melodic vocal layers cutting through as the first half of “What Once Was” culminates ahead of the break into mournful doom and synth that Vouna most shines, bridging styles in a way so organic as to be utterly consuming and keeping resonance as the most sought target, right unto the piano line that tops the last crescend, answering back the very beginning of “Highest Mountain.” Not a record that comes along every day.

Vouna on Facebook

Profound Lore website

 

Heathen Rites, Heritage

heathen rites heritage

One gets the sense in listening that for Mikael Monks, the Burning Saviours founder working under the moniker of Heathen Rites for the first time, the idea of Heritage for which the album is titled is as much about doom itself as the Scandinavian folk elements that surface in “Gleipner” or in the brief, bird-song and mountain-echo-laced finish “Kulning,” not to mention the Judas Priest-style triumphalism of the penultimate “The Sons of the North” just before. Classic doom is writ large across Heritage, from the bassline of “Autumn” tapping into “Heaven and Hell” to the flowing culmination of “Midnight Sun” and the soaring guitar apex in “Here Comes the Night.” In the US, many of these ideas of “northern” heritage, runes, or even heathenism have been coopted as expressions of white supremacy. It’s worth remembering that for some people it’s actually culture. Monks pairs that with his chosen culture — i.e. doom — in intriguing ways here that one hopes he’ll continue to explore.

Heathen Rites on Facebook

Svart Records website

 

Unimother 27, Presente Incoerente

Unimother 27 Presente Incoerente

Some things in life you just have to accept that you’re never going to fully understand. The mostly-solo-project Unimother 27 from Italy’s Piero Ranalli is one of those things. Ranalli has been riding his own wavelength in krautrock and classic progressive stylizations mixed with psychedelic freakout weirdness going on 15 years now, experimenting all the while, and you don’t have to fully comprehend the hey-man-is-this-jazz bass bouncing under “L’incontro tra Phallos e Mater Coelestis” to just roll with it, so just roll with it and know that wherever you’re heading, there’s a plan at work, even if the plan is to not have a plan. Mr. Fist‘s drums tether the synth and drifting initial guitar of “Abraxas…il Dio Difficile da Conoscere” and serve a function as much necessary as grooving, but one way or the other, you’re headed to “Systema Munditotius,” where forward and backward are the same thing and the only trajectory discernible is “out there.” So go. Just go. You won’t regret it.

Unimother 27 on Facebook

Pineal Gland Lab website

 

Oxblood Forge, Decimator

Oxblood Forge Decimator

Not, not, not a coincidence that Massachusetts four-piece Oxblood Forge — vocalist Ken Mackay, guitarist Robb Lioy, bassist Greg Dellaria and drummer/keyboardist Erik Fraünfeltër — include an Angel Witch cover on their third long-player, Decimator, as even before they get around to the penultimate “Sorcerers,” the NWOBHM is a defining influence throughout the proceedings, be it the “hey hey hey!” chanting of “Mortal Salience” or the death riders owning the night on opener “Into the Abyss” or the sheer Maidenry met with doom tinge on “Screams From Silence.” Mackay‘s voice, high in the mix, adds a tinge of grit, but Decimator isn’t trying to get one over on anyone. This blue collar worship for classic metal presented in a manner that could only be as full-on as it is for it to work at all. No irony, no khakis, no bullshit.

Oxblood Forge on Facebook

Oxblood Forge on Bandcamp

 

Wall, Vol. 2

wall vol 2

They keep this up, they’re going to have a real band on their hands. Desert Storm/The Grand Mal bandmates and twin brothers Ryan Cole (guitar/bass) and Elliot Cole (drums) began Wall as a largely-instrumental quarantine project in 2020, issuing a self-titled EP (review here) on APF Records. Vol. 2 follows on the quick with five more cuts of unbridled groove, including a take on Karma to Burn‘s “Nineteen” that, if it needs to be said, serves as homage to Will Mecum, who passed away earlier this year. That song fits right in with a cruncher like “Avalanche” or “Speed Freak,” or even “The Tusk,” which also boasts a bit of layered guitar harmonies, feeling out new ground there and in the acousti-handclap-blues of “Falling From the Edge of Nowhere.” The fact that Wall have live dates booked — alongside The Grand Mal, no less — speaks further to their real-bandness, but Vol. 2 hardly leaves any doubt as it is.

Wall on Facebook

APF Records website

 

Boozewa, Deb

Boozewa Deb

The second self-recorded outing from Pennsylvania trio Boozewa, Deb, offers two songs to follow-up on Feb. 2021’s First Contact (review here) demo, keeping an abidingly raw, we-did-this-at-home feel — this time they sent the results to Tad Doyle for mastering — while pushing their sound demonstrably forward with “Deb” bringing bassist Jessica Baker to the fore vocally alongside drummer Mike Cummings. Guitarist Rylan Caspar contributes in that regard as well, and the results are admirably grunge-coated heavy rock and roll that let enough clarity through to establish a hook, while the shorter “Now. Stop.” edges toward a bit more lumber in its groove, at least until they punk it out with some shouts at the finish. Splitting hairs? You betcha. Maybe they’re just writing songs. The results are there waiting to be dug either way.

Boozewa on Instagram

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The Penitent Man Premiere “A Long Deep Breath of Sadness” from Legends of the Desert Vol. 2

Posted in audiObelisk, Reviews on June 1st, 2021 by JJ Koczan

the penitent man

cortege

This Friday, June 4, marks the release of Legends of the Desert Vol. 2, the second in an intended series of seven splits put together at the behest of New Mexican imprint Desert Records. And while the two bands differ some in aesthetic and certainly in composition — The Penitent Man a five-piece from Salt Lake City, Utah, and Cortége a duo from Austin, Texas — they’re united here by a focus on atmosphere and an underlying heavy Western theme. On a more practical level, neither act is a stranger to the Desert Records sphere. The Penitent Man issued their previously self-released, self-titled debut (review here) through the label in Fall 2020, while Cortége‘s two-songer Chasing Daylight EP (review here) landed in February. As each one follows up recent work, it shouldn’t be a surprise that there’s consistency of sound, but as with 2020’s Legends of the Desert Vol. 1 (discussed here), the intention here leans toward storytelling, and from the lyrics and moody vibes in The Penitent Man‘s three songs to the gunslinger samples that provide the transition between Cortége‘s two, there’s a classic balladeerism happening one way or the other.

For “A Long Deep Breath of Sadness,” which stands on its own in addition to serving as an intro for the subsequent “The Butcher,” and across those two as well as “Rest My Weary Head,” which rounds out, the band pays particular attention to arrangement and presentation. Todd Ogren of Rival Sons steps in on keys and makes an argument for the group acquiring a sixth member, following up the 10,000 Days-era Tool guitar moodiness and ambient echoing lead lines of “A Long Deep Breath of Sadness” the penitent man cortege legends of the desert vol 2with Deep Purple-style Hammond and ’60s-ish maybe-Hohner flourish later into “The Butcher,” taking the band’s patient unfurling and depth of mix to another level entirely. They readily cross genre boundaries between heavy country, blues and prog, but beneath that is a core of bedrock from which they explore outward. The acoustic that serves to underscore “Rest My Weary Head” feels earned and organic, and the buildup that surrounds over the track’s nine minutes is much the same, somehow grunge while being largely disconnected from that sound in its entirety. Maybe it’s just dirt. Downer dirt rock, and brimming with purpose in that.

“As it Lay (Heavy in the Air)” (10:26) and “Circling Above” (8:37), at just over 19 minutes put together, actually run longer than did Chasing Daylight earlier this year, but unless they’re actually scoring a film — and, really, why aren’t they? — the single-vinyl-side length suits Cortége. It’s consistently a challenge to write anything about them without mentioning Ennio Morricone, but that’s more a credit than a critique since it coincides so much with their stylistic intent. Their use of tubular bells to convey melody as opposed to their guitar adds to the Western feel and plays especially well off the bass in “As it Lay (Heavy in the Air),” an Earth-ier drone march underway quickly (such as it is quick) in the drums with footsteps made that much heavier for the ringing aspect that cuts through the backing ethereal effects. It’s not so much a build, but ricocheting pistol shots ring out ahead of a crying vulture as the first cut ends, and that brings in “Circling Above” to continue the theme. The explosion, topped with horns or something like them, happens after three minutes in, and is gone within a minute’s time, but returns later as “Circling Above” rounds out in surprising cacophony, Cortége loosing the reins for a bit of free jazz crashout before the wind fades.

Beneath all the hard stylization and attention to detail, Legends of the Desert Vol. 2 also functions on the simple level of showcasing two of Desert Records‘ associated acts, and it does well in that, such that the listener will be more drawn to find the common ground between them rather than to see each in opposition to the other. Cortége build on what The Penitent Man establish, and going back to the start again, the entire release seems peopled with characters who resonate with stories of their own to tell.

You can stream “A Long Deep Breath of Sadness” premiering on the player below ahead of the release on Friday. Think of it as the opening credits. More info follows, courtesy of the PR wire.

Enjoy:

Side A:
The Penitent Man is a 5-piece from Salt Lake City. Blending Desert Rock, Classic Rock, Heavy Blues. These exclusive songs featuring the special guest, Todd Ogren from Rival Sons on keyboard for all three tracks! Sounds like Led Zeppelin teamed up with Alice in Chains to make an album in the desert.

A Long Deep Breath of Sadness–4:26
The Butcher–6:32
Rest My Weary Head–9:01
All songs written and produced by The Penitent Man
Drum Tracking and Mixing by Greg Downs at Pale Horse Sound

Steve King–Guitars
Phill Gallegos–Guitars
Allan Davidson–Vocals
Chris Garrido–Drums
Ethan Garrido–Bass
Todd Ogren–Keyboards (from Rival Sons).

Side B:
Cortége is a duo from Austin, TX. They play Ambient Doom mixed with post-western cinematic scores. Heavy bass guitar, drums, and tubular bells. Sounds like if Earth and Pink Floyd teamed up to do a soundtrack to a David Lynch film.

1. As it Lay (Heavy in the Air) – 10:25
2. Circling Above – 8:39

All songs written and recorded by Cortége.
Recorded and mixed by Kevin Sparks.

Mike Swarbrick – Bass, Tubular Bells
Adrian Voorhies – Drums

The Penitent Man on Facebook

The Penitent Man on Instagram

The Penitent Man on Bandcamp

Cortége on Facebook

Cortége on Instagram

Cortége on Bandcamp

Desert Records on Facebook

Desert Records on Instagram

Desert Records on Bandcamp

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