Italian lurch-conjurers Zolfo return with their second album, Descending Into Inexorable Absence, on Zann’s Records, Violence in the Veins and Riff Merchant Records. Comprised of six tracks running 58 doom-resounding minutes, it is the light-consuming follow-up to their 2020 debut, Delusion of Negation (review here), which set them forth on the course of malevolent extremity that the new album continues. The initially subdued take on post-“Black Sabbath” nod with the sax-laced intro “Last Layers” that provides entry into the dark, scream-topped churn that is foundational to the titular descent — and the sax gets a little jazz-active, but otherwise, the movement down is already grueling — and “Lament of the Light” seems to raise the level of impact as each of its crashes and thuds slams down, a correspondingly huge death growl providing decisively inhuman presence.
In the midsection of “Lament of the Light,” the five-piece — first names only: Dave on vocals, Fabrizio (also sax) and Nicolò on guitar, Saverio on bass and Piero on drums — preface some of the speed they’ll inject periodically throughout, whether it’s the early rush of “Apoptosis” (premiering below), the title of which references a withering and death of a body’s cells, or the wall o’ punishment that the subsequent 18-minute closer “Silence of the Absolute Absence” becomes around 10 minutes in. You know, before the guitar hints at psych and drops out to leave the listener momentarily to their fate with bass and drums before shifting into a more post-metallic procession. Extremity is the thread that draws Descending Into Inexorable Absence together, though, and that resonates even in the spaces of “No Home for an Eternal Wayfarer” purposefully left open early on in the style of Bell Witch, an engrossing melancholy pushing toward caustic with the screams overlaid on its about-to-explode dirge. There is a beat’s pause right about at 7:35 into “No Home for an Eternal Wayfarer,” barely there, but there, and the build that ensues thereafter pushes into an absolute overwhelm of harsh, densely-toned chaos, wielded with a controlled hand but pointedly vicious. Have you ever been shoved off a cliff into a pit of metal spikes? Me neither, but if I was, I have to think the silence to which that track cuts at its end is how it would feel to be thusly impaled.
Active in its drums at the start, “Admire the Mire” almost teases respite in context. At nine minutes long, its tempo finds a mid-paced groove in which to dwell, but even here the gnashing harshness of the vocals and the punishing brutality led by the guitars preside, and as it gets faster, it gets noisier, and the outright will to crush persists, certainly no less so with the big-doom slowdown around seven minutes in. Later in the reaches of “Silence of the Absolute Absence,” Dave‘s voice doesn’t so much give out, but echoes with the kind of high-register shout that results when your throat is done tearing itself apart for the next however long, and I don’t know over how long a period Descending Into Inexorable Absence was tracked, but I remember recording screaming takes, and if “Admire the Mire” and that finale were done the same day, or even just the latter piece on its own, I’d have no trouble believing genuine physical recovery was required afterward. That they chose to preserve that moment rather than dub it over is admirably organic, and gives “Silence of the Absolute Absence” a suitably desperate crescendo to its initial voidward cries and fuller death-doom plod.
Before they get there, “Apoptosis” bursts forth from the faded feedback of “Admire the Mire,” a count-in of one before the onslaught begins. While still nowhere near accessible in terms of broader stylistic geography, the effects-topped shouts that cut through in the first half are as close as Zolfo come to ‘clean’ vocals, but the screams and growls resume amid a pummel that tips the balance toward more death than doom, holding to the monolithic presence and tonality of its surroundings as its pushes itself down your throat, no doubt with some kind of cellular decay in mind. If by the time “Silence of the Absolute Absence” kicks in — and the only question is if it’s your life or all life that’s gone; could go either way — you don’t feel as though the chasm into which you’ve plunged was inside you all along, chances are you’ve already stopped listening and gone about your day as a probably-well-adjusted human being. Depressive aural misanthropy has never been for everyone, and Descending Into Inexorable Absence could hardly be called shy in its motives.
Nonetheless, if you’re up for it, “Apoptosis” premieres in the embed below, courtesy of the band. Some other preliminaries follow — recording credits, tracklisting, lineup; the necessities — and the music is the rest of what you need to know at this point, apart perhaps from an exact release date, which is to-be-announced. Don’t worry though, you’ll hear it coming in the distance when it’s time.
With best wishes:
Zolfo, “Apoptosis” track premiere
This spring we are going to release our new full-length album “Descending into Inexorable Absence”.
A polyphasic compound of 58 minutes, divided into a massive blend of doom/sludge intensity and layers of blackened and post-metal contamination, recorded at MOLOTOV recording by Andrea Lenoci, mixed and mastered at Skyhammer Studio by Chris Fielding and framed by Khaos Diktator Design.
The second chapter of our discography, will be released on double gatefold coloured vinyl by Zann’s Records and Violence In The Veins, and on a limited edition tape by Riff Merchant Records.
TRACKLIST: 1. Last Layers (2:55) 2. Lament of the Light (9:25) 3. No Home for an Eternal Wayfarer (11:19) 4. Admire the Mire (9:43) 5. Apoptosis (6:14) 6. Silence of the Absolute Absence (18:04)
Zolfo: Dave – Vocals and Lyrics Fabrizio – Guitars and Sax Nicolò – Guitars Saverio – Bass Piero – Drums
Posted in Whathaveyou on September 29th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
For a band who call themselves Fuzz Forward, one might expect the Spanish troupe to be an absolute hair-covered overdose of effects pedals sprawling out across whatever stage they’re playing, but to listen to the new single “Intoxicate” that’s coming out in about two weeks ahead of their next album, Parasites, next year, they’re awfully clearheaded in their approach. Such was the case as well with their 2018 debut, Out of Nowhere (review here), so it would seem their purposes are perhaps a little more straightahead than their moniker.
Fair enough, and that’s hardly true only of them, but the songwriting isn’t really arguable either way, and I know I’ve said this about releases of this sort before, but it’s the kind of thing you might see five record labels or so getting behind. Hail teamwork. I don’t have audio of “Intoxicate” yet to share, but I’ve got art, info, a lifetime’s supply of links and 2022 single “Shout to Forget,” which isn’t on the record but, you know, exists in a public sphere and is thus applicable to our purposes here.
Barcelona based Fuzz Forward are releasing the single Intoxicate next October 13th on Spotify.
The band continues to pursuit their own path with their personal blend of grunge, hard rock and stoner rock. FF is heavily influenced by Helmet, Alice In Chains, Black Sabbath…
Intoxicate is the first single off their sophomore album “Parasites” due for release on January 2024 via Glory or Death Records, Discos Macarras Records, Violence In The Veins, Hombre Montaña and Demons Punk Records.
Fuzz Forward “Parasites”
1. Shout To Forget 2. Intoxicate 3. Fade Away 4. You Never Learn 5. She Comes 6. S.O.S. 7. Set Me Free 8. Hand It Over 9. Dead Friends 10. These Flowers
Insistent jazzjabs of snare, twisty ’90s guitar and bouncing bass lead the way into the opening title-track of Plastic Woods‘ 2021 album, Dragonfruit. Released through Spinda Records, Gato Encerrado Records, Discos Macarras, The Braves Records and Violence in the Veins, it was offered as the Andalusian three-piece’s second full-length behind 2019’s Icarus, solidifying and consciously aligning around a sound aware of its home region’s penchant for blending classic progressive rock and heavy psychedelia, but not beholden to it, working in elements of punk, doom, boogie rock, Spanish folk and flamenco guitar and vocals, a sound rife with quirk but remarkably sure of itself, and able to pivot from fleet-stepping prog to crusher riffing at will. And that’s just the first two minutes.
Guitarist/vocalist Jesús de la Torre Sánchez — also the transverse flute on 10-minute closer “Sulayr” — bassist Antonio Pérez Muriel, who holds together jams like “The Calling” and “Dreamland” with class and flash, and drummer/percussionist Javier Rubio Arrabal, whose fluidity of play allows many of the shifts between styles to be done with apparent ease, are joined by a range of guests throughout. “Dragonfruit” itself has violin from Irene Veredas, as does relatively brief acoustic piece “Storm,” while Miguel Ángel Robles Urquiza adds trumpet and Carlos Mesa García plays sax on “Dreamland,” and by then — that’s track three — the band have already run through the Mellotron-laced prog of “The Calling,” with its laid back verse and sunny, folkish chorus, lighter ’90s swing and lush midsection stopping post-flute on its bassline at four minutes in, beginning the jam that will solidify across the next two minutes, with horns, and synth, and manipulated drums, into speedier guitar that resolves in a boogieing finish. A slide whistle of feedback gives over to the standalone vocal at the beginning of “Dreamland.”
With additional flamenco guitar, palmas and jaleos from Antonio Campos del Pino and piano/synth from Isaac Pascual Godoy, Dragonfruit comes across as even more complex and with the way “The Calling” engages funk behind its vocal melody like Blind Melon and Porcupine Tree finding common ground in Iberian folk and flute. At their speediest, in the title-track or the penultimate “Close to the Void,” which returns to the opener’s dirtied-up tonality and rhythmic urgency, Plastic Woods can be dizzying, but it’s important to remember that the breadth in terms of arrangements and aesthetic here means they’re rarely doing the same thing twice on an LP that runs six songs and 32 minutes.
The violin-laced ’70s folk-rock of “Storm” is a departure from “Dreamland” prior, with that song’s foray into Beatles stomp and Primus bounce, trumpet and sax, and noodly stretchout. And “Storm” gives over to “Close to the Void,” which is a shoving rager until it hits its big stoner rock slowdown into one of the best riffs Graveyard forgot to write on their second album, while “Sulayr” puts the flute up front early and builds into a flamenco verse, saving its heavier riffing for after the midpoint of its 10:17, though even that is less of a payoff than was “Close to the Void,” but having already done that thing, Plastic Woods resolve “Sulayr” in funky horns and a jazzy comedown, falling to silence to let an acoustic flamenco guitar kick in and begin the instrumental procession that will lead the band through the end of the record.
Drums, flute, bass, eventually join, but it’s still the acoustic guitar at the center of that last divergence, and it’s telling that Plastic Woods end with that longer and broader cut rather than something ‘just’ raucous and loud, showing ambition in a way that leads one to believe they’re cognizant of the styles they’re twisting together into one thing, and the changeable nature of that formula. From “Close to the Void” toying with doom to “Dragonfruit” panning the flourish lead lines of its verse, to the pairing of voice and violin on “Storm,” Dragonfruit accomplishes a sense of scope without giving up the songs beneath the arrangements or making the arrangements themselves the point of the thing. That is, “Dragonfruit” would still be a song without the horns. They enhance it, but their being there is clearly not the only reason the song was written, and whoever else is involved in a given track, the core trio shine through the production and mix from Jesús Gómez Moreno and Guillermo Ruiz Ravira at Green Cross Studio in Málaga (Mario G. Alberni at Kadifornia Mastering mastered).
In the vocals of Sánchez, Muriel‘s creativity and fun in the low end, and Arrabal‘s ready-for-it drumming, Plastic Woods seem to overflow with forward potential, whether that manifests in riffier or more folk-informed fare or — most likely — finds some space within and between the two, playing up the differences sometimes and at other points drawing lines from one to the other to find commonalities, much as they do here. I won’t try to predict where their music will go, though I wouldn’t be surprised if they had more keyboard next time out, but the confidence and boldness with which they so energetically present Dragonfruit speaks to a desire to progress, to grow as a band, and to continue to carve out their place in the ever-busy Spanish underground.
I was fortunate enough to see Plastic Woods play the pre-show at SonicBlast Fest (review here) last week. I knew nothing about them going into that experience and was a bit blown away as the set unfolded and the band were able to pull off the kinds of changes one hears them making throughout Dragonfruit, including bringing out the additional flamenco guitar twice during what was still only like 40 minutes but was an evening’s worth of getting-schooled. Young band, killer sound, will to grow and just enough weird in what they do to make it really unpredictable — you can pretty much sign me up for that anytime.
No clue if Plastic Woods are working on new material or another record or what, but I knew I wanted to write about this one after seeing them. Some things are worth talking about.
Thanks as always for reading. Hope you enjoy.
—
This week is it for The Pecan and camp. There’s like two-plus weeks left before school starts, but we figured a couple weeks of actual break at the end wouldn’t be the worst. Today’s the last day of the last camp. Made it through the fucking summer. It was touch and go there for a minute, as I think you know.
The Patient Mrs. has lined up a few ‘fun week’ activities next week. Day trips and so on. I’m going to do my best to write as much as I can — same as always — but I’m also not going to miss summer with my five year old because I’m never going to have another, and even when she’s six next year, that’s a big difference. Who knows what she’ll be like by then?
But this week was bug camp and bug camp was two hours a day, so having a bit of a time crunch was what it was. I did my best. I think I forgot to put a post up one day and another day had four, but whatever. I feel like the one thing this site isn’t hurting for is content.
Mostly in addition to camp, which is at the arboretum, which is always nice and about 10 minutes away, this week was about comedown from being away last weekend. SonicBlast was a hoot. Great people, lovely time, I saw Greenleaf and Dozer again. I saw Acid King play “Mind’s Eye,” Ruff Majik do “Hillbilly Fight Song,” on and on. But tiring too. You come home tired, then there’s all the back-home stuff to do. By Monday afternoon I was pretty frazzled. Leftover adrenaline.
But I got there, I guess is what matters. And I’ll note that right now, this week, I’m not at my lowest of lows, and that seems worth appreciating. Wow, it’s almost like I benefitted somehow from blowing my brains out with music and being told my work is important for four days. No kidding. The insight around here never stops.
Have a great and safe weekend. Don’t forget to hydrate, sunblock. Watch your head. All that stuff.
Posted in Reviews on April 17th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
Kind of an odd Quarterly Review, huh? I know. The two extra days. Well, here’s the thing. I’ve already got the better part of a 50-record QR booked for next month. I’ve slid a few of those albums in here to replace things I already covered blah blah whatever, but there’s just a ton of stuff out right now, and a lot of it I want to talk about, so yeah. I tacked on the two extra days here to get to 70 records, and in May we’ll do another 50, and if you want to count that as Spring (I can’t decide yet if I do or not; if you’ve got an opinion, I’d love to hear it in the comments), that’s 120 records covered even if I start over and go from 1-50 instead of 71-120. Any way you go, it’s nearly enough that you could listen to two records per week for the next full year based just on two weeks and two days of posts.
That’s insane. And yet here we are. Two weeks in a row wouldn’t have been enough, and any more than that and I get so backed up on other stuff that whatever stress I undercut by covering a huge swath in the QR is replaced by being so behind on everything that isn’t said QR. Does that make sense at all? No? Well fine then. Shit.
Quarterly Review #51-60:
Ecstatic Vision, Live at Duna Jam
This is a good thing for everyone. Here’s why: For the band? Easy. They get a new thing to sell at the merch table on their upcoming European tour. Win. For the label? Obviously the cash from whatever they sell, plus the chance to showcase one of their acts tearing it up on European soil. “Check out how awesome this shit is plus we’re behind it.” Always good for branding. For fans of the band, well, you already know you need it. I don’t have to tell you that. But Ecstatic Vision‘s Live at Duna Jam — as a greater benefit to the universe around it — runs deeper than that. It’s an example to follow. You wanna see, wanna hear how it’s done? This is how it’s done, kids. You get up on that stage, step out on that beach, and you throw everything you have into your art, every fucking time. This is who Ecstatic Vision are. They’re the band who blow minds like the trees in the old videos of A-bomb tests. They’ve got six songs here, a clean 38-minute live LP, and for the betterment of existence in general, you can absolutely hear in it the ferocity with which Ecstatic Vision deliver live. The fact that it’s from Duna Jam — the ultimate Eurofest daydream — is neat, but so help me gawd they could’ve recorded it in a Philly basement and they’d still be this visceral. That’s who they are. And if we, as listeners, are lucky, others will hear this and follow their example.
Oppressive in atmosphere regardless of volume but with plenty of volume to go around, Portland all-doomers Usnea return after six years with their third full-length, Bathed in Light, a grueling and ultimately triumph-of-death-ant work spanning six songs and 43 minutes of unremitting drear positioned in the newer-school vein of emotionally resonant extreme death-doom. Plodding until it isn’t, wrenching in its screams until it isn’t, the album blossoms cruelties blackened and crushing and makes the chanting in “Premeditatio Malorum” not at all out of place just the same, the slow-churning metal unrelentingly brutal as it shifts into caustic noise in that penultimate track — just one example among the many scattered throughout of the four-piece turning wretched sounds into consuming landscapes. The earlier guitar squeals on “The Compleated Sage” would be out of place if not for the throatripping and blastbeating happening immediately prior, and whether it’s the synth at the outset and the soaring guitar at the end of “To the Deathless” or the Bell Witchian ambient start to closer “Uncanny Valley” — the riff, almost stoner — before it bursts to violence at three minutes into its 8:27 on the way to a duly massive, guttural finish for the record, Usnea mine cohesion from contradictions and are apparently unscathed by the ringer through which they put their audience. Sometimes nothing but the most miserable will do.
The more one listens to Kingdom Cold, the impressive Magnetic Eye Records debut LP from Melbourne, Australia’s Oceanlord, the more there is to hear. The subtle Patrick Walker-style edge in the vocals of “Kingdom” and the penultimate roller “So Cold,” the Elephant Tree-style nod riff in “2340,” the way the bass underscores the ambient guitar and layered melodies in “Siren,” the someone-in-this-band-listens-to-extreme-metal flashes in the guitar as “Isle of the Dead” heads into its midsection, and the way the shift into and through psychedelia seems so organic on closer “Come Home,” the three-piece seeming just to reach out further from where they’ve been standing all the while for the sake of adding even more breadth to the proceedings. If the Magnetic Eye endorsement didn’t already put you over the edge, I hope this will, because what Oceanlord seem to be doing — and what they did on their 2020 demo (review here), where “Isle of the Dead” and “Come Home” appeared — is to work from a foundation in doom and slow-heavy microgenres and pick the elements that most resonate with them as the basis for their songs. They bring them into their own context, which is not something everyone does on their fifth record, let alone their first. So if it’s hearing the potential that gets you on board, fine, but the important thing is you should just get on board. They’re onto something, and part of what I like about Kingdom Cold is I’m not sure what.
Thoroughly fuzzed and ready to rock, Reading, UK, three-piece Morass of Molasses follow 2019’s The Ties That Bind (review here) with their third album and Ripple Music label debut, End All We Know, breaking eight songs into two fascinatingly-close-to-even sides running a total of 37 minutes of brash swing and stomp as baritone guitarist/vocalist Bones Huse, bassist Phil Williams and drummer Raj Puni embrace more progressive constructions for their familiar and welcome tonal richness. With Huse‘s vocals settling into a Nick Oliveri-style bark on opener “The Origin of North” and the likes of “Hellfayre” and “Naysayer” on side A, the pattern seems to be set, but the key is third track “Sinkhole,” which prefaces some of the changes the four cuts on side B bring about, trading burl and brash for more dug in arrangements, psychedelic flourish on “Slingshot Around the Sun” and “Terra Nova” — they’re still grounded structurally, but the melodic reach expands significantly and the guitar twists in “Terra Nova” feel specifically heavy psych-derived — before “Prima Materia” combines those hazy colours with prog-rock insistences and “Wings of Reverie” meets metallic soloing with Elder-style expanse. Not a record they could’ve made five years ago, End All We Know comes through as a moment of realization for Morass of Molasses, and their delivery does justice to the ambition behind it.
Real headfucker, this one. And I’ll admit, the temptation to leave the review at that is significant, since so much of the intent behind Fuzzy Grapes‘ Volume 1 seems to be a headfirst dive into the deepweird, but the samples, effects, of course fuzz and gong-and-chant-laced brazenness with which the Flagstaff, Arizona, unit set out on “Sludge Fang,” the Mikael Åkerfeldtian growls in “Snake Dagger” and the art-surf poetry reading in “Dust of Three Strings” that becomes a future cavern of synth and noise before the “Interlude” of birdsong and meditative noodling mark a procession too individual to be ignored. Three songs, break, three songs, break goes the structure of the 25-minute debut offering from the five-piece outfit, and by the time “The Cosmic Throne” begins its pastoral progadelic “ahh”s and dreamy ride cymbal jazz, one should be well content to have no idea what’s coming next. Once upon a time elsewhere in the Southwest, there was a collective of kitchen-sink heavy punkers named Leeches of Lore, and Fuzzy Grapes tap some similar adventurousness of spirit, but rarely is a band so much their own thing their first time out. “Made of Solstice” harsh-barks to offset its indie-grunge verse, fleshing out the bassy roll with effects or keys from the chorus onward, jamming like Blind Melon just ran into Amon Amarth getting gas at the Circle K. “Goatcult” ties together some of it with the harsh/chant vocal blend and a cymbal-led push, finishing with the line “Every day the world is ending” before the epilogue “Outro” plays like a vintage 78RPM record singing something about when you’re dead. Don’t expect to understand it the first time though, or maybe the first eight, but know that it’s worth pursuing and meeting the band on their level. I want to hear what they do next and how/if their approach might solidify.
Conveying genuine emotionality and reach in the vocals of Michelle Malley, the four-track Solace EP from L.A.’s Iress turns its humble 16 minutes into an expressive soundscape of what the kids these days seem to call doomgaze, with post-rock float in the guitar of Graham Walker (who makes his first appearance here) atop the solemn and heavy-bottomed grooves of bassist Michael Maldonado and drummer Glenn Chu for a completeness of experience that’s all the more immersive on headphones in a close-your-eyes kind of listen — that low contemplation of bass after 2:20 into “Soft,” for example, is one of a multitude of details worth appreciating — and though leadoff piece “Blush” begins with a quick rise of feedback and rolls forth with a distinct Jesu-style melancholy, Iress are no less effective or resonant in the sans-drums first two minutes of “Vanish” in accentuating atmosphere before the big crash-in finishes and “Ricochet” offers further dynamic display in its loud/quiet trades, graceful and unhurried in their transitions, the surge of the not-cloying hook densely weighted but not out of place either behind “Vanish” or ahead of “Soft,” even as it’s patience over impact being emphasized as Malley intones “I’m not ready” as a thread through the song. Permit me to disagree with that assessment. The whole band sounds ready, be it for a follow-up album to 2020’s Flaw (which was their second LP) or whatever else may come.
Long-running Finnish troupe Frogskin ooze forth with extremity of purpose even before the harsh-throated declarations of 10-minute opener “Mistress Divine” kick in, and III – Into Disgust maintains the high (or purposefully low, depending on how you want to look at it) standard that initial millstone-slowness sets as “Of Vermin and Man” (8:30) continues the scathe and tension in its unfolding and the somehow-thicker, sample-inclusive centerpiece “Serpent Path” (7:21) highlights violent intention on the way to the shift that brings the atmosphere forward on the two-minute still-a-song “B.B.N.T.B.N.” — the acronym: ‘Bound by nature to be nothing’ — which feels likewise pathological and methodical ahead of closer “The Pyre” (11:46). One might expect in listening that at some point Frogskin will break out at a sprint and start either playing death or black metal, grindcore, etc., but no. They don’t. They don’t give you that. And that’s the point. You don’t get relief or release. There’s no safe energetic payoff waiting. III – Into Disgust is aural quicksand, exclusively. Do not expect mercy because there’s none coming.
No strangers to working in longform contexts or casting spacier fare amid their doom-rooted riffery, Helsinki’s Albinö Rhino downplay the latter somewhat on their single-song Return to the Core full-length. Their first 12″ since 2016’s Upholder (review here), the trio of guitarist/vocalist/Moogist Kimmo Tyni, bassist/vocalist VH and drummer Viljami Väre welcome back Scott “Dr. Space” Heller (also of Space Rock Productions, Øresund Space Collective, etc.) for a synthy guest appearance and Mikko Heikinpoika on vocals and Olli Laamanen on keys, and the resultant scope of “Return to the Core” is duly broad, spreading outward from its acoustic-guitar beginning into cosmic doom rock with a thicker riff breaking doors down at 9:30 or so and a jammed-feeling journey into the greater ‘out there’ that ensues. That back and forth plays out a couple times as they manifest the title in the piece itself — the core being perhaps the done-live basic tracks then expanded through overdubs to the final form — but even when the song devolves starting after the solo somewhere around 22 minutes in, they’re mindful as well as hypnotic en route to the utter doom that transpires circa 24:30, and that they finish in a manner that ties together both aspects tells you there’s been a plan at work all along. They execute it with particular refinement and fluidity.
Self-released posthumous to the defunctification of the Quebecois band itself, Mystic Vulture ends up as a rousing swansong for what could’ve been from Cleõphüzz, hitting a nerve with “Desert Rider”‘s blend of atmosphere and grit, cello adding to the space between bass and guitar before the engrossing gang chants round out. With its 46 minutes broken into the two sides of the vinyl issue it will no doubt eventually receive, the eight-song offering — their debut, by the way — makes vocal points of the extended “Desperado” with its organ (I think?) mixed in amid the classic-style fuzz and “Shutdown in the Afterlife” bringing the strings further to the center in an especially spacious close. But whether it’s there or in the respective intros “The End” and “Sarcophage” or the proggy float of “Sortilège” or the Canadiana instrumental and vocal exploration of the title-track itself, Mystic Vulture flows easily across its material, varied but not so far out as to lose its human underpinning, and is more journey than destination. It’s gotten some hype — I think in part because the band aren’t together anymore; heavy music always wants what it can’t have — but in arrangement as well as songwriting, Cleõphüzz crafted the material here with a clear sense of perspective, and the apparent loss of potential becomes part of hearing the album. Some you win, some you lose. At least they got this out.
Expansive metal. Azimuth is the fourth long-player and first in seven years from Chicago progressive/post-metallers Arriver, who answer melody with destruction and crunch with sprawl. From opener “Reenactor” onward, they follow structural paths that are as likely to meld meditative psych with death metal (looking at you, “Only On”) as they are to combust in charred punker aggro rage on “Constellate” or second track “Knot.” The 10-minute penultimate title-track would seem to represent the crossroads at which these ideas meet — a summary as much as anything could hope to be — but even that isn’t the end of it as “None More Unknown” makes dramatic folkish proclamations before concluding with a purposeful nod. “In the Only” winds lead guitar through what might otherwise be post-hardcore, while “Carrion Sun” duly reeks of death in the desert, the complexity of the drum work alone lending gotta-hear status. Plenty of bands claim to be led by their songs. I won’t say I know how Arriver assembled these pieces to make the entirety of Azimuth, but if the band were to say they sat back and let the record write itself and follow its own impulses, I’d believe them more than most. Bound to alienate as well as engage, it is its own thing in its own place, and commanding in its moments of epiphany.
Posted in Reviews on April 14th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
If you work in an office, or you ever have, or you’ve ever spoken to someone who has or does or whatever — which is everybody, is what I’m saying — then you’ll probably have a good idea of why I cringe at saying “happy Friday” as though the end of a workweek’s slog is a holiday even with the next week peering just over the horizon beyond the next 48 hours of not-your-boss time. Nonetheless, we’re at the end of this week, hitting 50 records covered in this Quarterly Review, and while I’ll spend a decent portion of the upcoming weekend working on wrapping it up on Monday and Tuesday, I’m grateful for the ability to breathe a bit in doing that more than I have throughout this week.
I’ll say as much in closing out the week as well, but thanks for reading. As always, I hope you enjoy.
Quarterly Review #41-50:
Black Helium, UM
It’s just too cool for the planet. Earth needs to step up its game if it wants to be able handle what London’s Black Helium are dishing out across their five-song third record, UM, from the sprawl and heavy hippie rock of “Another Heaven” to the utter doom that rises to prominence in that 12-minute-ish cut and the oblivion-bound boogie, blowout, and bonfire that is 15:47 closer “The Keys to Red Skeleton’s House (Open the Door)” on the other end, never mind the u-shaped kosmiche march of “I Saw God,” the shorter, stranger, organ-led centerpiece “Dungeon Head” or the motorik “Summer of Hair” that’s so teeth-grindingly tense by the time it’s done you can feel it in your toes. These are but glimpses of the substance that comprises the 45-minute out-there-out-there-out-there stretch of UM, which by the way is also a party? And you’re invited? I think? Yeah, you can go, but the rest of these fools gotta get right if they want to hang with the likes of “I Saw God,” because Black Helium do it weird for the weirdos and the planet might be round but that duddn’t mean it’s not also square. Good thing Black Helium remembered to bring the launch codes. Fire it up. We’re outta here and off to better, trippier, meltier places. Fortunately they’re able to steer the ship as well as set its controls to the heart of the sun.
A demo recording of a single, 29-minute track that’s slated to appear on Seismic‘s debut full-length based around the works of H.G. Wells sometime later this year — yeah, it’s safe to say there’s a bit of context that goes along with understanding where the Philadelphia instrumentalist trio/live-foursome are coming from on “The Time Machine.” Nonetheless, the reach of the song itself — which moves from its hypnotic beginning at about five minutes in to a solo-topped stretch that then gives over to thud-thud-thud pounding heft before embarking on an adventure 30,000 leagues under the drone, only to rise and riff again, doom. the. fuck. on., and recede to minimalist meditation before resolving in mystique-bent distortion and lumber — is significant, and more than enough to stand on its own considering that in this apparently-demo version, its sound is grippingly full. As to what else might be in store for the above-mentioned LP or when it might land, I have no idea and won’t speculate — I’m just going by what they say about it — but I know enough at this point in my life to understand that when a band comes along and hits you with a half-hour sledgehammering to the frontal cortex as a sign of things to come, it’s going to be worth keeping track of what they do next. If you haven’t heard “The Time Machine” yet, consider this a heads up to their heads up.
Something of an awaited first long-player from Chicago’s These Beasts, who crush the Sanford Parker-produced Cares, Wills, Wants with modern edge and fluidity moving between heavier rock and sludge metal, the three-piece of guitarist/vocalist Chris Roo, bassist/vocalist Todd Fabian and drummer Keith Anderson scratching a similar itch in intensity and aggression as did L.A. sludgecore pummelers -(16)- late last year, but with their own shimmer in the guitar on “Nervous Fingers,” post-Baroness melody in “Cocaine Footprints,” and tonal heft worthy of Floor on the likes of “Blind Eyes” and the more purely caustic noise rock of “Ten Dollars and Zero Effort.” “Code Name” dizzies at the outset, while “Trap Door” closes and tops out at over seven minutes, perhaps taking its title from the moment when, as it enters its final minute, the bottom drops out and the listener is eaten alive. Beautifully destructive, it’s also somehow what I wish post-hardcore had been in the 2000s, ripping and gnarling on “Southpaw” while still having space among the righteously maddening, Neurot-tribal percussion work to welcome former Pelican guitarist Dallas Thomas for a guest spot. Next wave of artsy Chicago heavy noise? Sign me up. And I don’t know if that’s Roo or Fabian with the harsh scream, but it’s a good one. You can hear the mucus trying to save the throat from itself. Vocal cords, right down the trap door.
Comprised of Cucho Segura on guitar and vocals, Sara Gdm on bass and drummer Rafa Pacheco, Ajeeb are the first band from the Canary Islands to be written about here, and their second album — issued through no fewer than 10 record labels, some of which are linked below — is the 11-song/42-minute Refractions, reminding in heavy fashion that the roots of grunge were in noisy punk all along. There’s some kick behind songs like “Far Enough” and “Mold,” and the later “Stuck for Decades” reminds of grainy festival videos where moshing was just people running into each other — whereas on “Mustard Surfing” someone might get punched in the head — but the listening experience goes deeper the further in you get, with side B offering a more dug-in take with the even-more-grunge “Slow-Vakia” building on “Oh Well” two songs earlier and leading into the low-end shovefest “Stuck for Decades,” which you think is going to let you breathe and then doesn’t, the noisier “Double Somersault” and closer/longest song “Tail Chasing” (5:13) taking the blink-and-it’s-over quiet part in “Amnesia” and building it out over a dynamic finish. The more you listen, the more you’re gonna hear, of course, but on the most basic level, the adaptable nature of their sound results in a markedly individual take. It’s the kind of thing 10 labels might want to release.
One might be tempted to think of Porto-based funeral doomers OAK as a side-project for guitarist/vocalist Guilherme Henriques, bassist Lucas Ferrand and drummer Pedro Soares, the first two of whom play currently and the latter formerly of also-on-Season–of–Mist extreme metallers Gaerea, but that does nothing to take away from the substance of the single-song full-length Disintegrate, which plies its heft in emotionality, ambience and tone alike. Throughout 44 minutes, the three-piece run an album’s worth of a gamut in terms of tempo, volume, ebbs and flows, staying grim all the while but allowing for the existence of beauty in that darkness, no less at some of the most willfully grueling moments. The rise and fall around 20 minutes in, going from double-kick-infused metallurgy to minimal standalone guitar and rebuilding toward death-growl-topped nod some six minutes later, is worth the price of admission alone, but the tortured ending, with flourish either of lead guitar or keys behind the shouted layers before moving into tremolo payoff and the quieter contemplation that post-scripts, shouldn’t be missed either. Like any offering of such extremity, Disintegrate won’t be for everyone, but it makes even the air you breathe feel heavier as it draws you into the melancholic shade it casts.
“Are we cursed?” “Is this living?” “Are we dying?” These are the questions asked after the on-rhythm sampled orgasmic moaning abates on the slow-undulating title-track of Ultra Void‘s Mother of Doom. Billed as an EP, the five-songer skirts the line of full-length consideration at 31 minutes — all the more for its molten flow as punctuated by the programmed drums — and finds the Brooklynite outfit revamped as a solo-project for Jihef Garnero, who moves from that leadoff to let the big riff do most of the talking in the stoned-metal “Sic Mundus Creatus Est” and the raw self-jam of the nine-minute “Måntår,” which holds back its vocals for later and is duly hypnotic for it. Shorter and more rocking, “Squares & Circles” maintains the weirdo vibe just the same, and at just three and a half minutes, “Special K” closes out in similar fashion with perhaps more swing in the rhythm. With those last two songs offsetting the down-the-life-drain spirit of the first three, Mother of Doom seems experimental in its construction — Garnero feeling his way into this new incarnation of the band and perhaps also recording and mixing himself in this context — but the disillusion comes through as organic, and whether we’re living or dying (spoiler: dying), that gives these songs the decisive “ugh” with which they seem to view the world around them.
Italian trio Aktopasa — also stylized as Akṭōpasa, if you’re in a fancy mood — seem to revel in the breakout moments on their second long-player and Argonauta label debut, Journey to the Pink Planet, as heard in the crescendo nod and boogie, respectively, of post-intro opener “Calima” (10:27) and closer “Foreign Lane” (10:45), the album’s two longest tracks and purposefully-placed bookends around the other songs. Elsewhere, the Venice-based almost-entirely-instrumentalists drift early in “It’s Not the Reason” — which actually features the record’s only vocals near its own end, contributed by Mattia Filippetto — and tick boxes around the tenets of heavy psychedelic microgenre, from the post-Colour Haze floating intimacy at the start of “Agarthi” to the fuzzy and fluid jam that branches out from it and the subsequent “Sirdarja” with its tabla and either sitar or guitar-as-sitar outset and warm-toned, semi-improv-sounding jazzier conclusion. From “Alif” (the intro) into “Calima” and “Lunar Eclipse,” the intent is to hypnotize and carry the listener through, and Aktopasa do so effectively, giving the chemistry between guitarist Lorenzo Barutta, bassist Silvio Tozzato and drummer Marco Sebastiano Alessi a suitably natural showcase and finding peace in the process, at least sonically-speaking, that’s then fleshed out over the remainder. A record to breathe with.
There’s heavy metal somewhere factored into the sound of Philadelphia’s Troll Teeth, but where it resides changes. The band — who here work as a four-piece for the first time — unveil their Underground Vol. 1 EP with four songs, and each one has a different take. In “Cher Ami,” the question is what would’ve happened if Queens of the Stone Age were in the NWOBHM. In “Expired,” it’s whether or not the howling of the two guitars will actually melt the chug that offsets it. It doesn’t, but it comes close to overwhelming in the process. On “Broken Toy” it’s can something be desert rock because of the drums alone, and in the six-minute closer “Garden of Pillars” it’s Alice in Chains with a (more) doomly reimagining and greater melodic reach in vocals as compared to the other three songs, but filled out with a metallic shred that I guess is a luxury of having two guitars on a record when you haven’t done so before. Blink and you’ll miss its 17-minute runtime, but Troll Teeth have four LPs out through Electric Talon, including 2022’s Hanged, Drawn, & Quartered, so there’s plenty more to dig into should you be so inclined. Still, if the idea behind Underground Vol. 1 was to scope out whether the band works as constructed here, the concept is proven. Yes, it works. Now go write more songs.
Lead track “Jukai” hasn’t exploded yet before Finis Hominis‘ Sordidum Est EP has unveiled the caustic nature of its bite in scathing feedback, and what ensues from there gives little letup in the oppressive, extreme sludge brutality, which makes even the minute-long “Cavum Nigrum” sample-topped drone interlude claustrophobic, never mind the assault that takes place — fast first, then slow, then crying, then slow, then dead — on nine-minute capper “Lorem Ipsum.” The bass hum that begins centerpiece “Improportionatus” is a thread throughout that 7:58 piece, the foundation on which the rest of the song resides, the indecipherable-even-if-they-were-in-English growls and throat-tearing shouts perfectly suited to the heft of the nastiness surrounding. “Jukai” has some swing in the middle but hearing it is still like trying to inhale concrete, and “Sinne Floribus” is even meaner and rawer, the Brazilian trio resolving in a devastating and noise-caked, visceral regardless of pace or crash, united in its alienated feel and aural punishment. And it’s their first EP! Jesus. Unless they’re actually as unhinged as they at times sound — possible, but difficult — I wouldn’t at all expect it to be their last. A band like this doesn’t happen unless the people behind it feel like it needs to, and most likely it does.
With its title maybe referring to the communion among players and the music they’re making in the moment of its own heavy psych jams, Losing Time Finding Space is the second studio full-length from Belfast instrumentalist unit Space Shepherds. The improvised-sounding troupe seem to have a lineup no less fluid than the material they unfurl, but the keyboard in “Ending the Beginning (Pt. 1)” gives a cinematic ambience to the midsection, and the fact that they even included an intro and interlude — both under two minutes long — next to tracks the shortest of which is 12:57 shows a sense of humor and personality to go along with all that out-there cosmic exploratory seeking. Together comprising a title-track, “Losing Time…” (17:34) and “…Finding Space” (13:27) are unsurprisingly an album unto themselves, and being split like “Ending the Beginning” speaks perhaps of a 2LP edition to come, or at very least is emblematic of the mindset with which they’re approaching their work. That is to say, as they move forward with these kinds of mellow-lysergic jams, they’re not unmindful either of the listener’s involvement in the experience or the prospect of realizing them in the physical as well as digital realms. For now, an hour’s worth of longform psychedelic immersion will do nicely, thank you very much.
Posted in Whathaveyou on January 24th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
One does not envy either Canary Islands trio Ajeeb or Spinda Records, which sent the announcement below, the process of coordinating a release across 10 record labels. It’s hard enough with one, two, involved, and the advantage of having a bunch covering different locales is, duh, wider distribution for the artist, but the tradeoff of who gets what when and when a record is coming out, my goodness. If even one person is an asshole — and I don’t know most of these labels personally, but my inclination is to assume that people passionate enough about underground music to help release it generally aren’t assholes — the whole thing could derail.
Nonetheless, Ajeeb‘s second full-length, Refractions — not to be confused with the Lowrider album of the same name — is part of a strong upcoming year for Spinda (not that I’ve seen the schedule or anything) and will see release with a firm March 29 arrival date. There’s no new audio as of now, but you can hear the band’s punk and noise rock-informed take on heavy with the stream of their debut LP, Toss and Turn, which came out in 2020, on the player at the bottom of this post.
Signing announcement follows:
***SPINDA RECORDS – NEW BAND ANNOUNCEMENT***
Today is a good day! We are so happy to share with y’all that Canary Island alt-rock and shoegaze power trio AJEEB is joining our family. We’ve been following them since the very beginning and there’s no better way to do this than with a new album.
‘Refractions’ will be out on March 29, 2023 via Spinda Records in collaboration with Violence In The Veins, Quebranta Records, Noizeland Records, Hey Boy Hey Girl, Bandera Records, Naife, Hombre Montaña, Clever Eagle Records (US) and The Ghost Is Clear Records (US).
First single (+ pre-order) is about to come out, so keep an eye on these guys.
Posted in audiObelisk on April 7th, 2021 by JJ Koczan
A record at least three years in the making, Finland’s Gangrened will release their full-length debut, Deadly Algorithm, this Friday through a host of labels including Kohina Records, Domestic System, Noizeland Records, Odio Sonoro, Quebranta Records, Trepanation Recordings, Burial Records and Violence in the Veins. A follow-up to their 2014 We Are Nothing EP (review here), it is a five-song/42-minute run that paints a dark picture of the time and place we’ve come to inhabit. Not so much post- as simply apocalyptic, though plenty dystopian either way in its multifaceted atmospheric sludge onslaught. Pick your societal teardown, I guess, but know that Deadly Algorithm feels more like that teardown happening than its aftermath.
It is a challenging album, and feels purposeful in that. It is not haphazard, but in its spaciousness there is room for the unplanned and the unexpected, the turns it makes throughout its two sides are not as telegraphed as, say, Amenra, and being born out of Finnish noise rock somewhere along the path of its roots, the scope is different, but there’s calculation happening just the same, and even the four-minute “Intro” that leads into “Triptaani” (9:21) and “Hologrammi” (6:45) serves a pointed function in establishing the world in which Deadly Algorithm is taking place. That world should be plenty recognizable, from the anxiousness of decay to capitalist infiltration of social structures to becoming the Orwellian product via social media false celebrity.
These issues are addressed in the lyrics one way or the other, and if you happen to speak Finnish, you’re one up on me, but amid the urgent chug that takes hold quickly in “Triptaani” and the shouts that break through the morass of tone surrounding, the point gets across. The range is broad, however, and as Gangrened embark on this wanton delivery of heft, the ambience set by “Intro” never entirely dissipates. The spaciousness of the mix is such that when “Triptaani” breaks in its second half to set up its lurching conclusion, it feels natural rather than shoehorned in for dynamic effect, and the post-metallic squibbly lead guitar over top of the massive ending is like a melodic lifeline in the chaos.
“Hologrammi” offers little letup. Its rhythm is more of a march, but the shorter runtime carries with it a more forward attack, and the song’s abiding pummel becomes a defining characteristic. There’s tension between parts, shouts interwoven with obscure spoken passages, but the roll is steady until a wash of synth or sample or something else takes hold at around five and a half minutes in, fading gradually but consuming the song just the same and leaving its final crashes to play out with an especially desolate feel, wrapping side A with a rumble en route to the closing duo of “Kungingatar” (11:43) and “Triangeli” (10:23).
True, the second side of Deadly Algorithm is two songs instead of three. True, it’s about two minutes longer than side A. But it feels like Gangrened are pushing well beyond a point of no return even as the integrated intro of “Kuningatar” leads the way into the unfolding of the song itself, building up over its first three minutes to an eventual breakout. Its title translating to “queen” in English, “Kuningatar” is both intense and spacious, its tempo thrust insistent but with echoes reaching out as it heads toward a momentary bass-led midsection break. Airy lead guitar seems to top the bulk of the second half of the track in various forms, but the underlying pummel and drive is never really lost, even as the band crash out at the end and let the drums start “Triangeli” in a way that comes across as purposefully direct, one into the next. That is, whether they were or not, these two songs sound made to be positioned together, such is the ease of the transition between them. Side B is all the more of a monolith for that.
As to what horrors Gangrened unleash in the final statement of their immersive debut, those are noisier, more feedback-laced, slower unraveling and ultimately more unhinged. Again, purposefully. If “Trangeli” (“triangle”) is somehow the culmination of where Deadly Algorithm has been leading all along, its brutality feels earned, to say the least, but like the album from which it results, there is more depth to the finale than simple bludgeoning. It might seem silly to call Gangrened “mindful” on an aesthetic level, with the sort of new-new-agey connotation of the word, but the band is to be commended for not losing sight of their expressive goal even when that goal seems to be ripping the album apart at the end. The final minute-plus of “Trangeli” is dedicated to some final shouts and then residual noise on a long fade, and the atmospheric point that began to be made in “Intro” is highlighted in the album’s last moments — a sense of completion resonant in more than just the gut-wrenching lumber the band have been throwing around all the while.
There is plenty of that, to be sure, but Deadly Algorithm portrays the insidiousness of the age in which we live through its mood and overarching disaffection as well. Even in its critique, it is of its era. One could go on about the forces that would be required for a worldwide shift to, well, anything, but frankly, to do so is overwhelming and sad. That the impulse is there at all should be taken as testament to the thought-provoking nature of Gangrened‘s work across the record’s still-accessible, still-fluid 42-minute span, and though they present their arguments forcefully, they are doing more than screaming into the abyss. As a debut, their doing so is especially notable.
Full album is streaming below ahead of the release Friday.
Good luck, and enjoy:
“Deadly Algorithm” title, cover and concept verses about a subject that was used in the previous release “We are nothing”. how the world economic elites manipulate mass population. In this case, sneaking up, orienting the development of new technologies like algorithms of artificial intelligence for massive data and attention extraction. Persuasive technology to keep users as long as possible connected. Unfortunately, in the rising attention extraction digital economy, and data extraction also, that the new technologies are at the right moment immersed in, a human is worth more when we are depressed, outraged, polarized, and addicted. Parallel to this, is growing a massive surveillance by governments and big companies with the purpose of basically implement what seemed a dystopia till a little while ago: Living in the “1984” novel of George Orwell, or even worse. . . “If you’re not paying for the product, then you are the product”.
Deadly Algorithm has been recorded in different sessions between June 2018 and February 2019 by Sami Nortunen at Ylistaro (Finland) and also at Tonehaven studio by Tom Brooke in June/July 2020. Deadly Algorithm has been mixed and mastered during July-September 2020 at Tonehaven studio by Tom Brooke.
Players: Jon Imbernon – Guitars and effects Joakim Udd – Electric bass and bass synth Lassi Männikkö – Drums Mikko Mannistö – Vocals and effects.
Posted in Questionnaire on March 18th, 2021 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: Jon Imbernon of Gangrened
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How do you define what you do and how did you come to do it?
Well, let’s say first my guitar playing: it has been a progression, listening lots of different music. trying, testing things on guitar. Getting to have a deeper knowledge of things and mind openness. I am not talking only about playing heavy, I am also into silence, or noise or really deep experimentation. How we (Gangrened) came with our coming record? Well, at some point I decided to drop, or blend, most of my whole musical background into what we were doing, seemed more interesting and challenging. Made sense also cause was a lot of slow, raw, minimal and heavy things all together anyway.
Describe your first musical memory.
Being in the car with my mother and her boyfriend in 1986 and they bought me for surprise the tape of Europe of The Final Countdown that was a hit on that moment and I was into.
Describe your best musical memory to date.
Touring Europe with a band much more known than my band, on that tour, and playing in medium capacity venues and most of the audience being there for us and actually getting good feedback most of the nights. In this same tour, driving 11 hours after sleeping less than one hour and playing an amazing gig in a boat venue in Paris. Also, promote and witness some specific absolutely mind-blowing gigs for either 5, 100 or 200 people, and sharing the feeling with the audience, and in a specific and funny case, the venue manager, once I got a discount in the rent because the absolutely mind-blowing gig the guy witnessed, true story. Well, also the guy did know I wasn’t making it for the profit, so I guess his heart melted or something.
When was a time when a firmly held belief was tested?
Well, for example some days ago having some political discussion, for a while of it I felt like that.
Where do you feel artistic progression leads?
Well, I hope it leads to something better, always. I told to a friend some days ago, in both society and music, progression is what will make things interesting, either as creative evolution and artistic expression or making a society fairer. You have to risk and push forward to change things. And as what goes for rock music, it’s fine there are bands playing the same record after 15 years but if music would be only that we would be still with Chuck Berry and Elvis Presley.
How do you define success?
Simplest and more accurate definition I think would be to be happy and satisfied with what you do.
What is something you have seen that you wish you hadn’t?
Well, certain disappointments, maybe people that disappoints you and that I wish they hadn´t.
Describe something you haven’t created yet that you’d like to create.
I would like to do some five-minute songs again, I have one cooking heh. But yeah, now the only Gangrened songs that I can come with of that length is a cover or the intro of our coming record.
No, seriously, I would like to compose some musical piece in which all is guitars, even for percussion, developing a way in which you use the electric guitar in a percussive and musical way at same time. Only electric guitar, as is the instrument I play and domain.
What do you believe is the most essential function of art?
I would say it is the poetic delight of the senses and the intellect. Then that’s why depending of your intellect you enjoy this art, or that art, or none.
Something non-musical that you’re looking forward to?
Guess. that, at least, things get normalized with this damn pandemic, and for everyone in the world.
nine minutes long, its tempo finds a mid-paced groove in which to dwell, but even here the gnashing harshness of the vocals and the punishing brutality led by the guitars preside, and as it gets faster, it gets noisier, and the outright will to crush persists, certainly no less so with the big-doom slowdown around seven minutes in. Later in the reaches of “Silence of the Absolute Absence,” Dave‘s voice doesn’t so much give out, but echoes with the kind of high-register shout that results when your throat is done tearing itself apart for the next however long, and I don’t know over how long a period Descending Into Inexorable Absence was tracked, but I remember recording screaming takes, and if “Admire the Mire” and that finale were done the same day, or even just the latter piece on its own, I’d have no trouble believing genuine physical recovery was required afterward. That they chose to preserve that moment rather than dub it over is admirably organic, and gives “Silence of the Absolute Absence” a suitably desperate crescendo to its initial voidward cries and fuller death-doom plod.
