Posted in Whathaveyou on October 15th, 2024 by JJ Koczan
Fresh off the Sept. 20 release of their new album, Vita Mors, Denver-based heavy rockers Luna Sol are the third band announced for Planet Desert Rock Weekend V‘s final day, to be held at Sinwave on Feb. 2 in Las Vegas after the three days of the fest-proper. A comedown day, or maybe trying to hold onto a last bit of weekend before real life claims attendees again. Can’t argue either in ethic or, to this point, execution.
Because as you can see, Luna Sol join BoneHawk and Iota on the carefully curated bill, which will ultimately feature five bands. Each outfit here offers something of their own, but at least so far, there’s a thread of songwriting tying them together. Of course I’m curious to find out who the last names are probably in the next couple of weeks. I don’t know how the fest is doing on tickets, but for the life of me I can’t think of a reason to sleep on the decision either.
Planet Desert Rock Weekend founder John Gist of Vegas Rock Revolution sent the following down the PR wire:
Vegas Rock Revolution’s Planet Desert Rock Weekend is always excited to bring back legacy bands that have performed before at PDRW! We do like to put space of 2 years between playing and in this case Luna Sol is a band that performed on the inaugural evening of PDRW when we did “A Night with John Garcia” at the Hard Rock Casino’s Vinyl.
For those that are unfamiliar with Luna Sol, their frontman is Hermano’s Dave Angstrom. Dave over the year has played with not only the iconic Hermano (featured Kyuss’s John Garcia) but also Supafuzz, Black Cat Bone and other bands.
Luna Sol’s recent album “Vita Mors” released by one of the top heavy underground labels Ripple Music landed at #4 on The Doom Charts for September as voted on by insiders from around the world. This power trio from Denver delivers a strong blues based tone to our final evening of PDRW V …. Last Call which is Sunday February 2, 2025 at Sinwave.
We will have two more bands to announce for this special diverse evening of heavy rock tunes!
Posted in Reviews on October 15th, 2024 by JJ Koczan
I’ll be honest, I don’t even want to talk about how well this Quarterly Review is going because I worry about screwing it up. It’s always a lot of work to round up 10 records per day, even if there’s a single or and EP snuck in there, but it’s been a long time now that I’ve been doing things this way — sometimes as a means of keeping up, sometimes to herald things to come, usually just a way to write about things I want to write about regardless of timeliness — and it’s always worth it. I’ve had a couple genuinely easy days here. Easier than expected. Obviously that’s a win.
So while I wait for the other shoe to drop, let’s keep the momentum going.
Quarterly Review #61-70:
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Massive Hassle, Unreal Damage
Brotherly two-piece Massive Hassle, comprised of brothers Bill Fisher and Marty Fisher — who played together in Mammothwing and now both feature in Church of the Cosmic Skull — get down with another incredibly complex set of harmonized ’70s-style soul-groovers, nailing it as regards tone and tempo from the big riff that eats “Lost in the Changes” to the strums and croons early in the penultimate “Tenspot,” hitting a high note together in that song that gives over to stark and wistful standalone guitar meander that with barely a minute ago gorgeously becomes a bittersweet triumph of nostalgic fuzz reminiscent of Colour Haze‘s “Fire” and having the sheer unmitigated gall to tell the world around them it’s no big deal by naming the band Massive Hassle and stating that as the thing they most want to avoid. When they did Number One (review here) in 2023, it felt like they were proving the concept. With Unreal Damage, they’re quietly pushing limits.
Iress are the Los Angeles-based four-piece of Michelle Malley (vocals), Michael Maldonado (bass), Glenn Chu (drums) and Graham Walker (guitar). Sleep Now, In Reverse is their fourth full-length in nearly 15 years of existence. As a record, it accomplishes a lot of things, but what you need to understand is that where it most succeeds and stands itself out is in bringing together a heavy post-rock sound — heavygaze, as the kids don’t say because they don’t know what it is — with emotive expression on vocals, a blending of ethereal and the most human and affecting, and when Malley lets loose in the payoff of “Mercy,” it’s an early highlight with plenty more to follow. It’s not that Iress are reinventing genre — evolving, maybe? — but what they’re doing with it is an ideal unto itself, taking those aspects from across an aesthetic range and incorporating them into a whole, at times defiantly cohesive sound, lush but clearheaded front to back.
When the band put the shimmying “Apocalypse Babes” up as a standalone single last year, it was some five years after their debut full-length, 2018’s Mindtripper (review here) — though there was a split between — so not an insignificant amount of time for Norway’s Magmakammer to expand on their methods and dig into the songs. To be sure, “Doom Jive” and “Zimbardo” still have that big-hook, Uncle Acid-style dirty garage buzz that lends itself so well to cultish themes but thankfully here is about more than murder. And indeed, the band seems to have branched out a bit, and the eight-song/43-minute Before I Burn is well served by divergences like the closing “I Will Guide Your Hand” or the way “Cult of Misanthropy” sounds like a studio outtake on a bootleg from 1969 until they kick it open around a build of marching guitar, even as it stays loyal to Magmakammer‘s core stylistic purposes. A welcome return.
The kind of sludge rock Ohio’s Evel play, informed by Mondo Generator‘s druggy, volatile heavy punk and C.O.C.‘s Southern metal nod, maybe a bit of High on Fire in “Alaska,” with a particularly Midwestern disappointment-in-everything that would’ve gone over well at Emissions From the Monolith circa 2003, isn’t what’s trendy. It’s not the cool thing. It doesn’t care about that, or about this review, or about providing social media content to maximize its algorithmic exposure. I’m not knocking any of that — especially the review, which is going swimmingly; I promise a point is coming — but if Evel‘s six-songer debut EP, Omen, is a foretell of things to come, the intention behind it is more about the catharsis of the writing/performance than trying to play to ‘scene’-type expectations. It is a pissed-off fuckall around which the band — which features guitarist/vocalist Alex Perekrest, also of Red Giant — will continue to build as “Dust Angel” and the swinging “Dawn Patrol” already find them doing. The going will likely be noisy, and that’s just fine.
Some six years and one reunion after their fourth album, 2018’s The Lucky Ones (review here), Virginia-born classic heavy barnburners Satan’s Satyrs are back with a fifth collection beating around riffs from Sabbath and the primordial ooze of heavy that birthed them, duly brash and infectious in their energy. Founding bassist/vocalist Clayton Burgess and guitarist Jarrett Nettnin are joined in the new incarnation of the band by guitarist Morgan McDaniel (also Mirror Queen) and drummer Russ Yusuf — though Sean Saley has been with them for recent live shows — and as they strut and swing through “Saltair Burns” like Pentagram if they’d known how to play jazz but were still doom, or the buzzy demo-style experimentation of “Genuine Turquoise,” which I’m just going to guess came together differently than was first expected. So much the better. They’ve never been hugely innovative, but Satan’s Satyrs have consistently delivered at this point across a span of more than a decade and they have their own spin on the style. They may always be a live band, but at least in my mind, there’s not much more one would ask that After Dark doesn’t deliver.
Delivered through Kozmik Artifactz, Weight in Gold is the second long-player from Melbourne, Australia’s Whoopie Cat, and it meets the listener at the intersection of classic, ’70s-style heavy blues rock and prog. Making dynamic use of a dual-vocal approach in “Pretty Baby” after establishing tone, presence and craft as assets with the seven-minute opening title-track, the band are unflinchingly modern in production even as they lean toward vintage-style song construction, and that meld of intention results in an organic sound that’s not restricted by the recording. Plus it’s louder, which doesn’t hurt most of the time. In any case, as Whoopie Cat follow-up their 2018 debut, Illusion of Choice, they do so with distinction and the ability to convey a firm grasp on their songwriting and convey a depth of intention from the what-if-Queen-but-blues “Icarus” or the consuming Hammondery of closer “Oh My Love.” Listening, I can’t help but wonder how far into prog they might ultimately go, but they’ve found a sweetspot in these songs that’s between styles, and they fit right in it.
Cheeky, heavy garage punk surely will not be enough to save the immortal souls of Earth Tongue from all their devil worship and intricate vocal patterning. And honestly the New Zealand two-piece — I could’ve sworn I saw something about them moving to Germany, but maybe they just had a really good Berlin show? — sound fine with that. Guitarist Gussie Larkin and drummer Ezra Simons benefit from the straightforward outward nature of their songs. That is, “Out of This Hell,” “The Mirror,” “Bodies Dissolve Tonight!” and any of the other nine inclusions on the record that either were or could’ve been singles, are catchy and tightly written. They’re not overplayed or underplayed, and they have enough tonal force in Larkin‘s guitar that the harder churn of closer “The Reluctant Host” can leave its own impression and still feel fluid alongside some of Great Haunting‘s sweeter psych-punk. Wherever they live, the two-piece make toys out of pop and praise music so that even “Miraculous Death” sounds like, and is, fun.
The collection House of Pain (Demos) takes its title from the place where guitarist/vocalist Tomas Iramain recorded them alongside bassist Matias Maltratador and drummer Jorge Iramain, though whether it’s a studio, rehearsal space, or an actual house, I won’t profess to know. Tomas is the lone remaining member carried over from the band’s 2020 self-titled LP, and the other part of what you need to know about House of Pain (Demos) can also be found in the title: it’s demos. Do not expect a studio sound full of flourish and nuance. Reportedly most of the songs were tracked with two Shure SM57s (the standard vocal mic), save for “Nomad” and “The Way I Am,” I guess because one broke? The point is, as raw as they are — and they are raw — these demos want nothing for appeal. The bounce in the bonus-track-type “Mountain (Take 1)” feels like a Dead Meadowy saunter, and for all of its one-mic-ness, “Nomad” gives a twist on ’50s and early ’60s guitar instrumentals that’s only bolstered by the recording. I’m not saying Las Historias should press up 10,000 LPs immediately or anything, but if this was the record, or maybe an EP and positioned as more substantial than the demos, aside from a couple repeated tracks, you could do far worse. “Hell Bird” howls, man. Twice over.
Certainly “Come With Me” and others on Aquanaut‘s self-titled debut have their desert rocking aspects, but there’s at least as much The Sword as Kyuss in what the Trondheim, Norway, newcomers unfurl on their self-titled, self-released debut, and when you can careen like in “Gamma Rays,” maybe sometimes you don’t need anything else. The seven-track/35-minute outing gets off to a bluesy, boozy start with “Lenéa,” and from there, Aquanaut are able to hone an approach that has its sludgier side in some of the Eyehategod bark of “Morality” but that comes to push increasingly far out as it plays through, so that “Living Memories” soars as the finale after the mid-tempo fuzzmaking of “Ivory,” and so Aquanaut seem to have a nascent breadth working for them in addition to the vigor of a young band shaping a collective persona. The generational turnover in Norway is prevalent right now with a number of promising debuts and breakouts in the last couple years. Aquanaut have a traditionalism at their core but feel like they want to break it as much as celebrate it, and if you’re the type to look for ‘bands to watch,’ that’s a reason to watch. Or even listen, if you’re feeling especially risk-friendly.
While I would be glad to be writing about Ghost Frog‘s quirky heavy-Weezerism and psychedelic chicanery even if their third album, Galactic Mini Golf didn’t have a song called “Deep Space Nine Iron” on it, I can’t lie and say that doesn’t make the prospect a little sweeter. It’s an interlude and I don’t even care — they made it and it’s real. The Portland, Oregon, four-piece of guitarist/vocalist Quinn Schwartz, guitarist/synthesist Karl Beheim, bassist Archie Heald and drummer Vincent LiRocchi (the latter making his first appearance) keep somewhat to a golfy theme, find another layer’s worth of heavy on “Shadow Club,” declare themselves weird before you even press play and reinforce the claim in both righteous post-grunge roll of “Burden of Proof” and the new wave rock of “Bubble Guns” before the big ol’ stompy riff in “Black Hole in One’ leads to a purposeful whole-album finish. Some things don’t have to make the regular kind of sense, because they make their own kind. Absurd as the revelry gets, Ghost Frog make their own kind of sense. Maybe you’ll find it’s also your kind of sense and that’s how we learn things about ourselves from art. Have a great rest of your day.
Posted in Reviews on October 14th, 2024 by JJ Koczan
Second week of the Fall 2024 Quarterly Review begins now. You stoked? Nah, probably not, but at least at the end of this week there will be another 50 records for you to check out, added to the 50 from last week to make 100 total releases covered. So, I mean, it’s not nothing. But I understand if it isn’t the make-or-break of your afternoon.
Last week was killer, and today gets us off to another good start. Crazy, it’s almost like I’m enjoying this. Who the hell ever heard of such a thing?
Quarterly Review #51-60:
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White Hills, Beyond This Fiction
New York’s own psychedelic heads on fire White Hills return with Beyond This Fiction, a collection of sounds so otherworldly and lysergic they can’t help but be real. Seven tracks range from the fluid “Throw it Up in the Air” to the bassy experimental new wave of “Clear as Day,” veering into gentle noise rock as it does before “Killing Crimson” issues its own marching orders, coming across like if you beamed Fu Manchu through the accretion disk of a black hole and the audio experienced gravitational lensing. “Fiend” brings the two sides together and dares to get a little dreamy while doing it, the interlude “Closer” is a wash of drone, and “The Awakening” is a good deal of drone itself, but topped with spoken word, and the closing title-track takes place light-years from here in a kind of time humans haven’t yet learned to measure. It’s okay. White Hills records will still be around decades from now, when humans finally catch up to them. I’m not holding my breath, though.
Five records deep into a tenure now more than a decade long, I feel like Demon Head are a band that are the answer to a lot of questions being asked. Oh, where’s the classic-style band doing something new? Who’s a band who can sound like The Cure playing black metal and be neither of those things? Where’s a band doing forward-thinking proto-doom, not at all hindered by the apparent temporal impossibility of looking ahead and back at the same time? Here they are. They’re called Demon Head. Their fifth album is called Through holes Shine the Stars, and its it’s-night-time-and-so-we-chug-different sax-afflicted ride in “Draw Down the Stars” is consuming as the band take the ’70s doomery of their beginnings to genuinely new and progressive places. The depth of vocal layering throughout — “The Chalice,” the atmo-doom sprawl of “Every Flatworm,” the rousing, swinging hook and ensuing gallop of “Frost,” and so on — adds drama and persona to the songs, and the songs aren’t wanting otherwise, with a dug-in intricacy of construction and malleable underlying groove. Seriously. Maybe Demon Head are the band you’re looking for.
You can call Earth Ship sludge metal, and you’re not really wrong, but you’re not the most right either. The Berlin-based trio founded by guitarist/vocalist Jan Oberg and bassist Sabine Oberg, plus André Klein on drums, offer enough crush to hit that mark for sure, but the tight, almost Ministry-esque vocals on the title-track, the way “Radiant” dips subtly toward psychedelia as a side-A-capping preface to the languid clean-sung nod of “Daze and Delights,” giving symmetry to what can feel chaotic as “Ethereal Limbo” builds into its crescendo, fuzzed but threatening aggression soon to manifest in “Acrid Haze,” give even the nastiest moments throughout a sense of creative reach. That is to say, Soar — which Jan Oberg also recorded, mixed and mastered at Hidden Planet Studio and which sees release through the band’s The Lasting Dose Records — resides in more than one style, with opener “Shallow” dropping some hints of what’s to come and a special lumber seeming to be dedicated to the penultimate “Bereft,” which proves to be a peak in its own right. The Obergs seem to split their time these days between Earth Ship and the somewhat more ferocious Grin. In neither outfit do they misspend it.
Bassist/vocalist Tommy Stewart (ex-Hallows Eve, owner of Black Doomba Records) once more sits in the driver’s seat of the project that shares his name, and with four new tracks Tommy Stewart’s Dyerwulf on Fyrewulf One — which I swear sounds like the name of a military helicopter or somesuch — offer what will reportedly be half of their third long-player with an intention toward delivering Fyrewulf Two next year. Fair enough. “Kept Pain Busy” is the longest and grooviest fare on offer, bolstered by the quirk of shorter opener “Me ‘n’ My Meds” and the somewhat more madcap “Zoomagazoo,” which touches on heavy rockabilly in its swing, with a duly feedback-inclusive cover of Bloodrock‘s “Melvin Laid an Egg” for good measure. The feeling of saunter is palpable there for the organ, but prevalent throughout the original songs as well, as Stewart and drummer Dennis Reid (Patrick Salerno guests on the cover) know what they’re about, whether it’s garage-punk-psych trip of “Me ‘n’ My Meds” the swing that ensues.
The narrative — blessings and peace upon it — presents A Grand Stream as the result of Smote guitarist Daniel Foggin and drummer Rob Law absconding to a cabin in the woods by a stream to write and record. There’s certainly escapism in it, and one might argue Smote‘s folk-tinged drone and atmospheric heavy meditations have always had an aspect of leaving the ol’ consciousness at the flung-open doors of perception, etc., but the 10-minute undulating-but-mostly-stationary noise in “Chantry” is still a lot to take. That it follows the 16-miinute “Coming Out of a Hedge Backwards,” laced with sitar and synth and other backing currents filling out the ambience, should be indicative of the sprawl of the over-70-minute LP to begin with. Smote aren’t strangers at this point to the expanse or to longform expression, but there still seems to be a sense of plunging into the unknown throughout A Grand Stream as they make their way deeper into the 18-minute “The Opinion of the Lamb Pt. 2,” and the rolling realization of “Sitting Stone Pt. 1” at the beginning resounds over all of it.
Hard to argue with Mammoth Caravan‘s bruising metallism, not the least because by the time you’d open your mouth to do so the Little Rock, Arkansas, trio have already run you under their aural steamroller and you’re too flat to get the words out. The six-song/36-minute Frostbitten Galaxy is the second record from the three-piece of guitarist/vocalist Robert Warner, bassist/vocalist Brandon Ringo and drummer Khetner Howton, and in the willful meander of “Cosmic Clairvoyance,” in many of their intros, in the tradeoffs of the penultimate “Prehistoric Spacefarer” and in the clean-sung finale “Sky Burial,” they not only back the outright crush of “Tusks of Orion” and “Siege in the Stars,” as well as opener/longest track (immediate points) “Absolute Zero,” with atmospheric intention, but with a bit of dared melody that feels like a foretell of things to come from the band. On Frostbitten Galaxy and its correspondingly chilly 2023 predecessor Ice Cold Oblivion (review here), Mammoth Caravan have proven they can pummel. Here they begin the process of expanding their sound around that.
If you caught Harvestman‘s psychedelic dub and guitar experimentalism on Triptych Part One (review here) earlier this year, perhaps it won’t come as a shock to find former Neurosis guitarist/vocalist Steve Von Till, aka Harvestman, working in a similar vein on Triptych Part Two. There’s more to it than just heady chill, but to be sure that’s part of what’s on offer too in the immersive drone of “The Falconer” or the 10-minute “The Hag of Beara vs. the Poet (Forest Dub),” which reinterprets and plays with the makeup of opener “The Hag of Beara vs. the Poet.” “Damascus” has a more outward-facing take and active percussive base, while “Vapour Phase” answers “The Falconer” with some later foreboding synthesis — closer “The Unjust Incarceration” adds guitar that I’ve been saying for years sounds like bagpipes and still does to this mix — while the penultimate “Galvanized and Torn Open,” despite the visceral title, brings smoother textures and a steady, calm rhythm. The story’s not finished yet, but Von Till has already covered a significant swath of ground.
Following up on 2022’s successful debut full-length, Born of Obsidian, the 11-song/37-minute Of Amber and Sand highlights the UK outfit’s flexibility of approach as regards metal, sludge, post-heavy impulses, intricate arrangements and fullness of sound as conveyed through the production. So yes, it’s quite a thing. They quietly and perhaps wisely moved on from the bit of amateur anthropology that defined the MesoAmerican thematic of the first record, and as Of Amber and Sand complements the thrown elbows in the midsection of “Death No More” and the proggy rhythmmaking of “Fenjaan” with shorter interludes of various stripes, eventually and satisfyingly getting to a point in “Bell Tower,” “Neheh” and “Timekeeper” where the ambience and the heft become one thing for a few minutes — and that’s kind of a separate journey from the rest of the record, which turns back to its purposes with “Crux Ansata,” but it works — but the surrounding interludes give each song a chance to make its own impact, and Kurokuma take advantage every time.
SlugWeed, The Mind’s Ability to Think Abstract Thoughts
Do you think a band called SlugWeed would be heavy and slow? If so, you’d be right. Would it help if I told you the last single was called “Bongcloud?” The instrumental New England solo-project — which, like anything else these days, might be AI — has an ecosystem’s worth of releases up on Bandcamp dating back to an apparent birth as a pandemic project with the long-player The Power of the Leaf, and the 11-minute single “The Mind’s Ability to Think Abstract Thoughts” follows the pattern in holding to the central ethic of lumbering instrumental riffage, all dank and probably knowing about trichomes and such. The song itself is a massive chug-and-groover, and gradually opens to a more atmospheric texture as it goes, but the central idea is in the going itself, which is slow, plodding, and returns from its drift around a fervent chug that reminds of a (slower) take on some of what Rickshaw Billie’s Burger Patrol had on offer earlier in the year. It probably won’t be long before SlugWeed return with anther single or EP, so “The Mind’s Ability to Think Abstract Thoughts” may just be a step on the way. Fine for the size of the footprint in question.
Dug-in solo krautistry from Tempe, Arizona’s Jeff Hopp, Man and Robot Society‘s Asteroid Lost comes steeped in science-fiction lore and mellow space-prog vibes. It’s immersive, and not a story without struggle or conflict as represented in the music — which is instrumental and doesn’t really want, need or have a ton of room for vocals, though there are spots where shoehorning could be done if Hopp was desperate — but if you take the trip just as it is, either put your own story to it or just go with the music, the music is enough to go on itself, and there’s more than one applicable thread of plot to be woven in “Nomads of the Sand” or the later “Man of Chrome,” which resonates a classic feel in the guitar ahead of the more vibrant space funk of “The Nekropol,” which stages a righteous keyboard takeover as it comes out of its midsection and into the theremin-sounding second half. You never quite know what’s coming next, but since it all flows as a single work, that becomes part of the experience Man and Robot Society offer, and is a strength as the closing title-track loses the asteroid but finds a bit of fuzzy twist to finish.
Posted in Whathaveyou on October 14th, 2024 by JJ Koczan
First names are out for Freak Valley 2025, and though I wouldn’t take the invitation for granted, it does warm my heart to think of The Devil and the Almighty Blues bringing their heavy preach to the AWO grounds in Netphen, standing on that stage, introduced by the esteemed Volker Fröhmer with a hearty “viel spaß!” or seeing the horn-laced shenanigans of Pendejo, the classic doom metal roll of Early Moods or the cosmic futurism of Kombynat Robotron, Travo who I never thought I’d ever see, ever, but whose record I very much dug, and Zig Zags, Wedge, Lurch and Scott Hepple and the Sun Band.
Richmond, Virginia’s Windhand — who just released a demo collection on Creep Purple called Songs From the Satan House and whose bassist, Parker Chandler (also Cough), quit the band about a week ago with some less than complimentary things to say about his experience — are the top name thus far on the bill, and aside from their needing new low end representation, it seems likely they’ll be at Freak Valley as part of a tour. Could Early Moods or Zig Zags join? It’s possible but not definite. Seems likely The Devil and the Almighty Blues will be on the road as well from their home in Norway, as they’ve also been confirmed for Desertfest London and Desertfest Berlin 2025, as well as Sonic Whip 2025, after playing Desertfest Oslo and others this year.
If they end up filling the dates between fests with club shows, that’s a fair amount of touring without a new record, so maybe Spring will bring news of a new The Devil and the Almighty Blues as well, or maybe those guys have just hit the point where they can show up for whatever reason and there’s a slot for them. If you’ve ever seen them live, that’s wholly justified.
Either way, a lot to like here in the variety, in the names themselves, and in the thought of taking in another wonderful weekend standing in the grass at Freak Valley, which is starting to feel an awful lot like a home when I get back each year. Hopefully that includes 2025 as well. Here’s the announcement, which I would usually have written, but I whiffed on because of the Quarterly Review. I’ll try and catch the next one if they’ll let me. Text and poster hit socials on Friday:
🌵 Get ready, Freaks! 🌵
The countdown to Freak Valley Festival 2025 has officially begun, and we’re beyond stoked to announce the first wave of bands set to blow your minds and melt your faces!
Brace yourselves for the crushing doom of Windhand, the blues-drenched heaviness of The Devil and the Almighty Blues, and the psychedelic thunder of Wucan! If that wasn’t enough, we’re cranking up the intensity with the raw power of. ¡Pendejo! , the crushing riffs of Early Moods, and the punk/metal chaos of Zig Zags.
But that’s just the beginning! Prepare to lose yourself in the cosmic grooves of Kombynat Robotron, get wild with the retro rock of Wedge, and let Travo, Lurch, and Scott Hepple and The Sun Band take you on mind-bending sonic journeys.
This is just the start, so get ready for more epic announcements soon. Mark your calendars, tune your ears, and prepare for the freakiest weekend of the year. Freak Valley 2025 is coming… and it’s going to be legendary!
See you in the valley! 🤘
Regular Tickets will first be available 14.October at Die Tintenpatrone in Siegen-Weidenau
Posted in Reviews on October 11th, 2024 by JJ Koczan
I got a note from the contact form a bit ago in my email, which happens enough that it’s not really news, except that it wasn’t addressed to me. That happens sometimes too. A band has a form letter they send out with info — it’s not the most personal touch, but has a purpose and doesn’t preclude following-up individually — or just wants to say the same thing to however many outlets. Fair game. This was specifically addressed to somebody else. And it kind of ends with the band saying to send a donation link, like, “Wink wink we donate and you post our stuff.”
Well shit. You mean I coulda been making fat stacks off these stoner bands all the while? Living in my dream house with C.O.C. on the outdoor speakers just by exploiting a couple acts trying to get their riffs heard? Well I’ll be damned. Yeah man, here’s my donation link. Daddy needs a new pair of orthopedic flip-flops. I’ma never pay taxes again.
Life, sometimes.
Quarterly Review #41-50:
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Alunah, Fever Dream
The seventh full-length from UK outfit Alunah, Fever Dream, will be immediately noteworthy for being the band’s last (though one never knows) with vocalist Siân Greenaway fronting the band, presiding over an era of transition when they had to find a new identity for themselves. Fever Dream is the third Alunah LP with Greenaway, and its nine songs show plainly how far the band has come in the six-plus years of her tenure. “Never Too Late” kicks off with both feet at the intersection of heavy rock and classic metal, with a hook besides, and “Trickster of Time” follows up with boogie and flute, because you’re special and deserve nice things. The four-piece as they are here — Greenaway on vocals (and flute), guitarist Matt Noble, bassist Dan Burchmore and founding drummer Jake Mason — are able to bring some drama in “Fever Dream,” to imagine lone-guitar metal Thin Lizzy in the solo of the swaggering “Hazy Jane,” go from pastoral to crushing in “Celestial” and touch on prog in “The Odyssey.” The finale “I’ve Paid the Price” tips into piano grandiosity, but by the time they get there, it feels earned. A worthy culmination for this version of this band.
Swiss heavy post-hardcore unit Coilguns‘ fourth LP and the first in five years, though they’ve had EPs and splits in that time, Odd Love offers 11 songs across an adventurous 48 minutes, alternately raw or lush, hitting hard with a slamming impact or careening or twisting around, mathy and angular. In “Generic Skincare,” it’s both and a jet-engine riff to boot. Atmosphere comes to the fore on “Caravel,” the early going of “Featherweight” and the later “The Wind to Wash the Pain,” but even the most straight-ahead moments of charge have some richer context around them, whether that’s the monstrous tension and release of capper “Bunker Vaults” or, well, the monstrous tension and release of “Black Chyme” earlier on. It’s not the kind of thing I always reach for, but Coilguns make post-hardcore disaffection sound like a good time, with intensity and spaciousness interwoven in their style and a vicious streak that comes out on the regular. Four records deep, the band know what they’re about but are still exploring.
Subconscious Awakening is Robot God‘s second album of 2024 and works in a similar two-sides/four-songs structure as the preceding Portal Within, released this past Spring, where each half of the record is subdivided into one longer and shorter song. It feels even more purposeful on Subconscious Awakening since both “Mandatory Remedy” and “Sonic Crucifixion” both hover around eight and a half minutes while side A opens with the 13-minute “Blind Serpent” and side B with the 11-minute title-track. Rife with textured effects, some samples, and thoughtful melodic vocals, Subconscious Awakening of course shares some similarity of purpose with Portal Within, which was also recorded at the same time, but a song like “Sonic Crucifixion” creates its own sprawl, and the outward movement between that closer and the title-track before it underscores the progressivism at work in the band’s sound amid tonal heft and complex, sometimes linear structures. Takes some concentration to wield that kind of groove.
Especially for an experimentalist, drone-based act who relies on audience theater-of-the-mind as a necessary component of appreciating its output, Pittsburgh solo outfit Fuzznaut — aka guitarist Emilio Rizzo — makes narrative a part of what the band does. Earlier this year, Fuzznaut‘s “Space Rock” single reaped wide praise for its cosmic aspects. “Wind Doula” specifically cites Neil Young‘s soundtrack for the film Dead Man as an influence, and thus brings four minutes more closely tied to empty spread of prairie, perhaps with some filtering being done through Earth‘s own take on the style as heard in 2005’s seminal Hex: Or Printing in the Infernal Method. One has to wonder if, had Rizzo issued “Wind Doula” with a picture of an astronaut floating free on its cover, it would be the cosmic microwave background present in the track instead of stark wind across the Great Plains, but there’s much more to Fuzznaut than self-awareness and the power of suggestion. Chalk up another aesthetic tryout that works.
Trad metal enthusiasts will delight at the specificity of the moment in the history of the style Void Moon interpret on their fourth album, Dreams Inside the Sun. It’s not that they’re pretending outright that it’s 1986, like the Swedish two-piece of guitarist/bassist Peter Svensson and drummer/vocalist Marcus Rosenqvist are wearing hightops and trying to convince you they’re Candlemass, but that era is present in the songwriting and production throughout Dreams Inside the Sun, even if the sound of the record is less directly anachronistic and their metallurgical underpinnings aren’t limited to doom between slowed down thrash riffs, power-metal-style vocalizing and the consuming Iommic nod of “East of the Sun” meeting with a Solitude Aeturnus-style chug, all the more righteous for being brought in to serve the song rather than to simply demonstrate craft. That is to say, the relative barn-burner “Broken Skies” and the all-in eight-minute closer “The Wolf (At the End of the World,” which has some folk in its verse as well, use a purposefully familiar foundation as a starting point for the band to carve their own niche, and it very much works.
Best known for slinging his six-string alongside brother Kyle Juett in Texas rockers Mothership, Kelley Juett‘s debut solo offering, Wandering West pulls far away from that classic power trio in intention while still keeping Juett‘s primary instrument as the focus. Some loops and layering don’t quite bring Wandering West the same kind of experimental feel as, say, Blackwolfgoat or a similar guitarist-gonna-guitar exploratory project, but they sit well nonetheless alongside the fluid noodling of Juett‘s drumless self-jams. He backs his own solo in centerpiece “Breezin’,” and the subsequent “Electric Dreamland” seems to use the empty space as much as the notes being cast out into it to create its sense of ambience, so if part of what Juett is doing on Wandering West is beginning the process of figuring out who he is as a solo artist, he’s someone who can turn a seven-minute meander like “Lonely One” (playing off Mos Generator?) into a bluesy contemplation of evolving reach, the guitar perfectly content to talk to itself if there’s nobody else around. Time may show it to be formative, but let the future worry about the future. There’s a lot to dig into, here and now.
With vocalists Kristian Eivind Espedal (Gaahls Wyrd, Trelldom, ex-Gorgoroth, etc.) and Lindy-Fay Hella (Wardruna, solo, etc.), guitarist Ronny “Valgard” Stavestrand (Trelldom) and drummer/bassist/keyboardist/producer Iver Sandøy (Enslaved, Relentless Agression, etc.), who also helmed (most of) the recording and mixed and mastered, Whispering Void easily could have fallen into the trap of being no more than the sum of its pedigree. Instead, the seven songs on debut album At the Sound of the Heart harness aspects of Norwegian folk for a rock sound that’s dark enough for the lower semi-growls in the eponymous “Whispering Void” to feel like they’re playing toward a gothic sentiment that’s not out of character when there’s so much melancholy around generally. Mid-period Anathema feel like a reference point for “Lauvvind” and the surging “We Are Here” later on, and by that I mean the album is intricately textured and absolutely gorgeous and you’ll be lucky if you take this as your cue to hear it.
You know how sometimes in a workplace where there’s a Boss With Personality™, there might be a novelty sign or a desk tchotchke that says, “The beatings will continue until morale improves?” Like, haha, in addition to wage theft you might get smacked if you get uppity about, say, wage theft? Fine. Orme sound like what happens when morale doesn’t improve. The 24-minute single-song No Serpents, No Saviours EP comes a little more than a year after the band’s two-song/double-vinyl self-titled debut (review here) and finds them likewise at home in longform songwriting. There are elements of death-doom, but Orme are sludgier in their presentation, and so wind up able to be morose and filthy in kind, moving from the opening crush through a quiet stretch after six minutes in that builds into persistent thuds before dropping out again, a sample helping mark the transitions between movements, and a succession of massive lumbering parts trading off leading into a final march that feels as tall as it is wide. I like that, in a time where the trend is so geared toward lush melody, Orme are unrepentantly nasty.
Budapest instrumentalist duo Azutmaga make their full-length debut with the aptly-titled Offering, compiling nine single-word-title pieces that reside stylistically somewhere between sludge metal and doom. Self-recorded by guitarist Patrik Veréb (who also mixed and mastered at Terem Studio) and self-released by Veréb and drummer Martin Várszegi, it’s a relatively stripped-down procession, but not lacking breadth as the longer “Aura” builds up to its full roll or the minute-long “Orca” provides an acoustic break ahead of the languid big-swing semi-psychedelia of “Mirror,” informed by Eastern European folk melodies but ready to depart into less terrestrial spheres. It should come as no surprise that “Portal” follows. Offering might at first give something of a monolithic impression as “Purge” calls to mind Earth‘s steady drone rock, but Azutmaga have a whole other level of volume to unfurl. Just so happens their dynamic goes from loud to louder.
After trickling out singles for over a year, including the title-track of the album and, in 2022, an early version of the instrumental “The Freaks Come Out at Night” that may or may not have been from before vocalist Virginie D. joined the band, the hashtag-named #chaleurhumaine delights in shirking heavy rock conventions, whether it’s the French-language lyrics or divergences into punk and harder fare, but nothing here — regardless of one’s linguistic background — is so challenging as to be inaccessible. Catchy songs are catchy, whether that’s “Fada Fighters” or “La Diable au Corps,” which dares a bit of harmonica along with its full-toned blues rock riffing. Likewise, nowhere the album goes feels beyond the band’s reach, and while “La Ligne” doesn’t sound especially daring as it plays up the brighter pop in its verse and shove of a chorus, well made songs never have any trouble finding welcome. I’m not sure why it’s a hashtag, but #chaleurhumaine feels complete and engaging, at once familiar and nothing so much as itself.
Posted in Reviews on October 10th, 2024 by JJ Koczan
Some of this stuff is newer, some of it has been out for a while. You know how it goes with these things. If I had a staff of 30, I’d still always be behind and trying to keep up. It rarely works, but when a given Quarterly Review is done and I’m on the other side of 50, 70, 100 records, whatever it might be, I can fool myself for a few minutes into thinking this site is remotely comprehensive. At least until I next check my email.
Ups and downs to that, I suppose. I wouldn’t swear to it all not being AI, but I wouldn’t swear to reality being ‘real’ by any human definition either, and I’m not sure a machine making you feel something invalidates the artistic statement. Seems to me all the more an achievement. I guess what I’m trying to say in my best Kent Brockman is, “I for one, welcome our new robotic overlords.” I hope the machines take into account that I liked their paintings when they’re crushing skulls like in Terminator 2 or handing out especially cushy seats in the Matrix.
What were we talking about? Oh yeah, albums and such. Back to it:
Quarterly Review #31-40:
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Conan, DIY 10″ Series, Issue 1
In some ways, DIY 10″ Series, Issue 1 is the release Conan have been building toward. A DIY recording for Conan at this point meant recording with bassist Chris Fielding (who’s since left the band as a player but will continue to produce) and releasing through Jon Davis‘ Black Bow Records. That’s a DIY deal a lot of bands would take, and sure enough, the three songs on DIY 10″ Series, Issue 1 — the characteristically crush-galloping “Invinciblade,” “Time Becomes Master” and a cover of “Hate Song” by Fudge Tunnel — don’t sound like some half-assed thing made in the band’s rehearsal space or the living room when everyone else is out. They sound like Conan. So yes, they destroy. “Time Becomes Master” does so more slowly than “Invinciblade” and not before its intro turns feedback into cinematic artistry over the course of its first two-plus minutes, distortion eating the howl twice before Johnny King‘s drums kick in to answer what were those footprints that knocked over all the trees. Vocals don’t even kick in until four of the five minutes are gone; truly mastering time. And that drone is there the whole time. I’ll take more experimental Conan anytime.
Guitarist Dan Lorenzo (Hades) and drummer Johnny Kelly (Type O Negative) return with 12 new cuts across 43 minutes on Visioning. As with last year’s My Veneration (review here), the album features an assortment of guest singers, from Mark Sunshine (Unida) and Karl Agell (Legions of Doom, Lie Heavy), to Jason McMaster (Dangerous Toys, Watchtower) and Kyle Thomas (Exhorder, Trouble, Alabama Thunderpussy), and more besides. Bassists Dave Neabore (Dog Eat Dog) and Eric Morgan (A Pale Horse Named Death) hold down the low end as Lorenzo demonstrates the principles of applying quality riffing to an assortment of situations. It veers into nü metal more than once, but at least it’s taking a risk, and it’s just as likely to be a classic Sabbathian delve like “Empty Cup,” so you wouldn’t accuse the band of lacking scope, and Sunshine — who’s on the West Coast and plenty busy besides — might be the frontman Patriarchs in Black have been looking for all along.
Welsh melody heavy post-rockers Lurcher will have to find a new label home as Trepanation Recordings, which released Breathe, earlier this year and stood behind the band’s 2021 debut EP, Coma (review here), has ceased operations, but it’s hard to imagine Lurcher having much trouble finding a home for a sound as defined as it seems to be on “Breathe Out” and the more driving “Blister” here, which take the lush melodies one might hear from a band like Elephant Tree from an angle rooted more in post-hardcore, and a little more about shove than nod, but still able to get hazy and dreamy on opener “Never Over” or likewise mammoth and poppy on “Blink of an Eye,” though I’ll note that by “poppy” I mean accessible, melodic and professional. It wants neither for bombast nor impact, and the Mellotron before they turn “Blink of an Eye” back to the verse is just one among the many examples of why Lurcher are ready for a full-length. Or why I’m ready for one from them, at the very least.
A new configuration for some familiar players, as Alreckque‘s debut EP, 6PM, presents an initial four songs from guitarist/vocalist Jim Healey (We’re All Gonna Die, Blood Lightning, Set Fire, etc.), bassist/vocalist Aaron Gray (Hepatagua) and drummer Rob Davol (Cocked ‘n’ Loaded, Set Fire, etc.), each of whom would carry their union card for the Boston heavy underground if the city hadn’t busted the union to build condos. Healey‘s voice will be immediately recognizable to, well, anyone who’s ever heard it — it’s a pretty recognizable voice — and though “Sunsets” touches on some more metallic riffing in the vein of Blood Lightning, Alreckque is distinguished by what Gray brings to it in vocals, not only keeping up with Healey melodically (which is no small feat), but serving as an essential part of some of the EP’s most affecting moments. Yeah, the moniker is kind of a gag, but “Achilles’ Last Taco Stand (End of Man)” sets high stakes and has the reach to hit the mark in its apex. Projects like this come and go as everybody involved is usually doing more than one thing, but Alreckque sounds like the start of something worth pursuing.
Black Capricorn‘s second LP for Majestic Mountain behind 2022’s Cult of Blood (review here), the nine-song/43-minute Sacrifice Darkness… and Fire lets you know it means business immediately because not one, not two, but three songs have the word “night” in the title. To wit, “The Night They Came to Take You Away,” “Another Night Another Bite” two songs later, and “Electric Night” two songs after that. That doesn’t even count “The Moon Rises as the Immortals Gather” or “A New Day Rising,” both of which would presumably take place at least in part at night. Clearly the Sardinian cult doomers have upped their game. Your move, entire genre of heavy metal! Perhaps the highest compliment I could pay the record would be to say it earns its instances of “night,” which it does, but don’t let that keep you from “Blood of Evil” or the opener “Sacrifice,” which pairs drifting vocal incantations with an earthy groove and laying out the atmosphere for what follows. As expected and as one would hope, they dig into the songs like grainy VHS zombies into foam-rubber skulls.
The sophomore full-length from Argentina’s Dios Serpiente, founded by bassist, programmer and vocalist Leandro Buceta, brings a collaboration with Sergio Chotsourian (Los Natas, Ararat, Soldati, etc.), who contributes guitar and keyboard, Duelo de Gigantes might be an appropriate title for such a thing, as surely the swell at the finish of “Ruinas Ancestrales” is of duly mammoth proportion, but there’s more happening than largesse as “La Espera” explores textures that feel born of ambient Reznorism en route to the slamming industrial doom of “Dinastia del Morir,” an aggressive centerpiece before “El Oraculo” shows brighter flashes and “El Ultimo Ritual” turns caustic, low sludge into inhuman megaplod before “Monolitos de Lava” drops the drums and thereby transcends that much more completely into atmospheric avant garde-ness. Those used to hearing Chotsourian‘s voice alongside his guitar will be surprised at Buceta‘s growls, but the harsher vocals suit the range of dark and aggressive moods being conveyed in the electronic/organic blend of the arrangements.
If you, like me, remember a time when a band called Swarm of the Lotus stalked the earth with an especially vicious blend of sludge metal, harsh hardcore bite, and doomly proselytizing, Swiss/Swedish trio Norna wield a lurch no less punishing on “Samsara” at the outset of their self-titled sophomore LP. Huge and encompassing, it and “For Fear of Coming,” which follows, feel methodical in the European post-metallic tradition (see Amenra), but Norna are rawer than most and more direct in their assault, so that “Ghost” comes across as punk rooted in its intensity more than metal, which is also what stops “Shine by its Own Light” from being Conan, despite the similar penchant for crush. The effect of the backing atmospherics in “Shadow Works” shouldn’t be understated, even if what tops is so all-out furious, and “The Sleep” slows down a bit for one last tonal offloading, harsh shouts cutting through every punishing stage. Norna don’t mess around. Call it sludge if you want. The truth is it’s more in style and dimension.
Having a couple seconds on either side of the start and finish of a song emphasizes the live-in-studio feel of Luto Sessions, but as it’s the first offering from Argentine psychedelic doom rockers Dead Fellows, it’s not like there’s a ton to compare it to. “Pile of Flesh” or its side-B-opening counterpart “Imminent” have some Uncle Acid to their swing, but even in the boogie of “The Ritual” and the last twists of “Hell Awaits,” Dead Fellows are chasing no sonic ideal so much as their own. Echoing vocals top riffs made more sinister by the lyrics applied to them, and as “Pile of Flesh” is both opener and the longest song (immediate points), everything after seems to build momentum despite mostly languid tempos, and the movement keeps hold right through the dark swirl of “Satan is Waiting for Us” and into the finale, which at last highlights the heavy blues that’s been underscoring the material all along. You already knew if you were listening to the basslines. I don’t know if it’s actually their debut album, but it’s engaging and quickly finds its niche.
You might call Troy, New York, four-piece experimental for all the noise and keys and drones and weirdo vibes they throw at you on their debut, Does the Heartbeat, but go deeper and it’s even weirder. Because it’s pop. Like 1960s Beatles-type pop. Check out “Real Life.” The organ line of “Does the Heart Beat.” The vocal pattern in “I’ve Been Hypnotized” is more Thin Lizzy, so a couple years later, but a lot of what Rabid Children are playing off of is notions of safe, suburban interpretations of rock, and some of it is about turning that on its head, like the Ramones did, but by putting their own spin on these ideas — and songs that are mostly one to two minutes long suits that frenetic approach — Rabid Children both undercut the notions of pop as something that can’t be ‘deep’ or ‘intelligent’ (that’s called “doing Devo‘s work”) and that “Messin Round” can’t coincide with a sprawler jam like “Other Dreams” or that the over-the-top wistfulness of “Teenage Summertime Dream” and the quirkier “FCOJ” (is that a Trading Places reference?) aren’t working toward similar ends.
Just two songs on this initial offering from German noise-doomers Ord Cannon, but that’s enough for the band — which traces its pedigree back through Bellrope into Black Shape of Nexus, thereby ticking any box you might have for off-kilter heavy-as-hell cred — to leave a crater behind. The Foreshots EP brings “Letting My Insides Out Into the Air” (10:35) and “I Need a Hammer” (9:41), and with them, Ord Cannon mark out what one suspects won’t at all be the limits of their ultimate breadth. A harsh experimentlism seems to put the studio on a similar plane to the instruments, and the mix, whether that’s pushing the vocals further back toward the end of “I Need a Hammer” or making “Letting My Insides Out Into the Air” sound like the end of the world more generally, further bolsters the true-horrors-in-three-dee vibe. I don’t know what the advent of Ord Cannon signals for Bellrope, who put out their debut EP in 2019, but this kind of malevolent worldmaking is welcome in any form.
Norwegian heavy progressive rockers Kosmodome are set to release their second album and first for Stickman Records, Ad Undas, tomorrow, Oct. 11. With it, they expand on the proggier side of their 2021 self-titled debut, as opener “Neophobia” — also the longest track (immediate points) at 8:41 — finds the band led by brotherly duo Sturle Sandvik (guitar and vocals) and Severin Sandvik (drums and vocals) prioritizing scope with an expanded reach in psychedelia and krautrock, guitar and vocals matching melodically in “Hyperion” in a way that leaves the listener less sure which is following which, and Ole Andreas Jensen‘s bass and Erlend Nord‘s guitar add to the sense of motion as “Hyperion” embarks on its purposefully-understated chorus for the second time.
“Obsternasig” ultimately works in a similar style of folk-informed classic heavy prog, but as Kosmodome subvert the longest-song-last genre norm (among others; that’s part of the idea here) and put “Neophobia” and “Hyperion” at the start, “Obsternasig” and the space-rock shoving “Dystopia,” which follows, can breathe as a result of “Neophobia” having already provided a summary of Ad Undas‘ scope. It doesn’t necessarily account for the sci-fi drama of “Dystopia” — which of course is about now — or the taut twists and jabs of “Turmoil” that writhe around subdued, sad verses, but focusing on immersion early lets Kosmodome have the flexibility later to bring disco-era funk into the bass and keys of “Turmoil” and to harness and subsequently blow up a slog in “Fatigue.”
It is in the patterning of the vocals on the intricate rhythms of the guitar (or vice versa) and in the patience of their execution that Ad Undas most displays the growth in Kosmodome‘s sound. I suppose in a word that would be “songwriting.” Fine. Kosmodome was hardly rushed, mind you, but the guitar is a little more willing to leave space around it, a little less busy at least on the outward impression, and when they launch into the jam on “Neophobia,” they sound like they’re there for a reason. And it’s true that you don’t get that in the same way on “Obsternasig” or “Fatigue,” but that’s because Kosmodome are making their songs with more than one purpose. On Ad Undas, each track feeds into the overarching flow and adds something new to the proceedings without taking away from what came before.
In this way, Kosmodome are able to foster a sound drawing from prog, psych, classic heavy, boogie rock and other various microgenres well served by the unhurried nod with which “Fatigue” is resolved, but not tethered to that nod as a crutch for songwriting that lacks variety or diversity among its influences. Kosmodome might dig on some heavy grooves, but there’s more happening in the songs than a riff parade, though parades are fun and if there was one, the ending of “Fatigue” would probably let you go. It wouldn’t be fair to call what they’re doing revolutionary, since homage is a part of the aesthetic, but Kosmodome‘s prog has character and charm beyond being well composed and executed, and one hopes the band continue to dive into their work with such individualism as their goal.
Ad Undas streams in its entirety on the player below, followed by more info from the PR wire.
Please enjoy:
The brainchild of the two Sandvik brothers, Sturle on guitars and vocals, and Severin on drums, Kosmodome’s music is riff-based rock with stoner elements all of which are placed within a progressive universe to great effect. Together, the duo bridges the gap between the explosive drive of bands such as Mastodon with melodic magic and retrospective, clever songwriting.
Hailing from Bergen, Kosmodome’s astonishing debut album from 2021 heralded the arrival of a melodic progressive powerhouse of a different stripe. While endlessly groovy, the band sidesteps the stoner genre by virtue of their sheer creativity, crafting extremely catchy but still unpredictable tracks topped by excellent vocals. With an explosive drive in which the melodious contrasts the hard and heavy music, Kosmodome came to blow minds with their psychedelic sounding, 60s atmosphere-coloured rock!
In recent years, the band has reached out beyond the Norwegian west coast and is now ready with their second full length album “Ad Undas”. On this album, they are less confined by genre expectations, but still sound like Kosmodome. Growing up with all types of music genres in a musical home from world music to metal is something the songwriting reflects.
Musically the record shows what else lives inside the progressive universe Kosmodome are building, where one/the goal is to avoid being stuck in genre expectations. Seeking a more dynamic and melodious sound than earlier, the songwriters – brothers Sandvik, but appearing as a stellar four piece live band – still deliver an album with heavy riffs, aggressiveness and many surprises.
Lyrically it delves into personal struggles with self-doubt, the pressures of societal expectations, and the existential battles of modern life. The songs touch on different aspects of the human condition, from the fear of failure and the need for growth to the turmoil of modern living and relentless self-exertion in a chaotic world. Ad undas is a Greek term meaning “to the waves”, but in Norway it is used as an expression when everything goes “to hell” or fails (everything goes south).
Kosmodome have played concerts on different stages in Norway and abroad, and are ready for more live performances after a studio hiatus in 2023 working on their much-awaited, second album, “Ad Undas” , set to be released on Stickman Records on October 11, 2024!
Posted in Reviews on October 9th, 2024 by JJ Koczan
I have to stop and think about what day it is, so we must be at least ankle-deep in the Quarterly Review. After a couple days, it all starts to bleed together. Wednesday and Thursday just become Tenrecordsperday and every day is Tenrecordsperday. I got to relax for about an hour yesterday though, and that doesn’t always happen during a Quarterly Review week. I barely knew where to put myself. I took a shower, which was the right call.
As to whether I’ll have capacity for basic grooming and/or other food/water-type needs-meeting while busting out these reviews, it’s time to find out.
Quarterly Review #21-30:
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Vibravoid, We Cannot Awake
Of course, the 20-minute title-track head rock epic “We Cannot Awake” is going to be a focal point, but even as it veers into the far-out reaches of candy-colored space rock, Vibravoid‘s extended B-side still doesn’t encompass everything offered by the album that shares its name. Early cuts “Get to You” and “On Empty Streets” and “The End of the Game” seem to regard the world with cynicism that’s well enough earned on the world’s part, but if Vibravoid are a band out of time and should’ve been going in the 1960s, they’ve made a pretty decent run of it despite their somewhat anachronistic existence. “We Cannot Awake” is for sure an epic, and the five shorter tracks on side A are a reminder of the distinguished songwriting of Vibravoid more than 30 years on from their start, and as it’s a little less explicitly garage-rooted than their turn-of-the-century work, it further demonstrates just how much the band have brought to the form over time, with ‘form’ being relative there for a style that’s so molten. Some day this band will get their due. They were there ahead of the stoners, the vintage rockers, the neopsych freaks, and they’ll probably still be there after, acid-coating dystopia as, oh wait, they already are.
Taking influence from the earlier-Mastodon style of twist-and-gallop riffing, adding in vocal harmonies and their own progressive twists, West Virginia’s Horseburner declare themselves with their third album, Voice of Storms, establishing a sound based on immediacy and impact alike, but that gives the listener respite in the series of interludes begun by the building intro “Summer’s Bride” — there’s also the initially-acoustic-based “The Fawn,” which delivers the album’s title-line before basking in Alice in Chains-circa Jar of Flies vibes, and the dream-into-crunch of the penultimate “Silver Arrow,” which is how you kill Ganon — that have the effect of spacing out some of the more dizzying fare like “Hidden Bridges” and “Heaven’s Eye” or letting “Diana” and closer “Widow” each have some breathing room to as to not overwhelm the audience in the record’s later plunge. Because once they get going, as “The Gift” picks up from “Summer’s Bride” and sets them at speed, the trio dare you to keep pace if you can.
Some pressure on Dune-themed Montreal heavy rockers Sons of Arrakis as they follow-up their well-received 20222 debut, Volume I (review here) with the 10-track/33-minute Volume II. The metal-rooted riff rockers have tightened the songwriting and expanded the progressive reach and variety of the material, a song like “High Handed Enemy” drawing from an Elder-style shimmer and setting it to a pop-minded structure. Smooth in production and rife with melody, Volume II isn’t without its edge as shown early on by “Beyond the Screen of Illusion,” and after the thoughtful melodicism of “Metamorphosis,” the burst of energy in “Blood for Blood” prefaces the blowout in “Burn Into Blaze” before the outro “Caladan” closes on an atmospheric note. No want of dynamic or purpose whatsoever. I’ve seen less hype on the interwebs about Volume II than I did its predecessor, and that’s just one of the very many things to enjoy about it.
Classic heavy metal is fortunate to have the likes of Crypt Sermon flying its flag. The Philadelphia-based outfit continue on The Stygian Rose to stake their claim somewhere between NWOBHM and doom in terms of style — there are parts of the album that feel specifically Hellhound Records, the likes of “Down in the Hollow” is more modern, at least in its ending — but five years on from their second LP, 2019’s The Ruins of Fading Light (review here), the band come across with all the more of a grasp of their sound, so that when “Heavy is the Crown of Bone” lays out its riff, everybody knows what they’re going for is Candlemass circa ’86, but that becomes the basis from which they build out, and from thrash to ’80s-style keyboard dramaturge in “Scrying Orb” ahead of the sweeping 11-minute closing title-track, which is so endearingly full-on in its later roll that it’s hard to keep from headbanging as I type. Alas.
The kind of undulating riffy largesse Eyes of the Oak proffer on their second full-length, Neolithic Flint Dagger, puts them in line with Swedish countrymen like Domkraft and Cities of Mars, but the former are more noise rock and the latter aren’t a band anymore, so actually it’s a pretty decent niche to be in. The Sörmland four-piece use the room in their mix to veer between more straight-ahead vocal command and layered chants like those in the nine-minute “Offering to the Gods,” the chorus of which is quietly reprised in the 35-second closing title-track. Not to be understated is the work the immediate chug of “Cold Alchemy” and the marching nodder “Way Home” do in setting the tone for a nuanced sound, so that the pockets of sound that will come to be filled by another layer of vocals, or a guitar lead, or an effect or whatever it is are laid out and then the band proceeds to dance around that central point and find more and more room for flourish as they go. Bonus points for the soul in “The Burning of Rome,” but they honestly don’t need bonus points.
A kind of artful post-hardcore that’s outright combustible in “Concrete,” Mast Year‘s sound still has room to grow as they offer their first long-player in the 25-minute Point of View on respected Marylander imprint Grimoire Records, but part of that impression comes from how open the songs feel generally. That’s not to say the nine-minute “Figure of Speech” doesn’t have its crushing side to account for or that “Teignmouth Electron” before it isn’t gnashing in its later moments, but it’s the band’s willingness to go where the material is leading that seems to get them to places like the foreboding drone of “Love Note” and deconstructing intensity of “Erocide,” just as they’re able to lean between math metal and sludge, which is like the opposite of math, Mast Year cover a lot of ground in their extremes. The minor in creeper noisemaking — “Love Note,” closer “Timelessness” — shouldn’t be neglected for adding to the mood. Mast Year have plenty of ways to pummel, though, and an apparent interest in pushing their own limits.
In the span of about 20 minutes, Wizard Tattoo‘s Living Just for Dying EP, which finds project-founder Bram the Bard once again working mostly solo, save for guest vocals by Djinnifer on “The Wizard Who Loved Me” and Fausto Aurelias, who complements the extreme metal surge and charred-rock verse of “Tomorrow Dies” with a suitably guttural take; think Satyricon more than Mayhem, maybe some Darkthrone. Considering the four-tracker opens with the acoustic “Living Just for Dying” and caps with similar balladeering in “Sanity’s Eclipse,” the EP pretty efficiently conveys Wizard Tattoo‘s go-anywhereism and genre-line transgression at least in terms of the ethic of playing to different sounds and seeing how they rest alongside each other. To that end, detailed transitions between “The Wizard Who Loved Me” and “Tomorrow Dies,” between “Tomorrow Dies” and “Sanity’s Ecilpse,” etc., make for a carefully guided listening process, which feels short and complete and like a form that suits Bram the Bard well.
Virginian trio Üga Büga — guitarist/vocalist Calloway Jones, bassist/backing vocalist Niko Cvetanovich and drummer/backing vocalist Jimmy Czywczynski — don’t have to go far to find despondent sludgy grooves, but they range nonetheless as their debut full-length, Year of the Hog unfolds, “Skingrafter” marrying a crooning vocal in contrast to some of the surrounding rasp and burl to a build of crunching heavy riff. The album is bombastic as a defining feature — songs like “Change My Name” and “Rape of the Poor” come to mind — but there’s a perspective being cast in the material as well, a point of view to the lyrics, that comes through as clearly as the thrashy plunder of “Supreme Truth” later on, and I’m not sure what’s being said, but I am pretty sure “Mockingbird” knows it’s doing Phantom of the Opera, and that’s not nothing. They round out Year of the Hog with its eight-minute title-track, and finish with a duly metallic push, leaning into the aggressive aspects that have been malleably balanced all along.
Ultimately, The Moon is Flat‘s methodology on their third album, A Distant Point of Light, isn’t so radically different from how their second LP, All the Pretty Colors, worked in 2021, with longer-form jamming interspliced with structured craft, songs that may or may not open up to broader reaches, but that are definitively songs rather than open-ended or whittled-down jams (nothing against that approach either, mind you). The difference between the two is that A Distant Point of Light‘s six tracks and 52 minutes feel like they’ve learned much from the prior outing, so “Sound the Alarm” starts off bringing the two sides together before “Awestruck” departs into dream-QOTSA and progadelic vibery, and “I Saw Something” and its five-minute counterpart, closer “Where All Ends Meet” sandwich the 11-minutes each “Meanwhile” and “A Distant Point of Light,” The Moon is Flat digging in dynamically through mostly languid tempos and fluid, progressive builds of volume. But when they go, they go. Watch out for that title-track.
Chronicle II: Hypergenesis continues the thread that London instrumentalists began with their debut 2020’s Chronicle I: The Truthseseker and continued on the prequel EP, 2021’s Chronicle: Prologue, exploring heavy progressive conceptualism in evocative post-heavy pieces like opener “Daybreak,” which resolves in a riotous breakdown, or “The Archivist,” which is more angular when it wants to be but feels like a next-generation’s celebration of riffy chicanery in a way that I can only think of as encouraging for how seriously it seems not to take itself. The post-rocking side of what they do is well reinforced throughout — so is the crush — whether it’s “Dead Language” or “Into the Hazel Woods,” but there’s nothing on Chronicle II: Hypergenesis more consuming than the crescendo of the closing “Hypergenesis,” and the band very clearly know it; it’s a part so good even the band with no singer has to put some voice to it. That last groove is defining, but much of Chronicle II: Hypergenesis actively works against that sort of genre rigidity, and much to the album’s greater benefit.
