Three years after marking their return with 2009’s Blood (review here), their first outing since their 1993 self-titled debut, Snail return May 1 with Terminus, an album as severely heavy as the name might imply. It’s a logical extension of the tones found on Blood, but as guitarist, vocalist and principle songwriter Mark Johnson explains in the interview that follows, it’s also a departure in its base of influence, taking cues from early-’80s metal instead of mid-’90s stoner rock.

Snail aren’t covering Venom or anything like that (yet), but Johnson makes a sound point when he argues for early thrash and bands like Voivod‘s position as the proto-stoner metal. Terminus grooves as heavily as the album that preceded it, but driven by both these musical ideas and by personal tribulations, especially the earlier songs are more directly crushing, and — in part because of the geographically-spread recording process overseen by bassist Matt Lynch at Mysterious Mammal Studios — more exacting than was Blood or certainly Snail before that.

And while they say that they’re going to look to do the opposite next time out and record live rather than send parts in individually, the recording process for Terminus serves the material well. Songs like “Galaxy’s Lament” and the ultra-grooving “Burn the Flesh” benefit from the crisp execution, as do later, more psychedelic excursions like “Circles” and “Try to Make It,” and thanks in large part to Lynch‘s careful mix, the album doesn’t come out sounding unnatural or cold. As the lines between genres continue to blur, Snail stand ready to add to the eternal debate about what is or isn’t “metal” by its nature.

Whatever your position on that, you might find fodder for consideration in Snail‘s brand new video for the song “Ritual” from Terminus, which you can see immediately following the jump to the interview itself — I left it up top because it’s a premiere, rather than stick it at the bottom — as it seems to filter its stonerly ways through a denim and leather, smoking-on-the-loading-dock early metal sensibility. In the discussion that follows the clip, Johnson and Lynch talk about the process of making Terminus after doing Blood, the themes behind the song and the video, and much, much more.

The band is completed by drummer Marty Dodson and guitarist Eric Clausen. “Ritual” video premiere and full Q&A are after the jump. Please enjoy.

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As massive as the riffs were on Ancestors’ 2008 Tee Pee Records debut, Neptune with Fire (originally also the band’s demo), their largesse pales in comparison to the distance of stylistic ground the band has covered since. The progression away from that album’s two-song Sleep-derived sprawl was almost immediate on 2009’s Of Sound Mind (review here) – titled as if to indicate the L.A.-based act’s own consciousness of what they were doing – and last year’s Invisible White EP (review here) was even more of a departure from what seemed like a stated course of gleefully mining and putting stoner rock riffing to epic, extended use. You could almost hear the one-song album on its way. Ancestors might still get there, but if they do, it’ll be in a much different form. The full-length follow-up to the pattern of influence Invisible White established is In Dreams and Time (also Tee Pee), which confirms over its far-ranging 66 minutes emotional weight as the center of the band’s songwriting construction even as much as it utilizes thickened tones to blend in elements from earlier offerings. The really amazing thing about Ancestors is that we’re talking about a four-year span of time that all these shifts have taken place. Of course the first record was put to tape well before it came out, but even so, if not for the breadth it covers, In Dreams and Time would feel like a debut in itself for how much of a beginning it seems to be for the band.

The inclusions of Moog and modular synth by Matt Barks, and the piano and organ of Jason Watkins (who also contributes vocals), are pivotal to the sound of In Dreams and Time almost immediately, rivaling if not surpassing Justin Maranga’s guitars at times. Opener “Whispers” begins with heavy crashes, but ultimately its nine minutes are more defined by the interplay of melody and the “extras” than the meat of the riffs themselves. King Crimson-esque oohs and aahs run through the middle, and it’s not until its final movement that heaviness in the traditional sense enters into it, the drums of Jamie Miller (also of Night Horse and since replaced by Daniel Pouliot) signaling a faster finish to which Nick Long adds the first in a series of engaging bass runs while Maranga’s lead vocals take on a Steve Von Till-esque gruffness. The Neurosis influence isn’t a central focus – that is, Ancestors aren’t making post-metal – but it’s there all the same. The song slows at its end and leads into In Dreams and Time’s shortest cut, “The Last Return,” which still surpasses six minutes and shows more of the melancholic side of Ancestors’ approach that really came to the fore on Invisible White. This is progression without pretense, and I’d say “The Last Return” is indulgent for the wash of guitar that seems to consume its dramatic male/female vocal interplay, but it also works really well. Miller comes in after two verse/chorus tradeoffs and a landmark piano solo from Watkins that’s well-suited to the mood of the track, adding a bit of pulse to the last two minutes alongside distorted guitars and the still-prevalent piano.

With a cut like “The Last Return,” already I’m thinking In Dreams and Time must have been a nightmare to mix. Not only is there a wide variety of elements at play, but they’re balanced just so to allow for the album to be engrossing and almost overwhelming, but still accessible and appreciable. Amplifier hum fades out even as synth winds begin to blow and underscore the guitar-driven beginning of  side –A ender “Corryvreckan” and one of In Dreams and Time’s two tracks over 10 minutes. At 12:08, it’s not as grand, or as long, as the album closer “First Light” — which clocks a fully-used 19:19 – but it’s nonetheless a landmark for Ancestors thus far. Long offers a standout performance on bass and seems to loom above and separate from Miller’s tom fills during the verse, and a chorus of well-arranged semi-melodic and harsher shouts adds doomed sensibility to what is still markedly atmospheric. Organ features heavily throughout the “Corryvreckan”’s build – the song named either for a whirlpool in Scotland or for the whiskey that takes its moniker from same – but the guitar leads in the second half classily offer additional melody to what the keys contribute. A subdued break nine minutes in reminds of a fuller-sounding Crippled Black Phoenix, but the tension pays off with about a minute and a half to go, the riff changing up to a more adrenaline-inducing progression and the rest of Ancestors getting in line behind, except perhaps Long, the separation of whose bass seems to sit it in a class entirely its own. The tone there is punchier than anything else, so it stands out even more, but if he’s left the task of carrying the song to its conclusion, he seems up to it.

Side B, such as it is (if they were to put the album out on vinyl, they’d have to either cut tracks or make it a double, as I’m fairly certain a 12” LP won’t hold a 66 minute album – nonetheless, that’s how the songs are structured), is longer. “On the Wind” and “Running in Circles” both top nine and a half minutes, and “First Light” nearly reaches 20, whereas on the first three tracks, “The Last Return” was shorter and that set up even more of a contrast with the lush patience of “Corryvreckan.” Ancestors offset the extra length by honing in on sonic diversity and continuing to expand the sonic palette they’ve already established. “On the Wind” gets underway with Watkins’ piano while guitar swells and fades behind, and the ambience becomes the point of build that acts as the center of the song as Miller thuds his way in on the toms and guitars fade in to introduce the verse after about two and a half minutes. Like with “Corryvreckan,” “On the Wind” lets its vocals become a point of focus – something I don’t think Ancestors had the confidence to do before Invisible White – but on the later track, they’re more melodic and more memorable, still giving way to the sub-Neurosis shouts, but nailed in the mix so that neither the guitar nor piano lines feel sacrificed. In terms of sheer craft, “On the Wind” might be the most developed song on In Dreams and Time, with a guitar solo near the halfway point setting up bold competition to come from Hammond organ even as Long’s bass once more holds down the initial groove that started it all. It’s warm, it’s professional and it’s progressive, and they bring back the chorus at the end of an extended jam – just instrumentally – and it serves as a firm reminder of just how far they’ve come and how far they’re brought listeners along with them.

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The thing wasn’t just that I’d been priced out of my league by copies of Colour Haze‘s debut CD, Chopping Machine — I’d never even seen it for sale — online, in a store or at their merch table, either at Roadburn or at Emissions from the Monolith, when they played that. I mean, there’s “out of print” and then there’s “gone,” and Chopping Machine was most definitely the latter.

And then it wasn’t. Holding a permanent position on the shortlist of my favorite bands — there are four and usually a rotating fifth slot; ask me about it after I’ve had a few beers sometime (please!) — Colour Haze is a regular on my nightly eBay search rounds, and I couldn’t believe it was true when I saw the copy of Chopping Machine for sale. I had to look up what “NOS” meant. “New Old Stock.” The thing was supposed to be in perfect condition.

I wasn’t the only one who wanted it, but you’ve got to figure the field is pretty small. You’ve got Colour Haze fans. Then you’ve got those Colour Haze fans who use eBay. Then you’ve got the ones who search for the band at just the right time, then those willing to pay stupid prices for what — if the band actively didn’t want to disown it — probably would’ve been reissued already on guitarist/vocalist Stefan Koglek‘s label, Elektrohasch Schallplatten. I always imagine there’s one other nerd out there opposing me on these things. Just one guy (sorry ladies, but I credit you with more practicality; it has to be a dude) who wants all the same stuff I do. He beats me sometimes. This time, I wasn’t going to lose.

Warning was issued to The Patient Mrs. days ahead of time. It might have been a full week, or at least the six-day length of the auction. She rolled her eyes, wisely buried her head in the sand. It wasn’t going to go for more than student loans cost. It wasn’t going to go for more than gas for a month costs. It was going to be a lot for a CD, but I wasn’t going to let it get away, never having seen it before, and I felt she needed to know that.

Chopping Machine is 60 minutes long. I paid a dollar a minute, plus $16. I admit it’s too much. I know I could’ve just downloaded it, or looked it up on YouTube, or whatever. I could’ve done that. But then I wouldn’t own it. It wouldn’t be mine. It’s the same story as always: Owning it is half the appeal.

It’s more than I ever wanted to pay for a CD. More by half than I’m generally willing to spend for something rare. But you know what? Fuck it. The fact of the matter is this: I don’t have kids. My most major expenses are beer, wine and takeout. Shit, I don’t even pay rent. I’m 30 years old and (for a few months more, anyway) I live with my mother-in-law. I work a full-time job that I made more money doing five years ago, I have whole days where I don’t talk to anyone except my dog and last night when I came home and found the package waiting for me from Munich, it was only to drop said dog off on my way to the emergency room to see my mother, who — whoops — mixed codeine cough medicine and vicodin and didn’t remember why she was hazy when she woke up from her nap this afternoon. So fuck it. You’re god damned right I’m paying $76 for a CD. What else have I got? It’s Colour Haze or heroin. Comfort’s gotta come from somewhere.

What was I supposed to do, not buy it, agonize over not having bought it and then wait seven years for it to show up again and wind up paying twice as much later? Screw that. And whatever, the album isn’t that good. I knew it wouldn’t be. That’s not the point. The point is it’s mine. I give the band kudos for opening with the 14:25 semi-jam “Subversive,” but other than that, it’s pretty rudimentary post-grunge noise rock — too aggressive to give anything to indicate the brilliance that would come once Koglek calmed down a bit and replaced the rhythm section. I like that about it. I like the fact that it’s something that’s been kept hidden, a relic despite the readily available digital presence. Hell, I did my time chasing those ghosts.

Give me the real thing — I’m apparently willing to pay for it — and gawd knows I spend enough hours with mp3s on promo downloads. Every label these days, including Elektrohasch (my heart broke as I followed the link to the new Ararat record and saw jpegs of the liner and cover art), sends downloads, so I’m not short on fodder for my iTunes. Let me hold a CD. I promise I’ll give it the best home it can have, and while everyone else in the world, except that one other doofus on eBay, has abandoned the format in favor of vinyl, I’m more than happy to appreciate the castoffs.

Speaking of, if anyone knows where I might find a copy of Colour Haze‘s second album, Seven, from 1998, hit me up. Now that I have the first one, I’m in the market to see where they went from here before the genius really kicked in full-throttle.

I’ve written about North Carolina space rockers Tasha-Yar a couple times now. A review here, an interview there. They’ve been included in a podcast or two, and their sound has continued to develop and continued to fascinate. Their 2011 full-length, The First Landing, found them starting to come into their own, and the music they’ve made since has only furthered that process.

This is something I know because every now and then a package shows up, usually from drummer Tim Greene, containing a new recording of Tasha-Yar music. Generally, there’s a handwritten note inside, like the one you see below (click to enlarge), explaining what it is I’m hearing and when it was put to tape, what they were going for and, sometimes, the personnel involved, which seems to be as nebulous occasionally as the music itself.

Such is how I came across “Casting Lots,” a 22:30 jam Tasha-Yar recorded last month that’s equal parts massive and endearing. Pretty sure most of it is improvised, but it was so psyched-out, so natural-sounding and so hypnotic, that I asked the band if they’d let me post it for streaming, and fortunately they said to go for it.

So, with the hope that those packages keep arriving and with the hope that it’s as warm and sunny where you are as it is in North Jersey this fine afternoon, please enjoy getting lost in Tasha-Yar‘s “Casting Lots” on the player below:

[mp3player width=460 height=120 config=fmp_jw_widget_config.xml playlist=tasha-yar.xml]

“Casting Lots” was recorded Feb. 9, 2012, at Tasha-Yar‘s practice space in North Carolina. For more on the band, check them out on Thee Facebooks here, and to stream The First Landing and purchase a copy of the CD/DVD, hit them up on Bandcamp.

I don’t know if it counts as a quote from the PR wire when you’re the one who wrote the press release, but here goes anyway:

You couldn’t stop Lo-Pan if you wanted to, and you don’t. Fresh off their March tour that included a stop at Small Stone Records’ annual SXSW showcase, Ohio’s finest in fuzz have just unveiled their first official video, for the track “Chichen Itza.”

The song comes off Lo-Pan’s 2011 landmark outing, Salvador, and the video, directed by Joe Fortunato, shows the band doing what they do best: Multi-tasking. Robe-clad frontman Jeff Martin soulfully belts out “Chichen Itza,” singing into his spatula as he cooks morning breakfast. Grapefruits are hoisted in metallic paean, peppers are chopped, bacon is slabbed, and like everything Lo-Pan does, it’s an absolute blast.

Check out “Chichen Itza” here:

Never ones to rest (ever), Lo-Pan will embark on a weekend jaunt with West Virginian instrumental heavy legends Karma to Burn starting tonight, March 22, before heading out on a Midwest run with fellow Ohioans, Mockingbird.

Lo-Pan with Karma to Burn:
03/22 Kent, OH The Outpost w/ Karma to Burn
03/23 Charleston, WV The Sound Factory w/ Karma to Burn
03/24 Morgantown, WV 123 Pleasant St. w/ Karma to Burn

Lo-Pan with Mockingbird:
04/05 Akron, OH Annabells w/ Mockingbird
04/06 Cleveland, OH Now That’s Class w/ Mockingbird
04/07 Detroit, MI Corktown Tavern w/ Mockingbird, Knife
04/08 Chicago, IL Ultra Lounge w/ Mockingbird, Heaving Mass
04/09 Indianapolis, IN Indy’s Jukebox w/ Mockingbird
04/11 Huntington, WV The V Club w/ Mockingbird
04/12 Dayton, OH Blind Bob’s w/ Mockingbird
04/13 Morgantown, WV The Cue w/ Mockingbird. West by God, Hovel
04/14 Pittsburgh, PA Bloomfield Bridge Tavern w/ Mockingbird, Sistered
04/15 Columbus, OH Ruby Tuesday w/ Mockingbird, BeforeTheEyeWall

http://lopandemic.com
http://smallstone.com
http://lechuzabooking.com

This week we take a break from exploring the deep past like we’ve done the last couple Wino Wednesdays to focus on something brand new. The below jam, taken from the Volcom Entertainment page on SoundCloud, was recorded when Premonition 13 was in the studio making their debut (and possibly only; though one hopes not) full-length, 13. Dubbed “Noche Oscura,” it comes from a new Volcom split 12″ between Premonition 13, Radio Moscow and Earthless. Good company to keep.

Really, it’s kind of two smaller jams they put together to make one longer piece, but if it was played as it appears below (you can see the fadeout and return in the wave form) I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised, as watching Premonition 13 on stage last year in Brooklyn, it seemed their jamming dynamic was well honed, and actually the core of the band, however much those jams might have been distilled into the structured songs that appeared on the album. Nothing against that process, there’s a lot of killer music made that way — including that record — but what you get with “Noche Oscura” is the unrefined core of what Premonition 13 was/is, and it’s worth it alone for the wistful drama that plays out between Wino and fellow six-stringer Jim Karow‘s guitars in the second half of the song.

They also lock in a right-on heavy groove, and 30 weeks of Wino Wednesday later, I haven’t refused a heavy groove yet. Certainly don’t intend to start now. For more on the split, which is limited to 1,500 copies, check out Volcom‘s store, and in the meantime, here’s “Noche Oscura.”

Happy Wino Wednesday:

As the album title indicates, Ten Million Years and Eight Minutes sets itself to the task of organizing difficult concepts against easier ones. For the human mind to fathom 10 million years would take almost that long, but eight minutes you know. You have some idea of what you can do in that time, whereas 10 million years might as well be infinity. The music of North Carolinian four-piece Caltrop, for whom Ten Million Years and Eight Minutes marks their third outing (the first being a 2006 demo) and second through Holidays for Quince Records behind 2008’s World Class, works in similar fashion, blending such intangible qualities as pastoral vibes and progressive complexities against heavy riffs and thick, weighted grooves. Guitarist Sam Taylor and bassist Murat Dirlik (who also painted the album’s cover) trade vocals back and forth within and between songs, adding further variety to an already diverse eight tracks as guitarist Adam Nolton and drummer John Crouch fill out the Caltrop lineup – the former bolstering and playing off of Taylor’s work and the latter adding subtly technical snare fills to “Light Does Not Get Old” and proving equally capable of driving forward noise rock crunch and punctuating airy ambience within the 5:35 span of “Form and Abandon.” Caltrop are good at playing one side off the other, and Ten Million Years and Eight Minutes shows that just because a recording is raw or natural-sounding it can’t also be cerebrally engaged or melodic.

Both opener “Birdsong” and “Ancient,” which follows immediately, feature landmark guitar solos in their second half, but in fact they’re two very different songs, having in common mostly their tandem efforts to set the course for Caltrop’s breadth on their second full-length. The first cut feels like a journey and is; Taylor’s vocals leading the way with the guitar almost as much as the bass comes to prominence on the fuller, fuzzier Dirlik-fronted “Ancient.” Of the several things one might accuse Ten Million Years and Eight Minutes of being, redundant is not one of them. The album has its indulgent moments and ultimately requires more than a few listens to really sink in – the winding progressivism of “Ancient” alone feels like a test, warm and naturally-toned though it is – but every second of its 53:14 demonstrates its purpose, and Caltrop leave nothing wanting for individual take or even rocking simplicity. They sound like a band who enjoy making simple things complicated, and one good at it to boot. “Light Does Not Get Old” kicks in immediately from “Ancient” and is the most direct transition on the record, bluesy guitar leads backed by jazz rhythms stepping aside for lighter-touch modern-metal timing – Dirlik on bass and Crouch on drums both turn in remarkable performances throughout – as setup for the verses from Taylor. Neither he nor Dirlik is an overly technical singer, but as the music within these tracks shows increasing complexity throughout the album’s progression, their vocals serve to play up and maintain a natural, human feel to the recording. Mostly dry, mostly single-layer, they don’t soar by any stretch, but they serve the songs – and that’s more important.

A bit of slide guitar in “Shadows and Substance” (another invocation of the album title’s idea of vague vs. concrete, perhaps?) provides a pathway over the barrage of tom work from Crouch, and soon the shuffle is underway, Dirlik providing choice fills amid an insistent riff. There isn’t a chorus, per se. Instead, Caltrop continue to pummel that main, cyclical guitar line until gradually it seems to develop a solo and embark from there on a long fadeout. One imagines it’s something that works better in a live setting – minus the fade, plus about five more minutes of balls-out jamming – but it adds a level of intrigue as the 13-minute “Perihelion” begins its deceptively humble intro. Of all the tracks on Ten Million Years and Eight Minutes, “Perihelion” is one of two (near as I can tell) on which Taylor and Dirlik share vocal duties, and certainly the one on which they do the best job of it, the guitarist coming in later to provide despondent contrast to the pastures Dirlik constructs in earlier parts. The fuzz is warm, again, and gentle, and the vocals sweet, and “Perihelion” is easy to get lost in by the time its build really begins toward the five-minute mark. At 6:11, Nolton, Dirlik and Taylor step back to let Crouch introduce the progression of the second half, which he does with frenetic percussiveness, the other instruments joining in first as single-hit punctuation and then soon a full-on descending riff-and-solo interplay that opens into loose-sounding crashes before taking off into the culmination. Taylor takes over on vocals for a twice-repeated bluesman’s lament capped by the lines, “Lord knows I can’t take it anymore/I’m trying to ease your mind/Whoa yeah.”

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Today I have the distinct pleasure and honor to unveil the first full-song audio and accompanying video from Italian space-doom masters Ufomammut‘s Neurot Recordings debut, Oro – Opus Primum. The track, dubbed “Empireum,” is the opener and longest cut of the album and sets the stage for the first of the two massive chapters in the Oro saga with just under 14 minutes of unbridled tension and impossible-seeming build.

As the title suggests, Opus Primum is the first part of the overall work, and likewise, “Empireum” is the first part of the first part, so you have to understand, what you’re hearing over the course of these 14 minutes is the beginning of the beginning. The song has a cycle of its own, and stands on its own as does the whole album, but Ufomammut‘s ambitions — which have developed as much as their sound has progressed over the course of the band’s six prior full-lengths, including 2010’s single-song 44-minute onslaught, Eve (review here) — are bigger with Oro than any single part, or even the whole of Opus Primum can convey.

So as you listen, and as the all-consuming tonal morass of “Empireum” begins to wrap itself around you, please know that it’s just the opening movement of what Ufomammut have in store on Oro – Opus Primum, and that even that is only half the incredible tale they’re telling — the second part of which will be revealed later this year with Oro – Opus Alter.

With this in mind, I humbly submit “Empireum” and the unsettling visuals crafted specifically for it:

Special thanks to the band, to Earsplit PR and to Neurot Recordings for allowing me to host this first premiere. It means more to me than I can say and I consider it a validation of the work I put in on this site. Really. Thank you.

Ufomammut is comprised of guitarist Poia, bassist/vocalist Urlo (also synth) and drummer Vita. Oro – Opus Primum is set for release April 13 on Neurot Recordings, with Oro – Opus Alter to follow later in 2012. For more from Ufomammut, check out their website, find them on Thee Facebooks, or hit up the label’s site here.