Psychache is the kind of record that makes everything else seem needlessly complicated. That’s not to say it’s dumbed down. It isn’t. The melodies are broad, structures are skillfully applied, the overarching flow between the songs is well considered, and I’m sorry, but nothing with Michael Petrucci drumming on it is dumb. The end result of Curse the Son‘s intention, however, strikes right to the heart of what stoner metal is and can be. Riffs, groove, melody, hooks, thick and full sound, sometimes oozing, sometimes shoving, but always righteous in the going.

First released by the band in 2012, Psychache (review here) was the follow-up to the Hamden, Connecticut, trio’s 2011 offering, Klonopain (review here), and for the purposes of narrative ease we’ll call it their third full-length. They’d issue it digitally and on CD in 2013 before seeing it picked up for a deluxe vinyl treatment through STB Records in 2014. In the interest of honesty, I’m kind of murky at this point on the actual release date. I tend to associate the album with the band’s performance in New London, CT, at day three of the Stoner Hands of Doom XII fest (review here). Founding guitarist/vocalist Ron Vanacore handed me a CD at that show, and after a long day of bands — of which Curse the Son had been a highlight — I put it on for the car ride back to where I was staying and, even having spent all day being assaulted by distortion and riffs, found myself blasting it full volume for its 31-minute duration on that trip. Call it love at first riff, but Psychache has held a special place in my heart ever since, whatever one might consider the day it actually came out.

The band at the time was Vanacore and his former Sufferghost bandmate, bassist Richard “Cheech” Weeden, and Petrucci, and they made Psychache at Underground Sound in East Haven, mixing as well at Higher Rock. The lack of pretense remains staggering. If you pull back and look at it, there are really four full songs included, with the title-track an instrumental — albeit a crucial one — and “Valium For?” (get it?) a noisy minute-long interlude, but on vinyl, the total six split into an even three tracks per side, and the bookending effect of its two longest pieces in leadoff “Goodbye Henry Anslinger” (6:21) and finale “The Negative Ion” (7:22) isn’t to be understated when it comes to immersing the listener in the tone and groove that are so, so, so central to the entire proceedings. Again, this isn’t a dumb record. It is willful, however, in its primitivism.

Imagine a complex circuit with wires all over the place. You don’t know what the wires do, but there are a lot of them and they’re all different colors. You start ripping out wires at random and you find that the circuit still functions as it should, so you keep going. You pull and you pull and maybe even the circuit starts to function more efficiently for your efforts. And after however long repeating this process, you see the circuit doing exactly the thing it’s supposed to do and you find yourself looking at all the wires on the floor and wondering why in the first place you thought needed all this bullshit? Psychache is that. It has everything it needs and nothing it doesn’t, and even through the haze of its tone and the lumbering nod of “Somatizator,” it’s a moment of clarity.

Side A builds through the midtempo chug of “Goodbye Henry Anslinger” — named for the man who banned marijuana use; it’s worth noting that weed was made legal in Connecticut this year for adult recreational use — and the slower highlight “Spider Stole the Weed” en route to “Psychache” itself, which starts with Weeden‘s bass and moves into a shuffle that carries through most of its first half changes its central riff in the second. All groove, but a speedier pace that adds to the reach of the album overall in subtle fashion, which “Valium For?” answers with its there-and-gone moment of weirdness ahead of the closing duo “Somatizator” and “The Negative Ion,” the former of which mirrors “Spider Stole the Weed” in its memorable chorus while pushing the vocals into a lower register instead of a higher one, and the latter, which meanders for about two minutes before suddenly kicking in at full volume.

There’s a bit of feedback at the end, but the bass is ultimately the last thing to fade out, and fair enough for what Weeden has by that point added in terms of thickness to the procession. By then, if you’re left wanting, it’s your own fault. In 31 minutes, Curse the Son crush and compact the pivotal aspects of their style into a collection that makes its own depth feel simple and that has continued to make the band undervalued in my mind ever since.

They’ve done two albums after this, with 2016’s Isolator (review here) coming out through Ripple Music and The Company and beginning a collaboration with producer Eric Lichter at Dirt Floor Studios that continued onto 2020’s Excruciation (review here), also on Ripple. In the meantime, between the two records, Vanacore would see an entire swap-out of the rhythm section, with Robert Ives taking over on drums for the 2020 outing and Brendan Keefe donning the bass for Isolator and pulling that duty as well as adding vocals to the darker-in-mood Excruciation, building on Curse the Son‘s melodic growth and pushing their songwriting in new, exciting and still-footprint-on-skull-heavy directions.

But Psychache remains a one-of-a-kind outing. If Curse the Son had moved forward and said they were going to do the same thing twice, it wouldn’t have been the same as the moment they captured here, in these songs. I won’t decry the work they’ve done since. They’re a better band now. What makes Psychache such a standout, though, is how much it offers and how casually it does so, how easy it makes it all sound, and how it has managed to shift into a kind of timelessness that one expects will endure precisely as a result of the aesthetic truths it tells.

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

—

I got a call earlier this week from the school nurse to tell me The Pecan had been falling asleep in class. Unheard of. He’d had boogers for a few days, but that kind of fatigue from him is a firm ‘never’. He got home about a half-hour later, was way out of it and feverish. You know where this is going: To the doctor for a Covid test.

We spent the better part of Wednesday and yesterday sweating it out before at about 6:30 this morning — right after I finished the above — I refreshed the page where his test results would appear and they were at last there and negative. He was better yesterday and — more alert, more of a pain in the ass — but still nice to have the assurance. He also yesterday had a 45-minute nosebleed in the morning, first thing. Compared to that, wrestling him into an outfit for school today was a walk in the park.

We are much relieved, though both The Patient Mrs. and I were also already in the midst of making kid-has-plague-antibodies travel plans for if he did have it and came through without serious complications — she to a conference, I to Maryland Doom Fest — but I’m prepared to call it a fair enough trade for him to not be seriously ill in the first place.

Off to school with you.

Obviously a fair amount was hanging on that precarious balance, all joking aside. The anxiety level was high in the house yesterday and since I couldn’t really take him anywhere and it was raining, we were stuck reminiscent of early lockdown. The Patient Mrs. went to a work meeting in the early afternoon, which I understand on multiple levels. Neither he nor I was easy to be around at that point.

So I guess today’s after-school activities will involve going to places and breathing on stuff. Sounds like fun, right? Should be a blast.

Whatever you’re up to this weekend, I wish you the best. Next week starts the Quarterly Review, so that’ll be fun. I’ve got seven days’ worth of stuff and I very purposefully scheduled a premiere after that so I couldn’t go any longer. Because I would, you know.

Great and safe couple days. Have fun. Hydrate. Watch your head.

FRM.

The Obelisk Forum

The Obelisk Radio

The Obelisk merch

Tags: Connecticut, Curse the Son, Curse the Son Psychache, Hamden, Psychache, Ripple Music, STB Records

This entry was posted on Friday, September 24th, 2021 at 10:26 am and is filed under Bootleg Theater. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.