Whether or not it actually was for the band themselves — and we’ll get to why in a minute provided I don’t get sidetracked by sweet tonal resonance — it’s arguable that Nomadic Pursuits (review here) was a new beginning for Californian desert rock progenitors Yawning Man. True, it’s their second LP. Prior to its release in 2010 through Cobraside Distribution, the three-piece of guitarist Gary Arce, bassist Mario Lalli and drummer Alfredo Hernandez had offered their debut in 2005’s Rock Formations (discussed here) and companioned that with the Pot Head EP, and the two would be coupled into the compilation Vista Point in 2007, but by the time three years had gone by, all three of those discs were pretty difficult to come by. Nomadic Pursuits brought the instrumentalist trio a new degree of professionalism in terms of sonic character and depth, and presented what was by then a band more than two decades old as having a fresh perspective on the aural niche they helped create. The richness of its sound, whether that’s Lalli‘s fleet low-end in “Sand Whip” and “Far-Off Adventure” or Arce‘s lightly melancholic reverb in “Camel Tow” (also “Camel Tow Too,” later), the circles around which they instrumentalist trio seem to be running around at the culmination of “Sand Whip” or the indie quirk underlying closer “Laster Arte,” set a balance between serenity and heft that in some crucial ways has been a defining aspect of their work since.

On the most basic level, the band — through various Arce-led incarnations — has done much more after 2010 than they’d done prior. Never ones to shy away from reissues, Yawning Man‘s The Birth of Sol: The Demo Tapes (discussed here) collected early recordings (put on actual cassettes, mind you) from their early days circa 1986 and arrived in 2009, also through Cobraside, but the album, EP, and two comps comprised the entirety of Yawning Man‘s studio output for nearly a quarter-century before Nomadic Pursuits. In the 14 years since, in addition to regular international touring, Arce and company — my understanding gleaned from social media is the band currently features the founding guitarist alongside a recently-stepped-back-in Lalli on bass and likewise-returned drummer Bill Stinson, and that they’re recording with Jason Simon of Dead Meadow guesting in some capacity, but they’re fluid in personnel as well as craft, so don’t quote me on any of that — have done four studio LPs, two live albums, a crucial 2013 split with Fatso Jetson, and overseen a full series of catalog reissues, including for Nomadic Pursuits, through Italian forerunner imprint Heavy Psych Sounds. As regards productivity, they’re much more of a band now than they were when they were starting out as kids jamming in the Californian desert.

Maybe that’s just the way of things. Maybe it takes a while sometimes to realize when you have something special going on and you’re a part of it, or maybe Yawning Man‘s own legacy was bolstered as a result of the on-internet proliferation of the generator-party desert rock narrative, like sandy Southern California in the late ’80s and early ’90s was peopled by roving bands of stoned teenaged marauders worshiping the god of (I believe) Larry Lalli‘s gas powered generator, rogue hillside and defunct skatepark trespass concerts becoming the stuff of hyper-romanticized legend. The sound of freedom in a particularly dirty-footed American heavy-hippie ideal. I don’t know if that’s how it went and the truth of history is it doesn’t matter if that’s what’s become the narrative, but by 2010, Yawning Man were ready to be more than just that band Kyuss covered that one time and to get some fraction of their due as essential to the shape of what their microgenre became. More than just an obscure band people talked about in the past tense.

And what is a nomadic pursuit if not exploration? The 42-minute seven-tracker bears that out in the unfolding of “Far-Off Adventure” — the longest inclusion at 8:28 — as well as the peacefully expansive centerpiece “Blue Foam,” with Arce‘s guitar looped or layered or its-14-years-later-and-I-still-don’t-know-how-it’s-talking-to-itself-across-channels-like-that, or the more rhythmically restless “Ground Swell,” on which Hernandez goes full-on with a jazzy showcase, and “Camel Tow Too,” which takes a different route from the same central progression as the opener and becomes more than a simple reprise for it. Emblematic of their approach generally, there’s more happening across Nomadic Pursuits than simple hit-record-and-go jamming. They’re following a structure, even if it’s not always obvious, or at very least they have some idea in mind of where they’re headed before they get there, however nebulous that might be. But the material throughout is an exploration of atmospheres and moods and different textures and energies, the shifts in pacing and broader activity level between “Sand Whip” and “Blue Foam” representative of a dynamic that’s only grown more encompassing in the years since.

It would be that aforementioned split with Fatso Jetson — which was issued concurrent to say-hi-to-the-next-generation appearances at Desertfest London 2013 (review here) that also included a set from Yawning Man offshoot Yawning Sons in a landmark one-two-three succession — that pushed further in cementing Yawning Man as a influential and veteran outfit to a new listenership, but I’ll gladly maintain that Nomadic Pursuits is the work that allowed that to happen in the first place, and that its value in listening holds up as more than preface for what they’d do afterward across the 2010s and into the tumultuous first half of this decade. As they approach a 40th anniversary since their inception, Yawning Man are more reality than legend, which considering the legend involved should be read as a compliment, and as both an entity unto themselves in sound and a nexus point around which numerous other Arce-involved projects orbit, whether that’s Yawning Sons, already noted, or Yawning Balch, Big Scenic Nowhere, the forthcoming SoftSun, and so on. Like the joshua, their family tree is an expanding fractal of branches and constant new growth.

I already mentioned they’re working on new recordings. Their latest album, Long Walk of the Navajo (review here), was released last year on Heavy Psych Sounds. If you’re looking for where to head next, that’d be a good stop to make.

In any case, I hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading.

—

As will happen, I had been stuck on trying to find a record with which to close out this week, and it wasn’t until I was taking the dog around the block at quarter-to-six this morning that Nomadic Pursuits came to mind. Part of why it did was because in 2010 when I originally reviewed it, my wife and I were spending a summer month — it was the two of us and the little dog Dio back then — at a cabin in Vermont. She was working on her Ph.D. dissertation. I was writing stories that would become part of my graduate thesis. We’d write early in the day then pop down the hill for a beer — I still drank then — and once or twice a month I popped back down to NJ for band practice like the four-hour ride was no big deal.

Easy to romanticize that trip now. No question life was less complex before we had a kid in ways I can hardly appreciate most of the time from the deeply frustrating trenches of parenthood. But I read the photo caption in that review and found I was bitching about the heat — something I was doing not two weeks ago here as well; I’d like to flatter myself into thinking I’ve become more grateful for what I have, or at least presenting myself that way; this may be and more likely is a delusion; you’d have to ask The Patient Mrs. probably when I’m not in the room — and was reminded that while looking back can often put a sepia-toned spin on one’s experiences, there are ups and downs to everything while you’re living through it.

I write this as my wife and daughter argue in the next room about eating yogurt for breakfast. The kid, picking up from yesterday’s obnoxious without losing the beat of contradictory impulse that makes so many of our days and doings brutal. Now whimpering for something or other. Ugh. Our niece, 15, flew into town yesterday and The Pecan has been turbocharged as a result. This morning’s derailing, not unexpected, has proceeded in pinches, bites, punches, kicks for my wife and I. I look forward to being nostalgic about this era, to whatever else I might be blinded as a result. Maybe in middle age I’m less committed to remembering the reality of a thing. Fine.

I hope I forget being the less preferred parent. I hope I forget the way I get ignored when I ask my kid to do something, or tell her, or do anything other than threaten to end whatever kind of fun she’s having at the moment, or yell at her to finally do it because I feel helpless and like that’s the only way I can actually get her to acknowledge I’m speaking. I hope I forget feeling like a failure all the time, that I failed before I started and I’ve been failing since, here, at home, everywhere. I hope in the years to come I can whitewash all of it into a succession of the positive memories, of her creativity, her intelligence and cleverness, her four-dinensional thinking and the positive manifestations of her excited spirit, all of which are as much a part of her as the rest that is so crushing and overwhelming.

My time is up. Great and safe weekend. Thanks for reading. Brant Bjork Trio plays A38 in Budapest on Monday. Look for a review Tuesday, and I’m halfway through a Worshipper album review that I hope to finish at the nearest opportunity. Until then, then.

FRM.

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This show happened in Dec. 2019, just as the world was getting ready to end (again; ah the cycles of death and renewal!), and captures Om at Pioneer Works in Brooklyn, New York, vivid in deep hues of blue and green. It’s not the full set — included are opener “Gethsemane” and “State of Non-Return,” which followed, and a concluding take on “Bhima’s Theme”; timestamps below are courtesy of YouTuber @orion_cliff, who left them in a comment; I chased down the whole setlist, also below, with the barest modicum of internetular research — but it’s Om, playing live, professionally recorded. I don’t know what you had in mind for the next half-hour or so of your life, but if you look at the percentages, the greater likelihood is you’re better off spending it in the virtual company of Al Cisneros‘ bass tone anyhow. Whatever else it was can wait.

Speaking of waiting, is this the part where I mention it’s been 12 years since Om‘s most recent studio album, the still-resonant Advaitic Songs (review here)? Sadly yes, it is. I count that record as one of the most begging for a follow-up to have been released in that span of time, but on the other hand, maybe the distance is good. Not one year has gone by since 2015 that someone hasn’t seen fit to tell me for certain that “this is the year we get a new Om record,” which I take more as a sign of justifiable longing than anything else at this point. I have no info, insider, outsider or hearsay, on when or if a sixth Om full-length might ever happen. Thinking about it now, I’m just glad that Advaitic Songs — from which “Gethsemane” and “State of Non-Return” both come, while “Bhima’s Theme” originally appeared on 2007’s third LP, Pilgrimage — has held up for all this time, which I don’t even imagine I’ll need to argue it has because all you have to do to know that is hear it. And once you’ve heard it, it’s made your day better, and that proves the point already. So there.

Cisnernos, drummer Emil Amos (Grails, Holy Sons, etc.), and Tyler Trotter might have had copies of their 2019 LP, BBC Radio 1 (review here), on the merch table for this show, if they weren’t already sold out, and that’s probably the nearest comparison point for the ‘Live at Pioneer Works’ video. The sound here is more akin to a well-mixed soundboard bootleg than an in-studio audio release tracked at a world-renowned radio facility, but it’s Om‘s meditative heavy centered around the three-piece’s exploratory, low-end-led grooves, and as “Bhima’s Theme” moves from its minimalist voice-and-bass beginning fluidly into the cycles of jazzy fills from Amos and its more active but still resolutely mellow build, I’m not sure why it was posted almost five years after it was recorded, but I’m happy the thing exists and that I’ve had the chance to watch it. A couple times over, now.

The clip follows below. As always, I hope you enjoy:

Om, Live at Pioneer Works, Brooklyn, NY, Dec. 14, 2019

Show program:
00:00 – 07:11 Gethsemane
07:30 – 14:46 State of Non-Return
15:05 – 28:00 Bhima’s Theme

Full setlist:
Gethsemane
State of Non-Return
Sinai
Cremation Ghat I
Cremation Ghat II
Meditation is the Practice of Death
Thebes
Bhima’s Theme

OM is a three-piece experimental doom metal band hailing from San Francisco, California. Formed in 2003 by the rhythm section of Sleep, the group features Al Cisneros, [Emil Amos], and Tyler Trotter. Together, they draw from a host of other influences—including psychedelic rock, Middle Eastern folk, dub, reggae, and post-rock—and incorporate musical structures similar to Tibetan, Byzantine, and Ethiopian chanting. Their very name derives from the Hindu concept of Om, referring to the natural vibration of the universe.

This project is supported by the Alfred P. Sloan Foundation Program in Public Understanding of Science and Technology, bridging the two cultures of science and the arts.

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I come and go with Queens of the Stone Age. More dilletante than superfan. The first three records — 1998’s self-titled debut (discussed here), 2000’s Rated R, 2002’s Songs for the Deaf — are largely unfuckwithable, and the source of much of the influence they’ve had over heavy rock over the last quarter-century. I’ll stand by most of 2005’s Lullabies to Paralyze on a songwriting level, though its stated intent at the time was to pick up where Songs for the Deaf left off, and sure enough, that was a moment that had passed. The first half’s singles were cool, but side B was where it was really at there, as founding frontman Joshua Homme, who had cut his teenage teeth in Kyuss, let the songs get weirder and more open.

Once you get into Era Vulgaris (2007), you lose me, and though 2013’s …Like Clockwork (review here, discussed here) had s-o-n-g-s that stuck with you, in some cases whether you wanted them to or not — looking at you, “If I Had a Tail” — I reread my review of 2017’s Villains ahead of writing this piece and couldn’t recall a single track from it. I heard one of the singles from 2023’s …In Times New Roman, and it sounded bloated, cloying and willfully mediocre, and while I know Homme is too skillful a songwriter to do one thing for a whole record, I had neither the time nor the inclination to hear it play out. Maybe some day I’ll get there, and if you dug it, I’m glad. Not going to argue.

It had been a while since I heard Rated R, but had occasion to encounter the record on a recent night under Croatian stars, and as will happen, it’s been in my head (hey! that’s a QOTSA reference!) since. Time has done little to dull the potency of this material or the collaborations that do so much to enrich it, whether that’s Homme stepping aside for then-bassist Nick Oliveri‘s lead vocals on “Auto Pilot,” the raging “Quick and to the Pointless” and “Tension Head” (which was originally a song by Oliveri‘s other band, the ongoing Mondo Generator), or the late Screaming Trees singer Mark Lanegan giving a low-key career performance on “In the Fade.” What had been a basic three-piece on the self-titled grew expansive without losing its expressive immediacy or crucial hooks, and so a cut like “The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret” blossomed as a landmark while the weirdo bounce of “Leg of Lamb” and the lightly psychedelic “Better Living Through Chemistry” enriched the impression of Rated R as a whole work. Did I already say “unfuckwithable?” Okay, good.

Others sat in as well. Masters of Reality‘s Chris Goss (who also produced at least part of it, helmed Kyuss LPs, etc.), Pete Stahl of Goatsnake and earthlings?, Screaming Trees‘ Barrett Martin, Fatso Jetson‘s Mario Lalli getting a writing credit on “Monsters in the Parasol,” born in the Homme-led Desert Sessions, and famously even Rob Halford of Judas Priest joining the gang shouts on “Feel Good Hit of the Summer” for the substance-abuse shopping list hook of “Nicotine, valium, vicodin, marijuana, ecstasy and alcohol.” There are more: Gene Trautmann and Nick Lucero sharing drum duties, Reggie Young‘s horns going free-jazz as eight-minute closer “I Think I Lost My Headache” slogs toward its finish, and so on, but the point is that no matter who is adding what to the cauldron, it’s all identifiably part of Queens of the Stone Age, and what would in so many other contexts be disjointed works precisely because it’s arrogant and genuinely swaggering enough to go where it wants in terms of sound and mood.

Rated R remains heavy in tone — stretches where the guitar seems to come forward and dominate the mix like the choruses of “The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret” and “In the Fade” prove the point — but there’s almost always melody to cut through, with the noteworthy exceptions of the Oliveri-fronted punkers “Quick and to the Pointless” and “Tension Head.” These, though, are still catchy in their way, and the element of danger, of unpredictability, of threat, they add to the proceedings shouldn’t be underestimated. You never know when Queens of the Stone Age might cocaine-scream spitting into your face, and as unpleasant as that sounds on paper, it’s part of what makes the record stronger and further-reaching. Dave Catching‘s instrumental “Lightning Song,” a dreamy two-minute interlude to hypnotize and set the mood before the finale, does the same thing in a different way, while the reprise of “Feel Good Hit of the Summer” in “In the Fade” gives a thematic shape to the overarching flow, even if the theme is hi-we’re-on-drugs-in-the-desert-fuck-you-but-also-let’s-be-friends.

It preceded Homme‘s well-earned reputation for onstage dickery, preceded the rock stardom that would come just two years later as Songs for the Deaf offered hits in the already-dwindling-by-then sphere of radio. It was an expansion on the ideas the self-titled laid out, ultimately, but with a character that remains singular after all this time, whether it’s put next to the rest of the Queens of the Stone Age catalog with its various ups, downs and sideways turns, or any of the literally thousands of other bands and records working from it as a central point of influence. I know I’m not saying anything you don’t already know about it, but nearly 25 years after the fact, how much is there really to say? It’s classic rock. All the more so for its defiant-seeming individualism and blend of laid-back, ultra-apathy post-grunge Gen-X cool and moments of fervent thrust, songs that have more reach than most bands do in entire careers in four minutes or less and probably weren’t self-aware enough to be pretentious about it.

As the songs play out in succession again on the mental jukebox, I’m happy to have them. I used to think nostalgia was a weakness, but it turned out I just hadn’t had enough life experience to look back on anything fondly yet. A stupid, young opinion. I find now that whether a moment is recent or happened decades ago, if it’s worth remembering at all — and so many of these moments are related to music for me that it’s actually kind of embarrassing — that’s a thing worth embracing. Most of existence is shitty and hard. Take what you can, put your head down, keep working. My life is better for having had Rated R in it.

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

—

Budapest. We’ve been here for over a week now. It’s been difficult getting settled. Adjusting. The apartment we’re staying in is on the fifth floor of an old building in the Astoria (Queens!) section of town, and is designed like a bourgeois daydream offset by the realities of ants in the bathroom, breakable Ikea furniture, the busted washer, the dog peeing on the couch this past Wednesday, and so on. I’m sure if we were fabulously wealthy, it would all work out. As it stands, we spent all the money, forever, on making this trip happen and have learned the hard lesson that it’s not a sustainable way we can live. Nor can we fly home early, which would cost an additional three grand in addition to the emotional labor of admitting defeat. And we’re talking about how 95 degrees is a break from the heat. You gotta be kidding me.

There’s a lot to like about Hungary, even beyond my continued interest in learning its strange, Carpathian-born language. If you’ve ever used a European toilet, you know there are also things that America does better, and these tradeoffs are the stuff of life. Gorgeous old buildings? No ducts in any of them, and no refrigeration infrastructure, so if you want to buy ice or sit in air conditioning you’re probably screwed. And somehow this entire continent has decided that clothes dryers are what caused the climate crisis, which is adorable and hopeless in kind. I’m grateful to be here, but I don’t know that it could ever be home. Shit, Massachusetts couldn’t be home.

The Patient Mrs. has been kind in granting me writing time this week, which is how the Causa Sui review happened, how The Swell Fellas and Circle of Sighs premieres happened and the various news stories. But there’s been friction there as well. The Pecan got kicked out of day camp after a day and a half for fighting — and before you celebrate that like “yeah stick it to the man!” let me stop you; it’s not righteous defiance, it’s neurodivergent overwhelm; same reason she dug her nails into my arm the other day as I pulled her back from the metro platform where a train was oncoming — and while predictable, it’s nonetheless a sad drag that left us this week wondering how to fill our days. Yesterday we took a bus that went in the Danube River that, despite the purported AC, was hot enough that I was sweating sitting still listening to the English audio tour tell me about the various horrors the Magyar people have faced over the centuries from Huns, Nazis, Communists, and so on — “If you look to your right you’ll see a beautiful bridge. It was a popular place for suicides….” I shit you not — and struggles with food, hydration, medication don’t help. Look at me, complaining on vacation. If it helps you at all (I know it doesn’t help me), I feel like shit about it.

And bringing the dog was a mistake, but she’s a year old and we didn’t really have a choice. The Pecan stims on her though, and it gets to be a lot. First thing this morning I pulled her arm off her bending the dog’s leg the wrong way and ended up arm-barring her in the nose. “You hurt my nose,” is not a thing a parent wants to wake up hearing. I felt like shit about that too.

Life, then. I don’t know what we’re doing today yet but I know I’m coming up against time so need to punch out and get to it. Whatever it is, it will be exhausting. Everything is.

Next week I don’t know. I want to review Orange Goblin for Monday. I promise nothing beyond that I’ll do my best with the time I get and I’ll try really, really hard to be grateful for that.

Have a great and safe weekend.

FRM.

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That rumbling, somehow-intestinal discomfort you feel is no doubt the result of today being the release date for the latest EP from Los Angeles extremist experimentalists Circle of Sighs. The band are no strangers to going over-the-top, and accordingly, the 19-minute conceptual six-tracker Ursus, which also wins outright as regards cover art, plays out across five individual movements — the sixth track is a not-hidden cover of Cardiacs‘ “Horsehead” that becomes an earlier-Author & Punisher-style industrial metal pounding complemented by cinematic keys and guitar effects lasting a mere 84 seconds but packed tight with weird; that is to say, it keeps the spirit of the songs prior even if it’s doing somehting else — all titled “Ursus,” shifting from one to the next with transitional samples, and given to fits of grind, spoken word proclamations about a bear god, saxophone and a sense of onslaught that pervades from “Ursus 1” onward. It is very much its own kind of charming.

And though “Ursus 3” departs into a stretch of horror-jazz echo and thereby pulls away from the intensity surrounding for a moment, in league with the likes of Imperial Triumphant or the reignited Sleepytime Gorilla Museum, the death-stench blasting is never far off, and Ursus offers vigilant reminders that most bears would gladly rip you open and sloppily devour your entrails like happened in that one Werner Herzog movie. The dryly-delivered lines, “I discover no kinship, no understanding, no mercy. I see only the overwhelming indifference of nature. To me, there is no such thing as a secret world of the bears. And this blank stare speaks only of a half-bored interest in food,” come to mind, but would probably be too cliché at this point to actually appear on the EP. And of course, for Circle of Sighs, the listener is the one being consumed like an unfortunate and sadly clueless naturalist.

So be it. “Ursus 1,” with its video premiering below, “Ursus 2,” and “Ursus 4” establish a pattern of cutting from multi-instrumentalist/band-spearhead Collyn McCoy‘s charred and throaty rasps to duly manic spoken proclamations, somehow no more discernible and only slightly less threatening. The sense of overwhelm is intentional. It’s all intentional. It is exactly what it wants to be, unkind and unflinching at its own nastiness. “Ursus 4” tests the boundaries of tech-death momentarily before hitting into a breakdown mosh part that fills out with keys and sax or maybe just sax or maybe it’s a guitar I don’t fucking know. The upshot is a solid groove and another sample to finish before accordion, singing and static give over to terror-noise and foreboding across “Ursus 5,” which ends in things-banging-on-things and a far-off amplified hum that makes me wonder if there were guitars there at all. The aforementioned slam of “Horsehead” follows, like the afterthought of a choose-your-own-adventure where not only do you not save the princess but your entire family is burned alive by some spiteful lord. In this case, I guess, the lord is a bear. Fuck books anyway, amirite?

The video is brilliantly dumb and the music pushes the boundaries of the unlistenable in a way they very much had coming. Ursus is out today, CD and tape, through Suspirium Tactile Goods, and McCoy was kind enough to lend some insight as to just what the hell is going on within its span in the quote below, as well as talk a bit about the making of the clip, which if you’re here at all is probably what brought you. Maybe then I’ll just shut the fuck up and tell you to enjoy it. Yeah, do that.

Here goes:

Circle of Sighs, “Ursus 1” video premiere

Collyn McCoy on Ursus:

“Ursus” is a five-song concept EP about a bear that ingests ayahuasca and melds consciousness with a trans-dimensional being. There is also a secret bonus song which is a Cardiacs cover but don’t tell anyone, it’s a secret.

It is the fifth release from Circle of Sighs and the follow-up to our 2023 live LP, “Circle of Sighs Performs an Invocation.”

We chose “Ursus 1” for the leadoff single/video because it’s the first song on the EP and sets up the story. Why start in the middle, ya know?

I usually avoid making narrative videos because even with the best intentions, unless you have a big-ass budget they tend to turn out shit-balls. But then I saw the video Chad made for his band, Ass Life, for the song “Slidenafil Penis,” and I probably watched it fifty times in a row because it was so funny. Low budget but hilarious. So I slid into Chad’s DMs and he totally got what we were going for so it was a done deal. Besides being a brilliant director, Chad’s also an amazing musician and has acted in some “films” if you know what I mean.

The DMT Machine Entity is played by Lou H from Soiled Doilies, which is an amazing noise/performance art group that played at our space Suspirium several times. People talk about seeing elves when they take DMT but I’m pretty sure they actually see Lou, so in a sense it was type-casting.

Lou’s makeup was done by Heather Galipo, who does makeup for American Horror Stories but music fans might know as Crow Jane from the groundbreaking deathrock /post-punk band Egrets on Ergot.

Less than half of Circle of Sighs actually showed up for the video shoot so we had to use our friend Tim and my wife Qin to fill out the ayahuasca ritual. Qin didn’t want to get fake blood on her clothes so we had her wander off while the rest of us got mauled. You’d think that having twelve people in the band – sometimes more – would make it easy to do things like “shoot a music video” but with that many members, it’s actually impossible to schedule anything because there’s always someone who has something more important going on that day/month/year. I should’ve just told them we were giving away free ham. People always show up for free ham.

In addition to the usual streaming horseshit, URSUS will be available on CD (format of the future) and a very limited run of cassettes that come encased in a giant gummy bear. Just a regular giant gummy bear, nothing psychotropic, but if you eat it all in one go you’ll probably get one hell of a sugar high.

Video Credits:
Directed, Shot, and Edited by Chad Fjerstad
Starring Lou H. as DMT Machine Entity
Ryan Thomas Johnson, Collyn McCoy, Ian Schweer, Tim Digulla and Qin LI as Ayahuasca Ritual Participants
Chris Soohoo as The Oracle
Rollo the Bear as Ursus
DMT Machine Entity makeup by Heather Galipo
No animals or elves were harmed in the making of this video

Album Credits:
Collyn McCoy – Vocals, Upright Bass, Electric Upright Bass, Bass Guitar, Guitar, Samples, Percussion
Chris Soohoo – Vocals, Mime, Projections, Puppetry
Ryan Thomas Johnson – Vocals, Keyboards, Banjo
Ian Schweer – Drums
Geoff Yeaton – Saxophones

Circle of Sighs, Ursus (2024)

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I’m not trying to play Mr. Cool here or anything like that, but I’m just not sure how much of an announcement there is to coincide with Slomosa’s new video for “Battling Guns.” I was hoping the PR wire would have word of their new album to coincide with the single/clip’s release, but no such luck as yet. The band I think put it up at midnight last night CET, and it’s still early AM on the US East Coast, so maybe the press release will be along.

The Norwegian four-piece are due to confirm a release date for their second album, of which “Battling Guns” is a highlight, among other things around that. They’ve already lined up their first-ever US touring, in odd-fit-but-whatever support of Alkaline Trio this September, and after that they’re set to return to Europe on the quick to co-headline with Greenleaf as Psychlona open. A concurrent album release doesn’t seem unreasonable as expectations go, but until I see it, I’m not saying it. Record could show up in December for all I know.

Whenever it’s due, Slomosa‘s sophomore outing will have received significant lead-in. “Battling Guns” follows behind two other singles in “Rice” and “Cabin Fever” (video premiere here), and last I heard both of those were also on the record. That’s nearly half of the tracklisting by the time you get past the intro and interlude, so a not-insubstantial portion. But it’s the shows and the touring that are going to keep propelling this band, and the songs that are going to get heads out to the shows, so yes, the more the merrier, however grim and Europe-at-war the theme is around “Battling Guns.”

Crazy catchy, though, and a sweet encapsulation of how Slomosa have been able to put so much of the heavy underground in their corner since the release of their 2020 self-titled debut (review here). There ain’t no secret to it. It’s the songs themselves.

If an album or anything-else announcement does come through, I’ll add it in here and make a note. Until then, the video is worth enjoying on its own merits, so by all means, have at it.

Tour dates and such follow, as well as players for “Cabin Fever” and “Rice” [EDIT: Yeah, that press release came in. Album is called Tundra Rock, will be out through MNRK Heavy and Stickman Records on Sept. 13. More below.]:

Slomosa, “Battling Guns” official video

Slomosa Sign to MNRK Heavy; Band to Release New LP, ‘Tundra Rock’, September 13

Stream New Video “Battling Guns” Now; U.S. Tour Dates Announced

Norwegian riff-rock regalers, Slomosa, have signed with independent music group MNRK Heavy (High on Fire, Escuela Grind, Crowbar). The Bergen-based band will release its new LP, ‘Tundra Rock’, on September 13. Boasting a brazen backbone of groove-bitten punch and silken melodic hooks heavily inspired by the Palm Desert music scene, Slomosa showcases a hibernating sound that has been reawakened for a new generation. Pre-order/save ‘Tundra Rock’ at this location: https://slomosa.ffm.to/tundrarock

In celebration of its new label home, Slomosa today releases a video for the new track “Battling Guns”.

“Slomosa is an absolute riff powerhouse with an amazing live show,” comments MNRK Heavy SVP, Rock & Metal, Scott Givens. “They are an incredible band and all of us at MNRK are thrilled they have picked us to be their label partners.”

Expansive mountains constitute nearly two-thirds of Norway. This breathtaking grandeur gives the country a sense of natural splendor and mystique as if its topography has held secrets for millennia. ‘Tundra Rock’ is, quite simply, ‘Desert Rock’ on Slomosa’s terms.

“A desert doesn’t have to be warm”, observes vocalist/guitarist Ben Berdous. “If you think about it, the biggest desert in the world is Antarctica. In this respect, the tundra is our desert. We thought it would be cool to coin a genre, and it’s stuck. You could certainly say the grandiosity of nature is evident in the songs of Slomosa.”

‘Tundra Rock’ is also advanced by the superbly heavy track, ‘Rice’, a cavernous cut soaked in sunbaked groove.

Since the release of its self-titled debut album in 2020, SLOMOSA has performed upwards of 130 shows and high-profile festival appearances in over twenty countries alongside bands such as High on Fire, Graveyard, Elder, Ufomammut, and Witch; its explosive live performances have earned the band an enthusiastic global fanbase. SLOMOSA’s music has even captured the attention of rock greats like Tool guitarist Adam Jones, who shared his enthusiasm for the band on his social media, and Kyuss legends Brant Bjork and Nick Oliveri, who expressed their love for SLOMOSA’s sound.

In the end, Slomosa welcome everyone into their world on ‘Tundra Rock’.

“If you listen to this album, I just hope you feel something,” Berdous adds. “This is my life project. It means a lot to me. It’s given me a chance I never thought I’d have. I’m fortunate to be here. I want you to take away that “Tundra Rock” is here to stay.”

US Merchandise Store: https://www.slomosamusic.com​
Follow Us! https://linktr.ee/slomosa​

‘Tundra Rock’ track listing:

1.) Afghansk
2.) Rice (stream VIDEO)
3.) Cabin Fever (stream VIDEO)
4.) Red Thundra
5.) Good Mourning
6.) Battling Guns (stream VIDEO)
7.) Monomann
8.) MJ
9.) Dune

‘Battling Guns’ Music Video:
Director: Yorick S. Gontarek
DP: Jon Hunnålvatn Tøn & Finn Burrows
Editor: Yorick S. Gontarek & Jon Hunnålvatn Tøn
Producer : Yorick S. Gontarek, Jon Hunnålvatn Tøn & Finn Burrows
Executive Producer: Slomosa / Benjamin Berdois
Production Company: Front Film
Photography : Sverre Hjørnevik
Drone: UAS VOSS
Lighting : SPRiLT
Backline : Backline Voss
Additional : HB Lyd og Lys

US tour w/ Alkaline Trio:

11.09 – San Antonio, TX
12.09 – New Orleans, LA
15.09 – Charleston, SC
17.09 – Wilmington, DE
19.09 – Wallingford, CT
20.09 – Wantagh, NY
21.09 – Sayreville, NJ
22.09 – Hampton Beach, NH
24.09 – Buffalo, NY
26.09 – Grand Rapids, MI
27.09 – Milwaukee, WI
28.09 – Columbus, OH
29.09 – Newport, KY

GREENLEAF & SLOMOSA w/ PSYCHLONA
30 SEP 2024 Leipzig (DE) Werk2
01 OCT 2024 Berlin (DE) Lido
02 OCT 2024 (DE) Hamburg (DE) Gruenspan
03 OCT 2024 Köln (DE) Club Volta
04 OCT 2024 Bielefeld (DE) Forum
05 OCT 2024 Leeuwarden (NL) Into the Void
06 OCT 2024 Pratteln (CH) Up in Smoke
07 OCT 2024 Innsbruck (AT) PMK
09 OCT 2024 Wien (AT) Arena
10 OCT 2024 Zagreb (HR) Vintage Industrial Bar
11 OCT 2024 Graz (AT) PPC
12 OCT 2024 München (DE) Keep It Low

Slomosa are:
Benjamin Berdous – Vocals/guitar
Marie Moe – Vocals/bass
Tor Erik Bye – Guitar
Jard Hole – Drums

Slomosa, “Rice”

Slomosa, “Cabin Fever” official video

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Barcelona-based classic heavy rockers The Mothercrow will release their second album, Foráneo, in Sept. 17 through Discos Macarras and LaRubia Producciones. I won’t pretend to have a full grasp on the lineup changes and shifts in methodology that have taken place within the band since their debut, Magara, came out in 2019 — vocalist Karen Asensio and guitarist/backing vocalist Max Eriksson have at least traded out rhythm sections since then; Jaume Darder is on drums and Daniel Ribeiro handles bass this time around — but it’s all apparently been in the works for a while, as lead-single “Howling” began to come together at the dawn of the decade and the video for it premiering below was filmed a little over year ago, in the deserty-looking Monegros region, westward inland from Spain’s east coast.

The setting makes sense, and desert-plus-riffs shouldn’t be a giant mental leap to make for denizens of the heavy rock underground, but if they’d filmed “Howling” in a dimly lit blues bar, I don’t think you’d be able to say they were wrong. Of course, that ’70s-born swagger does just fine baking in a hot sun, and kudos to The Mothercrow for even lugging speaker cabinets all the way out there to perform in front of rock formations casting long afternoon shadows, but the point is there’s more going on with the track than the desert visual holds, striking as it is. The swinging groove and sultry melody come across like a combination born for trouble, and one suspects that’s the impression they’re looking to make. I haven’t heard the rest of Foráneo, so can’t speak to how “Howling” fits on the record as a whole, but certainly Magara had intertwining moments of greater and lesser charge, and I’d expect no less dynamic to show itself on the follow-up, despite personnel swapping in and out of the lineup.

A release show for Foráneo is set for Sept. 27 at El Sótano in Madrid with The White Coven, so if you’re looking for something beyong the exact issue date, that’ll probably work. As for preorders and all the rest, keep an eye out as they’re surely coming soon, and in the meantime, maybe it’s cool to just dig into the clip below and let tomorrow worry about tomorrow, as no doubt it would anyway.

Please, enjoy:

The Mothercrow, “Howling” video premiere

The Mothercrow on “Howling”:

The essence of Howling came about as an attempt to write a song with a propulsive groove that drives steadily forward, like an old steam train. Going Down by Freddie King is perhaps the most obvious influence, but unlike it, it’s far away from the standard blues progression.

The song was one of the first to be completed, and we even recorded a demo of it back in 2020, using a professional recording studio. Unfortunately it never saw the light of day, since we were far from happy with the result. We did however learn our lesson and could identify exactly what we needed to improve for the next time we went into the studio.

Everyone felt that there was a sexual swagger about the beat that needed further exploring, so we decided to write a fitting lyric. Forbidden attraction became the overall topic, with some sexual innuendos more subtle than others. We tried to have fun with it and make something playful that would do the song justice. It’s also our first song that relies heavily on shouted backing vocals, perhaps another reference to the blues.

During the recording session, percussion instruments were added to propel the beat further, and even a stand up piano was added as a final touch to the end. Howling always felt like a single to us, so it was an obvious choice when we were going to record our first music video for this album. We went four hours by car out in the desert of Monegros, to find the perfect location.

Release show Sept. 27 tickets: https://dice.fm/artist/white-coven-5vxnd

VIDEO CREDITS
Directed and Edited by: Ismael Conejero
Direction of Photography: Cultural Dogs
Colour graded by Víctor Gómez
Produced by: Muricec Films & The Mothercrow

Released by Discos Marcarras Records & LaRubiaProducciones

The Mothercrow:
Karen Asensio – vocals
Max Eriksson – guitar
Jaume Darder – drums
Daniel Ribeiro – bass

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Every now and then I go back to this one. Träden is a nickname for Träd Gräs och Stenar. Formed in 1969, and with their 1970 self-titled debut a landmark in early heavy prog/psych rock, Swedish or otherwise, the band led by more-or-less-founding guitarist/vocalist Jakob Sjöholm donned their abbreviated moniker to match the title of 2018’s Träden (review here), but it’s not the first time they’ve switched it up in that regard. Comprising eight tracks that run an immersive, hypnotic 70 minutes beginning with the longest of the bunch (immediate points) in “När lingonen mognar (Lingonberries Forever)” at 11:51, the album is a varied sprawl to be sure, but the material is tied together through the ultra-organic presentation and open-feeling creativity.

Parts are pretty clearly improvised, whether it’s the guitar solo in “När lingonen mognar (Lingonberries Forever)” or the outset of the lightly shuffling “Kung Karlsson” (7:55) that follows and builds into a noodly wash by its midsection, held together by the rhythm section as Sjöholm and guitarist/organist Reine Fiske (also Dungen) explore a decidedly earthy psychedelia, growing noisier at the finish before “Tamburan” (11:19) begins its pastoralist procession, twists of original-era psych on guitar gracefully distorted over the steady basswork of Sigge Krantz and fluid drumming from Nisse Törnqvist, who shares those duties with Hanna Östergren (also Hills) with the latter playing on most of the tracks and contributing vocals somewhere, somehow. The first instrumental, “Tamburan” is the point of departure for your consciousness; an unfolding fuzzscape of willful meander, almost meditative but leant vibrance through the live feel of the recording.

By this point, Träden are already embroiled in the back and forth between shorter and longer pieces, and that contrast is especially stark as “Å nej (Oh No)” starts out with running water giving over to shaker percussion and a sweetly casual folkish sensibility emphasized by the blend of acoustic strum and lockstep fuzz, shaker percussion, multiple vocalists joining for the simple-sounds-work-best chorus, which is one of few throughout Träden, and feels purposefully included near the center of the record. I don’t speak Swedish, but there’s some comfort in the procession of “Å nej” nonetheless, the humble melody and fun swell of hurdy gurdy or something like it in the midsection; it could even be guitar. If you’re a drinker, it might be what sways you to sleep with a warning of the hangover to follow, still distant enough not to be real in the tragic sense of the word.

“OTO” starts out with foreboding strums of distorted guitar and a quiet-ish tom rhythm from Östergren, with a shimmer of lead guitar cutting through tentatively at first and then markedly less so. They’re moving by the time they’re three and a half minutes into the total nine, but it’s more of a look-back-and-wonder-how-you-got-there than an outwardly purposeful build, and like much of the record that surrounds, it’s content to make its own kind of sense. The guitar tone changes shortly before they hit seven minutes and “OTO” the dreamier early going is somewhat solidified, relatively speaking, but stays mellow and hypnotic even as the guitar threatens howls toward the finish, from which “Hoppas du förstår (Hope You Understand)” picks up with another redirect, putting acoustic guitar at the center with arriving soon after.

What might be the bowed Indian instrument esraj features in the mix (handled by Fiske if that’s it) and adds ethereal lift to the otherwise humble procession. “Hoppas du förstår (Hope You Understand)” is of a kind with “Å nej” in runtime and the fact that it has vocals — in layers, even — but the voice, mood and sentiment conveyed by the music are different, and the later cut is backed by the instrumental “Hymn.” If it was American I would call “Hymn” a ramble — note to self: do Swedes ramble? — but its seven minutes feel contemplative enough to earn the name and after touching ground in the song prior, Träden depart once more into fuzz and wispy psych for the closer “Det finns blått (There is Blue),” which is true enough whether you’re talking about the sky, water, or misery. The finale is the third of the total eight songs to top 10 minutes, and if it was only the fuzz-washed lead and drums for the duration, it would still be a win, but the off-the-cuff-feeling vocals — which may have started as improv, but are doubled in parts — and sax and who knows what else are certainly welcome along for the ride.

And like much of the album that precedes, “Det finns blått (There is Blue)” is a ride, whether or not you realize it’s moving. Thick in vibe and the emergent fuzz alike, with some bordering-on-shouts later, it’s a mind-psych movement outward that’s not entirely unstructured or without form, but that carries a feeling of liquidity just the same, oozing out as it makes its way in its own time to the twisting solo noise that begins the second half, the drums growing accordingly more fervent in crash. By the seven-minute mark, it drops to standalone guitar strum, but the urgency that rose up hasn’t completely dissipated either, whatever solace is offered through the calming strum and peppered notes of epilogue guitar. That last couple minutes, which really could be a whole other song if the jam had gone that way, might be out of place with the preceding piece, but if anything, they only underscore the point of how little that matters in the first place if it doesn’t jolt the listener out of the experience, and by the last three minutes of Träden, the band would have to come to your house and stomp on your foot to snap you out of the spell they’ve just spent the last hour-plus casting. Call it a bonus on an existential level.

My only motivation for closing the week with Träden is to say I hope at some point Sjöholm and company do another album. Whether it sounds like this or wanders off elsewhere musically, whatever. I’ll take it. This record requires a certain kind of patience — don’t go in with expectations beyond hearing sound — but there’s so much life in the songs if you’re willing to meet them on their level. I have no idea if or when Träd Gräs och Stenar might return or in what form, but the world they make here begs further exploration. It’s among the CDs I least regret buying in the last decade.

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

—

We’re in Budapest — me, The Patient Mrs., The Pecan, and the dog Tilly. In the part of the city called Astoria, which I’ve just been calling Queens, because, well, New York. It’s Friday. We got here Wednesday after two days in Zagreb, Croatia, following my excursion to Bear Stone Festival in the Croatian countryside last weekend. That seems longer ago.

My wife, kid and dog had a place in Zagreb that was apparently alright, but when I came back from the festival — met them at the airport as though I was just flying in from another world; kind of true minus the flying part — we and our five weeks’ worth of kidn-and-dog-inclusive luggage moved to a spot in the Old City, kind of a touristy section. It was above a Napoli pizza place, very clearly owned by the guy who owned the pizza place, and very clearly his fuckpad. The stove didn’t work. The tub didn’t work. There were two wall unit air conditionings: one useless, the other downstairs (yes, it was a two-level apartment) and pointed directly at a large pane of glass.

It was 100-plus degrees out every day as it has also been all throughout this week, and the temperature inside was absolutely punishing. Crippling. The kind of heat that kills people, as climate-crisis era Europe has found out for the last however long and will I guess continue to find out unless somebody here ever figures out how to freeze water. America is a recent enough country to have refrigeration infrastructure. Europe, in this regard, is well and truly fucked. And no, the irony of AC contributing to global warming isn’t lost on me. I’m just trying to stay alive.

The kid has been doing well. Better than on the Southwest trip, which was largely a nightmare. The four-hours-ish drive from Zagreb to Budapest gave a chance to see some of the countryside, the lake in Hungary that I’m told is where the people go to ease their summery sufferings, and so on. We hit a big Tesco and got a Lego excavator for The Pecan to build; she was stoked. The washer where we’re staying broke pretty much immediately on first use, so we need to figure out a laundry solution, so I think that’s this morning’s problem. And yes, the morning has started. It’s after 7AM CET now. The kid’s been going to bed after 9PM, and I’ve had the alarm set for 6AM since I haven’t been getting to sleep before 11 and actually need to be present mentally and physically for these days — that is, I need to have the capacity to engage, ever — and she was up before my phone even started playing that obnoxious, jaunty little tune that I’m too lazy to change. First rays of the rising sun, and all that. That’s been brutal.

Every second I write while we’re here is a scrape, including this one, and only happens because The Patient Mrs. lets it. That’s not a great dynamic for anybody, but I don’t stop needing to write just because I’m someplace else.

There are two shows I’m planning to see while I’m here: Brant Bjork Trio and Stoned Jesus/Dopelord. I have no idea where either is or how I’ll get there, but I’ve got time. We’re here until I think Aug. 7, then fly back to New York (ugh, JFK; weeks out and already I’m dreading it) to finish out the summer. The Pecan is in camp next week, and that should lessen some of the impact of our days as parents — also give her a valuable life experience blah blah — provided she can make it through without getting kicked out, which last year at this time was a standard that proved too high multiple times over. I’ve got my fingers crossed for her, but when she has a hard time, you know it.

This apartment is swank in a bourgeois kind of way, and that’s fine. The air conditioning works. There’s a bag of ice in the freezer we’re rationing out. A Nespresso. A working shower. It does not feel like a fuckpad. I haven’t had much chance to try out my magyarul other than to order coffee, but hopefully at some point I’ll be able to make a fool out of myself attempting to have an actual conversation with someone or trying to glean some necessary information. “Hol van a A38?,” and so on.

I hope you have a great and safe weekend. I have a couple things confirmed for next week, premieres on Tuesday and Thursday, but honestly don’t know how much I’ll be able to do around that. I’ve bowed out on doing two bios already and might do another. There’s news that came in as I was heading to Bear Stone that I’m still behind on. When I get home, much as I’m able, I plan to knuckle down on this thing, but it’s hard being pulled in multiple directions and I can’t really argue for more time when all it is from my family’s point of view is an indulgence for which the occasional payoff is the ego boost of someone saying something nice about my work on the internet and my own fleeting fulfillment before I need to do the next thing.

Speaking of the next thing, that’s breakfast. Thanks for reading. Have fun, stay safe and cool, and hydrate. All the water.

FRM.

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Somewhere between blissprog, ethereal folk melodicism and cult-adjacent mystique, Magick Brother & Mystic Sister offer the first of a two-installment cycle of releases in the form of Tarot Pt. 1 (review here). Issued through Sound Effect Records, the subtly ambitious and sprawling 11-song outing follows the Barcelona group’s 2020 self-titled debut (discussed here) and leads off with the welcoming spirit of its longest track (immediate points) in “The Fool.” And while the opener doesn’t necessarily account for everything that happens arrangement-wise as the album unfolds, whether it’s the lush vocals of “The High Priestess,” the sitar drone flourish at the start of “The Empress,” the cinematic mellotron-and-maybe-xylophone drama of “The Lover,” or the flute-inclusive jazzy swing behind the later “The Justice,” it is a gateway through which one passes en route to that righteous succession.

Patient from its initial fade-in onward, “The Fool” is perhaps intended as a whole-record intro, or just wound up fitting as one when it was finished, I don’t know, but it works in that spot regardless. The first minute, before the drums arrive, builds up around a soft keyboard line, and it’s not so long before the gentle vocals begin the first verse, but by the time they do, offset by washes of synth and effects-guitar contemplations, clarity through strikes of keyboard/piano, the feeling is both traditionalist and futuristic, hopeful with an edge of melancholy. I know precious little about the tarot, but the cosmic-feeling vibe of lyrics like “I have no land/I have a star” is well accounted for in the surrounding krautrock-and-classic-prog instrumental movement, leaning into the psychedelic with some backwards looping and mostly-mindful drift before easing through the last bits of soloing and final drone. On the album — which you can stream below — “The Magician” tops that wind with an urgency of chimes soon answered by lead electric guitar, but maybe that’s something best left for you to discover on your own.

I don’t have a release date for Tarot Pt. 2, but even in telling only half the sonic story they ultimately will, Magick Brother & Mystic Sister fully embrace their audience and harness a sense of world-creation without subsuming craft to exploration or to theme. That is to say, they’re far out like way far out, but solid enough in the structuring of the material that there’s more on offer than far-outness, and while the songs are tied together in being named for cards in the tarot deck, the resulting front-to-back impression of Tarot Pt. 1 is such that they are distinguished in their individual scopes while enriching the whole work. And for a record like this — or for half of one, as it were — that’s more or less the ideal.

Enjoy “The Fool” below, with the aforementioned album stream near the links at the bottom of this post. Before I turn to you over to it, a note of appreciation to Magick Brother & Mystic Sister and Sound Effect Records for being flexible on scheduling this premiere around my traveling schedule. It is appreciated.

Speaking of travels, happy trails:

Magick Brother & Mystic Sister, “The Fool” video premiere

Zero the hero. The adventurer walks aimlessly near the cosmic void
The Fool was one of the first compositions we did for Tarot. The idea arose from a hypnotic rhythmic base with galactic guitars and synths to convey the feeling born from the stars.

The Fool

I look for a time
I have no land
I have a star

under the sun
I lay beside blades of grass

In the cold land
I walk alone in circles

out of time
I have no land
I have a star

Magic Brother & Mystic Sister are:
Xavi Sandoval: bass and guitars
Eva Muntada: piano, synthesizers, organ & vocals
Alejandro Carmona: drums
Carlos G de Marcos: lyrics

Magick Brother & Mystic Sister, Tarot Pt. 1 (2024)

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