With the clarion riff of its title-track sounding the call to worship at its outset, experiments in folk and synth more realized than the band had yet attempted, an emergent progression of sound, arguably the first party-rock riff in “Sabbra Cadabra” and performances that find the young Black Sabbath hitting their stride as players, Sabbath Bloody Sabbath was released in Dec. 1, 1973 on Vertigo Records. That put it just 14 months after Vol. 4 (discussed here), the band’s forward momentum taking a hit after the cancelation of their Spring 1973 tour either as a result of burnout, drugs, or both, depending on who’s telling the story, but it’s still about the same turnaround as that between Vol. 4 and its predecessor, 1971’s Master of Reality (review here). They were a working band.

And the eight songs and 42 minutes of Sabbath Bloody Sabbath sound like it. Gone is the willful cultish slog of their self-titled (discussed here), somewhat contrary to the impression of Dan Struzan‘s cover art, and the gritty judgementalism of Paranoid (discussed here) — at least mostly — as the returning four-piece of vocalist Ozzy Osbourne, guitarist Tony Iommi, who branches out instrumentally on various keys, flute on “Looking for Today,” bagpipes on “Spiral Architect,” etc., bassist Geezer Butler (also some synth and Mellotron) and drummer Bill Ward dug into an expansion of ideas that began to come forward on the album prior to find a more rousing and uptempo take. Accordingly, Sabbath Bloody Sabbath, as the fifth Black Sabbath full-length from the original lineup and the entry into the back half of their multi-genre-defining eight-record run, is also the first LP in their catalog that truly comes across like a follow-up to the one before it.

There are positive and negative aspects to that, and its audible in the expanded arrangements throughout as well as in the production around the guitar, bass, drums and vocals. As the Narrative (blessings and peace upon it) saw cocaine, alcohol and whatever other substance abuse famously rooting itself into the already-wasn’t-lacking-for-shenanigans culture of Black Sabbath as a group, they were also more confident and more self-aware in recording themselves than they’d yet been. Working with engineer Mike Butcher following writing sessions in Los Angeles (unsuccessful) and at Clearwell Castle in Gloucestershire, UK (successful), where the likes of Led Zeppelin, Queen and Deep Purple, among others, had composed and/or recorded (you can get married there now), the band stepped forward with a crunch in Iommi‘s tone audible right at the outset of “Sabbath Bloody Sabbath” — reportedly the first riff he wrote for the album — that was consistent with Vol. 4 in a new and purposeful way. It was the first time Black Sabbath sounded like they actively chose how they wanted to sound on a recording.

I’ll also argue that Sabbath Bloody Sabbath and its July 1975 successor, Sabotage, represent this version of Black Sabbath at the peak of their powers. That isn’t to say it’s necessarily their ‘best’ album — I’m not picking — but it’s among the best played. Between Vol. 4, Sabbath Bloody Sabbath and Sabotage, Osbourne, whose first statement with the band in the eponymous “Black Sabbath” was that, yes, he could reach those notes organically, found new levels of accomplishment as a singer. Here, he’s grandiose with Butler‘s lyrics in “A National Acrobat,” emotive and sincere in the realization at the end of “Spiral Architect,” and the swagger and lighthearted spirit he brings to “Sabbra Cadabra” is enough to make its generic met-a-girl-feel-good-about-it storyline come through as sweet instead of hollow as did the sappy “Changes” a year earlier.

He’s credited with composing the side B standout “Who Are You” on synthesizer — Rick Wakeman of Yes sat in on keys; maybe also for “Sabbra Cadabra” — and demonstrates a range between the creeper cinematic vibe that makes it the darkest track on the album and the still-melodic shoutier approach on “Sabbath Bloody Sabbath” that uses the instrument of his voice in more complex ways, also incorporating different effects so that the bluesy swing in “Sabbra Cadabra” and the back half of “Killing Yourself to Live” could exist alongside the more adventurous instrumental arrangements in “Fluff” and the closing salvo of “Looking for Today” and “Spiral Architect.” In a singularly influential discography spanning more than five decades, Sabbath Bloody Sabbath could easily be a candidate for Ozzy‘s best work as a singer, though admittedly it’s not the only one in the running.

But Ozzy wasn’t the only one to step up, either. While Ward would always be defined by his swing and the creativity with which his fills gave force and character in complement to Iommi‘s riffs, he sets a march in “A National Acrobat” that conveys drudgery without actually being it, gives nodding shape to “Who Are You,” and double-times the hi-hat in the verse of “Looking for Today” — more strut than march — to bring a sense of energy without taking away from the vocals and guitar or Butler‘s bass, which could by this point in the original Sabbath‘s tenure be well relied upon for righteousness. As Iommi dug into the sunny folkishness of “Fluff” and the not-guitar elements noted above brought to “Looking for Today” and “Spiral Architect,” one could not say his core modus had been abandoned, even if broader ambitions were coming to the surface around that. A greater depth of structure overall makes the sudden blues-rocker turn of “Killing Yourself to Live,” which might otherwise be thought of as a mirror atmospherically for “Sabbath Bloody Sabbath,” natural, and as far out as “Spiral Architect” goes after its acoustic introduction, it signals nascent maturity in its patient unfolding and finds space atop its central groove enough that neither the strings nor Butler‘s nose flute feel out of place.

As composers and musicians, Black Sabbath were growing, and things were only going to get weirder from here, but they had found the band they wanted to be and set themselves to chasing that ideal on Sabbath Bloody Sabbath in ways that would inform their work for the next five years and heavy music for the subsequent 50-plus so far. If I call it essential, I mean it speaks to the very heart of what Black Sabbath were at the time.

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

—

Busy week, busy weekend. You know I’m still not caught up on news from last week’s Quarterly Review? I was a little embarrassed yesterday putting up that Inter Arma album news a week after the fact of the actual announcement, and there are a couple things that I’m probably just going to have to drop because more has come in. I don’t particularly enjoy that, which is putting it mildly, but I remind myself that the stakes are pretty low, content-urgency is an illusion, and that I do as much as I can. I’m trying. There’s just a lot out there.

Anyway. The kid had half-days Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday because of parent-teacher conference, so it was hands-on parenting time for most of the week, which not at all shockingly does not allow for much concentrated writing. That the news was good from her kindergarten teacher — she reads well, has stopped putting what we call “the claw” in other kids’ faces, got a perfect score on her last math assessment, etc. — I won’t say makes it worthwhile, because it’s worthwhile anyway spending time with your kid, but was encouraging just the same. She’s different at home and at school, and though we have a hard time sometimes — she started ice skating lessons again on Wednesday and that claw was dug into my throat as I carried her nervous-to-go self to the car so her mother could take her — every time I step back and look at the progress she’s made and the difficult work she’s done and does every day, I can only admire her strength. Less when she’s using that strength to punch me or The Patient Mrs. for turning off the Switch at bedtime or coming downstairs an hour later to whine in her Bluey voice that she’s hungry for another yogurt, but still.

I have a bio to write today and a call scheduled with Jack from Elephant Tree ahead of doing the liner notes for their upcoming PostWax split with Lowrider. I haven’t heard any music yet from it, so don’t ask. I think they’re still mixing. I guess I’ll probably ask about that, too. But hopefully there will be some downtime in there as well. The Patient Mrs.’ mother’s birthday was yesterday and she’s coming down from Connecticut to NJ for tonight and tomorrow, which will be great, and I think her sister and her sister’s kids are coming Saturday too? I’m not sure, but also wedged in the next two days is The Pecan at a mermaid-themed pottery-painting birthday party. I don’t know how all of this will shake out, but it won’t be the first tired Monday I’ve ever had, so whatever. See “worthwhile,” above.

I’m gonna leave it there.

Thanks again for reading. I hope you’re digging the Sabbath (though if not you’re probably not still reading either) and I hope you have a great and safe weekend. Next week is once more booked front-to-back, and I look forward to again feeling both like I’m doing way too much and like I can’t keep up at all. See you Monday.

FRM.

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On the record, the melancholic build of “Critical Mass” follows guitarist, vocalist and songwriter Caroline Cawley‘s short story recitation “She From Up the Drombán Hill,” and with a switch from third to first-person point of view, “Critical Mass” takes on the voice of its central character, a young woman — a “…comfortable learned woman, a competent speller” — who gets pregnant out of wedlock in very-Catholic Ireland and is sent away to a common shame and death not actually of her own making, though naturally the blame would’ve been hers. Cawley, responsible for the craft at root in Dystopian Future Movies and the emotive performance that drives the band’s 2022 album, War of the Ether (review here), explores this theme with sadness, an unflinching eye, due judgment and depth of perspective. Like the title-track and others surrounding, “Critical Mass” is heavy well before it actually gets loud.

What allows for that is atmosphere, of course. As might be hinted by an album that builds up its introduction around nine minutes of spoken storytelling, words are important on War of the Ether, and that holds for “Critical Mass” as well, but Dystopian Future Movies set that narrative to a sound that has grown capable across now-three-LPs to encompass aspects of downer heavy indie and goth-ish melodic pull — if you can take Crippled Black Phoenix‘s oppressive-sky modus, the mood here resonates similarly — as well as noise rock, atmospheric sludge metal and in the later reaches of “No Matter,” a flourish of guitar float that is more clear-eyed than heavygaze but brings some ethereal sense to War of the Ether just the same. As noted when it was being released, Cawley took inspiration from the scandal surrounding Tuam Mother and Baby Home in Ireland, where nearly 800 dead bodies were discovered of the pregnant women who went and the children they birthed there. Perhaps with this frame it’s inevitable War of the Ether would hit hard, but again, its impact is in more than just its volatile pieces.

Dystopian Future Movies — in which Cawley is joined by Bill Fisher, Marty Fisher and Rafe Dunn — played this past weekend at Masters of the Riff III in Hackney, performing alongside Elephant Tree, The Admiral Sir Cloudesley Shovell, and scores of others. Two more UK fests are locked in for this Spring in Leeds and Bradford, about which you can see more in the info that follows the clip below. One last note to mention that the lyrics to “Critical Mass” also appear under the video player. I don’t always post lyrics with whatever might be streaming on a given day, but I think the relevance in this instance makes it appropriate. If it throws you off visually or whatever, I apologize. I assure you it made sense to me at the time, which is right now, as it happens.

Please enjoy:

Dystopian Future Movies, “Critical Mass” official video

From the album ‘War of the Ether’ out on Septaphonic Records

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Video by Zorad
Music by Dystopian Future Movies
Recorded by Bill Fisher at XII Chambers Nottingham England
Produced by Dystopian Future Movies
Mastered by Lira Wish at Film-Maker Studios
‘War of the Ether’ Art & Design by Rafe & Zorad

Dystopian Future Movies live:
StrangeForms Festival – Brudenell, Leeds 6th – 7th April
Ruination Festival 2024 – Underground, Bradford 11th May

TICKET LINKS: https://dystopianfuturemovies.com/events

“Critical Mass” lyrics:
Looking back it’s clear to know I should have lied
So ashamed to admit that now, I didn’t even try
In a land that is so drenched in weeping, I know that I’m alone
When a hand that should heal is tormented to steal and corrupting your mind

Where is love, where is love and I should go
Where is love, where is love and I could go

Only in retrospect can we blame the time
And that seems but a weakened stance when it mars entire lives
When we wait on unforthcoming promises from a state content with lies
When we wait for the order of things to change, while we die

Where is love, where is love and I should go
Where is love, where is love and I could go

Your dissent
Your descent, I know
Your dissent
Your descent, I know I’ll await for you

And you hide behind robes
And you hide behind robes
Despite how we strove
Despite how we fought

Where is love, where is love and I should go
Where is love, where is love and I could go

Where is love, where is love and I should go
Where is love, where is love and I could go

Your dissent
Your descent, I know
Your dissent
Your descent, I know I…

Dystopian Future Movies are:
Caroline Cawley – Guitar & Vocals
Bill Fisher – Drums
Rafe Dunn – Guitar
Marty Fisher: Bass Guitar

Dystopian Future Movies, War of the Ether (2022)

Dystopian Future Movies on Facebook

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Dystopian Future Movies on Bandcamp

Dystopian Future Movies webstore

Madrid-based instrumentalists Deriva will release their new four-song EP, Nona/Décima/Morta, on March 13 through LaRubia Producciones. The video for the previously-issued single “Aqua Vitae” premieres below, and as its low-lighting balletic undulations unfold amid ambient guitar ahead of the band diving into the 28-minute outing’s most outwardly crushing procession, so too there arrives a poem to set the mood. I’ve included it under hte video player in the original Spanish, and if you have the captions on as I always do because I’m old, you can see the English translation, which relates to the notion of sleep as a kind of death and dreams as visions we forget much as humans live entire lives in denial of mortality. As the band play through the song amid stark spotlights, a ceremonial-feeling cutting of ties, some light fetishism and arthouse mosh from dancer Miroslava Fernández, and so on, these ideas linger like a guided meditation and the music grows correspondingly more intense, the push that takes over following the midsection atmospheric break peppered with double-kick to add physicality to the surge.

Over the course of the outing, Deriva — who made their self-titled full-length debut in 2016, followed with the three-songers Haiku I and Haiku II in 2019 and 2021, respectively, and have apparently had this EP in the works for a while as opener “Ignis ex Cinere” was issued as a single in 2022 — apply metallic precision and progressivism to an atmospheric backdrop. “Ignis ex Cinere” gathers itself over its first minute-plus around jazzy drums from Rory Reagan and bass punch from Javier Justo before evening out to let the intertwining guitars of Javier “Muñi” Muñoz and Daniel “Minchi” Garea lead with tricky up-front float toward the next volume surge, which by the time they’re three minutes into the seven-and-a-half-minute cut, has peaked again in consuming style and dropped to guitar soon joined by violin in a momentarily serene, pastoral stretch, Reagan‘s toms returning to mark the beginning of the build in earnest, and they don’t tease the last payoff long before they’re in it because they don’t need to. A wailing solo over an intentionally angular, choppy closing section cuts out and “Aqua Vitae” arrives with a switch back to post-rocky airiness.

But again, the inevitable burst isn’t far off. Deriva work in volume trades throughout Nona/Décima/Morta — the title with similar flex in having multiple potential translations; I don’t know which is correct and I’d rather not embarrass myself by getting it wrong — but “Aqua Vitae” is both the shorted inclusion on the EP and the most metal, the clear, full production of Alex Cappa at Metropol Studios in Madrid allowing the impact of the kick drum to coexist with the guitar in the midsection break, which is also shorter than that of “Ignis ex Ciniere” and slams starkly at 3:10 into a hard-riffed wall of distortion. Establishing itself with declarative hits before shifting into the actual march that defines the procession for its remainder, “Aqua Vitae” turns corners you didn’t realize were there, a twist of lead guitar and emergent soloing matching the adrenaline of the drums, dark and majestic but not hopeless. It comes to a head and ends, Russian Circles-style, bringing the synthier landscape of “Lux Aeris” — Julio Martin is credited with contributing the synth — as a plotted line of guitar smooths the shift into the next heavy section.

The structural pattern becomes familiar, but Deriva do well in giving each of these four pieces its own character, whether that’s the headbang-fodder bounce of “Aqua Vitae” or the way each song has its movement from a subdued intro to a push of heavy progressive metal but does it a bit differently. Where “Aqua Vitae” can’t wait to dig into its crunch, “Lux Aeris” spreads out over the course of its start. There’s room — it’s the longest track at 8:29 — and they use it. The first two and a half minutes or so build up patiently and don’t so much suddenly ignite in full, distorted tone as draw a more complete line from one end to the other in that time, handing one part to the next, almost seamless. Intricate rhythmic jumps and tremolo guitar, so much organized chaos, persist over a central pattern of groove, and as with “Ignis ex Ciniere” and “Aqua Vitae,” they’ll finish loud, but getting there routes through a resonant, bright clearing, as the more all-at-once shove back to full-impact lurks in the background, never quite gone. In a suitable-enough meta-level manifestation of their aural back and forth, Nona/Décima/Morta also shifts between longer and shorter pieces in succession, “Mortuus Terra” rounds out by finding something of a middle ground between the two extremes of Deriva‘s sound.

I’m not sure if they intentionally paired “Lux Aeris” (‘the light of the air’) and “Mortuus Terra” (‘dead earth’) next to each other for any reason more than the fluidity with which the finale takes hold from the song before it, but given the level of consideration throughout in sound and presentation, I’d be willing to believe it. And “Mortuus Terra” is a build as well — ebbs and flows; that’s life — though it holds back its flood for longer than did “Lux Aeris,” and while it moves into cycles of guitar chug and low-end punctuating, tom runs and snare adding to the round-we-go vibe, lead guitar releases that tension in a way that’s about more than just clicking on this or that pedal, and once they hit thar stride, there’s no real going back. The single movement at the end feels like it’s underscoring the point, and all the more because its execution stands out from its three companions while being rooted in similar tones and atmospherics. A concept, extrapolated, that is emblematic of the sculptor’s care put into Deriva‘s craft and the effectiveness with which they immerse the listener in their dynamic.

It will ring familiar enough on first blush, but the deeper you go, the more you’ll find. I don’t know if the video is NSFW or not. Depends on where you work, I guess. Either way, if you need to click off the tab, the song is still there, and the Bandcamp player that will hold the full release is at the bottom by the links. I know you know. I kept the poem and recording info in Spanish. Minimal language barrier, appropriate to aesthetic and the band’s intent. You’ll be fine.

Enjoy:

Deriva, “Aqua Vitae” video premiere

“Los sueños son pequeñas muertes,
tramoyas, anticipos, simulacros de muerte,
el despertar en cambio nos parece,
una resurrección y por las dudas,
olvidamos cuanto antes lo soñado.
A pesar de sus fuegos, sus cavernas,
sus orgasmos, sus glorias, sus espantos.
Tal vez quiera decir que lo que ansiamos,
es olvidar la muerte,
apenas eso.”

“Aqua Vitae” Grabado en Metropol Studios con Alex Cappa 2023, en colaboración de Julio Martin a los sintetizadores.
Video producido por David AJ y protagonizado por Miroslava Fernández.

Grabado en Metropol Estudios Madrid por Alex Cappa

Deriva is an instrumental cinematic post-metal machine from Madrid, Spain. Deriva creates “movies for your ears” that encompass raw emotion ranging from melancholy and contemplation to rage and explosivity. From beginning to end of each composition, each note and phrase is meticulously rendered to perfection to create an emotive effect that draws attention and tells a story throughout the music. Each instrument weaves a delicate tapestry and is highly conversational amongst the instruments. As if in a heavy discussion, the guitars converse in a way that is both supportive and opposing of each other throughout the story. Like the microscopic intermingling layers of carbon fiber, the bass and drums create a rhythmically robust foundation that is both lightweight and extremely strong in which the guitars can float upon. Deriva is the Ennio Morricone, Danny Elfman, and Hans Zimmer of post-metal.

Tracklisting:
1. Ignis ex Ciniere (7:37)
2. Aqua Vitae (5:44)
3. Lux Aeris (8:29)
4. Mortuus Terra (6:30)

Deriva live:
Mar 21 Moby Dick Club Madrid, Spain
Mar 26 Bloc Glasgow, UK
Mar 27 Retro Manchester, UK
Mar 28 Little Buildings Newcastle Upon Tyne, UK
Mar 30 The Dev, Camden London, UK

Deriva are:
Javier Muñoz (Muñi) – Guitar
Rory Reagan – Drumms
Javier Justo – Bass
Daniel Garea (Minchi) – Guitar

Plus:
Alicia Nurho – Violin
Julio Martin – Synth

Deriva, NONA/DÉCIMA/MORTA EP (2024)

Deriva on Instagram

Deriva on Facebook

Deriva on Bandcamp

Deriva on Spotify

Deriva on YouTube

LaRubia Producciones on Instagram

LaRubia Producciones on Facebook

LaRubia Producciones on Bandcamp

LaRubia Producciones website

Oh, alright, I guess we can talk again about how much Howling Giant outdid themselves with this past Fall’s Glass Future (review here). It’s been about 10 minutes. The Nashville-based outfit appear in the photo above in their recently-announced four-piece incarnation, making it official with James Sanderson on guitar and vocals, who has contributed to their records and songwriting before — as well as, apparently, DM’ing — but their new video for “Juggernaut” still features them as the trio of guitarist/vocalist Tom Polzine, drummer/vocalist Zach Wheeler and bassist/vocalist Sebastian Baltes, who it would appear is also in charge of the hot sauce.

And of course Howling Giant have hot sauce. They had coffee at one point too (review here), so it’s only fair game for a band who so obviously put hot sauce in their coffee in order to obtain their particular melodic consciousness, poppy in a get-off-your-ass kind of way, Glass Future retains substance even in its showy style, with hook after hook after hook and a momentum not at all undercut by the fact that they’re also dynamic and not just doing the same thing all the time. Really, give me two seconds to put the record on and we could take the whole afternoon to talk about it even before we get to the persona on display in the songs manifest in the video as an infomercial for, duh, the hot sauce.

Casting puts Wheeler and Polzine as the salesmen, and with performance footage interspliced, they send up outdated notions of advertising and maybe even a bit themselves. After all, they’re making a joke of selling the hot sauce on tv and joking about torturing Baltes as a captive chef to eventually make it from… his… life force?, but I bet if you put yourself in front of the merch table on the band’s upcoming tour with The Obsessed and Gozu — both also with new records out, the former the most recent of them — that hot sauce will be there waiting for you. Not sure they’ll push it quite as vigorously as they do in the video, but that’s probably fine too.

As for the track itself, it joins Glass Future‘s title-track and “Aluminum Crown,” the clips for which you can see below, and if Howling Giant wanted to bang out three or four more videos before they move on from the record to whatever’s next, I’ll gladly post those too. Few bands who can write songs at their level either do or put the work in afterward to let people know about it as well as Howling Giant — also on their side is the fact that they’re fun but not dicks about it — who also toured Europe this past Fall in the company of Philadelphian labelmates Heavy Temple and will no doubt be headed back that way before too long.

Video’s below, tour dates under that. You know the drill. PR wire and such:

Howling Giant, “Juggernaut” official video

HOWLING GIANT dish out a jar full of spicy news today. First helping is a hot sauce-filled video clip for the yummy track ‘Juggernaut’ taken from the band’s current album “Glass Future”, released in October 2023 through Magnetic Eye Records (order at http://lnk.spkr.media/glass-future). Next on the menu is a tasty US tour in spring 2024 in support of THE OBSESSED, find all dates listed below!

HOWLING GIANT will embark on an extended US tour as direct support for THE OBSESSED in March and April this spring. The now quartet from Nashville, TN will hit the roads in support of their highly acclaimed current album “Glass Future”, which is also the official introductory round for new rhythm guitarist and backing vocalist James Sanderson.

HOWLING GIANT welcome their new member: “James started working with us while we were writing ‘Masamune’, helping break down lyrical barriers and working on song arrangements, and followers of our online shenanigans might recognize him as the Dungeon Master in our streamed D&D campaigns”, drummer and vocalist Zach Wheeler reveals. “We are stoked to welcome James officially into the Howling Giant fold, and can hardly wait to show off the four-piece fury that we’ll be bringing forth on our upcoming run with The Obsessed and Gozu. See you all on the road!”

HOWLING GIANT live US Spring 2024 + THE OBSESSED +GOZU
13 MAR 2024 Philadelphia, PA (US) Milk Boy
14 MAR 2024 Baltimore, MD (US) Metro Gallery
15 MAR 2024 Richmond, VA (US) Cobra Cabana
16 MAR 2024 Wilmington, NC (US) Reggie’s 42nd Street Tavern
17 MAR 2024 Asheville, NC (US) The Odd
19 MAR 2024 Atlanta, GA (US) Boggs Social & Supply
20 MAR 2024 New Orleans, LA (US) Siberia
22 MAR 2024 Fort Worth, TX (US) Tulips
23 MAR 2024 Austin, TX (US) The Lost Well
25 MAR 2024 Albuquerque, NM (US) Launchpad
26 MAR 2024 Mesa, AZ (US) The Nile Underground
27 MAR 2024 Los Angeles, CA (US) Resident
28 MAR 2024 Palmdale, CA (US) Transplants Brewing
29 MAR 2024 San Diego, CA (US) Brick By Brick
30 MAR 2024 Las Vegas, NV (US) The Usual Place
31 MAR 2024 Salt Lake City, UT (US) Aces High Saloon
01 APR 2024 Denver, CO (US) Hi-Dive
03 APR 2024 Chicago, IL (US) Reggies
04 APR 2024 Lakewood, OH (US) The Foundry
05 APR 2024 New Kensington, PA (US) Preserving Underground
06 APR 2024 Rochester, NY (US) Montage Music Hall
07 APR 2024 Brattleboro, VT (US) The Stone Church
09 APR 2024 Cambridge, MA (US) Sonia
10 APR 2024 Portland, ME (US) Geno’s Rock Club
11 APR 2024 Hamden, CT (US) Space Ballroom
12 APR 2024 Brooklyn, NY (US) The Meadows

Recording line-up
Tom Polzine – guitar, vocals
Zach Wheeler – drums, vocals
Sebastian Baltes – bass, vocals

Guest musicians
Drew David Harakal II – organ, piano, synths
James Sanderson – additional vocals on ‘Siren Song’, ‘Hawk in a Hurricane’, and ‘There’s Time Now’

Current line-up
Tom Polzine – guitar, vocals
Zach Wheeler – drums, vocals
Sebastian Baltes – bass, vocals
James Sanderson – rhythm guitar, backing vocals

Howling Giant, “Glass Future” official video

Howling Giant, “Aluminum Crown” official video

Howling Giant, Glass Future (2023)

Howling Giant on Facebook

Howling Giant on Instagram

Howling Giant on Bandcamp

Blues Funeral Recordings on Facebook

Blues Funeral Recordings on Instagram

Blues Funeral Recordings on Bandcamp

Blues Funeral Recordings website

My general tendency when it comes to the original era of Black Sabbath, from their 1970 self-titled debut (discussed here) up through 1978’s Never Say Die!, is to break the total of eight LPs into three groups:

The first three albums are one group. They represent the transition from hard blues to heavy rock and the codifying of dark atmospheres from cult folk and psychedelia into something new and the foundation of Black Sabbath‘s sound. Black Sabbath, its same-year follow-up Paranoid (discussed here) and 1971’s Master of Reality (discussed here) all happened within about 17 months of each other, and the shock waves of their impact are still rippling out more than five decades later. They are superlative within heavy music. Arguably the founding principles thereof.

Vol. 4, its iconic and oft-imitated cover art with Keith McMillan‘s photo of Ozzy Osbourne conveying the excitement of the band on stage brought to the studio, is the start of the second group, which is comprised of it and the two records that followed, while the last two from the original lineup make up the third. Appropriately titled Black Sabbath Vol. 4, it the first LP that Osbourne, Tony Iommi, Geezer Butler and Bill Ward would release at more than a year’s remove from the one before it, and the first record without the involvement of producer Rodger Bain. Patrick Meehan, who also managed the band until 1975, produced Vol. 4 with engineers Vic Coopersmith-Heaven and Colin Caldwell, and the band have said in their sundry autobiographies and elsewhere that they consider it self-produced, which is believable as well given that the 10-song/42-minute album began an expansion of styles and ideas that would continue through the end of Sabbath‘s initial run.

And that expansion feels natural coming to fruition in new sounds. Black Sabbath didn’t happen in a vacuum, and you could spend a lifetime exploring the heavy rock of what RidingEasy Records‘ Brown Acid compilation series calls ‘The Comedown Era,’ loosely from about 1968-1975. Some of Led Zeppelin‘s countryside pastoralism would show itself on Vol. 4 in “St. Vitus Dance” or perhaps under the thicker lumber of “Cornucopia,” and “Tomorrow’s Dream” has a radio-friendly melody in the guitar and vocals in a way that feels far removed from the bleak visions wrought the year before in “Children of the Grave,” though that song finds a spiritual successor in Vol. 4 closer “Under the Sun,” which on some North American pressing or other would gain a subtitle to become “Under the Sun/Every Day Comes and Goes.”

Various editions jumble the tracklisting as well, either putting the oh-so-relevant cocaine anthem “Snowblind” — which is to “Sweet Leaf” what “Under the Sun” is to “Children of the Grave,” an extrapolation along a similar path, this one of harder drug use — first instead of the eight-minute original-pressing opener and longest track (immediate points) “Wheels of Confusion,” which remains one of the original Black Sabbath‘s most dynamic compositions, with its flowing, drawn-sounding intro giving over to a more active nod, finding sunshine between the clouds in its still-melancholic lovelorn verses before turning to a jammy bridge and bursting out as it approaches the halfway point led by a crunching riff from Iommi and going back to the verse before another stark transition leads to another sometimes-subtitled solo section, “The Straightener,” atop which the shred is duly winding and for which Butler adds 12-string guitar. It allows itself to give the impression of a jumble, of confusion, without giving up its momentum, and lets “Tomorrow’s Dream” come through as more straightforward and almost optimistic in its shove and lyrical resolve.

Adventurous in its inclusion of Mellotron on the acoustic-led side B interlude “Laguna Sunrise” and the druggy tossoff experimentation guitar noise of “FX,” Vol. 4 finds its greatest charge in “Supernaut,” which heralds accomplishments to come across 1973’s Sabbath Bloody Sabbath and 1975’s Sabotage in songs like “Sabbra Cadabra” and “Hole in the Sky” and represents the emergent command Black Sabbath had over their songwriting and the way that particular version of riff-led mid-tempo heavy could be a foundation they’d return to again and again as the work around it grew more complex. “Supernaut,” with its punches of bass, percussion break and landmark riff, has a force behind its movement that in the next few years and the decades that have followed since would become an essential tenet of metal, and its electricity is all the more crackling after the empty spaces of “FX” and the shift out of “Changes” just before.

And of that famously, in-many-ways-rightly maligned ballad, I’ll note that I almost never skip tracks as a policy. You take the bad with the good. But when I put on Vol. 4, if I can reach the button I’ll bypass “Changes” every time. I’ll even listen to “FX” after rather than go right into “Supernaut,” but not “Changes” if I can help it. The lyrics take the plainspokenness that made “War Pigs” so devastating and attempt to turn saccharine cliché into some kind of emotionality ring hollow, and though Vol. 4 remains one of heavy music’s most essential albums, its place on any such list or in any such canon is asterisked in my estimation with “Changes” marring side A. On a critical level, the arrangement of guitar, piano and Mellotron are another example of Black Sabbath reaching into new sonic elements — they’d mellowed before, certainly, but put “Changes” next to “Solitude” from Master of Reality and the shift in intention is clear — but I’ve never been able to take those first lines “I feel unhappy/I feel so sad” seriously, and it undoes the whole thing, pulls me right out of the groove of the album in a way that I very much don’t want to be after “Tomorrow’s Dream.” I listened through “Changes” twice ahead of writing this, and it was a genuine effort. You’re welcome.

Obviously, Black Sabbath would endure despite that perceived misstep — and “Changes” has its champions as well — and as noted, Vol. 4 is among the most revered heavy albums of all time. No argument. They were back on the road in the US shortly after finishing the recording and shared the stage with Humble Pie, Gentle Giant, Groundhogs, Black Oak Arkansas, Wishbone Ash and Blue Öyster Cult ahead of the release, and tour Australia and New Zealand early in 1973 and Europe and the UK that Spring. By the time it was two months old, Vol. 4 moved enough units to get a Gold Record, but the band would cancel their April 1973 US run, and it would be another full year and then some before the arrival of Sabbath Bloody Sabbath. People probably thought they were done.

By virtue of existing, Vol. 4 is an essential piece of the Black Sabbath catalog, but what makes it special even among Sabbath offerings is the evolution that was beginning to take hold in their approach, and if Master of Reality perfected the dark, heavy impulses shown through the first two albums before it, these songs are a forward step onto new ground and in no small way would define the course of Black Sabbath‘s next four releases.

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

—

Quarterly Review this week was some labor. Wednesday, which was my busiest day (was posted yesterday), was particularly tough, not because of the music or anything, just the crush of other life aspects beyond the 10 records being written about that day. Nothing I’m sure that most humans wouldn’t be able to handle without feeling like their brain’s on fire, but yeah. Kid was pukey sick all last weekend — from Friday night on — through like Tuesday, and is still a little digestively wobbly. I’ve been trying to chase vomit smells to their source all week.

It’s about 10:30AM now. The QR was finished yesterday. This morning I was up at 4:15 and spent the next 45 minutes in and out of consciousness ahead of the alarm. At least I was ready to get up by the time I did. Plugged away on Vol. 4 till the kid got up, then did that routine, and after dropoff, The Patient Mrs. and I volunteered taking down the school book fair and whatnot. I’m awkward. That’s the moral of the story. Around normal people, I absolutely wilt. If I could physically shrink myself, I would. At one point, I said I was going to go sit in the car with the dog.

I don’t know what the weekend looks like. On the potential docket are driving to Connecticut tomorrow to see family — generally pleasant but not a minor or particularly relaxing day — and maybe going to the Nintendo store in NYC, as we’re currently wrapping up Tears of the Kingdom after putting in over 810 hours playing as a family with the three of us. It’s a big deal. I invited my mom to come watch us fight Ganon. I’ve got three pristine Gerudo Claymores ready to go. 130-plus Big Hearty Radishes! 600 Bomb Flowers! I’m dying to write about the game but probably won’t ever have time.

So maybe that’ll happen, maybe not. Sunday I’m interviewing the dudes from Apostle of Solitude about their 20th anniversary and it’s Author and Punisher in Brooklyn, which I said I want to see and do — not the least with Morne opening — but probably won’t because getting my ass into New York is pretty tough these days.

Whatever you’re up to, I hope you have a great and safe weekend. Have fun, watch your head, hydrate. I’m gonna go have an egg sandwich (thanks to The Patient Mrs.) and try to do some Duolingo before school’s out. Next week is full front to back. So’s the week after, actually. No substitute for keeping busy.

FRM.

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The quintessential third record. With the July 1971 release of Master of Reality (also discussed here), Black Sabbath further refined the dark, brooding aggression of Paranoid (discussed here) and the riff-following bad-trip hard acid blues of the self-titled (discussed here) to become something even more their own. More than five decades after the fact, the influence of the eight-song/34-minute LP continues to spread to new players, fans and underground culture at large, and it will probably never surpass Paranoid in sales, but there has been nothing made in the last 40-plus years that doom has been a genre primarily in Master of Reality‘s wake that has not been either directly or indirectly touched by its machinations. If you add pivotal opening track “Sweet Leaf” — which swapped out the storm and siren that began their first two records for a repeated cough counting into the riff in a way that’s become no less iconic, and was by no means the first rock song about marijuana but was perhaps the first to sound so hypnotically thick in tone — as a founding moment of all things stoner in heavy music, that reach goes even further.

It was their third go with producer Rodger Bain, who was then on-staff at Vertigo Records and would produce records for Troggs, Budgie, Arthur Brown and helm Judas Priest‘s undervalued Rocka Rolla before the 1970s were done, and clearly lessons had been learned over the past year. Black Sabbath both sharpened and filled out their attack to a degree that makes it difficult to avoid hyperbole in talking about it. Like either of its predecessors, it is arguable as the pinnacle of heavy music full-length recording in the 60-plus years that such a thing might have existed, and whether it’s “Lord of This World” speaking to economic and social inequalities, “Children of the Grave” chugging out a resistant surge, “After Forever” with its worshipful lyrics by drummer Bill Ward inadvertently inventing Christian metal, or the the soft-delivered quiet melancholia of “Solitude” before the escape-the-apocalypse envisioned in “Into the Void” — “Pollution kills the air, land and sea/Man prepares to meet his destiny” — as a wretched Earth is left behind in favor of a new planet where refugees might, “Make a home where love is there to stay/Peace and happiness in every day,” it is a landmark in performance, structure, atmosphere and purpose. Even the cover font gets ripped off. Rightly so.

At the core of the band’s craft, as ever, is Tony Iommi‘s guitar, and in Master of Reality, the boogie of “Rat Salad” that provided a side-step from Paranoid‘s harder fare becomes instead a showcase of more progressive ambitions that in some ways Iommi would struggle to make a part of Black Sabbath for the band’s entire career — and one could go on about the band’s working class background in Birmingham, England, as part of that; it comes up a bit in the 2010 Classic Albums: Paranoid documentary (review here) that was part of the VH1 series — with a showy mastery in his soloing throughout, as well as the interlude “Embryo” and side B intro “Orchid.”

At just 28 seconds and 1:31, respectively, they’re of course not as much a focal point as “Sweet Leaf” or “Into the Void,” etc., but the angular, off-sounding electric guitar strum of “Embryo” makes what might’ve been a tape-rolling toss-off into a landmark contrast as the brief gestation births “Children of the Grave” with an impact given additional force by the tense but obviously more subdued lead-in. And “Orchid” laid claim to both acoustic work and classical stylings as within Black Sabbath‘s sphere. From front to back, Master of Reality presents a more professional incarnation of Black Sabbath — still with the Iommi, Ward, Ozzy Osbourne, Geezer Butler lineup and just a year after their first LP, mind you — who are more directed and purposefully denser in tone, who know what they want their songs to do and to sound like, and who are growing creatively.

The four-piece had toured diligently between 1970 and 1971 in the UK, continental Europe, and the US, taken on new management later in 1970 and as the tour wound down, both Paranoid and Black Sabbath went gold in US sales, so Black Sabbath were no longer an obscure, not-from-London band with druggy, sad-sounding songs. Their music had begun to speak to an audience, and as the third album, Master of Reality is a realization and an arrival in ways that would help define the band across the decades that followed. In its divergences as well as its most intense stretches, it pushed further than the band had yet gone into their persona, and to call it classic is in some ways laughable because its relevance is so enduring. Every single day, Master of Reality continues to have an effect on heavy music. Entire genre ecosystems thrive in the crater it left behind.

The way “Children of the Grave” and “Into the Void” anchor its sides, the way “Solitude” took the mellow-psych of “Planet Caravan” to a place of genuine emotional resonance, or how “Lord of This World” hit the economic angle in answer to “War Pigs,” or the maybe-drugs-are-the-answer-to-all-this-disillusion attitude of “Sweet Leaf” and the confidence with which Master of Reality directly addresses its audience throughout — all of this and more that had been lurking in Black Sabbath‘s approach across the year prior came to fruition here, and the result is a singular, unique achievement.

I don’t believe in gods, but Master of Reality in my mind represents an ideal of the ‘higher power’ that can be reached through creative collaboration. I offer it as nothing less than a reason to feel lucky to be alive at this time in human history and a remedy for troubled souls. Putting it on feels like going home, and while much of it is grim in theme, there is a warmth in its presentation that’s like nothing Black Sabbath would ever do again. If that’s hindsight perspective, informed maybe by the massive influence the album and band have had since, a fan speaking to fans, preaching to the converted, whatever? Good. That’s the point. If perhaps you never have, open your heart and let these songs in. Your life will be better for it.

Thanks for reading.

—

Friday. Okay. Gotta get through the morning. Gotta get the kid fed, medded up, dropped off at school, then I’m home, finish posting, start setup for the Quarterly Review, hit the grocery store, blah blah. I woke up at 3:15AM. I figure maybe noon’ll be fuckoff time if I’m reasonably efficient? Very much looking forward to that.

She — the kid — has been on methylphenidate now for ADHD since December. It’s been a pretty remarkable turnaround at school from everything we’ve heard, which is great. The comedown at home is hard — it’s a whole thing with these drugs, apparently — but I’ll take the hit(s) for her to be successful elsewhere. I don’t think she’ll ever be an easygoing, cooperative kid, but I’m not easygoing or particularly cooperative either. Generally I’m a fucking prick to everybody without meaning to be and I feel terrible about it after the fact. So I’ll say she comes by it honestly and we’ll book some social skills classes at some point so she can learn why to say hello back to her classmates when they talk to her. That usually just gets the spit swished in her mouth. Kid is brutal.

The delivery method of the meds is kind of a quandary. She and The Patient Mrs. both have notably sensitive skin, and while slapping a patch on The Pecan’s lower back was working for a while, it’s been a week now and the itchy and plainly uncomfortable — though she’d just about never admit that out loud — is still there, which says to me finding another way was the right call. It’s fading, needs more lotion, etc. But what we’ve got instead are capsules with the medication in them that I’ve been opening up and putting in the morning yogurt that’s usually what she eats before a breakfast of cinnamon toast, apple, banana, strawberries if we have them. The dilemma is she doesn’t know I’m putting that in there.

Am I really supposed to be drugging my six-year-old daughter without her awareness? Does she not have rights as an individual? Isn’t it part of my job as a parent to build trust? How am I supposed to do that if I’m lying by concealment? The kid already tells me in so many words to fuck myself daily in any number of regards. I think I might deserve it more for this even than for suggesting she go to the bathroom when it’s been six hours and she needs to so badly she can’t sit still.

But here’s the rub: she might never eat yogurt again. She doesn’t eat meat, fish, beans, eggs, any of it. She eats cheese, but currently only Muenster and only sliced into small cubes. If I make some, every now and then I can get her to take a couple bites of almond/pecan butter, but that’s never a guarantee. Nutritionally, there’s a lot hinging on that yogurt. She is adamant about not trying new foods. Hard no. She did pasta for a while with butter, but it was basically just calories to get through an afternoon, and it didn’t last. And it turns out since it’s not the ’80s anymore you can’t just shove things in a kid’s mouth. It’s that whole autonomy thing again. Wildly inconvenient, that.

I don’t have a choice but to tell her. I’ll say we tried it this week and if it was okay with her we’ll keep going. My hope is that if I can convince her it’s a plan that’s already worked it’ll be easier for her to get past that initial wall of opposition into which just about any new idea or task is bound to slam, it’ll be easier for her to see that it’s alright, that it doesn’t make the yogurt taste funny, that it’s helping and that it doesn’t need to change. I’m trying to help, but I feel a very specific rot in my mind for this one. She deserves to know and deserve has nothing to actually do with it since it’s a basic human right.

How would I feel if some strange man put a drug in her food without her knowing it? How do I feel about being that man, even if my intentions are arguable as good and the results are positive across multiple levels? Ends justifying means? Am I right to compromise my values to support her success? Or am I teaching her that even the people she’s supposed to trust the most will betray that trust? Am I taking one for the team here or is it just easier for me to deal with getting the medication in her if she doesn’t know it’s happening? And does the fact that she’s six and not really able to make responsible judgments for herself at this point play in at all? Beyond the decision to medicate her in the first place — about which I have feelings, to say the least, mitigated though they are by the to-date outcome — is this even my jurisdiction?

So I guess telling her is my goal for Saturday morning. I’ll say we tried it this week and if it’s okay with her we’ll keep it going and if not we’ll find another way. But is she going to look at her yogurt every day now and wonder if it’s drugged? Or is she going to refuse the yogurt outright because that’s who she is, write it off entirely and lose a cornerstone of her daily intake with nothing on the horizon to replace it?

Guess we’ll find out.

As always, I thank you for reading and for your time. Have a great and safe weekend. Don’t forget to hydrate, watch your head, all that stuff. Quarterly Review starts Monday. I can’t wait to be stressed out all week and behind on news posts, which I already am. Rock and roll.

FRM.

[EDIT 10:37AM: So after writing the above, I decided there was no point in delaying until tomorrow to tell her; it wouldn’t make my case any stronger anyhow. I said that this week I’d been putting her medicine in her yogurt instead of doing the patch, and if it was okay we’d keep doing it. She was headed toward no, but we were able to sort of steer that back around to realizing it’s not a big deal and she ate the yogurt this morning knowing that the meds were in it. I feel better about it, and I’m really, really glad I don’t need a new primary source of protein for my kid. Sometimes you roll the dice and come out alright. I acknowledge I got away with one here, and for what it’s worth, I’m still not really okay with how I went about it. I’d say next time I’ll do differently, like I learned a moral lesson or something, but real life makes jokes of those promises and a moment’s need can eclipse bigger-picture concerns. I will continue to try my best to do right by my kid for as long as I am able.]

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Just when you think you’ve got “02Kid” figured out, that’s when the keyboard hits. The first time I heard it, I thought a song started playing in a different browser tab or something, but no, it’s there, and as the emergently amorphous Buenos Aires-based outfit headed by Sergio Chotsourian (aka Sergio Ch.) move on from their 2023 fifth LP, La Rendición Del Hombre (review here), the new song comes coupled with word of a re-revamped lineup that brings Gaston Gullo to the drummer role and finds Chotsourian on bass and vocals alone, where the album also featured his work on guitar.

Change is nothing new for Ararat, and if you count the violin added to La Rendición Del Hombre by Federico Terranova or 2022’s Volumen IV (review here), this isn’t their first time as a duo either. As Chotsourian‘s post-Los Natas oeuvre has grown more experimental, from his acoustic-rooted solo work to varied projects like Ararat, Brno, Soldati, and so on, it’s not really a surprise to see that show up in Ararat‘s sound as it arguably has since their 2009 debut, Musica de la Resistencia (review here) — though that creative reach has gotten broader — but what is new here is the shape that takes. Stripped to its barest parts in bass and drums, much of “02Kid” feels like a rehearsal demo that effectively resets the band. They’ve gone to ground, aurally speaking.

But that’s fair enough too when the context is so open. That is to say, Chotsourian has covered a lot of ground with Ararat, from some of his heaviest, most doomed work to-date to the rawer rumble of Volumen IV, which feels relevant here in terms of the bass/drums construction of the band and a similar focus on low end and nod at the foundation. As to how “02Kid” might speak to what to expect from Ararat going forward, I won’t hazard a guess. It could be “02Kid” is part of an album already in the can — it would make a great candidate for the second of however many tracks included — or it could be a one-off to test out the chemistry of the Chotsourian/Gullo collaboration. All I know is it’s five minutes of new Ararat, there’s a video, and you’ll find it below.

It’s wait and see beyond that, but Chotsourian is prolific enough that it never seems egregiously long to find out where he’s headed next. Until then, enjoy:

Ararat, “02Kid” official video

VIDEO OFICIAL DEL NUEVO SINGLE DE ARARAT – 02KID
PRODUCIDO POR SERGIO CH.
VIDEO REALIZADO POR SERGIO CH.

SERGIO CH. – BASS & VOCALS
GASTON GULLO – BATERIA

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First, slow down.

I’ll spare you the diatribe about how fast life moves these days because you already know. My advice, coming from a place of friendship, is before you dig into the video premiering below, do whatever you gotta do to inject a little calm into the moment. Deep breathing is a decent go-to. I often pause to take a drink of water if I’m feeling tense, frustrated, or just need to reset my brainvoice a little bit. If you want to step out and do a j, you can keep reading on your phone. But take a second to adjust the headspace before “Hunted” starts and I think you’ll be in a better position to appreciate it. Again, friendly advice.

Baltimorean folk-infused heavy psychedelic explorers Holy Fingers released their third album, titled Holy Fingers III — or maybe just III (review here) if you’re feeling casual — in the earliest, still-solstice-dark hours of 2024. It was the first review I did this year, and that was very much on purpose. After an algorithmic fluke on a now-subsumed social media platform put their stuff in front of my face — what used to be called a ‘chance encounter’ — I had spent some stay-indoors time circa 2021 with their second record, II (discussed here) and last April, in getting to see them live for the first and hopefully not last time, it confirmed in my head the anticipation for what would come next. Sure enough, III righteously finds connections between post-rock, heavy bluesy psych, folk pastoralism and command, and a progressive songwriting mindset. In atmosphere and hooks, vibe and structure, it delivers. I waited months to review it, but knew it was how I wanted to launch the New Year last month.

It’s not where the hype is at, I’m kind of sorry to say, but as it sometimes goes with that kind of thing, the ears with which it resonates will perhaps feel it more deeply for that as something to be treasured. If you haven’t heard it yet — and if not, that’s cool; it’s been out for a month, not three years; don’t let the internet make you feel like you’re behind on a thing — the full Bandcamp stream is included below so you can get a sense of how “Hunted” fits on the album. Following the fuzzy roll of “Blood Red Sun” and the open-strum and rhythmic sway of “Bring Me the Beasts” on side A, its throbbing groove is particularly tense, bringing the reverbed breadth of Ides of Gemini-style post-heavy to bear in deceptively forceful repetitions of the title in its chorus. Consistent in ambience and general sound, it follows its own path, and is a standout highlight instead of an awkward fit.

Holy Fingers III is the band’s second album in their current configuration and the places it explores speak to subconscious familiarity, something primal but not necessarily in an aggressive way. I could go on here, but I’d rather not keep you from the clip itself if you’re still reading. “Hunted” uses practical effects by Josh James of Rainbow Death Cult to create a visually atmospheric complement to the song. It is not AI — since that apparently needs to be said this week — and like the track itself, it shows its humanity in its intricacies and finer details while reaching into the abstract, or ethereal, if you prefer, for expression. This won’t hit with everyone, but it is my sincere hope that someone reading this loves it, and maybe that’s you.

Did you slow down? Good, because they’re gonna build back up a bit. Here goes:

Holy Fingers, “Hunted” video premiere

Hunted from Holy Fingers III available now on all streaming platforms. Vinyl preorders at holyfingers.bandcamp.com.

Video by Josh James | Rainbow Death Cult

‘III’ Recorded and mixed by Kevin Bernsten at Developing Nations Recording Studio, Baltimore, MD
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Mastered by Brian McTernan at Salad Days Studio
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Holy Fingers are Tracey Buchanan, Dave Cannon, Theron Melchior and Josh Weiss.

Holy Fingers, Holy Fingers III (2024)

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