Add up all the various limited editions — 50 on purple vinyl, 50 green, 100 purple/gold marble, 120 black, 30 gold/black marble — and Swedish psych traditionalists Dean Allen Foyd‘s new single on H42 Records is still pretty limited with just 350 copies pressed. Some versions are exclusive to different mailorders, and the Australian edition (the gold/black marble) has tweaked cover art, but at the heart of Sunshine Song b/w Devil’s Path are the two songs themselves, and from whatever color platter they might emanate, they find the Stockholm four-piece proffering a charming blend of garage-pop-rock boogie and heavy psychedelic flourish. Comprised here of guitarist/vocalist Francis Rencoret, bassist Fredrik Cronsten, drummer/vocalist Wille Alin and organist/vocalist Erik “Errka” Petersson, as well as guest spots on guitar and a string quartet, Dean Allen Foyd seem most geared to the beginning moments of the psychedelic era — the heavy that was pre-heavy; more Beefheart than Leaf Hound — and it’s an aesthetic they convey naturally, having honed their craft across two full-lengths to date, 2012’s The Sounds Can be So Cruel and 2013’s Road to Atlas, both on Crusher Records.

“Sunshine Song” is a fittingly classic A-side, both in its construction and its sound. It moves and grooves over a solid rhythmic foundation bolstered by added percussion and tosses out hooks in its verse and chorus given all the more flair via tambourine and the freakout waiting to surface. Dean Allen Foyd never go full-force into the jam, but neither would I call them restrained on “Sunshine Song.” They keep a 1967/1968-style pop sensibility to the first half of the single, if one meatier in its tonality, but still come across less stylistically retro than, say, Germany’s Vibravoid, for whom color-tinted glasses and striped pants seem to be a religion. Nothing against that, and it’s worth noting that Dean Allen Foyd and H42 released Sunshine Song to coincide with the anniversary of Syd Barrett‘s death, but there’s still something inescapably modern about their approach, and all the more on “Devil’s Path,” which even as it seems to be nodding at The Doobie Brothers‘ “Long Train Running” does so with guitar tone thicker than one finds from most “vintage”-minded acts, classic though the handclap timekeeping and direction of the song itself might be, leads swelling and receding in the background of the chorus before taking the fore about halfway through underscored by a bassline worthy of being higher in the mix than it is.

Both sides of Sunshine Song seem to be working in a building structure, but the apex of “Devil’s Path” comes across clearer than “Sunshine Song” itself, though a fadeout and the constraint of the format invariably cut short what was a continuing progression. I’d be interested to hear the longer version of the track if there is one, but even as it is here, “Devil’s Path” satisfies both as a complement to “Sunshine Song” and on its own merits. Totaling about nine minutes, Sunshine Song is an unpretentious jaunt into the roots of psychedelic rock that keeps just an edge of modern heaviness to remind listeners to what age it actually belongs. With its foldout artwork sleeve and quick runthrough, if it’s to be your first experience with the band, it should prove an engaging one that speaks to spacious places without getting lost in them.

Dean Allen Foyd, “Sunshine Song”

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Sunshine Song at H42 Records

The swing and analog garage fuzz of Ragged Barracudas‘ debut 7″ are immediate. Putting on “Living the Dream,” the A-side, is like unearthing a relic. Something you stumbled on from the stage just before punk became punk, when rock was heavy without realizing it, and the drugs were friendly but the vibe still a touch dangerous. They’re a modern trio from Germany, and you’d be right if you called them retro, but Ragged Barracudas sidestep most of the tropes and Sabbath/Graveyard-isms of the modern European throwback movement in favor of an acid rock sound more obscure, and ultimately, more original. Vocals and drums are blown out and the bass and guitar — layered in the first quick solo part — are warmly toned and more or less daring your stereo system to be older, but drummer/vocalist Christian Dräger, guitarist Janik Ruß and bassist Tom Weiten show off something of a jammy sensibility as well, both in the later stretches of “Living the Dream” and deeper into side B’s “Cheap Allure/Motor Jam.”

Pressed in an edition of 600 black-vinyl copies and released through an assortment of labels that includes Unholy Anarchy, Cardinal Fuzz, At War with False Noise, and Who Can You Trust? Records, the 7″ really gets down and dirty on the B-side. Listening to the record — that is, the physical version — I couldn’t even tell where “Cheap Allure” ended and “Motor Jam” started, but it became clear with the stream on Who Can You Trust?‘s Bandcamp. “Cheap Allure” slows down some of the jet-engine stutter in the main riff of “Living the Dream,” but is catchy in a subtler way and, with a stop preceding an instrumental finale, puts its boogie tradeoffs into a different perspective — just because you see the shuffle coming doesn’t mean you don’t still want to get down. Ruß trips out a psychedelic soul-o and Dräger holds back on vocals to dedicate himself more fully to the forward drive, which stomps to a finish before “Motor Jam” announces its arrival proper with dueling layers of ultra-buzzsaw riff fuzz with some sweet low end buried underneath. That part of the B-side is less than two minutes long, but I’d have been fine if Ragged Barracudas had filled the whole side with it. That’s not to take away from “Cheap Allure,” which most definitely lives up to its title, just to say that “Motor Jam” — named for the Netherlands’ Motorwolf Studios in Den Haag, where the single was recorded — gets locked in during its short runtime and sounds like the band could’ve easily carried that vibe further.

They don’t, however, and ultimately, “Living the Dream and “Cheap Allure/Motor Jam” conk out after 11 minutes or so of raw righteousness. Probably best for Ragged Barracudas to keep it short, since the classic spirit they’re going for — and, I’d argue, attain — did likewise, but I’d be interested to hear how they manage over the course of a longer release, even if it’s just a 10″ EP, and if their analog-worship holds up as their methods expand. For now, and for this single, the simpler they go, the better off they are, and in capturing a raw, heavy, proto-punk sound, Dräger, Ruß and Weiten show that there’s room for nuance both in primitivism and in traditional structures. Bonus points for the killer Adam Burke cover art.

Ragged Barracudas, “Living the Dream” b/w “Cheap Allure/Motor Jam” (2014)

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Ragged Barracudas at Who Can You Trust?’s Bandcamp

Nearly two years on from its initial self-issued CD version, Curse the Son‘s Psychache has gotten the release it deserves. In the capable hands of STB Records, the Connecticut trio’s Psychache (review here) has been pressed in three separate editions — a standard of 125 copies in gatefold with tri-color vinyl, an OBI strip edition limited to 100 with clear/black vinyl and a blood red splatter, a die hard edition limited to 75 with both the bone-grey and clear/black vinyl and the splatter, and a test press version — and as ever for the NJ-based imprint, the focus seems to be on reverence. Reverence for the music, for the form and, in this case, for an album that feels a long time in arriving.

From the opening riffs of “Goodbye Henry Anslinger,” Curse the Son‘s weedian roll finds a stylistic match in many other acts in all but quality. Guitarist/vocalist Ron Vanacore leads the charge with molasses tone — my stereo system never seems to have enough low end; Psychache is cavernous and warrants all it can get — and bassist Richard “Cheech” Weeden and drummer Mike Petrucci (now also of Lord Fowl) enact a stonerly nod that remains one of the best the last couple years have seen. As a reissue, I’m glad to have the chance to experience the album again, but as the first vinyl pressing, I also feel like I’m finally hearing Psychache the way the band intended, with the side split coming after the title-track and before the interlude “Valium For?,” creating a side A comprised of massive, catchy hooks in “Goodbye Henry Anslinger,” “Spider Stole the Weed” and “Psychache” and a side B that immediately delves further into the lysergic with “Valium For?” before slipping into the slower “Somatizator” and closing out with “The Negative Ion,” which opens ambient and then explodes into a thunderously plodding finish, Vanacore‘s voice a Sabbathian echo over the doomly churning.

At Stoner Hands of Doom XII in Sept. 2012 (review here), Vanacore handed me a CD in a plastic clamshell case of the mastered version of Psychache. I remember putting it on that night on my way back to where I was staying in Connecticut, and I’ve done the same many late nights since. Also afternoons, and pretty much whenever. This is an album I’ve lived with for two years, and aside from being gratified to see it get its due, I’m glad to have a new form in which to experience it. It’s one thing to know a record has two halves and another to actually have to get up and flip it over. That changes the personality of the listening experience, and after putting Psychache on so many times either with that CD or the digital version — they’ve intermittently made it available as a free download on Bandcamp — it’s somewhat jarring to have the raucous end of the title-track not give way immediately to “Valium For?,” but it works. The languid shuffle of “Spider Stole the Weed” finds a counterpoint in the more severe declension of “Somatizator,” and “Goodbye Henry Anslinger” and “The Negative Ion” feel even more complementary as the bookends between which the course of the release takes place, the righteous stomp of the closer coming across that much sweeter with the needle returning afterwards, as if there’s nothing more to say.

For some who picked up or who will pick it up, the vinyl version is their first experience of Psychache, and that seems like an advantage, since clearly this is how Curse the Son have wanted it to be heard all along. From my perspective, I’ll say that there aren’t a lot of records that, two years later, I’m still going to have such appreciation for seeing them show up again — opening the gatefold and seeing the live shot of the band, it looks like a classic — but Psychache was something special that first night I put it on and it remains something special now. My only hope is that, with this out, Vanacore, Weeden and Petrucci can get to work on their third album and be able to capitalize on what can only be considered the unmitigated success of Psychache. They remain an underrated band, but obviously the word is spreading, and if you’re fortunate enough to get a copy of the STB vinyl before it’s completely sold out, you’re likely to find it an endeavor worth revisiting.

Curse the Son, “Spider Stole the Weed” official video

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Curse the Son on Bandcamp

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On their debut EP, Progenitor, Scottish four-piece Dune successfully meld the varying impulses of metal and desert rock, creating a sound both vast and ambient that shifts smoothly into movements of big-toned crunching aggression. The resulting tracks are not quite stoner metal, which would seem to imply a Sleep influence — there isn’t one here — but a kind of desert metal which finds its variety furthered through the liberal implementation of interludes, particularly on side A of the transparent red, limited-to-300-copies Wasted State Records 12″ vinyl. Out digitally in December 2013 before this June 2014 pressing, it is a short release, topping out at just over 29 minutes, but in that time Dune showcase not only stylistic nuance, but a commitment to standing out in the vinyl form as well, both through the packaging, thick stock and including a liner the aesthetic of which matches the band’s sci-fi thematic, and through the curious division of the interlude “Pillars of Eternity” between the end of side A and the start of side B.

“Pillars of Eternity” is one of three included instrumentals on Progenitor, the other two being the intro, “Gravity Signal,” a building cosmic pulse and noise wash that leads directly into the Kyuss-meets-swirl opening riff of “Protostar,” and the closing linear build of “Orbital Remains,” which caps side B on an engagingly spaced-out note. Maybe because so much of the platter is dedicated to atmospherics it seems surprising when Dune give so much attention to vocal arrangements throughout. The band is made up of guitarists Victor Vicart and Dan Barter, bassist Simon Anger and drummer Dudley Tait, and everyone adds vocals in one form or another, though Anger is credited with backing vocals and Tait with “voice,” so there’s likely some distinction there. In any case, for “Protostar” and “Oscillations of Color,” Dune‘s riffy largesse is met with early-Mastodon growls, giving the EP a feel that would stand in line with sludge if the songs weren’t also so crisply produced or varied in themselves, “Protostar” breaking before its midpoint to a guitar-led ambient section and building back up to full-boar and an impressive solo from there as it rolls on past six and a half minutes. It feeds directly into “Oscillations of Color,” which uses guitar triplet gallop as a central riff around which a memorable chorus and proggy-feeling midsection (topped with distorted outer space spoken word, likely by Tait) circle.

The second vocalized track might be the most accomplished on Progenitor, but side B’s “When Planets Die” and “Red Giant” stand up to it — as did “Protostar,” for that matter — the subdued echoes of “Pillars of Eternity” leading the way out of side A and then, for just a few seconds, building into the drums and sparse guitar at the start of “When Planets Die.” A faster rush and churningly insistent, “When Planets Die” still holds to Dune‘s depth of arrangement and sense of overall control, also proving more straightforward without a break in the middle like the pair comprising the meat of side A, though a few last minute turns are head-spinning before the song ends cold and “Red Giant” picks up with a swell of feedback. I don’t want to spoil, because the arrival makes for Progenitor‘s most glorious payoff, but when the music slows and all the vocals come together on “Red Giant,” it’s reminiscent of the swaying that makes Hull‘s material so triumphant, and Dune might be the only other band I’ve heard do it so well. A driving chaos ensues, and they cap stomping before feedback rings out and fades, letting effects noise give way to “Orbital Remains,” the quiet guitars of which move into a satisfyingly desert-hued progression that gets an apex not overblown — there’d be no point in competing with “Red Giant” anyway — but still enough to make the finale more than an afterthought amidst all the pummel before it.

Dune have such a firm grip on their presentation, it’s easy to forget Progenitor is their debut EP, but there’s still room for them to grow as well. The peaceful vibing of “Orbital Remains” and the subtlety of its linear progression in particular speak to the potential for Dune to do more in their songwriting than offset clobbering riffs with guitar-effects interludes, and indeed, taken as a whole, Progenitor shows that evolution is already underway. It’s a righteously heavy two sides that the Edinburgh foursome have conjured to announce their arrival, and should be welcome for anyone who longs for a few meaner stretches than most heavy rock is willing to provide. Topped off by the Ross McKendrick cover art, whether you’ve read Frank Herbert or not, Dune‘s first vinyl has plenty to offer those who’d set needle to wax.

Dune, Progenitor (2014)

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Dune on Twitter

Dune on Bandcamp

Wasted State Records

I don’t want to come off like I’m tooting my own horn, but I feel like Gozu‘s The Fury of a Patient Man is a record I know pretty well by now. The Boston-based outfit’s 2013 sophomore outing was reviewed early last year, wound up on my Top 20 for the year, and was an album that I never strayed too far from as the months passed. As I got to see the band live more often, the material was fresh stayed fresh in my head and even more than their 2010 debut, Locust Season (review here), I considered The Fury of a Patient Man one I more or less had a handle of in terms of its perspective and where the band was coming from.

Listening back now to the Small Stone vinyl version of it — 500 copies pressed to 180g platters in a thick-stock sleeve with one transparent green LP and one solid purple LP — my impression of the songs themselves hasn’t changed all that much. It’s still a very, very good album, whether you listen to it linear on a CD or mp3s, or whether you get up after a couple songs to turn over between “Salty Thumb” and “Disco Related Injury.” When I first heard it, I remember thinking how much heavier it was than Locust Season, which already lacked nothing for sonic beef. Now, after seeing the band as much as I have since I first heard it (live reviews here, here, here, here, here, here and here), I’m likewise astounded by how much heavier they’ve become live.

Part of that has to be the lineup. In the time since The Fury of a Patient Man was recorded, Gozu guitarists Marc Gaffney and Doug Sherman have solidified their rhythm section with bassist Joe Grotto and drummer Mike Hubbard, but on the 2LP, Grotto is one of three bassists who appears — Jay Canava and Paul Dellaire are the other two — and he’s only on the three bonus tracks included on side D. Hubbard is an even more recent addition than that, and even on those bonus cuts, Barry Spillberg handles drums. The new players have had a significant impact on Gozu‘s sound, so although it’s only a little over a year old, The Fury of a Patient Man already marks a point in the band’s progression which they’ve already moved past.

“Moved past” is the wrong phrase. It’s not like Gozu have outgrown these songs — they still make up the majority of what they play live, and cuts like “Bald Bull,” “Ghost Wipe,” “Irish Dart Fight” and “Signed, Epstein’s Mom” are perennial highlights — but the circumstances have changed. They’re not the same band they were when this album was recorded. Nonetheless, The Fury of a Patient Man remains an unmistakable hallmark of the quality in what Gozu do, and they’ve always been a different act live anyway, putting aside some of the vocal harmonies and layering from Gaffney and opting for a more straightforward, at times pummeling, approach, blended with the thick grooves and a relentlessly forward thrust.

Both offer a rich listening experience, and I find in revisiting The Fury of a Patient Man that my appreciation for it hasn’t diminished. What was a driving opening salvo of “Bald Bull,” “Signed, Epstein’s Mom,” “Charles Bronson Pinchot” and “Irish Dart Fight” now makes up the majority of side A with “Salty Thumb” hinting at some of the sonic branching out side B will hold, and the unabashed pop catchiness of “Ghost Wipe” and “Traci Lords” stand out well with “Snake Plissken”‘s shuffle on the back half of the green record. I was curious prior to listening what they might do with the 23-minute “The Ceaseless Thunder of Surf,” but it appears here uninterrupted as the entirety of side C and preserves its claim as the album’s most get-lost-in-it moment.

The aforementioned bonus tracks, particularly “Break You,” which is the middle of the three, are of particular note for being the band’s most recent recordings. Teaming with Lo-Pan vocalist Jeff Martin, Gozu open side D with a cover of the title-track to D’Angelo‘s 1995 debut, Brown Sugar that incorporates parts of “Shit, Damn, Motherfucker” as well. If it’s a goof, it’s far from Gozu‘s first — see also almost all of their song titles — but they’ve always had a touch of soul in their approach anyway, so “Brown Sugar (Shit Damn Motherfucker)” speaks to that, offers a thick groove from Grotto‘s bass and takes on a classic funk-jam kind of feel, Gaffney and Martin working well enough alongside each other so that I hope it’s not their last collaboration.

Arriving prior to a Simply Red cover “Holding back the Years,” “Break You” is the only one of the bonus tracks that’s a Gozu original, and it starts with Gaffney‘s voice with the guitars, bass and drums swelling up behind before moving into a dreamier verse in a linear kind of structure that’s still not devoid of a hook, the chorus, “I don’t want to break you/I only want to shake you,” etc., standing up to any of its counterparts on the album proper and still leaving room for Sherman to rip into a solo marking out the apex prior to a final slowdown and some well falsetto’ed last-minute crooning . Their take on “Holding back the Years” is decidedly more open, reinterpreting the cut from Simply Red‘s 1985 debut, Picture Book, with an airy, psychedelic sprawl, guitar and voice echoing alike over a solid but languid rhythmic foundation that spreads the four-minute original to nearly twice its original length.

It’s a more adventurous cover if less of a party than the D’Angelo track, but frankly, both have their appeal and show more than a little effort on Gozu‘s part to make them their own. Together with “Break You” and the rest of The Fury of a Patient Man itself, the 2LP edition of the album becomes not only a reminder of one of last year’s best outings, but a celebration of it as well and a look for fans at a band who continue to get more and more vibrant as they continually defy their comfort zone. As familiar as I’ve felt with these tracks, I’ve yet to make my way through them without hearing something new.

Gozu, The Fury of a Patient Man (2013)

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The Fury of a Patient Man on Bandcamp

Small Stone Records

It was a surprise to learn that the Son of a Gun b/w Dichotomies 7″ is the debut release from Oakland-based Planes of Satori, since they come across with such a firm grip on a sound that could easily break apart in what would apparently be less capable hands. The two songs included on the black, 500-pressed Who Can You Trust? Records platter, “Son of a Gun” and “Dichotomies,” each work quickly to establish a dynamic rhythm as a foundation for psychedelic guitar work and airy, echoing vocals. The moods and general level of insistence vary between them — “Son of a Gun” pushes so hard one is almost inclined to push back — but both the A and B side carry across inventive, intricate rhythms well beyond space rock’s ordinary “we’ll keep playing the riff while the guitar takes a four-minute solo” fare. Nothing against that as there are plenty of bands for whom it works well, but with Planes of Satori, bassist Justin Pinkerton (also of Golden Void) and drummer Chris Labreche stand out just as much as the wah guitar of Raze Regal or the far-off vocals of Alejandro Magaña.

Pinkerton, who also recorded and mixed (the former with Christopher Sprague), has an obvious understanding of rhythm as the heart of the band, and that works immediately to “Son of a Gun”‘s advantage, the drums setting up a shuffle somewhere between Afrobeat and jammed-out tom meandering, hitting right in with Regal‘s guitar, which shortly opens up to give Magaña room for the verse. The tom hits and cymbal wash are constant, and the bass keeps up, while the guitar holds chords beneath and flourishes with winding lead lines and a high-end pinch. While it starts off with an already pretty wide soundscape, there’s an uptick in vibrancy in the second half of the track as well that’s only furthered by Regal‘s solo near the end, so a build exists too, and it’s not like the song is just three-plus minutes of a drum-fill/guitar-lead freakout, though I’ve no doubt that if it was, Planes of Satori would likely pull it off.

The flip side, “Dichotomies,” begins with a simpler bass and drum line that feels slower but might just be less active and once more finds Pinkerton and Labreche soon joined by Regal and Magaña. Neither track sticks around longer than it needs to in order to make its point, warm bass tones and guitar effects distinguishing the B from the A on the release, kinetic momentum still in effect despite the pullback. Magaña‘s vocals fit easily over the airier “Dichotomies,” and Regal‘s guitar handles the task of marching the song out with a psychedelic lead progression that the rest of the band seems glad to follow. Again, especially for a debut release, Son of a Gun b/w Dichotomies stands out for how much Planes of Satori seem to want to and to be able to do with their sound, but I’d be less shocked if their next release didn’t expand on what these two tracks present either. A band this given to movement in their material rarely has interest in any kind of standing still.

Planes of Satori, Son of a Gun b/w Dichotomies (2014)

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Who Can You Trust? Records

I am perplexed / Who is the 13th doctor?

On each side of the splatter pink 12″ vinyl edition of Funeral Horse‘s second offering, Sinister Rites of the Master, appears one of the above phrases, etched in past the music. Side A has “I am perplexed,” and side B, “Who is the 13th doctor?,” and neither of them come with much by way of context. The former were the final words of Aleister Crowley and the latter phrase is either a Doctor Who reference or I don’t know what. Either or both would seem a decent match for the seven songs and two sides of Sinister Rites of the Master, which follows Funeral Horse‘s summer 2013 tape debut, Savage Audio Demon (review here). A liner included with the record, which is limited to 333 copies pressed by Artificial Head Records, also has a microfiction from drummer Chris Larmour that takes place in the lost city of Carcosa, as seen in Lovecraft and Ambrose Bierce and most recently the HBO drama True Detective, so there’s clearly a dedication to atmosphere and a complete album package being about more than just the music, though their songwriting has progressed audibly since the debut.

Fortunately, that progression hasn’t come at the expense of the raw vibe of the songs’ production. The vinyl has a different mix from the digital version of Sinister Rites of the Master and an even more garage-minded style, but either way you go, there’s a clarity to some of the ideas that sounded formative last time out, the three-piece of Larmour, guitarist/vocalist Paul Bearer — who also donates a mean harmonica solo to round out “Communist’s Blues” at the end of side A — and bassist Jason Argonaut now mischievously jumping from one side to another around the line between punk and heavier rock. The bass tone is warm, vocals mostly distorted, and the drums creative but largely straightforward, so there is a punkish vibe throughout, but while “Amputate the Hands of Thieves” has a definite insistence in its rhythm, it’s thicker, and the fact that Funeral Horse close with what they’ve billed online as a “slight revision” of Rush‘s “Working Man” speaks to other influences at play.

One could say the same of side B in general, though. The three songs on the first half of Sinister Rites of the Master — “Until the Last Nation Falls,” “Amputate the Hands of Thieves” and “Communist’s Blues” — work around a similar stylistic basis of garage stoner movement, the latter pulling back somewhat in tempo, but still in the same vein, while the four cuts that follow the flip — “Executioner of Kings,” “I Hear the Devil Calling Me,” “Stoned and Furious” and the aforementioned Rush cover “Working Man” — change up the approach. This in itself is a classic form — if you’re going to get weird, do it on side B — but where the earlier cuts take inspiration from the likes of John Milton and Kang Chol-Hwan, “Stoned and Furious” is said to be “inspired by true events.” A bit of humor never hurts as a reminder that it’s all supposed to be a good time, and in this way, the digital and vinyl editions of the album feed into each other; you can listen to one and read about the other. “Stoned and Furious” is sonically consistent, however, and the biggest stylistic turn comes with the relatively brief “I Hear the Devil Calling Me,” which brings in Sarah Hirsch of Houston’s Jealous Creatures for a guest vocal over swamp harmonica and strummed guitar.

Well placed and a genuine surprise on the first listen, “I Hear the Devil Calling Me” feels somewhat like an outro, which would make “Stoned and Furious” and “Working Man” bonus tracks for the album, but both sides of Sinister Rites of the Masterwork in terms of their flow, so I’m not about to argue (with myself) over adherence to a theme. The wailing leads of “Stoned and Furious” do well to call back the tom runs at the start of “Executioner of Kings” that act as the bed for a full-sounding wall of riff, and “Working Man” gets reinvented as an early Pentagram demo, blown-out vocals and all. I don’t know who the 13th doctor is, but what Funeral Horse do on their second full-length release is to show that while they keep things loose and natural sounding, they’re still working on a conscious progression of their sound. Sinister Rites of the Master is likely to be a sleeper vinyl, but it departs entirely from the stereotypical post-Pantera Texan burl and is so gleefully stoned in parts that one can’t help but wonder how they hold it together as long as they do. They’ve taking away some of the dronier sounds they presented their first time out, but spend their time well nonetheless.

Funeral Horse, Sinister Rites of the Master (2014)

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I had some pretty high expectations for Teepee Creeper coming into their split 7″ single with Mos Generator in no small part because the latter band’s most recent split with a Washington-based heavy rock band found them aligned to Ancient Warlocks, whose subsequent self-titled debut offered thrills aplenty. It’s intriguing to think Mos Gen guitarist/vocalist Tony Reed — who also recorded Teepee Creeper‘s included track, “Galactic Oblivion” — might be endorsing newcomer acts in such a subtle way, and Teepee Creeper justify the backing with a steady rolling groove on “Galactic Oblivion,” open-sounding and large but not over the top, somewhere between Wo Fat and Goatsnake‘s deceptively catchy stonerisms.

The blend will ring familiar to heavy riff heads, and Reed‘s production preserves a natural vibe that suits the three-piece well, guitarist/vocalist Jon Unruh‘s double-tracked voice switching from a gutty verse delivery to a cleaner chorus and back fluidly over Jeremy Deede‘s bass and Will Armacost‘s drums. A “sky god” is liberally invoked throughout the five-minute push, but there’s a sense of build within the song as well and if you told me two years from now that this split was Teepee Creeper‘s launch point for a solid string of output, I’d believe it. Between Unruh, Deede and Armacost, Teepee Creeper is nobody’s first band, and accordingly, they sound like they know what they want to do and are setting about making that happen.

A couple interesting cuts from Mos Generator on side B. As the included liner explains, the Nirvana cover “I Hate Myself and I Want to Die” — which was originally streamed here in 2012 — was recorded in 2008 for a tribute compilation that never surfaced, and “Downer Rock ’89” was a song originally called “Daisy Buckle” that came together in 1989 working heavily under the influence of what was then Seattle’s nascent grunge movement. Reed, bassist Scooter Haslip and drummer Shawn Johnson rerecorded it in 2013, so they’re not bringing out old demos — presumably that’s saved for the recently-undertaken Heavy Home Grown release series — but it’s easy to hear the stylistic hallmarks of that era, however much of Mos Generator‘s modern persona factors in alongside.

As an introduction to Teepee Creeper and a fan piece for Mos Generator, the split — out through Music Abuse Records — gets a surprising amount done in its just-over-10-minute runtime. Art on the sleeve by Sean Schock for the A-side, a few vintage Mos Generator pics on back and the aforementioned liner round out the package, and while it’s a quick release, it’s also one you might wind up flipping back and forth a few times in a row to get a feel for how the two bands work together. Not to spoil it, but they work pretty well.

Teepee Creeper, “Galactic Oblivion”

Mos Generator on Thee Facebooks

Teepee Creeper on Thee Facebooks

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