If stoner rock was as uptight about authenticity as black metal, Ancient Warlocks might prove standard bearers for the “truest” form of the genre. The double-guitar Seattle foursome’s self-titled debut sold out its original pressing on Lay Bare Recordings, and my beloved Garden State’s own STB Records has stepped in to release another 300 copies. Of those, 75 are the “Die Hard Edition” with clear vinyl, gold inside and a “bone chip” splatter, another 100 come with the same kind of vinyl an an Obi strip with the Adam Burke warlock artwork that also appears vertically in the gatefold — fucking gorgeous — and the remaining 125 are the “Standard” edition has bone-colored vinyl with gold and black splatter. All come with a download. It’s a thing of beauty any way you want to go, and if you didn’t get the chance to check out Ancient Warlocks‘ Ancient Warlocks when it initially arrived, what makes for the first official US release is a perfect way to get caught up, the front and back cover art and the platter itself reversed in black and white from the European version.

The distinction is no less than the album deserves. Guitarists Darren Chase and Aaron Krause (the latter also vocals) don’t let you get one riff into opener “Into the Night” without laying out a fat, rolling, fuzzed-out groove, and that sets the course for the bulk of Ancient Warlocks‘ concise, well-constructed 34 minute runtime. Its eight songs divide evenly into side A and side B and sound like they were made to do so. “Into the Night” and the side B leadoff “Super Wizard” also served as the A and B sides for Ancient Warlocks‘ debut single (review here), so they’re leading with their most established jams and then expanding from there. Likewise, both “Lion Storm” on the first half and “White Dwarf” on the second make imperatives out of riffy nod, the latter pushed ahead at the album’s speediest clip by drummer Steve Jones, who also produced, and maintaining its thickness via Anthony “Oni” Timm‘s bass. Here and there they fluctuate in tempo or approach — third cut “Sweet’s too Slow” is almost singularly indebted to the 1998 Queens of the Stone Age self-titled debut — but the core of what Ancient Warlocks do is in unabashed construction of stoner rock. Its thick feel, weighted vibe and lyrics to songs like “Super Wizard” and the closer “Sorcerer’s Magician” hit every mark one might ask in an interpretation of the genre’s tenets.

Where Ancient Warlocks find their greatest success is in distinguishing themselves within that sphere. Their sound on their first full-length is the equivalent of showing up at Fort Knox, finding all the guards have gotten bored of the idea of gold and taking it all for themselves. In an age of specialization and per-band-subgenre intricacy, Ancient Warlocks do right by their material in keeping it simple, allowing the personality in Krause‘s vocals to flow through naturally without forcing something individualized to the sacrifice of memorable songs. “Cactus Wine” slows down classic Fu Manchu starts and stops in the verse and bridges a gap in its sway between that band and self-titled-era Clutch‘s storytelling, and by the time side A is done, Ancient Warlocks have well established themselves as expert practitioners of what, in an age of boozy, caricature masculinity, indie hype, pseudo-cult worship, etc., has become a lost art. Full fuzz alchemy. Yes, it absolutely has its moments of silliness — of course the “Super Wizard” is from outer space, duh — but the four-piece own those moments so completely and with such an utter lack of irony and pretense that the self-titled is all the more of a good time for their being there. Why wouldn’t “Killer’s Moon” boogie so hard? How could it not?

I had the fortune of seeing Ancient Warlocks in their hometown earlier this year (review here) and found them to be no less engaging on stage than on the record. No doubt they’ll grow and progress as a band with whatever they might take on next in following-up this album, but like the first Sasquatch record, or the first The Atomic Bitchwax, Ancient Warlocks‘ Ancient Warlocks hits all the right spots in just the right way to let you know these guys know what they’re doing and where they want to be sonically. With the added appeal of the STB version’s physical presentation — so far as I know there isn’t a CD version pressed to date — it’s a heavy rock record made to be enjoyed by those who share the band’s obvious love for riffs, heavy grooves, and fuzz you could get lost in for days. If you’d count yourself among that number, it’s one you won’t want to miss, and given how quickly the European pressing went without the band even setting foot on that continent, I wouldn’t expect these to last long either.

Ancient Warlocks, Ancient Warlocks (2013/2014)

Ancient Warlocks on Thee Facebooks

Ancient Warlocks on Bandcamp

STB Records store

Though it comes with a download ticket to be redeemed at Knick Knack Records‘ webstore, Mystery Ship guitarist Michael Wohl‘s new single, Moonfeeder b/w Song of Impermanence, makes yet another compelling argument in the long settled debate of physical versus non-physical media. Once you’ve soaked in the early-20th-Century-looking fonts on the front and back covers, the prevailing impression the 7″ 45RPM two-songer makes is not of being a relic, but of being homemade. On the cover, you can feel the raised places where the ink of Adam Burke‘s art was screenprinted on, and while the recording itself is somewhat cleaner and less bedroom-folk than Wohl‘s Eight Pieces for Solo Guitar digital and tape release — having been recorded by Wohl and Gordon Raphael (Regina Spektor, The Strokes, Sky Cries Mary, etc.) — with a genuine sense of the room in which it was made or at very least the fancy-seeming microphone that picked up the resonance of Wohl‘s guitar, it also credits Jeff Powell of Memphis’ Ardent Studios for cutting the vinyl plate, so a human element is never far off.

Of course, with an approach so intimate, that most likely wouldn’t have been a concern anyway. Wohl sings in Mystery Ship as well, and listening to the original “Moonfeeder,” I can’t help but wonder when he might try his hand at troubadour-ing with his solo work as well, but thus far he’s resisted the temptation. Still, where Eight Pieces was a collection of experiments, these are well-conceived and plucked folk songs, the B-side derived on the fly with stated inspiration from Charley Patton, Blind Lemon Jefferson and Doc Watson. As he did last time out and as I hope he continues to do going forward, Wohl includes his own liner notes with the single, a brief notation on key — “Moonfeeder” is in D minor, “Song of Impermanence” in open D — and a little bit about each song. “Moonfeeder” is the shorter and more melancholic of the two, but even so, it retains some movement and an underlying sweetness of melody and rhythm, though while it starts out minimal and somewhat ominous, the bulk of the bounce arrives somewhere around the middle of “Song of Impermanence,” which begs for a soft blues delivery, sans feigned twang but given to storytelling.

Moonfeeder b/w Song of Impermanence is a quick, picturesque release that does little to convey the stereotyped grit or rain-soaked depressiveness of Wohl‘s Seattle base of operation, but maybe escapism is part of the appeal in creating a work like this. If I have one regret as regards the single, it’s that there isn’t more to get lost in.

Michael Wohl, Moonfeeder b/w Song of Impermanence (2014)

Michael Wohl on Bandcamp

Knick Knack Records

On their debut single for Who Can You Trust? Records, Austrian four-piece Pastor — and just to save you the trouble of trying to seek them out on Thee Facebooks, here’s the link — run pretty quickly through a barrage of doom and classic heavy rock influences. Throughout the just-over-eight-minute Wayfaring Stranger b/w The Oath 7″, one can hear traces of early Pentagram‘s post-Sabbath doom rock, metered out with ’70s swing and swagger that makes the most of a catchy, nod-ready groove and immediately strong rhythmic sensibility. It’s worth emphasizing that the A-side is not a cover of the traditional ballad — the most memorable version I can think of for “Wayfaring Stranger” was by 16 Horsepower, but plenty of people have done it, including Johnny Cash — and that the B-side is not referring to the German doom/cult rock outfit so far as I can tell. Both songs are originals and delivered with a brash tossed-off feel that speaks to some roots in punk and keeps a natural, live feel to the recording.

The band is a two-guitar four-piece based out of Vienna, comprised of the first-name-only lineup of guitarist/vocalist Arik, guitarist Shardik, bassist Georg and drummer Alex. Once again, this single is their first release, but arriving in a sleeve that unfolds to show a full piece by Adam Burke on the outside and a picture of the band on the inside, they’ve put together a presentation that stands the two tracks out as something more professional than a demo that got picked up by a label, though the effect is still basically giving an introductory sample to what Pastor are shooting for sonically in their early stages. To that end, “Wayfaring Stranger” greets with motoring stomp, natural echo on the vocals and an underlying grit that pans out in winding riffs, lead/rhythm interplay and a sense of rush in the chorus that’s not actually overly fast, the midsection opening to a groove that would be begging for vinyl pressing if it wasn’t already done. They finish the A-side big — no surprise there — and pick up after the platter flip with more ’70s-stylized hijinks with “The Oath.”

Some of the doomly feel is maintained, but “The Oath” builds on its companion track with even more swagger, shifting near its own middle to a Radio Moscow-esque thrust of heavy psych, Arik donning a similar bluesy inflection to Parker Griggs. Crashing back to the reality of the heavy-landing central groove, Pastor once again seem to turn up as the “The Oath” boogies to its finish, but the blues-by-doom impression is made, and without giving themselves wholly over to the post-Graveyard/Kadavar school of retro worship, the foursome have nonetheless managed to hone an authentic-sounding update of a familiar but still engaging vibe. The vinyl, with the 7″ itself in a white sleeve and the art from Burke surrounding, is pressed in an edition of 500 copies. If you can dig it, you might dig it.

Pastor, Wayfaring Stranger b/w The Oath (2014)

Pastor on Thee Facebooks

Pastor on Bandcamp

Who Can You Trust? Records webstore

As somebody who was in that room when it happened, I don’t so much want to listen to this vinyl as build an altar to its graces. It was Candlemass‘ 25th anniversary show at Roadburn 2011, celebrating a quarter-century since the release of the seminal Swedish doomers’ debut, Epicus Doomicus Metallicus. To mark the occasion, they reunited for the first time with original signer Johan Längquist, who had never really even played with the band or done much more with them than sing on that record, and I tell you in all honesty, it was one of the best sets I’ve ever seen a band — any band — play, at Roadburn or otherwise. The Main Stage room at the 013 in Tilburg was jammed with people waiting to see what was billed as an early headlining set. Candlemass was the first act to go on that day, and they had originally been scheduled to appear in 2010, but for the Icelandic volcano Eyjafjallajökull’s eruption and subsequent disrupting of European airspace. So there they were, a year after the fact, fronted by Robert Lowe of Solitude Aeturnus and running through a string of hits, when Lowe takes a bow and moves off stage to make room for the arrival of Längquist.

Svart has done the moment justice on this 2LP set. It is a gatefold, limited to 800 copies — 400 black, 400 white — thick stock package and vinyl, three sides of music with side D an etching of the LP art, interpreted from the original Epicus cover by Erik Rovanperä. In look and in sound, it is a reverential artifact of that set. Two songs appear on each of the three sides, with the recordings helmed by Astrosoniq drummer and habitual captor of Roadburns Marcel van de Vondervoort as well as Robi de Lorijn, running in the standard album order, and live photos are included from in front of the stage, the band donating brief quotes of memories about playing along the bottom of the gatefold, bassist and principle songwriter Leif Edling going so far as to remark that he hopes one day to release a DVD of the performance as well. I wouldn’t mind that either. Looking at it on paper beforehand, it had seemed questionable whether Längquist, who hadn’t performed with Candlemass in so long, would be able not just to pull off the material, but match presence and fit with the rest of the band — Edling, guitarists Lars Johansson and Mats “Mappe” Björkman and drummer Jan Lindh — and by the time they hit the first chorus of “Solitude,” it was clear there was no issue.

Obviously those questions are long-since answered, but to hear that version of “Solitude,” as well as “Demon’s Gate,” “Crystal Ball,” “Black Stone Wielder,” “Under the Oak” and “A Sorcerer’s Pledge” — each a classic, each essential — so clearly and crisply on this vinyl only underscores how righteously Längquist stood in for the performance. It wasn’t just special, it was also good. Of course, 25 years later, the voice changes, and the highs in “Solitude” were left there in favor of something more attainable, but Längquist‘s voice had power enough not just to step in for Lowe, but to own those songs, which other singers had been working to make their own for over two decades. By the time I get to trading out the first LP for the second to hear them close out with “Under the Oak” and “A Sorcerer’s Pledge,” the little differences between the studio versions and the live ones stand out, how Johansson tackles the solos, the pacing differences, etc., and in both spirit and presentation, it’s Candlemass playing arguably their most classic outing, front to back, celebrating their legacy in what if I’m not mistaken has been a one-time-only fashion — that is, I don’t think they’ve done it again since. Whether you saw it or not, what doomed soul wouldn’t want to bear witness to such a thing?

Edling better get moving on that DVD.

Candlemass, “Under the Oak” Live at Roadburn 2011

Candlemass on Thee Facebooks

Svart Records

Epicus Doomicus Metallicus Live at Roadburn 2011 at Burning World Records

I think when Salt Lake City trio Dwellers released their 2011 debut, Good Morning Harakiri, I was still too enamored of guitarist/vocalist Joey Toscano‘s previous outfit, Iota, to fully appreciate it on its own level. Iota‘s 2008 full-length, Tales, presented a masterful and forward looking blend of Hawkwindian psychedelics and Kyuss-style stoner rockery, and though I enjoyed Good Morning Harakiri (review here) thoroughly at the time and have only grown to dig the band more since, its unrepentant bluesiness — made a vital element thanks in no small part to the swinging rhythm section of bassist Dave Jones and drummer Zach Hatsis (both of SubRosa) — fit oddly with the context of what I was expecting. I was thrown off by it and had to right my assumptions before I could really dig in.

Listening to Small Stone‘s LP edition of Good Morning Harakiri — limited to 500 copies and pressed either in cyan/red swirl (as mine is), black or transparent purple 180g vinyl — I have no such momentary hesitation, thanks both to the time I’ve already spent listening to Dwellers‘ debut and time spent with its forthcoming follow-up, Pagan Fruit (review pending), due out May 6. Particularly in light of the sophomore outing coming up, Good Morning Harakiri seems ripe for a revisit, and the vinyl version provides a perfect excuse, its six tracks rearranged from the CD such that what was the fourth track, “Ode to Inversion Layer,” is repositioned as the opener and the relatively brief “Lightening Ritual” moves up to end side A, leaving side B to the combined sprawl of “Vulture” and “Old Honey,” both of which hover around the 10-minute mark.

That change makes sense practically — there’s only so much room on a given side — and sonically. “Ode to Inversion Layer” unfolds more gradually than did “Secret Revival,” the former opener and here the second cut, setting the listener up to expect a more languid roll than the swaying tension of “Secret Revival” might have, with no sacrifice of hook from one to the other. As it is on the platter, “Ode to Inversion Layer” draws you in and “Secret Revival” provides a smack to the face, Hatsis slamming hard on his crash in the chorus while Toscano — who seems apprehensive in his vocal approach as compared to the new album; this is shown largely in where he sits in the mix in one compared to the other — drawls out a resonant chorus, slowing fluidly in its midsection to smooth the shift into “Blackbird,” which worked well on CD also, his vocals a far back swirl of echo amid the weighted fuzz of his guitar and rumble of Jones‘ bass.

A dead stop precedes “Black Bird”‘s arrival, but the changeover is easy nonetheless, and of the tracklisting shuffles between the CD and LP editions of Good Morning Harakiri, putting “Black Bird” and “Lightening Ritual” next to each other gives the album a midsection comprising its strongest hooks, the stomp of “Black Bird” and the blown-out intensity of “Lightening Ritual” playing exceedingly well together. And when it comes to “Vulture” and “Old Honey” on side B, 20 solid minutes of Dwellers jamming out supernova blues is not a proposition with which I’m about to argue. Seated together, “Vulture” and “Old Honey” offer more than simple long-form indulgences, the former making deft rhythmic turns into a newly-paved groove that runs a highway right through the wandering nighttime desert ritualism of the latter. I don’t have to pick a favorite from between them, so I won’t. Better just to enjoy them back to back as what makes for half an album more immersive than most full-lengths.

As Dwellers come more into their own in 2014 with Pagan Fruit, I’m glad to have the chance to give Good Morning Harakiri another spin and appreciate some of what seemed like unevenness at the time for the progressivism it actually represents. One can only hope the second album holds up so well three years later.

Dwellers, Good Morning Harakiri (2011)

Dwellers on Thee Facebooks

Small Stone Records on Bandcamp

The label in the center of both sides of Death Alley‘s debut 7″, Over Under b/w Dead Man’s Bones, is grooved. It looks like if you were to put the needle there, past the songs themselves, something would play. I haven’t tried it, I guess because it seems like a stupid way to break your record player, but I take it as a sign that the Amsterdam four-piece — which features former members of Mühr and The Devil’s Blood — have more to say than they’ve seen fit to offer with the two tracks on the single itself. More to come, in other words. That may or may not be the case, but either way, the proto-punk-fueled loud rockers make a raucous entry on this debut, not even stopping for a breath along the way in either “Over Under” or “Dead Man’s Bones,” but peppering the rush with some heavy rock groove all the same. Their sound is natural, and the style is retro, though they avoid the trap of reinterpreting ’71-’74 boogie via Graveyard by going further into punk and pre-thrash, resulting in a sound that’s full of movement but less derivative than some of Death Alley‘s history-minded contemporaries.

For a relatively new band who just got their start last year, they know where they’re coming from, and their self-descriptor, “protopunk with a hint of psychedelics,” proves accurate across this single, which tops just over eight minutes. That’s not necessarily the whole story though, because while there’s an underlying swirl to “Over Under” and the song rounds out with some surprising vocal harmonies in a still-full-throttle bridge before returning to the winding style of the main riff to close, surely enough giving the impression of Death Alley aiming for more than just the place where neo-heavy fuzz and traditional punk rock meet. More than anything, “Over Under” is a feverish rush, and on the flip side, “Death Man’s Bones” takes that even further into distinct Motörheadery, capturing well that moment where gritty metal began to move away from heavy rock and punk and into something new. “Over Under”‘s parts flowed easily, but “Dead Man’s Bones” is more occupied with shred-topped chaos, though a tempo downshift in the second half brings more vocal intricacy and a swaggering guitar solo. Once again, there’s more going on with Over Under b/w Dead Man’s Bones than Death Alley are keen to show on the surface.

Ván Records has the single coupled with a Death Alley poster, and the band is set to play Roadburn‘s official pre-show, the Hard Rock Hideout, on Wednesday, April 9, in Tilburg, so it seems reasonable to expect more to come from the nascent Dutch outfit. As forewarning, their debut single rings loud and clear while hinting at future intrigue.

Death Alley, Over Under b/w Dead Man’s Bones (2014)

Death Alley on Thee Facebooks

Death Alley on Bandcamp

Death Alley at Ván Records

Even as far as 7″s go, the new Mad Oak Records/Wonderdrug Records split between riffy Boston punkers White Dynomite and heavy rock four-piece Hey Zeus is pretty brief. The two cuts included, White Dynomite‘s “Sweet Tooth” and Hey Zeus‘ “Stomach,” are done in under five minutes total, but the alliance of the two bands carries more substance than that might indicate. With members of Roadsaw and Wrecking Crew and Fast Acting Fuses in their lineup, White Dynomite are no slouches when it comes to pedigree. Recently signed to Ripple Music for a reissue of their 2013 self-titled full-length debut, they’ve also added guitarist Jay Fortin (currently of Supermachine, formerly of Scissorfight) to the ranks, and while he doesn’t play on “Sweet Tooth,” his presence is felt on the split anyway since he took the pictures of the bands on each side’s cover and handled the layout of the 7″ package, the liner card for which features a cigar-smoking chimpanzee and the cover(s) of which recall hardcore 7″s of days gone by. Eerily fitting for two bands made up of adults clearly having kid fun playing fast and brash rock and roll.

This split is the recorded debut of Hey Zeus, whose “Stomach” is the longer of the two tracks at just over three minutes. Fortin‘s photo on the cover comes from a show at the now-defunct-should’ve-been-sold-to-me Radio Bar in Somerville last July, a gig at which Hey Zeus shared the stage with The Scimitar and The Brought Low and covered Deep Purple twice (review here). Bassist Ken Cmar is the head of Wonderdrug Records, the logo of which it’s good to see again, guitarist Pete Knipfing and drummer Todd Bowman are veterans of Lamont, and vocalist Bice Nathan recorded “Stomach” at New Alliance Studios, and on the track, Hey Zeus make good on the experience of the players in question to proffer memorable, speedy, hook-minded songwriting. Less riotous than White Dynomite, they’re also tonally thicker — Cmar‘s bass has punch enough that one is tempted to duck — and take some cues from Lamont‘s Southern-on-speed methodology. They are not on swagger, which makes them all the more a match for White Dynomite, whose King Kong-size shenanigans are writ large all over “Sweet Tooth.”

Blink or misplace the needle on your turntable and you’re likely to miss the bass intro from Tim Catz that actually starts “Sweet Tooth” before John Darga‘s guitar and Craig Riggs‘ drums join in. No frills, no bullshit, White Dynomite offer sheer propulsion topped off with the classic punker vocals of Dave Unger. The four-now-fivesome recorded “Sweet Tooth” with Mad Oak Studios‘ Benny Grotto, and as one would expect the sound is natural and crisp  in just the right balance. For all the chicanery at work in what White Dynomite do, they’re also remarkably tight, the members channeling punk roots and donning white suits as they sprint toward and past whatever one might expect from them based on their other past and current outfits. If you can’t keep up with “Sweet Tooth” the first time, it’s easy enough to put it on again.

Two relatively newcomer acts comprised of veteran players, it’s not much of a surprise White Dynomite and Hey Zeus pair well here, and for both giving a first impression of what Hey Zeus conjure as far as driving riffs and for giving a sample of where White Dynomite are headed coming off their first album into the next stage of their tenure, it’s a 7″ that accomplishes an awful lot in less than five minutes. No substitute for efficiency.

White Dynomite, “Sweet Tooth” simian video

White Dynomite on Thee Facebooks

Wonderdrug Records

Mad Oak Records

There’s an undertone of burl that’s carried through the entirety of Bushfire‘s Dec. 2013 second long-player, Heal Thy Self, and that’s due in no small part to vocalist Bill Brown‘s low-in-the-mouth approach. He’s not exactly shooting for “whiskey-soaked Southern” or something like that, but his post-grunge style remains consistent throughout the nine tracks of the vinyl, which arrives in a sturdy gatefold with a quality, 180g platter, heavy stock dust jacket and foldout liner notes that further the visual theme from artist Ingo “Krimalkin” Lohse, the intricacy of whose work is all the more appreciable in the 12″ format. Heal Thy Self is a different experience on LP as opposed to CD or Bandcamp stream or whatever it might be, but however one approaches it, the Darmstadt, Germany, double-guitar five-piece offer songwriting coinciding with the dependable physical feel of the Heal Thy Self album. Their material is straightforward in a bruiser sense and asks few indulgences while staving off monotony with change-it-up cuts like the moody “Brother” on side B and the cowbell-infused boogie of “Tuff Luv,” which closes side A.

No shortage of doomer roots are on display — album opener “Failure” ends with whispers eerily reminiscent of those announcing the departure of “Children of the Grave” on Master of Reality — but Bushfire‘s trade is heavy, riff-driven rock and roll. If it had anything to do with getting high, I’d be tempted to call it stoner, but their approach is tighter than that designation seems to warrant these days, the two guitars of Marcus Bischoff and Miguel Pereira comfortable in a leadership role when they need to be and driving the grooves that Brown ably rides in his vocals, bassist Nick Kurz offering more to the personality of the whole than just tonal weight, though plenty of that as well, and drummer Tom Hoffmann punctuating the roll and suitably getting into some double-kick bass when “Glossolalia” moves in its back end to some surprisingly blackened screams for a bit of flourish that Bushfire don’t return to, but makes its point anyway and gives a different context to the from-the-gut shouting that caps the Down-style riffing of “Elephant,” which in turn leads to “Tuff Luv,” the verses there reminding more of The Atomic Bitchwax than anything so gruffly intentioned.

Side B has a somewhat different personality. Production makes most of side A consistent sound-wise despite the fact that Bushfire are leaning to one side or another within their aesthetic, but with four songs as opposed to five and the closing duo of “Hungry” and “Dream” checking in at just under seven minutes each, the vibe is bound to be somewhat distinct from the first half of Heal Thy Self. All things are relative, of course, but where “Failure” set the album into motion with a mounting swell of feedback and distortion, “Objector” opens side B with quiet guitar and a subdued, contemplative verse. It doesn’t last, and soon enough “Objector” is into some of Heal Thy Self‘s ballsiest swaggering, all starts-and-stops and “hey whoa yeah”-style shouting. Fair enough. “Brother,” also one of the longer songs, develops the ideas that “Objector” seems to hint at in its intro — though is plenty heavy besides — and with a slower pace sets out a hook that’s among the most resonant Bushfire have to offer, “Hungry” seeming to work in a similar vein until a build in the midsection into faster riffing provides fluid transition to a shuffle that recalls some of “Tuff Luv” from side A. It’s the stomp that wins out, topped with wah guitar as it is, and “Hungry” seems to drunk-stumble into “Dream.”

Honestly, after both “Brother” and “Hungry,” “Dream” comes across as something of an afterthought. There isn’t much on offer that the prior 41 minutes haven’t shown Bushfire already capably displaying, but the opening crashes give some sense of arrival anyway, and the finale moves at a decent clip, so it’s not likely to offend either if you’ve made it this far into the record. A vague spoken sample arrives in the second half of the song over the last guitar solo, and after “Dream” stomps to its finish, there are some piano noises and what sounds like a bird of some sort, no doubt of some significance to whatever it was the dream itself may have been about. I do not know how many copies of Heal Thy Self the band pressed — mine’s hand-numbered as #190 on side B, so at least that many — but it’s a substantial effort in both sound and physical construction for a DIY band to undertake, and to Bushfire‘s credit, they pull it off front to back, whether it’s the coherence of their style and production or the atmosphere that the detailed lines of the gatefold convey. They’ve been around for a decade and still sound like they’re growing, but Heal Thy Self has plenty to offer a vinyl hound with a craving for thick grooves.

Bushfire, Heal Thy Self (2013)

Bushfire’s webstore

Bushfire on Thee Facebooks

Bushfire on Bandcamp