I don’t know what it was that Agriculture were soundchecking when I walked into John Dee from upstairs at Rockefeller, but it sure sounded a lot like CKY’s “96 Quite Bitter Beings,” which was cool because I just got that song out of my head last week for the first time since like 2003. So I was due.

Sleep did happen — the state, not the band — and I woke up two hours after my alarm to discover I hadn’t actually finished setting it. Didn’t matter; plenty of time to sit around and be anxious for the start of the day. I video called home — the house is a mess, which very much is how it goes when I’m gone — and all is well. Ate a couple bites and tried to sleep a bit more, but the three double espressos tearing ass through my bloodstream weren’t having it. Sometimes living in the moment means calling yourself dumb later.

Agriculture’s lights were going to be too much for my brain. I knew that going into the set, because soundcheck, but when it happened, it was still punishing. The overwhelm is part of it, purposeful. Part of what you sign up for. But the sandblasting and the immersion, coinciding, is why you stay. Watching them, I couldn’t get the parallel out of my head between the traditions of Norwegian black metal and their subversion in terms of weather. That is, if the ‘trvest’ of black metals was born in this place — and they have it scrawled on that basement wall for people to take pictures with, so it’s arguable — in the dark and cold of winter here, then the aural brightness of Agriculture, the natural-light-reflecting-on-water of their post-rock-style guitar floating above all the pummel and screech, feels correspondingly climate-born to Los Angeles, where the band are from. To paraphrase George Carlin, the sun probably sets 10 minutes from their rehearsal space. Of course they’d make black metal beautiful.

That’s a generalization, obviously. Broad strokes to cover lack of insight. The truth of their presentation is more emotionally complex and less niche-declarative, but transgressing just the same, though maybe black metal is used to it by now; a punching bag catchall genre to push against the borders of. The tie with Agriculture is in tonal heft and the honesty of their scathe and the atmospheres they build around it, and they’d be a sore thumb in the lineup if Desertfest was stoner-only, but neither day was. It’s all one big heavy melting pot, and genres evolve. Always cool to see it happen on the stage right in front of you, though.

But the lights got me, so I headed upstairs to the Rockefeller balcony ahead of Slift. I know. Not like Slift were going to take it easy on visuals. Still. The French heavyspace trio are riding the course of 2024’s Ilion (review here), and the fact that they’ve spent the better part of the last three years touring was not lost on their stage presence.

The story of their set was kind of that I blew it there as well. Got my photos and moved on. I was dragging, had basic human needs to attend to in food, water, bathroom, so broke out of Rockefeller a bit into the set in an effort to get my head right. I was saving the second half of Friday’s weedy muffin for later in the day, but there’s nothing like when the check-into-your-flight notification comes in while you’re trying to enjoy a busy afternoon of writing, taking photos, and general sonic obliteration.

Hippie Death Cult ruled last year at Desertfest New York (review here) and with their new live album, Live at Star Theater (review here), it felt like half the point of the damn thing was to argue in favor of showing up when the band inevitably comes through where you live — Parsippany, New Jersey, if you’re tour planning — when the opportunity presents itself. So there I was. I’d already bumped into guitarist Eddie Brnabic and drummer Harry Silvers at the hotel, and they and bassist/vocalist Lauren Phillips would soon take the stage to unroll a blanket of riffs onto the crowd, roll that same blanket back up again with the crowd in it, and then send it careening down the side of a mountain. I’m really, really looking forward to their next album.

Nothing against 2023’s Helichrysum (review here), mind you, but — and I think this is something the live LP posited as well — they sound like they’re just getting started. The lineup change that resulted in Phillips taking the lead vocal role, plus bringing Silvers in on drums, made them a different band. On the record and live, they’ve explored harsher, more direct and classic feeling ideas, but at the same time, begun to develop a character for themselves separate from what it was just a few years ago. This is a strength. Some bands would just fall apart. Hippie Death Cult have figured, are figuring out, how to make it work and progress from their new starting position.

And since much of this work has happened on tours, yes, I am very much convinced their best work is ahead of them. They can be warm and bluesy — Brnabic’s shred suits all sides — or sludge-nasty and it doesn’t matter. Songs like “Arise,” “Red Giant,” “Toxic Annihilator,” as they’re playing them now, are paving the way for a band who can crush or boogie or gallop at a measure’s whim.

Phillips let out a couple Tom Araya-esque screams while Silvers was on the double-kick, and they’re getting more comfortable bringing that kind of metal into their foundation in capital ‘h’ Heavier groove. They’re a monster band. They should get monstrous, and I think they just might continue to do that. This was their first time in Norway. Someone in the crowd shouted, “What took you so long?” Near-total reset takes some time, I guess, but it’s done Hippie Death Cult well in terms of the intensity level. They finished big and noisy — at some near-final point, I looked up and Phillips’ mic stand had disappeared — and I watched the whole set and wouldn’t have wanted it another way.

Back upstairs to Rockefeller for Finland’s Oranssi Pazuzu. True, I saw them a couple weeks ago, playing their latest album, Muuntautuja, in full, no less, but whatever. I dug it then and wanted to investigate the band further. Seeing them again felt like a half-decent way to do that. The balcony was full before the floor, which the lightshow would soon justify, but the room was full by the start of the set.

The thing was, they’re a name I’ve seen around for well over a decade, and a band I’ve listened to before and appreciated for what it was but soon enough moved on. But after that Muuntautuja set at Roadburn, they kind of took up residence in the back of my head. I was glad to recognize a few songs from one show to the next, including the opener, and while they’re not usually the kind of band I’d go all-in on, and I’m positive I don’t know enough of their music to call myself a fan, after seeing them these two times, I do feel compelled to dig further.

There’s enough going on at any given moment in their songs to trace threads of influence and constantly end up in a different place. That’s black metal, straight up, but then there comes a synthier part, or a drone stretch, or some Ministry-style keyboard thrash. Krautrock guitars might meet up with some soul-grinding ferocity, and the band seem to delight in precisely that manner of fucking with norms; picking apart ideas about style and what the rules are, cherrypicking which ones they want to uphold and which they want to break and then breaking most of them anyway. Like Agriculture, they’re in-genre outsider art, but whatever the stylistic cast, Oranssi Pazuzu refuse and refute pigeonholing.

My scheduled break was next. I went back to the room, had that half a weedy muffin — I could not tell you the last time I ate an actual muffin; nine years at least; I don’t normally do breadstuffs — drank a bunch of water and took some ibuprofen, tried and failed to check in for my flight because my town has both a different mailing address and a hyphen in it (not joking) and confirmed an earlier decision about the course of my night.

Chat Pile were sub-headlining the Rockefeller, and Whores. would be on at 22.00 in John Dee. I skipped both in favor of Villjuvet at St. Edmund’s Church right around the corner from Revolver. I had gotten to see the inside of the church earlier in the day — it was active-catholic enough to give yer boy eucharistic flashbacks — and been told a bit about the project, the visual component and the work of Ruben Willem, who in addition to operating as Villjuvet is a producer and has either mixed or mastered releases for an entire slew of bands from Lonely Kamel to Håndgemang who were in Friday’s lineup, to Gluecifer, Suncraft and Kal-El. I could go on.

I’ve seen Chat Pile, again recently. It was cool. I’ve never seen Whores., and frankly part of the reason why is the danger of liking them and then having to admit to myself I like a band with that name, but I know people who swear by them, and I actually did end up watching them for a few minutes and they were killing to a packed room. But I was told ahead of time, “Villjuvet might be just your speed,” and was happy to take the recommendation to a path less traveled before finishing the night off back at Rockefeller for Elder. Slow and weird, you say? That sure does sound like my speed.

At 9PM, it was still pretty broad daylight, but the church was dark, the door ominously left open. I took a seat in the second pew — was not at all the first one there — and waited as more people came in. There was some white noise drone, but I’ll be honest and say a big part of me wanted to hear “Holy Diver,” though that went away when the actual show started.

You could follow the projections — branches and the like, nighttime ambience, loosely creepy but mostly for the soundtrack — up the white wall with the stained glass windows onto the wood ceiling as Villjuvet turned out to be very much indeed my speed. Willem played facing the projections before a sprawling pedal board, often kneeling as if to a true god being revealed. His drones came through in looped layers and hit high and low through guitar and bass amps. It was not a tune to take out earplugs, despite the lack of percussion. A couple popes later, church has really changed since I was last forced to go, probably around three decades ago. I recall a good time this January sharing religious traumas over a breakfast in Las Vegas. Life takes you weird places when… you expressly make it do that because you enjoy it.

Rockefeller was filling up quickly for Elder and I knew the second Whores. finished downstairs that crowd would flood out, which was exactly what happened. I was at the bar at John Dee at the time, chatting amiably as one does, and then it was time to head upstairs to cap the evening. A 6AM wakeup loomed large over the 11PM start-time — hazards of the trade at the end of a fest; it’s part of the thing — but with the band celebrating the anniversary of 2015’s Lore (review here), and having missed them when they came through Brooklyn with Sacri Monti, there was imperative.

I could go — and have gone! — on about Lore as both a creative statement and a breath of daring fresh air operating in an underground genre that can at times pride itself on traditionalism. I’ll gladly argue its influence is still felt and spreading, even as the band have continued to move forward. But there’s no denying it was a special moment for them, a progressive breakout in craft to which their work before had been leading. So, 10th anniversary it is. Not unreasonable.

Guitarist/vocalist Nick DiSalvo got on mic before they started and thanked the crowd, thanked the fest, said it was an honor to close it out, and explained what they were going to do, and soon enough they were off into “Compendium” and on from there. I always loved “Deadweight” but I knew I wouldn’t make it that far into the set and I didn’t. I was glad to see them though, even briefly as I felt the pull of getting back to finish work and crash out ahead of the early start. The responsible thing. The me that knows I can’t sleep on planes would thank me in the morning, but it was a hard sell to the me looking down the ramp to walk out of Rockefeller and be done with the night and Desertfest Oslo more broadly.

But I did. If I’m fortunate enough to come back next year, I’ll try not to make it so tight, but that’s kind of how it has to be for me to be here in the first place, and a couple Elder songs is better than no Elder songs, so I guess my old-ass punk-rock guilt can fuck off. Time to crawl out of my own head a little bit.

Thank you to Desertfest Oslo for having me. Thank you Ole and Preben for the invitation and thank you to everyone who has worked here to make this happen. The sound, the lights, everything has been spot on, and for this being the second year this festival has taken place, they’d be entitled to a few screwups. I saw none. I did, however, see a bunch killer bands, a bunch of old friends, and some things I wouldn’t have been able to see anywhere else. I am incredibly grateful to have had the opportunity.

It is not lost on me that in the US this weekend, today, is Mother’s Day. Thank you to The Patient Mrs. for the work she does as a mother always, and for the sheer indulgence that allows me to exist as I do both at and away from home. She is so much more than the love of my life that is humbling she would deign to be it. I know I’ve said this before, but I am the luckiest boy you know.

Thank you to my mother, Pamela Koczan. Thank you to my sister, Susan Wright. Thank you to Cate Wright and Samantha Wright.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for saying hi, for giving a shit after so many years and so many typos and run-on sentences. Dumbassed blocks of text, just endless. Thank you for being here for it in some way at some point, maybe now. The support this site gets is what sustains me doing it. One more time, thank you.

More pics after the jump. No posts tomorrow (Monday) while I get caught up writing/living. Thanks again.

Read more »

This is the next-to-last day of this Quarterly Review, and while it’s been a lot, it’s been encouraging to dig into so much stuff in such intense fashion. I’ve added a few releases to my notes for year-end lists, but more importantly, I’ve gotten to hear and cover stuff that otherwise I might not, and that’s the value at a QR has for me at its core, so while we’re not through yet, I’ll just say thanks again for reading and that I hope you’ve also found something that speaks to you in these many blocks of text and embedded streaming players. If not, there’s still 20 records to go, so take comfort in that as needed.

Quarterly Review #81-90:

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Harvestman, Triptych: Part One

The weirdo-psych experimental project of Steve Von Till (now ex-Neurosis, which is still sad on a couple levels) begins a released-according-to-lunar-orbit trilogy of albums in Triptych: Part One, which is headlined by opening track “Psilosynth,” boasting a guest appearance from Al Cisneros (Sleep, Om) on bass. If those two want to start an outsider-art dub-drone band together, my middle-aged burnout self is here for it — “Psilosynth (Harvest Dub),” a title that could hardly be more Von Till and Cisneros, appears a little later, which suggests they might also be on board — but that’s only part of the world being created in Triptych: Part One as “Mare and Foal” manipulates bagpipes into ghostly melodies, “Give Your Heart to the Hawk” echoes poetry over ambient strum, “Coma” and “How to Purify Mercury” layer synthesized drone and/or effects-guitar to sci-fi affect and “Nocturnal Field Song” finds YOB‘s Dave French banging away on something metal in the background while the crickets chirp. The abiding spirit is subdued, exploratory as Von Till‘s solo works perpetually are, and even as the story is only a third told, the immersion on Triptych: Part One goes as deep as the listener is willing to let it. I look forward to being a couple moons late reviewing the next installment.

Harvestman on Facebook

Neurot Recordings website

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Kalgon, Kalgon

As they make their self-titled full-length debut, Asheville, North Carolina’s Kalgon lay claim to a deceptive wide swath of territory even separate from the thrashier departure “Apocalyptic Meiosis” as they lumber through “The Isolate” and the more melodic “Grade of the Slope,” stoner-doom leaning into psych and more cosmic vibing, with the mournful “Windigo” leading into “Eye of the Needle”‘s slo-mo-stoner-swing and gutted out vocals turning to Beatlesy melody — guitarist Brandon Davis and bassist Berten Lee Tanner share those duties while Marc Russo rounds out the trio on drums — in its still-marching second half and the post-Pallbearer reaches and acoustic finish of “Setting Sun.” An interlude serves as centerpiece between “Apocalyptic Meiosis” and “Windigo,” and that two-plus-minute excursion into wavy drone and amplifier hum works well to keep a sense of flow as the next track crashes in, but more, it speaks to longer term possibilities for how the band might grow, both in terms of what they do sonically and in their already-clear penchant for seeing their first LP as a whole, single work with its own progression and story to tell.

Kalgon on Facebook

Kalgon on Bandcamp

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Agriculture, Living is Easy

Surely there’s some element in Agriculture‘s self-applied aesthetic frame of “ecstatic black metal” in the power of suggestion, but as they follow-up their 2022 self-titled debut with the four-song Living is Easy EP and move from the major-key lightburst of the title-track into the endearingly, organically, folkishly strained harmonies of “Being Eaten by a Tiger,” renew the overwhelming blasts of tremolo and seared screams on “In the House of Angel Flesh” and round out with a minute of spoken word recitation in “When You Were Born,” guitarists Richard Chowenhill (also credited with co-engineering, mixing and mastering) and Dan Meyer (also vocals), bassist/vocalist Leah B. Levinson and drummer/percussionist Kern Haug present an innovative perspective on the genre that reminds of nothing so much as the manner in which earliest Wolves in the Throne Room showed that black metal could do something more than it had done previously. That’s not a sonic comparison, necessarily — though there are basic stylistic aspects shared between the two — but more about the way Agriculture are using black metal toward purposefully new expressive ends. I’m not Mr. Char by any means, but it’s been probably that long since the last time I heard something that was so definitively black metal and worked as much to refresh what that means.

Agriculture on Facebook

The Flenser website

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Saltpig, Saltpig

Apparently self-released by the intercontinental duo last Fall and picked up for issue through Heavy Psych Sounds, Saltpig‘s self-titled debut modernizes classic charge and swing in increasingly doomed fashion across the first four songs of its A-side, laces “Burn the Witch” with samples themed around the titular subject, and dedicates all of side B to the blown out mostly-instrumental roll of “1950,” which is in fact 19 minutes and 50 seconds long. The band, comprised of guitarist/vocalist/noisemaker Mitch Davis (also producer for a swath of more commercially viable fare) and drummer Fabio Alessandrini (ex-Annihilator), are based in New York and Italy, respectively, and whatever on earth might’ve brought them together, in both the heavy-garage strut of “Demon” and the willfully harsh manner in which they represent themselves in the record’s back half, they bask in the rougher edges of their tones and approach more generally. “When You Were Dead” is something of a preface in its thicker distortion to “1950,” but its cavernous shouted vocals retain a psychedelic presence amid the ensuing grit, whereas once the closer gets underway from its feedback-soaked first two minutes, they make it plain there’s no coming back.

Saltpig on Facebook

Heavy Psych Sounds website

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Druidess, Hermits and Mandrakes

Newcomer UK doomers Druidess nod forth on their debut EP, Hermits and Mandrakes, with a buzzing tonality in “Witches’ Sabbath” that’s distinctly more Monolord than Electric Wizard, and while that’s fascinating academically and in terms of the generational shift happening in the heavy underground over the last few years, the fuzz that accompanies the hook of “Mandragora,” which follows, brings a tempo boost that situates the two-piece of vocalist Shonagh Brown and multi-instrumentalist/producer Daniel Downing (guitar, bass, keys, drum programming; he even had a hand in the artwork, apparently) in a more rocking vein. It’s heavy either way you go, and “Knightingales” brings Green Lung-style organ into the mix along with another standout hook before “The Hermit of Druid’s Temple” signs over its soul to faster Sabbath worship and closer “The Forest Witches’ Daughter” underscores the commitment to same in combination with a more occult thematic. It’s familiar-enough terrain, ultimately, but the heft they conjure early on and the movement they bring to it later should be plenty to catch ears among the similarly converted, and in song and performance they display a self-awareness of craft that is no less a source of their potential.

Druidess on Facebook

Druidess on Bandcamp

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Astral Construct, Traveling a Higher Consciousness

One-man sans-vocals psych outfit Astral Construct — aka Denver-based multi-instrumentalist Drew Patricks — released Traveling a Higher Consciousness last year, and well, I guess I got lost in a temporal wormhole or some such because it’s not last year anymore. The record’s five-track journey is encompassing in its metal-rooted take on heavy psychedelia, however, and that’s fortunate as “Accessing the Mind’s Eye” solidifies from its languid first-half unfolding into more stately progressive riffage. Bookended by the dreamy manifestation of “Heart of the Nebula” (8:12) and “Interstellar” (9:26), which moves between marching declaration and expansive helium-guitar float, the album touches ground in centerpiece “The Traveler,” but even there could hardly be called terrestrial once the drums drop out and the keys sweep in near the quick-fade finish that brings about the more angular “Long View of Astral Consciousness,” that penultimate track daring a bit of double-kick in the drums heading toward its own culmination. Now, then or future, whether it’s looking inward or out, Traveling a Higher Consciousness is a revelry for the cosmos waiting to be engaged. You might just end up in a different year upon hearing it.

Astral Construct on Facebook

Astral Construct on Bandcamp

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Ainu, Ainu

Although their moniker comes from an indigenous group who lived on Hokkaido before that island became part of modern Japan, Ainu are based in Genoa, Italy, and their self-titled debut has little to do sound-wise with the people or their culture. Fair enough. Ainu‘s Ainu, which starts out in “Il Faro” with sparse atmospheric guitar and someone yelling at you in Italian presumably about the sea (around which the record is themed), uses speech and samples to hold most positions vocals would otherwise occupy, though the two-minute “D.E.V.S.” is almost entirely voice-based, so the rules aren’t so strictly applied one way or the other. Similarly, as the three-piece course between grounded sludgier progressions and drifting post-heavy, touching on more aggressive moods in the late reaches of “Aiutami A. Ricordare” and the nodding culmination of “Khrono” but letting the breadth of “Call of the Sea” unfold across divergent movements of crunchier riffs and operatic prog grandiosity. You would not call it predictable, however tidal the flow from one piece to the next might be.

Ainu on Facebook

Subsound Records website

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Grid, The World Before Us

Progressive sludge set to a backdrop of science-fiction and extrasolar range, The World Before Us marks a turn from heretofore instrumental New York trio Grid, who not only feature vocals throughout their 38-minute six-tracker third LP, but vary their approach in that regard such that as “Our History Hidden” takes hold following the keyboardy intro “Singularity” (in we go!), the first three of the song’s 12 minutes find them shifting from sub-soaring melodicism to hard-growled metallic crunch with the comfort of an act who’ve been pulling off such things for much longer. The subsequent “Traversing the Interstellar Gateway” (9:31) works toward similar ends, only with guitar instead of singing, and the standout galloping kickdrum of “Architects of Our World” leads to a deeper dig into the back and forth between melody and dissonance, led into by the threatening effects manipulations of the interlude “Contact” and eventually giving over to the capstone outro “Duality” that, if it needs to be said, mirrors “Singularity” at the start. There’s nuance and texture in this interplay between styles — POV: you dig Opeth and Hawkwind — and my suspicion is that if Grid keep to this methodology going forward, the vocal arrangements will continue to evolve along with the rest of the band’s expanding-in-all-directions stylizations.

Grid on Facebook

Grid on Bandcamp

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Dätcha Mandala, Koda

The stated intentions of Bordeaux, France’s Dätcha Mandala in bringing elements of ’90s British alternative rock into their heavier context with their Koda LP are audible in opener “She Said” and the title-track that follows it, but it’s the underlying thread of heavy rock that wins the day across the 11-song outing, however danceable “Wild Fire” makes it or however attitude-signaling the belly-belch that starts “Thousand Pieces” is in itself. That’s not to say Koda doesn’t succeed at what it’s doing, just that there’s more to the proceedings than playing toward that particular vision of cool. “It’s Not Only Rock and Roll (And We Don’t Like It)” has fuzzy charm and a hook to boot, while “Om Namah Shivaya” ignites with an energy that is proggy and urgent in kind — the kind of song that makes you a fan at the show even if you’ve never heard the band before — and closer “Homeland” dares some burl amid its harmonized chorus and flowing final guitar solo, answering back to the post-burp chug in “Thousand Pieces” and underscoring the multifaceted nature of the album as a whole. I suppose if you have prior experience with Dätcha Mandala, you know they’re not just about one thing, but for newcomers, expect happy surprises.

Dätcha Mandala on Facebook

Discos Macarras Records website

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Dr. Space Meets Mr. Mekon, The Bubbles Scopes

Given the principals involved — Scott “Dr. Space” Heller of Øresund Space Collective, Black Moon Circle, et al, and Chris Purdon of Hawklords and Nik Turner’s Space Ritual — it should come as no surprise that The Bubbles Scopes complements its grammatical counterintuitiveness with alien soundscape concoctions of synth-based potency; the adventure into the unknown-until-it’s-recorded palpable across two extended tracks suitably titled “Trip 1” (22:56) and “Trip 2” (15:45). Longform waveforms, both. The collaboration — one of at least two Heller has slated for release this Spring; stay tuned tomorrow — makes it clear from the very beginning that the far-out course The Bubbles Scopes follows is for those who dwell in rooms with melting walls, but in the various pulsations and throbs of “Trip 1,’ the transition from organ to more electronic-feeling keyboard, and so on, human presence is no more absent than they want it to be, and while the loops are dizzying and “Trip 2” seems to reach into different dimensions with its depth of mix, when the scope is so wide, the sounds almost can’t help but feel free. And so they do. They put 30 copies on tape, because even in space all things digitalia are ephemeral. If you want one, engage your FOMO and make it happen because the chance may or may not come again.

Dr. Space on Facebook

Dr. Space on Bandcamp

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