Posted in Questionnaire on October 24th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
The Obelisk Questionnaire is a series of open questions intended to give the answerer an opportunity to explore these ideas and stories from their life as deeply as they choose. Answers can be short or long, and that reveals something in itself, but the most important factor is honesty.
Based on the Proust Questionnaire, the goal over time is to show a diverse range of perspectives as those who take part bring their own points of view to answering the same questions. To see all The Obelisk Questionnaire posts, click here.
Thank you for reading and thanks to all who participate.
The Obelisk Questionnaire: Berto Cáceres of Spinda Records
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How do you define what you do and how did you come to do it?
I basically make people aware of the music that other people do – as simple as that! Sometimes by releasing an EP or an album and trying to get them in as many shops as possible; sometimes by booking gigs; sometimes by knocking on media’s doors and being a pain in the ass asking them to review such and such, to interview this or that band; but always being very persistent – that’s the key!
Spinda Records started ‘cause of two reasons: I used to have a 9-5 day job in a marketing department in a completely different industry, but then I became a father of two and my priorities drastically changed, so I wanted something that I could do at home and see my little ones more than usual. Music had always been something very important in my life, so I felt the need of give it back something in return. And running a DIY label from my basement seemed like a good idea as I could be helping local bands to put out their music whilst being at home and see how my two girls were growing.
Describe your first musical memory.
Well, music was always there, since I was very little. I perfectly remember my mum singing Tom Jones and Nino Bravo (a Spanish singer from the 70s) or me joining her while singing the soundtrack of the film ‘Seven Brides for Seven Brothers’. Then there was my older brother who used to lock himself in the loo with the acoustic guitar to play 80s Spanish pop music. I never understood at the time why he had to do that, but it is obvious that he was trying to get some natural reverb.
Describe your best musical memory to date.
This is pretty much impossible as there are so many. I will mention just a few…
The Summer of 96 when my life changed forever thanks to the older brothers of my friends, who shared with us dozens of mix tapes with many bands from the Seattle scene, britpop, German power metal, California punk rock and melodic hardcore, Spanish ’90s rock and hip-hop. My friends and I spent the whole Summer in my dad’s garage listening to those cassettes on the boombox, learning the lyrics and taking the decision of growing our hair as our new idols.
Then it was a mind-blowing experience when in 2007 I had the chance to see Héroes del Silencio live in a venue for an audience of 75k people. They were my favourite band by that time, they split up in ’96 and they were back 11 years later for just a bunch of gigs in different countries. I cried a lot that night.
Another good one took place in January 2018, when I got in my hands the second reference of Spinda Records, although the first one to arrive. It was ‘Slowgod II’ by Spanish stoner-doom band Grajo. The feeling was like ten times better than when I was going to my local retail shop to buy records.
When was a time when a firmly held belief was tested?
About a decade ago, when I realised that friends won’t be there forever. They come and go, as I do too. The key thing is to try to get the most out of those moments that friendship brings to your life. It’s simply about enjoying the moment. If it last, it’s amazing, but don’t get disappointed if it doesn’t.
How do you define success?
It depends on the context, but regarding running the label, I would say that success happens when you take a band, there is a great relationship with their members, establish some goals and work hard together to reach them. Then if you manage to finish the month with good numbers it’s even better, ‘cause that means that you can continue another month doing what you love.
What is something you have seen that you wish you hadn’t?
When I was attending to a very famous festival in Spain and an aerial dancer fell to his death. I was there, about 10 meters away from him, and the situation was difficult; one of those moments you never forget.
Describe something you haven’t created yet that you’d like to create.
This is about dreaming, right? I’d love to start a Music Center in my hometown, including a record shop, some rehearsal rooms, an analog recording studio, a small live music venue, and some space for me to keep running Spinda Records and having my own vinyl pressing plant. I live in a corner of Spain where nothing of this exists so it would be awesome. Anyone interested?
What do you believe is the most essential function of art?
Art is about expressing yourself with your own language, and feeling.
Something non-musical that you’re looking forward to?
To keep road-trippin’ the world with my family. That would mean that we’ll get to know many different cultures and their people, living experiences together and having lot of time to speak to each-other on the road – and life is all about having quality time with your loved ones, no matter if it’s on the road, in a gig, when playing table games or while walking down the street on your way to the supermarket.
Insistent jazzjabs of snare, twisty ’90s guitar and bouncing bass lead the way into the opening title-track of Plastic Woods‘ 2021 album, Dragonfruit. Released through Spinda Records, Gato Encerrado Records, Discos Macarras, The Braves Records and Violence in the Veins, it was offered as the Andalusian three-piece’s second full-length behind 2019’s Icarus, solidifying and consciously aligning around a sound aware of its home region’s penchant for blending classic progressive rock and heavy psychedelia, but not beholden to it, working in elements of punk, doom, boogie rock, Spanish folk and flamenco guitar and vocals, a sound rife with quirk but remarkably sure of itself, and able to pivot from fleet-stepping prog to crusher riffing at will. And that’s just the first two minutes.
Guitarist/vocalist Jesús de la Torre Sánchez — also the transverse flute on 10-minute closer “Sulayr” — bassist Antonio Pérez Muriel, who holds together jams like “The Calling” and “Dreamland” with class and flash, and drummer/percussionist Javier Rubio Arrabal, whose fluidity of play allows many of the shifts between styles to be done with apparent ease, are joined by a range of guests throughout. “Dragonfruit” itself has violin from Irene Veredas, as does relatively brief acoustic piece “Storm,” while Miguel Ángel Robles Urquiza adds trumpet and Carlos Mesa García plays sax on “Dreamland,” and by then — that’s track three — the band have already run through the Mellotron-laced prog of “The Calling,” with its laid back verse and sunny, folkish chorus, lighter ’90s swing and lush midsection stopping post-flute on its bassline at four minutes in, beginning the jam that will solidify across the next two minutes, with horns, and synth, and manipulated drums, into speedier guitar that resolves in a boogieing finish. A slide whistle of feedback gives over to the standalone vocal at the beginning of “Dreamland.”
With additional flamenco guitar, palmas and jaleos from Antonio Campos del Pino and piano/synth from Isaac Pascual Godoy, Dragonfruit comes across as even more complex and with the way “The Calling” engages funk behind its vocal melody like Blind Melon and Porcupine Tree finding common ground in Iberian folk and flute. At their speediest, in the title-track or the penultimate “Close to the Void,” which returns to the opener’s dirtied-up tonality and rhythmic urgency, Plastic Woods can be dizzying, but it’s important to remember that the breadth in terms of arrangements and aesthetic here means they’re rarely doing the same thing twice on an LP that runs six songs and 32 minutes.
The violin-laced ’70s folk-rock of “Storm” is a departure from “Dreamland” prior, with that song’s foray into Beatles stomp and Primus bounce, trumpet and sax, and noodly stretchout. And “Storm” gives over to “Close to the Void,” which is a shoving rager until it hits its big stoner rock slowdown into one of the best riffs Graveyard forgot to write on their second album, while “Sulayr” puts the flute up front early and builds into a flamenco verse, saving its heavier riffing for after the midpoint of its 10:17, though even that is less of a payoff than was “Close to the Void,” but having already done that thing, Plastic Woods resolve “Sulayr” in funky horns and a jazzy comedown, falling to silence to let an acoustic flamenco guitar kick in and begin the instrumental procession that will lead the band through the end of the record.
Drums, flute, bass, eventually join, but it’s still the acoustic guitar at the center of that last divergence, and it’s telling that Plastic Woods end with that longer and broader cut rather than something ‘just’ raucous and loud, showing ambition in a way that leads one to believe they’re cognizant of the styles they’re twisting together into one thing, and the changeable nature of that formula. From “Close to the Void” toying with doom to “Dragonfruit” panning the flourish lead lines of its verse, to the pairing of voice and violin on “Storm,” Dragonfruit accomplishes a sense of scope without giving up the songs beneath the arrangements or making the arrangements themselves the point of the thing. That is, “Dragonfruit” would still be a song without the horns. They enhance it, but their being there is clearly not the only reason the song was written, and whoever else is involved in a given track, the core trio shine through the production and mix from Jesús Gómez Moreno and Guillermo Ruiz Ravira at Green Cross Studio in Málaga (Mario G. Alberni at Kadifornia Mastering mastered).
In the vocals of Sánchez, Muriel‘s creativity and fun in the low end, and Arrabal‘s ready-for-it drumming, Plastic Woods seem to overflow with forward potential, whether that manifests in riffier or more folk-informed fare or — most likely — finds some space within and between the two, playing up the differences sometimes and at other points drawing lines from one to the other to find commonalities, much as they do here. I won’t try to predict where their music will go, though I wouldn’t be surprised if they had more keyboard next time out, but the confidence and boldness with which they so energetically present Dragonfruit speaks to a desire to progress, to grow as a band, and to continue to carve out their place in the ever-busy Spanish underground.
I was fortunate enough to see Plastic Woods play the pre-show at SonicBlast Fest (review here) last week. I knew nothing about them going into that experience and was a bit blown away as the set unfolded and the band were able to pull off the kinds of changes one hears them making throughout Dragonfruit, including bringing out the additional flamenco guitar twice during what was still only like 40 minutes but was an evening’s worth of getting-schooled. Young band, killer sound, will to grow and just enough weird in what they do to make it really unpredictable — you can pretty much sign me up for that anytime.
No clue if Plastic Woods are working on new material or another record or what, but I knew I wanted to write about this one after seeing them. Some things are worth talking about.
Thanks as always for reading. Hope you enjoy.
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This week is it for The Pecan and camp. There’s like two-plus weeks left before school starts, but we figured a couple weeks of actual break at the end wouldn’t be the worst. Today’s the last day of the last camp. Made it through the fucking summer. It was touch and go there for a minute, as I think you know.
The Patient Mrs. has lined up a few ‘fun week’ activities next week. Day trips and so on. I’m going to do my best to write as much as I can — same as always — but I’m also not going to miss summer with my five year old because I’m never going to have another, and even when she’s six next year, that’s a big difference. Who knows what she’ll be like by then?
But this week was bug camp and bug camp was two hours a day, so having a bit of a time crunch was what it was. I did my best. I think I forgot to put a post up one day and another day had four, but whatever. I feel like the one thing this site isn’t hurting for is content.
Mostly in addition to camp, which is at the arboretum, which is always nice and about 10 minutes away, this week was about comedown from being away last weekend. SonicBlast was a hoot. Great people, lovely time, I saw Greenleaf and Dozer again. I saw Acid King play “Mind’s Eye,” Ruff Majik do “Hillbilly Fight Song,” on and on. But tiring too. You come home tired, then there’s all the back-home stuff to do. By Monday afternoon I was pretty frazzled. Leftover adrenaline.
But I got there, I guess is what matters. And I’ll note that right now, this week, I’m not at my lowest of lows, and that seems worth appreciating. Wow, it’s almost like I benefitted somehow from blowing my brains out with music and being told my work is important for four days. No kidding. The insight around here never stops.
Have a great and safe weekend. Don’t forget to hydrate, sunblock. Watch your head. All that stuff.
Andalusian atmospheric heavy rock three-piece Santo Rostro will issue their fourth album, Después no habrá nada, on March 10 through Spinda Records, Discos Macarras and LaRubia Producciones. At 34 minutes and five songs, it’s barely as long as the list of links at the bottom of this post, but that’s plenty enough time for the Jaén trio to make their impression in fuzz, space and largesse, crafting a kind of heavy rock that, whether it’s celebrating riffs for crunch’s sake on “Carcasa Digital” or twisting around the more progressive headspins of “Matriz” later on, resounds with persona and purpose alike.
Self-recorded, the album is likewise heavy and movement-based, even in its basic construction; the individual tracks — “Telerañas” (3:50), “Carcasa Digital” (4:29), “Aire” (5:44), “Matriz” (8:09) and the instrumental “Después no habrá nada” (11:52) — being arranged shortest to longest to draw the listener further in as “Carcasa Digital” picks up from the post-grunge melodic noise rock of “Telerañas” to intertwine synth with the fuzzy crunch of (also vocalist) Miguel Ortega‘s guitar and Antonio Gámez‘s bass; Alejandro Galiano‘s snare drum tapping away furiously beneath the keyboard-topped swirl of “Carcasa Digital” before the whole thing shifts into a proggy run of start-stops and sweeps back into the build, ending with more of a tempo push than a swell of volume.
There’s grace here, and the listener is never in doubt Santo Rostro are going to get where they’re going, but the process of how that happens is what makes the record an exciting and grabbing listen, the jabs of keys in “Telerañas” and the beginning there of the almost manic guitar runs runs that typify the album as a whole (or at least as a most), and the sneaky entry of what on many albums would be a culmination-riff after the three-minute mark — it put me in mind of something Genghis Tron might use to make a declaration earlier in their career, but there isn’t much in common between the two bands otherwise, save for a generalization like “they’re intense” — and the trio’s Andalusian-folk-informed semi-psychedelic atmospheres emerging from the physicality of the music itself, angular and immediate in rhythm, but with an overarching flow like some kind of overly complex hyper-run-on sentence that just won’t end and maybe you forgot what you wanted to say when you started it but Santo Rostro still know what they’re doing when they’re spinning circles around the inside of your brain. Dance, baby, dance.
And then doom a bit, because indeed, Después no habrá nada (English: ‘Then there will be nothing’) isn’t screwing around when it comes to heft as one of the tools in its stylistic shed. The first three tracks — what one assumes is side A — drop hints of the largesse to come in “Matriz” and the title-cut, the acoustic guitar that starts “Aire” and remains beneath for the duration, the electrifying surge in the layers of the solo in the song’s second half ascends to its peak, the band exquisitely tapping aspects of regional heavy psych, less garage than Mía Turbia, in which Ortega drums, but certainly aware of the likes of Mind!, Atavismo and Híbrido and the post-Viaje a 800 cohort’s ability to create a flowing current from seemingly hairpin turns. Santo Rostro aren’t nearly as drift-minded or kosmiche as some of those, and they’re not trying to be, but there are shared elements just the same, as “Matriz” begins side B with an immediate run of full synth-complemented fuzz and sprinting progressive heavy.
This out-of-a-cannon madcap sproing is destined to hit a wall, but the infectiousness of Después no habrá nada‘s energy isn’t to be understated as the band’s rhythmic tension is taken in by the listener, turned into a skin-tightening grip as “Matriz” grows more spacious in its chorus, Ortega‘s gruff vocals (yes, in Spanish) echoing over. The bass and guitar foreshadow just after the four-minute mark, but they’re still in full-go mode, and not to be lost in the cacophony is the sense of control on the part of the band holding it all together even when the song itself sounds like it’s struggling to come apart.
You could debate who’s won as the drums crash out at 5:17 and not-just-a-but-the-slower-riff is introduced, taking the clue dropped in “Telerañas” and bringing that righteous nod forward as the foundation for the rest of the track. They set it up in grand style, Galiano keeping time on the crash, Gámez underscoring with warmth the guitar and the organ line that emerges to join the slow march. The ending of “Matriz” is a standout moment that grows noisier and its own kind of frantic in the layering despite the drop in pace, but the shift is intentional and smoothly done as Santo Rostro give themselves an arrival point to go along with all that going.
Of course, they’re not done yet. “Matriz” howls by the time it’s done, the vocals and guitar as stretched out as they’re going to get, and the closer “Después no habrá nada” takes off like nothing ever happened, effectively resetting the pieces on the board for another game as they bounce and careen, build and run through the first couple minutes of the title-track, vague in genre — if some dude was screaming on it circa the three-minute mark, you’d say it sounded like Enslaved, but in reality Santo Rostro aren’t nearly so metal — but right on in affect and, by this time, well established in their doing-their-own-thing ethic.
As noted, “Después no habrá nada” is instrumental, but that aside it accounts for most of what Santo Rostro do throughout the album that shares its name, including the prog-out-into-slowdown at 4:30, the echoing atmospheric lead lines thereafter and the keys bolstering the moment’s impact, a fluid jam proceeding until before seven minutes in the drums break and an acoustic guitar enters to set up the final section, a cosmic payoff that, while keeping the acoustic guitar beneath like in “Matriz,” unfolds with due sense of exhalation. Ortega throws some shred into the fray, but the ending is less about one player than the total immersion crafted by the three of them. It stops, invariably, and hums into a fade, but the acoustic returns for another minute-plus of grows-more-urgent strum before cutting to silence, as though the album could end any other way.
It’s been six years since Santo Rostro issued their third full-length, The Healer, and coming up on 10 since they made their self-titled debut, and while Después no habrá nada carries forward some of the sonic facets and attitude of their prior work, the change from English to Spanish lyrics and titles and the choice to record themselves can only be said to suit them. They make themselves at home in the stormy, jazzy feverishness, and effectively contrast that later on with more straight-ahead groove, furthering the whole-record experience at no cost to the individual tracks in terms of the impression made. Después no habrá nada, like any kind of extreme music or really anything, won’t be universally received, but for those willing to put in the effort to keep up with it, the satisfaction is commensurate.
The album is streaming in its entirety below, followed by some more basic info and the aforementioned barrage of links.
Please enjoy:
‘DESPUÉS NO HABRÁ NADA’ by Santo Rostro. Out 10th March 2023.
Spanish psych-doom rockers SANTO ROSTRO are back in business with their 4th studio album ‘Después no habrá nada’ – to be released on 10th March 2023 via Discos Macarras, LaRubia Producciones & Spinda Records.
Andalusian power trio returns with a dark-psych rock album, with long tracks including complex instrumental developments, processed atmospheres and a dirty sound plenty of echoes, different modulations and occasional synths.
Many things have changed in SANTO ROSTRO since they put out ‘The Healer’ in 2017, and this is obviously reflected in this new album. ‘Después no habrá nada’ is the result of a more mature band, with thousands of kilometers touring both Spain and EU on their back, several TV appearances and a couple of stand-alone video-singles – and everything 100% DIY.
The album was produced by the band itself; then recorded and mixed by Raúl Pérez at La Mina (Spain); and mastered by Mario G. Alberni at Kadifornia Mastering (Spain). Behind the artwork is The Braves Church, based on photographies by Manu Rosaleny.
Digital 300x CD Digipack 150x Black Vinyl 150x Orange Translucent Vinyl
TRACK-LIST: 1. Telarañas 2. Carcasa Digital 3. Aire 4. Matriz 5. Después no habrá nada
SANTO ROSTRO: Miguel Ortega: guitars Antonio Gámez: bass, vocals Alejandro Galiano: drums
Posted in Whathaveyou on February 10th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
Okay, so, you’re probably going to notice pretty quickly the spaciousness in Santo Rostro‘s new single, “Telarañas,” what with all that cavernous echo and reverb tonality, vocals calling up from the mix and so on. Killer, right from the moment the song bursts in just when it should. As the Andalusian trio bring it forward through its utterly-consumable sub-four-minute run, you’ll notice that that space that feels so open at the beginning of the song has begun to fill up. By the end of the track, it becomes a full-on wash of clearheaded atmospheric heavy psych, pushing forward in a way that reminds me of bands like Arc of Ascent, who’ve mastered the art of bringing together grounded groove and lysergic effects plunge. The band’s fourth album — first I’ve heard, I’ll say outright; I ain’t perfect and I’m just about never Johnny Groundfloor — is called Después No Habrá Nada, and with the unveiling of the opening track today and the launch of preorders comes confirmation of a March 10 release through Spinda Records, Discos Macarras and LaRubia Producciones.
Yes, this is another post about Spinda engaging in a multi-label conglomerate to get behind a new release. Also yes, I recognize that Spanish imprints have been doing this for years, and that all three involved parties here — four if you count the band, which it’s fair to do — are based in Spain, but the last few weeks have seen Spinda making announcements that broaden this ethic to other places in Europe and beyond, and I’ll gladly reiterate that I think it’s a good thing.
Perhaps you don’t give a shit about any of that and just want to rock the tune and see if you’re interested. Go for it. But while you do, just keep in the back of your mind the sort of team ethic and extended reach that’s possible when independent labels like this work together. Teamwork, dream work, and all that. Then blow out the airlock and get ready to launch into open cosmos because that’s pretty much where this one goes.
Enjoy:
‘DESPUÉS NO HABRÁ NADA’ by Santo Rostro. Out 10th March 2023.
Spanish psych-doom rockers SANTO ROSTRO are back in business with their 4th studio album ‘Después no habrá nada’ – to be released on 10th March 2023 via Discos Macarras, LaRubia Producciones & Spinda Records, although the single “Telarañas” is coming out on 10th February. The pre-order for vinyl, compact discs and digital editions starts that same day.
Andalusian power trio returns with a dark-psych rock album, with long tracks including complex instrumental developments, processed atmospheres and a dirty sound plenty of echoes, different modulations and occasional synths.
Many things have changed in SANTO ROSTRO since they put out ‘The Healer’ in 2017, and this is obviously reflected in this new album. ‘Después no habrá nada’ is the result of a more mature band, with thousands of kilometers touring both Spain and EU on their back, several TV appearances and a couple of stand-alone video-singles – and everything 100% DIY.
This way, we find ourselves with a more balanced and determined sound, with a tremendous solid and seamless rhythmic base, powerful and organic at the same time, with a dance of tempos that accelerate and slow down at the right time – there’s no clapperboard in here.
In ‘Después no habrá nada’ you’ll find from doom to sludge, with high doses of progressive metal and even Andalusian heavy psych. It could be understood as a great mix of bands such as Viaje a 800, Adrift, Oransi Pazuzu, Mastadon or Russian Circles, but with an imprint that only SANTO ROSTRO has. This new album is a kind of a personal delirium and hangover; with some rehearsal room taste and accumulated fatigue.
The album was produced by the band itself; then recorded and mixed by Raúl Pérez at La Mina (Spain); and mastered by Mario G. Alberni at Kadifornia Mastering (Spain). Behind the artwork is The Braves Church, based on photographies by Manu Rosaleny.
‘Después no habrá nada’ comes out on 10th March 2023 through Discos Macarras, LaRubia Producciones and Spinda Records in the following editions:
Digital 300x CD Digipack 150x Black Vinyl 150x Orange Translucent Vinyl
TRACK-LIST: 1. Telarañas 2. Carcasa Digital 3. Aire 4. Matriz 5. Después no habrá nada
SANTO ROSTRO: Miguel Ortega: guitars Antonio Gámez: bass, vocals Alejandro Galiano: drums
Here we are in the Spring 2022 Quarterly Review. I have to hope and believe you know what this means by now. It’s been like eight years. To reiterate, 10 reviews a day for this week. I’ve also added next Monday to the mix because there’s just so, so, so much out there right now, so this Quarterly Review will total 60 albums covered. It could easily be more. And more. And more. You get the point.
So while we’re on the edge of this particular volcano, looking down into the molten center of the Quarterly Review itself, I’ll say thanks for reading if you do at any point, and I hope you find something to make doing so worth the effort.
Here we go.
Quarterly Review #1-10:
Spidergawd, VI
Like clockwork, Spidergawd released V (review here), in 2019, and amid the chaos of 2020, they announced they’d have a new record out in 2021 — already the longest pause between LPs of their career — for which they’d be touring. The Norwegian outfit — who aren’t so much saviors of rock as a reminder of why it doesn’t need saving in the first place — at last offer the nine songs and 41 minute straight-ahead drive of VI with their usual aplomb, energizing a classic heavy rock sound and reveling in the glorious hooks of “Prototype Design” and “Running Man” at the outset, throwing shoulders with the sheer swag of “Black Moon Rising,” and keeping the rush going all the way until “Morning Star” hints toward some of their prior psych-prog impulses. They’ve stripped those back here, and on the strength of their songwriting and the shining lights that seem to accompany their performance even on a studio recording, they remain incomparable in working to the high standard of their own setting.
The first Eight Bells full-length for Prophecy Productions, Legacy of Ruin comes six years after their second LP, Landless (review here), and finds founding guitarist/vocalist Melynda Marie Jackson, bassist/guitarist/vocalist Matt Solis, drummer Brian Burke, a host of guests and producer Billy Anderson complicating perceptions of Pacific Northwestern US black metal. Across the six songs and in extended cuts like “The Well” and closer “Premonition,” Eight Bells remind of their readiness to put melodies where others fear tread, and to execute individualized cross-genre breadth that even in the shorter “Torpid Dreamer” remains extreme, whatever else one might call it in terms of style. “The Crone” and other moments remind of Enslaved, but seem to be writing a folklore all their own in that.
Swiss four-piece Blue Rumble bring organically-produced, not-quite-vintage-but-retro-informed heavy psych blues boogie on their self-titled debut full-length, impressing with the sharp edges around which the grooves curve, the channel-spanning, shred-ready solo of the guitars, and the organ that add so much to where vocals might otherwise be. The five-minute stretch alone of second cut “Cosmopolitan Landscape,” which follows the garage urgency of opener “God Knows I Shoulda Been Gone,” runs from a mellow-blues exploration into a psych hypnosis and at last into a classic-prog freakout before, miraculously, returning, and that is by no means the total scope of the album, whether it’s the winding progressions in “Cup o’ Rosie (Just Another Groovy Thing),” the laid back midsection of “Sunset Fire Opal” or the hey-is-that-flute on the shorter pastoral interlude “Linda,” as if naming the song before that “Think for Yourself” wasn’t enough of a Beatles invocation. The strut continues unabated in “The Snake” and the grittier “Hangman,” and closer “Occhio e Croce” (‘eye and cross,” in Italian) shimmers with Mellotron fluidity atop its central build, leaving the raw vitality of the drums to lead into a big rock finish well earned. Heads up, heavy rock and rollers. This is hot shit.
It’s palindrome time on Mainz, Germany’s The Mountain King‘s WolloW. Once the solo-project of guitarist/vocalist/programmer Eric McQueen, the experimentalist band here includes guitarist Frank Grimbarth and guest bassist Jack Cradock — you can really hear that bass on “II In Grium Imus Noctem Aram et Consumimur Igni” (hope you practiced your conjugations) and through five songs, they cross genres from the atmospheric heavygaze-meets-Warning of “I Bongnob” through the blackened crunch of the above-noted second cut to a gloriously dreamy and still morose title-track, and the driving expanse of “V DNA Sand.” Then they do it backwards, as “V DNA Sand” seems to flip halfway through. But they’re also doing it backwards at the same time as forward, so as The Mountain King work back toward album finale “bongnoB I,” what was reversed and what wasn’t has switched and the listener isn’t really sure what’s up or down, where they are or why. This, of course, is exactly the point. Take that, form and structure! Open your mind and let doom in!
Berlin trio Sheev prove adept at skirting the line of outright aggression, and in fact crossing it, while maintaining control over their direction and execution. Mind Conductor is their debut album, and it works well to send signals of its complexity, samples and obscure sounds on “The Workshop” giving over the riffs of immediate impact on “Well Whined.” The channel-spanning guitar pulls on “Saltshifter,” the harmonies in the midsection of “All I Can,” the going-for-it-Danny–Carey-style drums on the penultimate “Baby Huey” (and bonus points for that reference) — all of these and so much more in the nine-song/53-minute span come together fluidly to create a portrait of the band’s depth of approach and the obvious consideration they put into what they do. Closer “Snakegosh” may offer assurance they don’t take themselves too seriously, but even that song’s initial rolling progression can’t help but wind its way through later angularities. It will be interesting to hear the direction they ultimately take over the course of multiple albums, but don’t let that draw focus from what they accomplish on this first one.
Dudes got riffs. From Medford, Oregon, Elk Witch draw more from the sphere of modern heavy rockers like earlier The Sword or Freedom Hawk than the uptempo post-Red Fang party jams for which much of the Pacific Northwest is known, but the groove is a good time just the same. The six tracks of Beyond the Mountain are born out of the trio’s 2021 debut EP — wait for it — The Mountain, but the four songs shared between the two offerings have been re-recorded here, repositioned and sandwiched between opener “Cape Foulweather” and closer “The Plight of Valus,” so the reworking feels consistent from front to back. And anyway, it’s only been a year, so ease up. Some light burl throughout, but the vocals on “Coyote and the Wind’s Daughters” remind me of Chritus in Goatess, so there’s some outright doom at work too, though “Greybeard Arsenal” might take the prize for its shimmering back-half slowdown either way, and “The Plight of Valus” starts out with a seeming wink at Kyuss‘ “El Rodeo,” so nothing is quite so simply traced. Raw, but they’ll continue to figure out where they’re headed, and the converted will nod knowingly. For what it’s worth, I dig it.
If “evocative” is what New Hampshire post-metallic mostly-instrumentalists KYOTY were going for with their third full-length, could they possibly have picked something better to call it than Isolation? It’d be a challenge. And with opener “Quarantine,” songs like “Ventilate,” “Languish,” “Faith,” and “Rift,” “Respite” and closer “A Fog, A Future Like a Place Imagined,” the richly progressive unit working as the two-piece of Nick Filth and Nathaniel Parker Raymond weave poetic aural tapestries crushing and spacious in kind with the existential dread and vague flashes of hope in pandemic reality of the 2020s thus far. Still, they work in impressionist fashion, so that the rumbling crackle of “Onus” and the near-industrial slog of “Respite” represent place and idea while also standing apart as a not-quite-objective observer, the lighter float of the guitar in “Faith” becoming a wash before its resonant drone draws it to a close. At 70 minutes, there’s a lot to say for a band who doesn’t have lyrics, but spoken lines further the sense of verse, and remind of the humanity behind the programming of “Holter” or the especially pummeling “Rift.” An album deep enough you could listen to it for years and hear something new.
Andalusian storytellers Red Eye make it plain from the outset that their ambitions are significant, and the seven songs of their third full-length play out those ambitions across ultra-flowing shifts between serenity and heft, working as more than just volume trades and bringing an atmospheric sprawl that is intended to convey time as well as place. In 46 minutes, they do for doom and various other microgenres — post-metal, some more extreme moments in “Beorg” and the morse-code-inclusive closer “Æsce” — what earlier Opeth did for death metal, adding shifts into unbridled folk melody and sometimes minimalist reach. Clearly meant to be taken in its entirety, The Cycle functions beautifully across its stretch, and the four-piece of guitarist/vocalist Antonio Campos (also lyrics), guitarist/vocalist Pablo Terol, bassist Antonio Muriel and drummer Ángel Arcas, bear weight of tone and history in kind, self-aware that the chants in “Tempel” brim with purpose, but expressive in the before and after such that they wherever they will and make it a joy to follow.
Originally recorded to come out in 2013, what would’ve been/is the Stoned Horses‘ self-titled debut full-length runs 12 tracks and swaps methodologies between instrumentalism and more verse/chorus-minded sludge rock. Riffs lead, in either case, and there’s a sense of worship that goes beyond Black Sabbath as the later “Scorpions Vitus” handily confirms. The semi-eponymous “A Stoned Horse” is memorable for its readiness to shout the hook at you repeatedly, and lest a band called Stoned Horses ever be accused of taking themselves too seriously, “My Horse is Faster Than Your Bike” is a sub-two-minute riffer that recalls late-’90s/early-’00s stoner rock fuckery, before everyone started getting progressive. Not short on charm, there’s plenty of substance behind it in “Le Calumet” like a northern Alabama Thunderpussy or the last cut, “The Legend of the Blue Pig,” which dares a bit more metal. Not groundbreaking, not trying to be, it’s a celebration of the tropes of genre given its own personality. I have nothing more to ask of it except what happened that it sat for nearly a decade without being released.
Antwerpen’s Gnome make it a hell of a lot of fun to trace their path across King, their second full-length, bringing in The Vintage Caravan‘s Óskar Logi early for “Your Empire” and finding a line between energetic, on-the-beat delivery and outright aggression, letting “Ambrosius” set the tone for what follows as they careen though cuts like the instrumental “Antibeast,” the swinging and catchy “Wencelas” and the crunching “Bulls of Bravik.” How do they do it? With the magic of shenanigans! As King (which “Wencelas” was) plays out, the suitably hatted trio get up to high grade nonsense on “Kraken Wanker” before “Stinth Thy Clep” and the 11-minute we-can-do-whatever-we-want-so-let’s-do-that-yes closer “Platypus Platoon” buries its later march amid a stream of ideas that, frankly, kind of sounds like it could just keep going. They are adventurous throughout the eight songs and 42 minutes, but have a solid foundation nonetheless of tone and consciousness, which are what save King from being a mess. It’s a hard balance to strike that they make sound easy.
Posted in Reviews on December 18th, 2012 by JJ Koczan
Half a decade after issuing their excellent sophomore outing in the form of Estampida de Trombones, Andalusian heavy rockers Viaje a 800 emerge a much different band on the follow-up, Coñac Oxigenado. Not necessarily sonically – their sound is still very much defined by an encompassing, moody tonal weight and the lower register vocals of bassist Alberto “Poti” Mota – however, Mota has revamped Viaje a 800’s lineup and shifted the songwriting process, going from a four-piece to a trio and writing some of the longest songs the band had ever put on an album. Where Estampida de Trombones had shorter pieces like “Nicosia” or “Zé,” none of Coñac Oxigenado’s five tracksclocks in at under six minutes, and the album as a whole is a full 51 minutes long. I’d say that the band had a lot on their minds after not issuing a record in five years, but the break between their 2001 Diablo Roto De debut and Estampida de Trombones was six years, and the second album was the shorter of the two. In any case, Viaje a 800 – who release the full-length, as always, via Alone Records – are well suited to the more extended form, and the album is clearly organized to showcase the longer cuts, with the three that run over 10 minutes positioned as the opener, centerpiece and closer. Those are “Oculi Omnium in Te Sperant Domine,” “Eterna Soledad” and “What’s Going On,” respectively, and each of them as well as “Ni Perdón Ni Olvido” and “Tagarnina Blues” between have something different to offer the listener who would take them on. The closer is notable for the departure from the band’s native Spanish to English lyrics, but even so, Viaje a 800 still sound like Viaje a 800 more than they sound like anyone else, and anyone who got into either or both of their other albums will recognize elements still present in their sound, whether it’s the insistent rhythms, vague Monster Magnet influence or choice riffing. Given that Mota is joined by two new players – J. Angel on guitar/backing vocals and Andres on drums – I don’t know and won’t presume to say how much of the songwriting was his to start with, but as Viaje a 800 came into their third with a strong sound developed over two prior outings, that they’d develop the sound rather than depart from it in spite of lineup shifts can only be a good thing. Particularly given how much Coñac Oxigenado rocks.
On either of their past albums, “Oculi Omnium in Te Sperant Domine” might have been more than one song. Viaje a 800 open with a driving riff that soon leads into the hook of a verse – Mota wasting no time in establishing a straightforward push – and soon Angel takes the fore with a couple leads offset by vocals here and there around the central figure carried across on rhythm guitar, bass and drums. Just past three minutes in, however, the pace cuts and flourishes of percussion and a descending stair progression lead the way out to a psychedelic interlude. Mellotron sounds underscore a sparse bluesy guitar before Andres ups the snare punctuation and Mota returns on vocals for a still-slowed verse. In turn, this gives way to a faster bass-introduced section topped with fuzz guitar that veers into flamenco claps and rhythmic intricacy. The guitar eventually comes back alongside Mota’s steady bassline and Andres’ consistent snare march, but Viaje a 800 never quite get back to the initial verse progression, ending instead what started out as a simply structured song with a lengthy instrumental jam. Whether or not it was their intent to catch their audience off guard, I don’t know, but the disorienting effect persists and it feels purposeful. The shorter “Ni Perdón Ni Olvido” starts out more metallic with a guitar like from Angel that feels culled from the playbook of Countdown to Extinction-era Megadeth – of course the context is different – that immediately grounds Coñac Oxigenado’s flow and sets the course for the next seven-plus minutes, most of which is derived from that initial distorted verse line. Angel’s lead work proves a highlight throughout the record, but as “Ni Perdón Ni Olvido” branches out so specifically from the guitar line, it seems especially notable on the second track. As “Eterna Soledad” gets underway with an organic-feeling mandolin groove, he becomes all the more a standout factor in Viaje a 800’s current incarnation.
With three massively varied full-lengths already under their collective belt, be-robed Andalusian doom trio Orthodox return with the follow-up to 2009’s Sentencia in the form of Baal. Baal, released like its predecessor through Spanish imprint Alone Records, is comprised of five tracks that follow the band’s charted course of morose exploration, but find them bringing some crunch into their dirges. Where Sentencia had a medieval, blackly-plagued vibe to it, Baal is more directly doomed, though you might not know it from the near-six-minute instrumental opener, “Alto Padre,” which sets a tone of the kind of free jazz ethic Orthodox has been incorporating into their sound since their 2006 debut, Gran Poder. What remains most consistent about Orthodox on Baal is the band’s ability to affect a mood and their truly open creative sensibility. As much as they’re within the doom genre, they’re almost never limited by it, and from bassist Marco Serrato Gallardo’s victorious vocal warble on “Taurus” to the recklessly rhythmic drive of “Hanin Ba’al,” it seems Orthodox could go anywhere at any moment and be able to pull something coherent out of it.
That’s no easy feat when you’re working with this kind of sonic breadth. With just three members in the band – Gallardo is joined as ever by guitarist Ricardo Jimenez Gómez and drummer Borja Diaz Vera – Orthodox manage to completely set an atmosphere both expansive and encompassing, despite a traditionally doomed, spacious feel in the songs. Gómez’s layers of guitar on “Alto Padre” strum and ring freely while Vera rolls on his toms behind, leaving Gallardo to thicken and fill out the song on bass. It’s hard to tell from there where Orthodox might be going with Baal – at least hard to tell correctly – and it’s as though they’re leading from Sentencia directly into this newer material, leaving it up to the first track here to provide the transition from one to the next. If we take “Taurus,” then as the beginning of Baal proper, it’s a lumbering and thoroughly doom face that Orthodox are presenting on their latest work. Gallardo would seem to lead the charge with open bass notes ringing through the breaks and vocals that march as much as they do anything else, but Gómez soon injects one of Baal’s several killer solos and makes his presence known that way. Over time, the members of Orthodox have clearly gotten more comfortable with each other as players, and their interaction is the key to making Baal a success. They never sacrifice artistry or dumb down their playing style to highlight a riff, but neither do they fail to pay homage to the heaviness that was doubtless the impetus behind forming the band in the first place.
Posted in Reviews on March 28th, 2011 by JJ Koczan
There’s no telling where the sludge is going to come from next. Andalusian three-piece Monkeypriest got together in 2006 and are now releasing their debut full-length, The Psalm, on heavy Spanish imprint Féretro Records. The album is seven songs, four of which are 6:45-7:00 minutes long, and though that might make it seem like Monkeypriest are working well within a formula, the other tracks – an instrumental opener called “Hanuman’s Dance,” a cover of Cerebral Fix’s “Feast of the Fools” and 10-minute closer “Our Kingdom (Involution Pt. II)” – are enough to break up the proceedings, and combined with the elements of metallic extremity the trio incorporate, The Psalm comes across more varied than one might think. It’s probably not going to blow any minds when it comes to sludge – shades of Eyehategod and Crowbar underscore much of the riffing from guitarist Marco Álvarez – but they have enough different about them to keep the tracks interesting.
Part of that includes a militant kind of nature-based spiritualism and activist sense. Lyrics like “Listen to the sound of nature/I have to follow your work/My protector, my Lord/I need your powerful words” from the title-track sound more like they should be coming from some swoopy-haired Christian deathcore, but Monkeypriest elevate environmentalism to a religious level and use it as the central theme of The Psalm. One might have a hard time figuring that out through the growls and screams of bassist Pedro Román, backed periodically by Álvarez, but the words are right in the liner notes for anyone who wants to explore the album on that level. Even through song titles like “The Word of the Priest” and “Involution,” though, it should be clear from the outset that Monkeypriest have a message they’re trying to deliver. For lack of a better word, call it preaching. It’s also worth noting that each member of the trio uses a numerical stage name. Álvarez is Monkeypriest #1, Román is Monkeypriest #2, and drummer Julio Moreno (who replaced Rafael García sometime before the album was recorded) is Monkeypriest #4. I thought for the purposes of this review that real names would make it easier to distinguish who was doing what.
“The Word of the Priest,” which follows “Hanuman’s Dance,” is more or less a mission statement for The Psalm lyrically and musically. The pacing is on the slower end of middle, and that seems to be where Monkeypriest are most comfortable. Moreno begins the track with heavy thuds and keeps that ethic moving well into “The Psalm,” which follows, enacting builds and subtle tempo changes skillfully. It being sludge, the riffs are central, but the dry-throated rasp of the vocals to “The Psalm” will also make it a standout to those who appreciate screams over their doom. The groove the band follows the riff into proves worthy of naming the album after, but the real surprise follows a Román-led bass break, when the band launch into black metal-style blastbeats and a guitar line that could have come off any of the last several Satyricon records. It’s a unique moment on The Psalm, but hardly Monkeypriest’s only foray into the more extreme end of metal. There’s still that Cerebral Fix cover to come. They do well blending those elements into their sound, though, and it gives The Psalm a sense of being more than just another screamy sludge outing.
