Posted in Whathaveyou on July 27th, 2026 by JJ Koczan
Couple classics here, and not the only ones in the catalog of Argentina’s Los Natas. The trio fronted by <strong>Sergio Chotsourian (Ararat, Soldati, Sergio Ch., Brno, etc.) released Corsario Negro and El Hombre Montaña in 2002 and 2006, both originally through Small Stone Records, and this series of catalog reissues via Heavy Psych Sounds — the first two LPs have already come out, this is albums three and four — follows a series circa 2020 through Argonauta, so no, these albums haven’t been lost, but neither has Los Natas ever gotten anything close to the respect they’re due. The more ears that these records hit, the better the world gets.
Both are out Oct. 23, but are available to preorder and both are streaming at the bottom of this post, so there. Zero reason not to dig in, whether you’ve heard them before or not.
From the PR wire:
Heavy Psych Sounds Records to announce LOS NATAS reissues Corsario Negro + El Hombre Montaña – presale starts TODAY !!
*** LOS NATAS – Corsario Negro *** – REISSUE of LOS NATAS third album in brand new coloured vinyls and digipak –
Today we are stoked to start the presale of the LOS NATAS third album CORSARIO NEGRO reissued in brand new coloured vinyls and digipak !!
RELEASED IN 10 ULTRA LTD TEST PRESS VINYL 100 ULTRA LTD YELLOW TRANSPARENT BACK. + SPLATTER IN BLUE/BLACK/RED VINYL 300 LTD GREEN VINYL BLACK VINYL DIGIPAK
TRACKLIST
SIDE A El Bolsero – 5:09 Amanecer Blanco – 3:27 No Es Lo Mismo – 5:27 Humo Negro Del Vaticano – 5:36 La Espada En La Piedra – 4:17
SIDE B El Ciervo – 7:40 El Camino De Dios – 4:30 De Las Cenizas, El Hombre… – 6:35 Sigue, Sigue… – 6:10
MASTERED BY JUSTIN WEIS ARTWORK BY SERGIO CH. PRODUCED BY BILLY ANDERSON
LOS NATAS was SERGIO CHOTSOURIAN (guitar & vocals) WALTER BROIDE (drums) GONZALO VILLAGRA (bass) and JOSE “EL TOPO” ARMETTA (vocals) CLAUDIO FILADORO (bass) MIGUEL FERNANDEZ (bass)
Swaggering heavy psychedelic blues, sweet and organic in tone and near universal in its swing, La Vida es Dura is the 2021 debut album from Buenos Aires, Argentina’s Moodoom. It is comprised of five tracks and runs a relatively humble 29 minutes, but even in its longest cut — the seven-and-a-half-minute “Tiempo de Confusión” — it is void of filler, and there’s no moment front-to-back that doesn’t add to the flow of the whole. It is pointedly, willfully Sabbathian, and though it makes less of a show of that worship than some, even the fade-in of closer “Incomprendido” seems to follow a trust-the-first-six-albums methodology, and it isn’t trying to make you believe otherwise.
This lack of pretense is a strength across the board as guitarist/vocalist Cristian Marchesi, bassist/vocalist Jonathan Callejas and drummer Javier Cervetti lean into instrumental chemistry and an abiding sense of jamming in a heavy ’70s spirit, following the slow, soulful guitar line on the title-track, which leads off and pulls the listener into the mindset; a gonna-take-its-time build over the first two (of five) minutes that, once through the first verse that begins with the album’s title-line, takes off on a janga-janga gallop complemented with tighter twists and perfectly slotted fills from the drums. It becomes a push, and everything works as they move into the second verse, which gives over to an Uncle Acid-y strum before a slowdown brings a solo-topped reprise to finish. All the while there’s a plan that sounds like no plan at all, and the production by Eloy García puts the guitar forward while highlighting the warmth of bass beneath — classic style but modern clarity.
In this way, La Vida es Dura is hypnotic without zoning the listener out with a wash of effects or somesuch. It takes its time and the songs feel worked on, but the balance between that and the natural tones of the guitar, bass and drums carries across like it’s never a question. “En las Penumbras” begins with an outwardly heavier riff that develops over the first minute and a half before snapping into a semi-chug and solo to set up an open-spaced bluesy verse that starts at about the two-minute mark. Vocals and guitar work in call and response as the drums hold the march, but they turn it around into another nod-and-twist that’s both understated and engrossing, executed with class and control alike. A stop at 4:30 reorients the procession back to the verse, but the roll that typifies the song is irresistible, and since it’s seven minutes long, they basically telegraph that they’ll be back in it soon, which they are. They ride that riff to a finish that was made for the stage, from which “Tiempo de Confusión” picks up with a more immediate fullness and push.
It’s a jam, but that doesn’t mean Moodoom forget the plot. Instead, they make their way toward the first verse over the first two and a half minutes of the centerpiece, dropping to a lower, more doomed movement before redirecting with a speedier shove and the arrival of vocals. This push continues through the bulk of the song’s middle third, but the comedown that follows is no less welcome when it arrives for how low they bring it down, the song sounding like it’s about to stop with two minutes of low-key, maybe-improv bluesy soloing still to go. You understand, even when it’s all coming apart, they hold it together, and it’s never a show in a technical sense — it’s never “oh look what we can do” — it’s just the song letting the dynamic speak for itself. Gorgeous.
“El Mudo” sets itself up with a creeper of a doom riff at the outset, is shorter than “Tiempo de Confusión” at just under six minutes, and while fostering vintage and modern impulses, conveys a slog without actually being one for most of its first half before the bass leads the way into a speedier, extended bridge to the solo. A stop-and-pivot brings another verse to close, and like a lot of La Vida es Dura, the three-piece cover more ground than it seems at first. Some of those turns throughout are more abrupt than others, and some are more daring than others, but at no point do Moodoom give up the overarching groove, and as the “Fairies Wear Boots”-esque fade-in of “Incomprendido” righteously jams the last sub-three-minute rocker to its further-back-and-more-howling verse, it doesn’t feel wrong to be reminded of Sweden’s Asteroid as well as the grandmasters Black Sabbath. Nod is nod, maybe, but Moodoom make their finishing move a breakout in terms of tempo and atmosphere, rendering a dual-vocal hook and daring some harmony in the guitar just before the dual-layered Iommi-style solo rounds out as perhaps it inevitably would.
This album, now five (or is it 50?) years old, for sure gives an impression of retroism, and I honestly don’t know the recording circumstances — it sounds like it was done live, maybe it was or wasn’t; I have no idea as regards process or gear, etc. — but one of its greatest assets is a sense of self-awareness, and that feels more modern. That is to say, the way each song flows feels schooled in heavy rock in a way that, two/three generations ago, it couldn’t possibly have been. Moodoom ‘make it their own’ to an extent, but La Vida es Dura is less about reinventing the wheel than the character with which their material rolls out. Yes that was a pun. Yes, it was on purpose.
It shouldn’t necessarily be a surprise that the follow-up to La Vida es Dura was a 2022 live album where they played the full record front to back, plus another track that would end up on their 2023 sophomore studio LP, Desde el Bosque (review here). A split with Halfaya came out in 2024, and that’s the last they were heard from. I’m not even sure if they’re still a band since it’s not like they’re out there daily producing engaging short-form video content to feed the algorithm or whatever it takes to prove you exist in this futuristic hellscape. Whatever comes from them or doesn’t, this debut speaks to past heavy the way the sun speaks to a landscape, and is accordingly vibrant.
As always, I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading.
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Motivation was as low for me this week as I can remember it being. Then Wednesday, just as I realized I’d put up the 19,001st post, it stopped working. I couldn’t add anything new. It was kind of a relief, but the absolutely worst kind as well since I spent the rest of the day obsessively trying to add a new post. I hit up Behrang Alavi, who both hosts this site and fronts Berlin’s Samavayo, to see if he could find the error. I disabled and reenabled plugins and nothing worked until just before I went to bed Wednesday night it was magically fixed. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know how it got better. I’m glad it did.
We’re still waiting to hear from the school for The Pecan. It’s infuriating as well as excruciating. It’s become the entire summer now as we move into late July. We still have no idea where she’ll be in September. We visited a place in Morristown yesterday that was a nope. Next week we’ll visit another place that will be a nope. If I could homeschool her, I would. I can’t. Our relationship is already combative enough with copious refusal, demand avoidance, etc. I don’t need to add “doesn’t want to learn because I’m the one trying to teach” to our lives. I’d sooner send her back to public school, which at this rate we might end up doing, as soul-draining a prospect as that is. How to make a kid who loves learning hate learning.
That stress overarching, everything else just feels like bullshit. I blew off one of my Hungarian classes this week. I didn’t want to do anything or be anywhere. I just wanted to say fuck it and go back to bed with the air conditioning on. That didn’t happen. I need to go to the store. I don’t want to.
Yeah, I’m gonna leave it there and hope that next week is better. Have a great and safe one unless you’re a piece of shit nazi bootlicker in which case I actively hope you die so there’s one fewer of your kind in the world.
Welcome to the Quarterly Review. I’m not sure which quarter it is, and actually it’s been less than two full months since the last time we did this, but I had this crazy idea to NOT fall 50 records even further behind in covering stuff, so I decided to run one now. Maybe I’ll do another in July. Maybe a piano will fall on my head.
You know the drill by now. 10 releases per day covered. I think I’m going to keep this to 50 total, but I might tack on another day or two if I get through it and still have a bunch more on the docket. We’ll see. But time’s a crunch, so we gotta move.
Quarterly Review #1-10:
Abrams, Loon
When the postmortem is done on this generation of heavy rock and roll, Abrams might be among its most underrated bands in terms of songwriting. The Denver unit led by guitarist/vocalist Zachary Amster offer the taut 10-song/37-minute run of Loon as further argument in their favor, basking in a heavy and post-hardcore blend and working with Godcity Studio and Kurt Ballou (Converge, High on Fire, etc.) to foster a more aggressive sound in pieces like “Glass House,” “While Walls,” “Said and Done,” and so on, bordering on noise rock while bringing grunge melody to “A State of Mind” and blasting double-kick drumming to closer “Remains.” At this point, I’m wondering if they’re too good. Are they too polished, is Amster too capable a singer? Is the songwriting too tight? In the immortal words of Will Ferrell, I feel like I’m taking crazy pills. Once again, Abrams do nothing wrong. One hopes the added charge wakes up more ears to what they’re doing. Or even better, instead of snagging jaded oldheads, put this shit on TikTok and let the 17 year olds learn about melody from it. That’s how it works now, right?
Buzzard, Take the Tyrant Down (Acoustic) b/w Hunchback, Vicar & Wizard
Two cuts from Massachusetts solo artist Buzzard, aka Christopher Thomas Elliott, whose voice and point of view for me personally has been salve in terrible times and for that a marker of the era. Late last year, Elliott released the EP Everything is Not Going to Be Alright (review here) with a plugged version of “Take the Tyrant Down,” which is stripped down here of its later chug and “Down down down/Sic semper tyrannis” vocal bridge. Perhaps too heavyhanded? It becomes a quiter contemplation of overcoming oppression, and its ultimate victory is no less sweet. The (digital) B-side is “Hunchback, Vicar and Wizard,” which wraps itself in an acoustic central line like “Doom Folk Fury” from the EP (which has also been expanded to an LP this year, heads up) but is less of a chorus surge, letting the Mellotron bring atmospheric backing to the lyrical tale of cathartic justice for the abuse victims of clergy. Yes, I’m talking about killing priests who rape children. Or Elliott is anyhow, in his increasingly solidified and yet malleable doom-folk aesthetic, with craft likewise prolific and purposeful.
As I understand it, Masheena have traded out half their lineup since recording Let the Spiders In with producer Machine (Clutch, etc.) in early 2024, but either way, the Bergen, Norway, heavy rocking four-piece bring expansive melodies to sharp structures in hooky cuts like “Going to the Mountain” and “One Good Eye,” taking bluesy energy in pieces like “Been Waiting” and “Don’t Tell Her” and the chug of the penultimate “Riffy” and fostering a sound that’s straightforward and accessible while not lacking at all in variety. It’s their second LP, and though on “Sara Lost Her Way,” they edge close to the big-stage energy of countrymen Spidergawd, the thickness in “Riffy” and the subsequent, nonetheless shuffling closer “You Owe Me,” as well as the generally bluesier foundations, aid in distinction. The album is paced comfortably at 34 minutes but never in any danger of overstaying its welcome. Can’t help but be curious how the dynamic has changed with the new lineup. It’s certainly solid in this material.
As Buenos Aires-based singer-songwriter Sergio Chotsourian (aka Sergio Ch., of Los Natas, Ararat, Soldati, etc.) has developed his solo approach, it’s satisfying to hear him working with a drum machine on “Last Dance,” the first cut on this two-song EP, paired with the 12-minute “The Journey.” It highlights a modernized bedroom-folk intimacy that’s always been in his experimentalist craft, and lets the guitar become the source of tension in the piece, which it does righteously. “The Journey” is more synth-based and is instrumental for most of its stretch, but there are late-arriving vocals. He also seems to be trying something new with his voice, though that might just be a result of returning to English-language lyrics after however long it’s been since last time. Note the guitar figure consistent beneath the keys of “The Journey” as well. Last Dance of a Dying Man is Sergio being Sergio, but part of that is pushing his own boundaries, and that can clearly be heard in these songs.
LSDREI, a combination of LSD and ‘drei,’ as in ‘three,’ is indeed the third LP from Danish jammers Vestjysk Ørken, and it begins with a long monologue over foreboding backing drone spoken by the drug itself, maybe from an old propaganda film? In any case, this first eight minutes set the mood before a burst-in of heavy fuzz after the eight-minute mark starts what’s presumed to be ‘Violets and Yellow’ in the six-parts-presented-as-a-single-36-minute-track of the LP. The full course is listed as “The Traveler / Violets & Yellow / Drei / Running My Head / (Backwards) Like A Mirror / Lovely Colours Shimmering,” and though immersion has always been a top priority for the Esbjerg outfit — theirs and yours both — they’ve never sounded quite so intentional in their exploration. The lumber gives way to shimmering lead guitar, more speech and a light but bassy boogie as they pass the halfway point, and plays back and forth from there between airy verses, ebbs and flows, more samples and, in the last few minutes, both shove and a massive concluding roll finishing with vague but angry shouts of a populace. It gets weird, kids. Actually, starts weird and gets weirder. For best results, recommend you do likewise.
Liminal Sky is presented as an extension of the work drummer, guitarist and keyboardist Jaime Gomez Arellano (also a noted producer in London) and guitarist, bassist, keyboardist Daniel Knight did together in the band Messenger, but the debut album All Tomorrow’s Darkness takes on an identity of its own, thanks in no small part to vocal collaborations with Mat McNerny (Hexvessel, Grave Pleasures), Kristoffer Rygg (Ulver) and Karin Park (Årabrot), as well as a slew of instrumental contributors too many to list in this space. This amalgam results in an emotionally resonant, post-genre melancholia, kin to the beauty in darkness in pieces like “Algebra of Unknowing,” “Penance” and “Forget Me Not,” the latter of which hits into a satisfying crescendo without giving up its core expressive purpose. It is not a minor undertaking in the substance of its songs, but Arellano and Knight create an entire world for this material, and the listener, to dwell in.
Professional-grade delivery from a professional band. Master of the Skies is the 11th album in the 35-plus-year tenure of Sweden’s The Quill, and if they’re exploring themes of mastery, you could hardly find a better theme to coincide with their sound. With expert hand and worldly care, they gracefully guide the listener through a diverse 45-minute collection, with rockers and ballads and acoustic numbers and the nine-minute volume-trade sprawl of the penultimate “Mastodon,” part Sabbath as they go, but more of a decades-meld of heavy rock ideologies so that “You Can Not Kill My Soul” hits with triumphant melody and side B opener “If Tomorrow Never Comes” wraps itself up in chugging largesse. The band — vocalist Magnus Ekwall, guitarist Christian Carlsson, bassist Roger Nilsson and drummer Jolle Atlagic — are unflinching in the refinement of their approach, but even when they reprise lead cut “Master of the Skies” to finish, there’s no pretense, just some of the most solid craft a band could hope to stand on.
Unearthed from the depths of Columbus, Ohio’s underground, Greenthrone‘s The Greenthrone EP was put to tape in 2010 and 2011 as a series of demos from what was then the bombastic duo of Danny Bays (guitar/vocals) and Lisa Bella Donna (drums/production), the latter also of much-missed progressive heavy explorers EYE. A five-song collection, it is brash and raw and finds Bays‘ vocal delivery somewhere between Matt Pike and Chuck Schuldiner on “The Sentinel” and “Beyond the Veil,” and that’s before they get into the sludgy push/roll of centerpiece “Hidden in Plain Sight” or the righteously-tin-can “Brujo,” and “Feather Crown” to close. There’s an audible shift in sound there ahead of the last two tracks, but there was point of view in the band even 15 years ago. Bays got a new lineup going at some point, a trio, and hopefully there’s more to follow sooner or later.
Dave Heumann, Chimes of Freedom // Further Adventures of Big Ten
Two at least semi-covers; one straight up take on Bob Dylan, the latter transmogrified reportedly from The Grateful Dead and David Crosby, and either make a fitting place for Arbouretum frontman Dave Heumann to dwell in for a while. The fragility of his voice in Dylan‘s lyrics on “Chimes of Freedom” makes that song feel all the more like a song for the people — in both the folk music and political senses, because they’re linked — while “Further Adventures of Big Ten” feels more like an exploration, being instrumental and set atop a drone and backed with hand-percussion as it is. “Chimes of Freedom” is the more straightforward, I guess, but its organ line and way-back-there gentle drums feel emblematic of the 1964 original, captured at the precipice of the birth of the psychedelic era. You could say a lot about the choices one way or the other, but from where I sit it’s five more minutes of Heumann singing and about 11 of him playing and I’ll take what I can get, thanks. He’s like if you gave the National Park System a voice.
Most of all, Towers of Silence sounds like the beginning of a rich and creative plunge into sound. Netherlands-based four-piece A Plague of Lighthouse Keepers take a sludgy angle on post-metallic lurch on this three-songer, and as “The Massacre of Flour” unfolds, it seems like it’s going to be all-onslaught until they hang a louie into a psychedelic midsection framed on the other side by a punishing return. “I Fuck People” follows and is noisier and more chaotic, but still manages to find room for saxophone in its second half, while the nine-minute title-track wraps by flipping the script into volume trades between meditative melodic contemplation and heavier bashing-away. The message that comes through is A Plague of Lighthouse Keepers aren’t restrained by genre ideology. Breaking out of it on three songs, they’re at the starting point in developing the individual creative expression one hears in this material. The prospects for where their journey might take them are exciting.
Posted in Reviews on March 19th, 2026 by JJ Koczan
Feeling dug in, which I take as a good sign. There’s been a decent portion of this QR that’s catching up from last Fall onward, and I would’ve liked to cover some of that sooner, but honestly I struggled to find a week-plus to do this and lost an additional month by the time I did. So if you’re like ‘duh this is old’ to some of it — there are also releases that aren’t out yet — I apologize. In 10 years it won’t matter that whatever it was came out last October.
On that happy note, back to it.
Quarterly Review #31-40:
Witchcraft, A Sinner’s Child
Sweden’s Witchcraft follow their 2025 full-length, Idag (review here), with the five-song EP A Sinner’s Child, which runs a similar, if condensed, gamut, from founding frontman Magnus Pelander‘s solo acoustic folk to lumbering, heavy doom and points between. Pelander plays all the instruments on rolling opener “Drömmen Om Död Och Förruttnelse,” the minimal guy-and-guitar “Even Darker Days,” and the morosely weighted “Själen Reser Sig,” while the full-band title-track “A Sinner’s Child” and its closing alternate-lyrics companion-piece “Sinner’s Clear Confusion” are defined as much by the emotive blues of the vocals as by the wistfully strummed electric guitar that accompanies. “A Sinner’s Child” is between the two sides of “Själen Reser Sig” and “Even Darker Days,” sound-wise (it’s before them in the tracklisting) and underscores that it’s not just the extremes that Pelander/Witchcraft inhabit, but the intricate places between as well. I don’t know if it’s leftovers from the record or filler or what, and I don’t care. Just happy it exists and the band are making music, thanks.
Well, Portland and post-punk, so yes, Dead Moon are a factor, but PDX trio Perfect Buzz keep the songwriting tight and headed in their own, vividly rocking direction. The punk roots come out in “Here Come the Cowgirls,” with a shimmer in the guitar that’s unexpected, particularly after “You’re Wrong” was so sure of itself pounding its titular chorus into your head, but the heavier opener “Mess Around” sets a heavy-alternative expectation, and even the proto-grunge riffing of “Gonna Make U Sweat” is drawn under that umbrella. If you see them compared to Mudhoney, that’s probably why. But “Gonna Make U Sweat” is also the longest song at 3:28, and nothing else tops three minutes, so it’s not like Happy Trails is wasting anyone’s time. Instead, Perfect Buzz‘s debut EP showcases varied intent brought together by sharp, clearly-nobody’s-first-time-at-the-dance craft. Each of the four tracks sets out to do, and does, something different, while adding depth to the persona of the band, still being shaped but already a good time.
Raw sludge metallers Smoke Rites offer visceral and disaffected doom on their second full-length, Eager Eyes of Talion, marked by the forward-in-the-mix gritty vocals of Tomasz Mielnik, whose harsh-throated shouts, growls and divergences into clearer singing top the weighted, rolling processions of guitarist Łukasz Borawski, bassist Adam Ziółkowski and drummer Michał Kamiński, resulting in a suitably filthy sound. It’s dark-themes-for-dark-times in “Golden Road,” the title-track and the chugging “Nothing Never,” and certainly “Death is a Five Letter Word” and “Wind of Most Cruel Kind” aren’t offering much in terms of comfort. Even the interlude “Charas Drift” is brought to a harsh place, but Eager Eyes of Talion stays grounded in the muddy shove of “10ft. Dread” and the comparative loll of “Devil’s Advocate,” and doesn’t feel like it’s hading out any more punishment than is due. In a mad world, madness feels reasonable. Here we are.
Chained to the Bottom of the Ocean, Let Us Not Speak of Them But Look and Pass On
Chained to the Bottom of the Ocean uphold a long Massachusetts legacy of extreme sludge, and the four-song EP, Let Us Not Speak of Them But Look and Pass On, is duly facepeeling. Obviously “An Abundance of Mercy,” the nine-minute opener, is ironically titled. Mercy doesn’t really apply in the post-deity gnashing void the band portray, abrasive and churning. The lead cut is a slower assault where “Upheaval” is faster and more outwardly violent. “An Adornment of Light” might take home the prize for the lyric “I can show you/Just how broken/A wing can be,” if not for its seven-minute succession of massive lumber and throatripping screams or the ping ride in the last minute, like it’s marking the steps to where you jump in the volcano. Speaking of, “Execution” closes with a summary made more volatile for smashing elements together, but across the board, it’s a litmus test for how much noise you can take, which, since you’re alive today, is obviously more than any people at any other time in history could, so yes, have at it.
This might be genius. Hurst, Texas, solo experimentalist Mark Kitchens (also Stone Machine Electric) offers 11 sub-minute-long — the longest track is Hugging Curbs at 41 seconds — snippets, song ideas, root melodies, and tossoffs on Is it Death Metal or Sadness. Most are voice-based, but like opener “Big Dipper Little Dipper,” “Lynda and Her Celery,” “Almonds and Pistachios” and “Steven Lee Hall Junior” and “In the Pharmacy,” most have some synth or percussive accompaniment, and for most the lyrics are basically the titles. Maybe the most telling of all, centerpiece “Banana Time” — the lyric, “It’s banana time in the kitchen” — sounds like it was probably thought up while Kitchens was getting a banana. Five-second closer “Season My Eggs” — “I forgot to season my eggs, yeah-heah,” in a rocker voice — is likewise true to life. The reason this might be genius is because it reflects the ways music interacts with your daily life. Maybe you do sing a little song while you’re getting a banana, or get a hook in your head like the multi-layered “3 and 7” out of nowhere. It’s the sense of spontaneity captured. It turns out neither to be death metal nor sadness, and that could hardly be more fitting for the project.
Once they start rolling out that fuzz, there’s little stopping (and why would you?) German heavy rockers Capacopter who, working under influence from early Queens of the Stone Age via modern forerunners Slomosa, present their self-titled first LP with all due electricity and grooving intent. Hooks abound as in opener “600 Years” and the desert-airy “Caravan,” and they keep structures pretty straightforward for the eight-song duration — has Noisolution heard this? — but there’s some branching out in “Half’n Inch” at the start of side B, and “JP’s Horse” and closer “Wandering Stones” take time for atmospherics as well, while “Kings and Crowds” and “Temple Son” are, on balance, more direct, though songwriting is a factor front-to-back. The album ends up being a mix, and there are highlight stretches in the quieter moments as well, but as a statement of intent, Capacopter posits them as rockers, and fair enough. An encouraging and promising debut album. There’s growing into themselves to do, but there’s also time to do it.
Dense to a point of opaqueness at its heaviest, but able as well to shift into and through ambient passages, Monovoth‘s To Live in the Breath of Worship feels emotive without words and finds the despondent post-metallic Buenos Aires solo-project exploring tense and grimly progressive reaches. The third LP in five years from multi-instrumentalist Lucas Wyssbrod, it doesn’t shy from extremity in “Crimson Red Wound” or the blastbeaten-until-it-drones-in-apology 16-minute closer “To Drown in the Tears of God” (there is a human voice there), but is no more defined by that than the subdued bleakness of its stillest moments, nor is it overly predictable in the movements between those two sides, or unipolar in how it executes one or the other. This variability, flexibility, allows “Cosmically Orphaned” and earlier opener “From a Dying Star” to tell a similar story in different ways, and makes the album as a whole a more complete, immersive experience. It’s also noisy as hell, and that helps too.
Opening cut “Kronologia” (8:32) is the shortest of the three inclusions on Pimeyden Harha‘s severe-cast, wholly-doomed full-length debut, Aika, by about half. The subsequent “Rauha” (16:01) and “Entisöijä” (19:27) render the opener as lead-single fare, but rest assured, the solo outfit has plenty of doom to go around, whether it’s longform or, you know, sorta-longform. Lyrics, and somehow also the instruments, are in Finnish, and most of what keeps Aika from being death-doom is the melodic chant of sole-denizen/multi-instrumentalist J. LaCoin‘s vocals. Tempos are mostly a crawl, but “Rauha” lets you know up front it’s going to thrash out at the finish, and yes, it does, and there’s a bit of pickup in the later reaches of “Entisöijä” as well, but the bulk of the record is willed as a morose plod, and the atmosphere is accordingly grey. To its credit, however, Aika holds firm to its intent and doesn’t veer from its path as the songs play out; the most divergence happens in “Koronologia,” and it’s brief. That’s not to say Pimeyden Harha comes across as unipolar, just that it’s a sound crafted with a goal in mind. As a debut, one might call it foreboding.
The only real question going into this debut album by Spain’s Wild Fuzz Trip is whether or not the five tracks on Fuzz Transmissions live up to the billing. Are they, in fact, a wild fuzz trip? Well, yes. Whether you’re dug into the mellow midsection of “Big Grey” or the more uptempo boogie into meatier riffing that happens over the course of centerpiece “Galactican Twilight,” the double-guitar troupe — here guitarists Miguel A. Marañón and Diego López (also keys), bassist Andy Shardlow (Josiah) and drummer Suso Valcárcel and Martin Ludl on the sax in closer “Nebula Groove” — are right there with you, and though they’ve been a band for eight years and this is apparently their first LP, the surety of their going speaks to the slew of EPs and single releases leading up to it. They neither wasted their time nor waste yours as the listener, bringing their ambition to life in an expansive sound one hopes will continue to flesh out.
Breadth and crush, expressive human intimacy and instrumental expanse, post-metallic chiaroscuro, etc., however you want to frame Gavran‘s The One Who Propels, the Rotterdam four-piece find their niche in style with a sound that basks in its multifaceted nature across five longer-form cuts, each of which plays out with a balance between two-plus sides, melodically sung here and abrasively screamed there, conveying emotion in the lulls of “Brod” as much as the next-level-obliteration that kicks in for (about) the final minute of “Okreni.” “Zora” and “Pogon” both start very, very heavy, but even there, a change in the vocals provides distinction amid tonal consistency, and Gavran are served across the 59-minute span by their attention to detail in terms of arrangement as well as the depth of mix which sometimes they seem to occupy to a point of spilling out, only to recede again and let the next melodic contemplation hold sway. The resulting entirety is viciously affirming as it leads to 16-minute capper “Plutaju,” which methodically encapsulates the course of the album while continuing to carve its own place.
Posted in Reviews on October 13th, 2025 by JJ Koczan
Last day o’ the QR, and that’s always fun, but looking at the calendar and looking at my desktop, I might try to knuckle down for a follow-up edition next month. I know I traditionally do one in December, which is so, so, so stupid, even with the relative dearth of press releases around the holidays, because there’s so much else going on. But maybe in November, before the Thanksgiving holiday. I only have one thing maybe-slated for November now, so now would be the time to slate it. Check back Nov. 10? Roll it out on my sister’s birthday? Maybe.
For now though, one more batch of 10 to round out the 70 total releases covered here, and as ever, I’ve basically packed the final day with stuff I already know I like. That’s nothing against anything on any of the other days, but if you’re a regular around here, you probably already know that I load up the finish to make it easier on myself. Not that any day here was really hard to get through, but for everything else in life that isn’t sitting in front of the laptop and writing about music.
Thanks as always for reading. I hope you found something you dig in this QR. Back to normal tomorrow.
Quarterly Review #61-70:
Elder, Liminality/Dream State Return
Progressive heavy rock spearheads Elder surprise-dropped Liminality/Dream State Return, their first two-songer EP since 2012’s Spires Burn/Release (review here), a couple weeks ago. It’s their first studio outing since 2022’s Innate Passage (review here), and while one might be tempted to read into the melodic wash of “Liminality” (13:10) and the way its vocals become part of the song’s atmosphere, balanced for nuance and texture in the mix, and the keyboardier take on “Dream State Return,” the material was reportedly sourced from pieces of material left over from their last couple albums, rather than written new. Nonetheless, the way these parts are fleshed out underscores just how special a band Elder is, since basically they can take a progression they’ve had laying around for however long and turn into something so majestic. This, in combination with their work ethic, has made them the best band of their generation. They remain such.
Following 2023’s Ingress (review here), brash Salt Lake City four-piece Hibernaut — guitarist/vocalist Dave Jones (Oxcross, Dwellers, ex-SubRosa), lead guitarist Matt Miller, bassist Josh Dupree and drummer Zach Hatsis (Dwellers, ex-SubRosa) — begin to step further out from their influences with their second album, the six-track/47-minute Obsidian Eye. High on Fire remain a central point of inspiration, but you know how that band really kind of announced who they were with Blessed Black Wings and set themselves on their own path? There’s some of that happening in the grooves of “Pestiferous,” “Revenants” and others here, and while the galloping double-kick and dirt-coated declarations might ring familiar, Hibernaut are beginning to put their own stamp on their craft, and one remains curious how that will continue to manifest their persona in their sound. High on Fire never had a song like “Beset,” and that wah on “Engorge Behemoth” has just an edge of Sabbath-via-Electric Wizard, so there’s more here than marauding if you want to hear it.
Titled as though they intended to preempt criticism of their own self-indulgence — a kinder-self-talk version might have been called ‘Expansive’ — the second album from L.A.’s The Oil Barons, Grandiose, is working with an expanded definition of heavy either way. Part desert rock, it’s also Western Americana enough to open with a take on Morricone and while they’re for sure laying it on thick with the gang-chanted version of “John Brown’s Body” worked in between the organ sway of “Gloria” and the nine-minute lap-steel-inclusive expanse of “Shinola.” The later heavy instrumental reacher “Quetzalacatenango” (16:39) and their beefing up of the Grateful Dead regular “Morning Dew” as “Morning Doom” (13:49) are longer, but there’s more going on here than track length, as the melodic twang-pop of “Vivienne” and the light-barroom-swing-into-harmonies-into-riffs of the subsequent “Death Hangs” demonstrate. Top it all off with a purported narrative and Grandiose lives up to its name, but also to its intention.
The first Temple of Love full-length, Songs of Love and Despair, feels very much like a willful callout to classic goth rock. The core, partnered founding duo of vocalist Suzy Bravo (Witchcryer) and guitarist/vocalist Steve Colca (ex-Destroyer of Light), as well as the rhythm section of bassist Joseph Maniscalco and drummer Patrick Pascucci (Duel) begin with a string of catchy, uptempo numbers dark in atmosphere with an unmistakable sheen on the guitar tone and by the time the centerpiece instrumental “Paradise Lost” takes hold with a heavier shift leading into the second half of the album, with “Devil” as an obvious focal point, you’re hooked. The vocal trades on “Save Yourself” and the rocker “Joke’s on You,” with Colca growling a bit, distinguish them as modern, but they’re firm in their purpose unto the string sounds that cap “If We Could Fly,” and clearly aesthetic is part of the mission. They didn’t name themselves after a Sisters of Mercy LP by mistake.
From garage-style heavy and psychedelic jamming, modern space boogie to denser, doomier roll and a stylistically-offbeat quirk that feels ever more intentional, Montana-based trio The Gray Goo are dug into this mini-gamut of style on their third album, Cabin Fever Dreams, with guitarist/vocalist Max Gargasz (who also recorded/produced) giving space in the mix (by Robert Parker) for the melody in Matt Carper‘s bass to come through on 10-minute opener/longest track (immediate points) “Intrepid Traveler,” beginning a thread of nuance that emphasizes just how flexible the band’s sound is. Even amid the fuzz and chugging resolution of “Isolation” and the jammed-but-with-a-plan “Floodgates,” there’s a sense of looking beyond genre to internalized individualism, the latter carrying into the marching semi-nerd-rapped title-track, which breaks to let the weirdness persist before coming back around with a shuffle to close, while “Manic” (with Colton Sea on guest vocals) roughs up proto-punk until it hits a midsection of Sabbath blues and gets a little more shove from there. “Manic” brings this to a culmination and some chanting gives over the minimal psych experiment “Someone’s at the Door,” which closes. They’ve let go of some — not all, but some — of their earlier funk, but The Gray Goo remain delightfully on their own wavelength. Someone in this band likes Ween, and they’re better for it.
A decade after his first solo release, the declarative 1974 (review here), former Los Natas guitarist/vocalist Sergio Ch. (né Chotsourian, also of Ararat, Soldati, numerous other projects and collaborations) has only broadened his palette around a central approach to avant folk and intimate experimentalism. “Las Riendas” has been around for a while, unless I’m wrong (always possible) and “Tufi Meme 94” is an unearthed four-track demo of the Los Natas song of the same name, but it’s in the repetitions and slow, fuzz-infused evolution of “Tear Drop,” the vocally-focused “Stairway” and the somehow-ceremonial “Centinelas Bajo el Sol” that Shiva Shakti Dramalays out its most ethereal reaches. The album was reportedly put together following an injury to Chotsourian‘s ear, during a recovery period after his “left ear blew up during a Soldati rehearsal.” So there’s healing to be had in “Little Hands” and the buzzing lead of “Violet,” as well as exploration.
Spectral Fields is the duo of Jason Simon (Dead Meadow) and and Caleb Dravier (Jungle Gym Records), and with IV they present a two-part title-piece “IV A” (20:04) and “IV B” (23:12), with each extended track taking on its own atmosphere. The hand percussion behind “IV A” is evocative of quiet desert Americana, like clopping horseshoes, while “IV B” runs more sci-fi in its keyboard and synthy beat behind the central, malleable-and-less-still-than-it-seems overarching drone. The guitar on “IV A” works with a similar river’s-surface-style deceptive stillness. Immersion isn’t inevitable, and the challenge here is to dwell alongside the band in the material if you can, with the reward for doing so being carried across the gradually-shifting expanse that Simon and Dravier lay out. It’s not a project for everybody, but Spectral Fields shine with meditative purpose and ethereal presence alike.
The second full-length, Resolution, from Denver-based harmony-prone heavy rockers Pink Fuzz owes much of its impact to tempo and melody — which I think makes it music. The brother/sister duo of John Demitro (guitar) and bassist LuLu Demitro bass share vocal duties and trade lead spots to add variety across the taut, no-time-for-bullshit 10 songs as drummer Forrest Raup lends shove to the buzzing desert riffage of “Coming for Me,” while the title-track shreds into a ’90s-style ticky-ticky-tock of a groove and “Am I Happy?” moves from its standalone-voice beginning to a gorgeously executed build and roll, bolstered by the Alain Johannes mix bringing up the lead guitar alongside LuLu’s voice, but rooted in the performance captured rather than the after-the-fact balancing of elements. “No Sympathy” and “Worst Enemy” stick closer to a Queens of the Stone Age influence, but the desert is a starting point, not the end of their reach. It’d be fair to call them songwriting-based if they didn’t also kick so much ass as players.
Having the tone is one thing and making it move is another, but Dorset, UK, two-piece The Dukes of Hades bring forth their debut EP, Oracle of the Dead with a pointed sense of push, more so once they’re on the other side of rolling-into-the-slowdown opener “Seeds of Oblivion,” in “Last Rites,” “Pigs” and “Constant Grief,” where the tempo is higher and the bruises are delivered by the measure. Even Gareth Brunsdon‘s snare on “Constant Grief” comes across thick, never mind the buzzing riffs of Steve Lynch, whose guttural vocals top the procession. They save their most fervent shove for the two-minute finale “Death Defying Heights,” but the eight-minute penultimate “Tomahawk” sees them work in more of a middle-paced range while executing trades in volume and even letting go to silence as they hit minute six soon to burst back to life, so they’re already messing with the formula a bit even as they write out what that formula might be. That’s just one of the hopeful portents on this gritty and impressive first outing.
A noise-infused trio from Vancouver — or maybe it’s just that their logo reminds me of Whores. — the three-piece Worse issued their latest single “Misandrist” in memory of Ozzy, following on from the also-one-songer “Mackinaw” from earlier in the year. The newer cut is more lumbering and establishes a larger tonal presence by virtue of its instrumentalist take, while drummer Matt Wood brought party-time shouts to “Mackinaw,” which of course emphasized and complemented the central riff in a different way. Out front of the stage, guitarist Shane Clark and bassist Frank Dingle offer rumble and spacious distortion, the effect seeming to build up with each new, lurching round as they dirge to the fading ringout. Sludgy in form, the affect presents itself like a half-speed High on Fire, which if you’ve got to end up somewhere, is a more than decent place for “Misandrist” to be. If you’re still reading this, yes, I’m talking about myself as well as the band. They’ve got one LP out. I’d take another anytime they’ve got it ready.
Posted in Whathaveyou on June 17th, 2025 by JJ Koczan
It’s only been, what, about two months since Argentina progressive-heavy instrumentalists IAH released their 2025 live album, En Vivo en Cabezas de Tormenta (review here), for public consumption, but the three-piece have put word out that they’ll join forces with countrymen rockers Hijo de la Tormenta, who offered their own way-fuzzed-out live release, En Directo, around this time last year, following on from their 2022 studio album, Vol. III.
I’ll tell you honestly the latter are not new to me, but I haven’t managed to keep up. I wrote about Hijo de la Tormenta‘s 2014 self-titled debut (discussed here) and 2016’s El Manto de la Especie (review here) and then kind of lost track sometime ahead of Vol. III. I’ve always maintained I suck at this. It’s other people who say nice things.
Fair enough that now I bear the burden of my gringo ignorance in taking on El Directo, which indeed is pretty forward in how it hits. I’ve included the stream of that down below, in case you haven’t already stopped reading this and just scrolled down to the music, and you’ll find the recent IAH live record there as well. I guess maybe put them on at the same time, imagine them playing the same song, and maybe you’ll have an idea why something like IAH de la Tormenta would be something worth looking forward to.
From social media:
Iah and Hijo de la Tormenta are pleased to announce “Iah de la Tormenta”. Following the collaborative tradition that characterizes the underground scene since the nineties, the two bands join forces for a split that will feature original music in a cooperative format.
More news coming soon.
IAH: Juan Pablo Lucco Borlera: Bass Mauricio Condon: Guitar José Landín: Drums
Hijo de la tormenta: Guitarra y voz: Juan Cruz Ledesma Bajo: Guido Di Carlo Bateria: Santiago Ludueña
Posted in Reviews on April 11th, 2025 by JJ Koczan
A friendly reminder that the end of the week is not, in fact, the end of the Quarterly Review, which will continue through Monday and Tuesday. That brings the number of releases covered to 70 total, which feels like plenty, and should hopefully carry us through a busy Spring release season. I’m thinking June for the next QR now but don’t be surprised if that turns into July as we get closer. All I know is I wanna do it before it’s two full weeks again.
As always, I hope you’ve found something that speaks to you in all this 10-per-day nonsense. If not, first, wow, really? Second, it ain’t over yet. Maybe today’s your day. One way to know.
Quarterly Review #41-50:
Dead Meadow, Voyager to Voyager
You may be mellow-vibes, but unless you’re “Not the Season,” Dead Meadow have one up on you forever. While Voyager to Voyager, which is the L.A. band’s eighth or ninth LP depending on what you count, comes with the tragic real-world context of bassist Steve Kille‘s 2024 passing, he does feature on the long-running trio’s first offering through Heavy Psych Sounds, and whether it’s “The Space Between” or the shuffle-stepping “The Unhounded Now” or the pastoral “A Question of Will” and the jangly strum of “Small Acts of Kindness” later on, guitarist/vocalist Jason Simon, Kille and drummer Mark Laughlin celebrate the ultra-languid take on heavy, psychedelic and shoegazing rock that’s made Dead Meadow a household name for weirdos. Not that they’re not prone to a certain wistfulness, but Voyager to Voyager is vibrant rather than mournful, and the title-track is an album flow unto itself in just eight minutes. If you can slow your manic-ass brain long enough to sit and hear it front-to-back, you’re in for a treat.
There is a sense of stepping out as Irish troubadour Seán Mulrooney makes his full-length solo debut with This is My Prayer on Ómós Records. Mulrooney is best known for residing at the core of Tau and the Drones of Praise, and for sure, pieces of This is My Prayer are coming from a similar place, but where there was psychedelic meander for the band, under his own moniker, Mulrooney brings a clarity of tone and presence to lyrics ranging from spiritual seeking to what seems to have been an unceremonious breakup. With character and emotion in his voice and range in his craft, Mulrooney sees a better world on “Ag Múscliaghacht” and posits a new masculinity — totally needed; trainwreck gender — in “Walking With the Wind,” meets indie simplicity with lap steel in “Jaguar Dreams” and, in closer “The Pufferfish,” pens a fun McCartney-style bouncer about tripping sea life. These are slivers of the adventures undertaken in singer-songwriter style as Mulrooney hones this solo identity. Very curious to see where the adventure might take him.
Issued in 2024, Sun Dog is the third MaidaVale long-player, and with it, the Swedish heavy psychedelic rockers showcase six years’ worth of growth from their second album. Melancholic of mood in “Fools” and “Control” and the folkish “Alla Dagar” and “Vultures,” Sun Dog starts uptempo with the Afrobeat-influenced “Faces,” drifts, shreds, then drifts again in “Give Me Your Attention,” dares toward pop in “Daybreak” and fosters a sense of the ironic in “Wide Smile is Fine” and “Pretty Places,” the latter of which, with a keyboardier arrangement, could’ve been the kind of New Wave hit that would still be in your head 40 years later. The nine-songer (10 if you get “Perplexity,” which was previously only on the vinyl) doesn’t dwell in any single space for too long — only “Wide Smile is Fine” and “Vultures” are over four minutes, though others are close — and that lets them balance the downer aspects with forward momentum. MaidaVale are no strangers to that kind of movement, of course, but Sun Dog‘s mature realization of their sound feels so much more vast in range.
Here come Causa Sui with another live album. And I’m not saying the only reason the thankfully-prolific Danish psychedelic treasures, heavyjazz innovators and El Paraiso label honchos are only releasing a complement to 2023’s Loppen 2021 (review here) to rub in the fact that I’ve never been lucky enough to catch them on a stage — any stage — but I am starting to take it personally. Call me sensitive. In any case, despite feeling existentially mocked by their chemistry and the fluidity of “Sorcerer’s Disciple” or the 22-minute “Visions of a New Horizon,” the hour-long set is glorious as one would expect, and though Loppen 2024 is a blip on the way to Causa Sui‘s forthcoming studio album, In Flux, especially when set alongside their previous outing from the same Christiania-based venue, it highlights the variable persona of the band and the reach of their material. Someday I’ll see this goddamn band.
Underlying the grit and stoner drawl of “El Rey del Mundo de los Muertos” is the lurching progression of Black Sabbath‘s “Sweet Leaf,” and that reinterprative ethic comes to the strutting Pentagrammery of “La Verdad es Tu Ataud” as well, but in the tonal density and the way their groove snails its way into your ear canal, the vibe Fulanno bring to Nosotros Somos el Fin del Mundo is in line with stoner doom traditionalism, and the revelry is palbale in the slow nod of the title-track or the horror samples sprinkled throughout or the earlier Electric Wizard-style languidity of “El Nacimiento de la Muerte.” They save an acoustic stretch in reserve to wrap “Desde las Tinieblas,” but if you think that’s going to clean your soul by that point then you haven’t been paying attention. Unrepentantly dark, stoned and laced with devil-, death-and riff-worship, Nosotros Somos el Fin del Mundo further distinguishes Fulanno in an always crowded Argentinian underground, and dooms like a bastard besides.
Because the age we live in permits such a thing and it tells you something about the music, I’m going to cut and paste the credits for Israeli duo Ze Stoner‘s debut EP/demo, Desert Buddhist. Dor Sarussi is credited with “bass guitar, spaceships, vocals,” while Alexander Krivinski handles “didgeridoo, spaceships, drums, and percussion.” How tripped out does a band need to be to have two members credited with “spaceships,” you ask? Quite tripped out indeed. Across the 12:09 “Part I – The Awakness” (sic) and the 11:41 “Part II – The Trip,” and the much-shorter 1:41 finale “Part III – The Enlightenment,” Ze Stoner take the meditative doom of Om or an outfit like Zaum and extrapolate from it a drone-based approach that retains a meditative character. It is extreme in its capacity to induce a trance, and as Desert Buddhist unfolds, it plays as longer movements tied together as a single work. There is massive potential here. One hopes Sarussi, Krivinski, their spaceships and didgeridoo are just beginning their adventures in the cosmos.
Oslo-based newcomers Arv aren’t shy about what their sound is trying to do. Their debut album, Curse & Courage, arrives via the wheelhouse of Vinter Records and brings together noise-laced and at-times-caustic hardcore with the atmospherics, echoing tremolo and churning intensity of post-metal. They lean to one side or the other throughout, and “Wrath” seems to get a bit of everything, but it’s a harder line to draw than one might think because hardcore as a style is all urgency and post-metal very often brings a more patient take. Being able to find a place in songwriting between the two, well, Arv aren’t the first to do it, but they are impressively cohesive for Curse & Courage being their first record, and the likes of “Victim,” the overwhelming rush of “Forsaken” earlier on and the more-ambient-but-still-vocally-harsh closing title-track set up multiple avenues for future evolution of the ideas they present here. Too aggressive to be universal in its appeal, but makes undeniable use of its scathe.
I’m not sure what’s going on in “Erotik Fvel P.I.M.P.,” but there’s chicanery a-plenty throughout Fvzz Popvli‘s fourth full-length, Melting Pop, which is released in renewed cooperation with Heavy Psych Sounds. Hooks, fuzz, and the notion that anything else would be superfluous pervade the Indiana Jones-referencing “Temple of Doom” and “Telephone” at the outset, the latter with some choice backing vocals, and they kick the fuzz into overdrive on “Salty Biscvits” with room besides for a jangly verse. Running an ultra-manageable 30 minutes, the album breaks in half with four songs on each side. “Kommando” leads off the second half with dirtier low end tone ahead of the slower-rolling “Ovija,” which shouts and howls and is all kinds of righteously unruly, where “Cop Sacher” punks at the start and has both gang vocals and a saxophone, which I can say with confidence nothing else among the 70 records in this Quarterly Review even tried let alone pulled off, and they close with due swagger and surprising class in “The Knight.” Part of Fvzz Popvli‘s persona to this point has been based in rawness, so it’s interesting to hear them fleshing out more complex arrangments, but at heart they remain very much stoner rock for the glory of stoner rock.
The tone worship is there, the working-class-dude stoner swing is there, and the humor that might result in a song like “Hypertension” — for which no less than Bob Balch of Fu Manchu sits in — so when I compare Rust Bucket to Maryland’s lost sons Earthride, please know that I’m not talking out of my ass. The Minnesota-based double-guitar five-piece revel in low end buzz-tone, and with no-pretense groove, throaty vocals and big personality, that spirit is there. Doesn’t account for the boogie of “Keep Us Down,” but everybody’s gotta throw down now and then. They shift into a sludgier mood by the time they get around to “The Darkness” and “Watch Your Back,” but the idea behind this first Rust Bucket feels much more like a bunch of guys getting together to hammer out some cool songs, maybe play some shows, do a record and see how it goes. On paper, that makes Rust Bucket an unassuming start, but its anti-bullshit stance, steady roll and addled swing make it a gem of the oldschool variety. Much to their credit, they call the style, “fuzzy caveman dad rock.” They forgot ‘bearded,’ but otherwise that about sums it up. Maybe the beard is implied?
It is appropriate that Mountain Dust named their third LP after themselves, since it finds them transcending their influences and honing a cross-genre approach that’s never sounded more their own than it does in these nine songs. From the densely-weighted misdirect of “Reap” with its Earth-sounding drone riff through the boogieing en route to the mellower and more open soul-showcase “Waiting for Days to End” — backing vocals included, see also “It’s Already Done” on side B — and the organ in “Vengeance,” the dynamic between the Graveyard-style ballad “This is It” and the keyboard/synth-fueled instrumental outro “All Eyes But Two,” Mountain Dust gracefullly subverts retroist expectations with individualized songwriting, performance and production, and this material solidifies the Montreal four-piece among the more flexible acts doing anything in the sphere of 1970s-style heavy rock. That’s still there, understand, but like the genre itself, Mountain Dust have very clearly grown outward from their foundations.
Good first day yesterday. Good second day today. I’ve been doing Quarterly Reviews for over a decade now, and I’ve kind of learned over time the kind of thing I should be writing about. It might be a record that has a ton of hype or one that has none, and it might be any number of styles — I also like to sneak some stuff in here that doesn’t ‘fit’ once in a while — but in my mind the standard is, “is this something I’ll want to have heard and/or written about later?”
For all the terrors of our age, the glut of good music coming out means there’s more than ever I want to write about, and in a weird way, I look forward to Quarterly Reviews as a way for me to dig in and get caught up a bit. I’ve already been blindsided this QR and it’s the second day. I call that a win.
Quarterly Review #11-20:
Kal-El, Astral Voyager Vol. 1
There are few acts the world over who so succintly summarize so much of the appeal of modern heavy rock. Norway’s Kal-El offer big riffs, big hooks, big melodies, songwriting, and still manage heavy-mellow vibes thanks to an ongoing cosmic thematic that brings desert rock methods to more ethereal places. Is “Cloud Walker” the best song they’ve yet written? It’s on the list for sure, but don’t discount nine-minute opener/longest track (immediate points) “Astral Voyager” or the hey-that’s-a-Star-Trek-reference “Dilithium” with its dug-in low-distortion verses and the Captain‘s vocal outreach. All along, it’s never quite felt like Kal-El were reshaping heavy, but as time passes and they unveil Astral Voyager Vol. 1 with immediate promise of a follow-up, it’s curious how much Kal-El and notions of ‘peak genre’ align. Those of you who proselytize for riffs: even before you get to riding that groove in “Cosmic Sailor,” Kal-El are primed for ambassadorship.
North Carolinian sludgethrowers Bronco take their name from their bassist/vocalist, who also goes by Bronco, and who in the 2010s cut a tone-worshiping generational swath through the Southern wing of the style as a member of Toke, proffering heavy riffs, harsh-throat vocals, and a disaffection that can only be called classic. With eight songs rolling out over 45 minutes, Bronco‘s Bronco picks up the thread where Toke left off with pieces like “Ride Eternal,” which crawls, or the declarative riffing of “Legion” (eerie guest vocals included amid all the pummel), or the closer “TONS,” which I’m going to assume isn’t titled after the Italian sludge-band, though if those guys wanted to put out a song called “Bronco” on their next record, they’d be well within their rights. A remarkably cohesive debut for something that’s so loudly telling you to fuck yourself. These guys’ll be opening for High on Fire in no time.
Although one wouldn’t listen to Santiago, Chile’s Ocultum and be likely to have “refined” top the list of impressions given by the raw, rot-coated sludge of their third album and Heavy Psych Sounds debut, Buena Muerte, the grim-leaning atmosphere, charge later in the title-track, cultish presentation and the atmosphere emergent both from guitar-wail and yelling interlude “Fortunato’s Fortune” and from the material that surrounds, whether that’s the title-track or the just-under-12-minute “Last Weed on Earth.” The record finds the three-piece of guitarist/vocalist Sebastián Bruna, bassist Pablo Cataldo and drummer Ricardo Robles dug in, stoned and malevolent. They’re not as over-the-top as many in cult rock, but one does get a sense of ceremony from “Last Weed on Earth” and subsequent capper “Emki’s Return” — the latter galloping in its first half and willfully devolved from there into avant noise — even if that’s more about the making of the songs than the performance of genre tropes.
The grunge crunch of “Running With Secrets” and the Cantrell-y acoustics of “Push” are barely the beginning of the story as regards Fidel A Go Go‘s meld of sounds, which ranges from the willfully desert rocking “Sandstorm” to the proggy “Lil Shit,” the transposed blues of “Rainy Days” and the penultimate “Psychedelicexistentialcrisisalidocious,” which is serene in its melody and troubling in the words, as one would hope, and while the moniker and the punny album title speak to shenanigans, the Brisbane four-piece offer a point of view both instrumentally and lyrically that is engaging and draws together the stylistic range. There’s little doubt left to whom “A Stench of Musk” and “Barely an Adversary” are about, but even that’s not the extent of the perspective resonant in these 11 songs. There’s enough fuzz here for desert heads, but Fidel A Go Go are broader in attitude and craft, and Diss Engaged makes a point of its artistic freedom.
Like their 2023 debut EP, Lady Cadaver, Tumble‘s second short offering, Lost in Light sees the trio of guitarist/vocalist Liam Deak, bassist Tarun Dawar and drummer Will Adams working with producer/engineer Ian Blurton (Ian Blurton’s Future Now, etc.) to hone and sharpen a classic, proto-metallic sound without seeing a dip in recording quality. As such, the five songs/20 minutes of Lost in Light are duly brash — looking at you, “Dead by Rumour” and the Radio Moscow-esque “The Less I Know” — but crisp in tone and execution. The mid-tempo “Sullen Slaves” picks up in its solo section later for a bit of boogie, and the slightly-slower metallic lurch of “Laid by Fear” sets up a contrast with the swinging closer “Wings of Gold” that makes the ending of the EP an absolute strut. They aren’t even asking a half-hour of your time, and the rewards are more than commensurate for getting down. They continue to be one to watch as they position themselves for a full-length debut in the next couple years.
Normally I might consider it a hindrance to have no clue what’s going on, but if you’ve never before encountered Italy/France semi-industrial duo Putan Club you might just find yourself in better position going into Filles d’Octobre as the avant garde radfem troupe unfurl a live set recorded at Portugal’s Amplifest, presumably in 2022. But if you don’t know it’s a live record, what’s coming musically, or that Filles d’Octobre is derived from their 2017 debut album, Filles de Mai, there’s a decent change your contextless self will be scrathing your head in wonder of just what’s going on with the bouncy lurch and maybe xylophone of “Filippino,” and that seems to suit Putan Club just fine. If you have to break something to remake it, Putan Club are set to the task of manifesting a rock and roll that is dangerous, new, unrepentantly socially critical, and ready to dance when you are. That they meet these significant ambitions head on shouldn’t be discounted. Not for everybody, but definitely for everybody who thinks they’ve heard it all.
The first live offering from Argentinian prog-heavy instrumentalists IAH follows behind the band’s most expansive studio LP to-date, 2023’s V (review here), and brings into emphasis the group’s dynamic. It’s not just about being able to make a part sound floaty or to make the part next to it crush, but the character of a piece like the 24-minute “Noboj pri Uaset” (which might be new) is as much about the journey undertaken in their builds and the smoothness of the shifts between parts. They dip back to their earlier going for “Sheut” at the start of the set and “Ourboros” and “Eclipsum” the latter of which closes, and the bass in “Sentado en el Borde de una Pregunta” is worth the price of admission alone, never mind as a complement to the extended progression of “Noboj pri Uaset,” which is something of the buried lede here. So be it. On stage or on record, IAH offer immersion unto themselves. A little more tonal edge as a result of the live recording doesn’t hurt that one bit.
Before the Dawn of Time is upwards of the seventh full-length from Swedish vintage-style heavy rockers Gin Lady, and in addition to seeing them make the jump from Kozmik Artifactz to Ripple Music, the sans-pretense 11-songer invents its own moment. It’s like the comedown era (from 1968-1974, roughly) happened, but happened differently. It’s another path to a heavy rock future. There’s ’70s vibes in “Tingens Sanna Natur” a-plenty, and if it’s boogie or push or hooky melodic wash you want, “Mulberry Bend” has you covered for that and then some, never mind the down-home strum of “Bliss on the Line” or the pastoral contemplation of “The Long Now,” as Gin Lady put a classy stamp of their own on classic aural ideologies, as what are no doubt hyperspecific keyboards make the production smooth and let “Ways to Cross the Sky” commune with Morricone while capper “You’re a Big Star” drops a melody that can really only be called “arena ready.” As it stands, it’ll probably go over killer at festivals across Europe.
Duly apocalyptic for being the band’s first full-length release since 2019, Adrift‘s fourth album, Dry Soil, elicits an overarching doom that makes its tonal claustrophobia all the more affecting. The long-running Madrid outfit offer six songs that veer between the contemplative and the caustic as throatrippers worthy of Enslaved add an element of the extreme to the post-metallic intensity of “Edge” and “Restart” in the record’s middle. There are heavy rock underpinnings — that is, somebody here still likes Sabbath — but Adrift are well at home in all the bludgeonry, and “Bonfire” finishes by tying black metal, sludge, noise and darkly thrashing metal together with a suitably severe ambience. Are they torching it at the end? Kind of, but just replace “it” with “everything” and you’ll have a better idea perhaps of where they’re coming from on the whole. But for regionalist discrimination, Adrift would’ve conquered Europe a long time ago.
Berlin trio Black Sadhu — guitarist/vocalist Max Lowry (also synth, effects), bassist Alex Glimm and drummer Martin Cederlund — employ atmosphere to a point of cinematics on their second full-length, Ashes of Aether, following up the post-doom wash of 2021 standalone single “Mindless Masses” with plays back and forth between full-heft nod and take-a-breather meanderings. This cuts momentum less than one might think as the keyboard and drone and sample of “Tumors of Light” lend experimentalist verve to “Descent,” the next of the nine-track outing’s more-complete-song songs, as the latter unfolds with a shine on the crash that continues to cut through the surrounding rumble as the procession unfurls. Patience, then. So long as you know the payoff is coming — and it is; looking at you, “Electric Death” — and don’t mind being stretched and contorted on a molecular level between here and there, you should be good to go.
