Textural heavy post-rock/metal instrumentalists Sidus released their three-song Seismos EP on June 18 through Argonauta Records. For the Berlin-by-way-of-Athens four-piece, it is their second EP behind 2020’s Seasons Reversed and a slew of singles and remixes tossed about their Bandcamp page, the very address of which speaks to their Greek roots while their actual sound is more varied as presented on the new offering. Delivered in three parts, “Stage I: Rupture” (3:09) leads off, followed by “Stage II: Seismic Wave” (6:17), and “Stage III: Seismos” (8:46) closes, each piece shifting fluidly from one to the next if not directly bleeding. Silence has a presence here as well, and the band seem no less at home in minimal spaces than in the precision crush they loose in the second two of these three songs, which, in following the EP’s stated theme based around earthquakes or an earthquake, is when the shaking happens.
Founded at the dawn of this troubled decade by Spyros Olivotos (also bassist for Argonauta-denizen post-metallers Unverkalt), the band land at their first effort with their current lineup with a corresponding sense of departure. Also issued in 2020 as their first single, “Envy” from the debut EP hinted at Eurodoom mournfulness, and even the underlying rush that the title-track of Seasons Reversed seemed to be in has more or less dissipated for Seismos, which executes even its heaviest assault methodically. To mix and master, Sidus worked with Steve Lado at SL Studios, and the drums/percussion were done by Kostas Milonas at Bree Studios in Athens, and that would seem to imply that the guitar, bass, keys, various and were self-recorded.
If that’s true — and it’s entirely possible I’m wrong; I’m human and that shit happens — it would be the first time or at very least one of the few the band hasn’t worked with producer Panagiotis Katsaounis at P.K. Productions in Greece, but the timing on their relocating to Berlin might also be a factor there. But in comparison to what they’ve done in the last couple years, Sidus‘ sound has taken on new dimension with this EP, and one has to allow that a shift in the recording process might be part of why.
One way or the other, Seismos — its theme further applied as a metaphor for panic attacks — is rich in its depth. Quiet at the start of “Stage I: Rupture,” growing metallic in tone for “Stage II: Seismic Wave,” a last chug and guitar howl there signaling the end of chaos inner or outer, and bringing a more atmospheric approach to “Stage III: Seismos” that has aspects of Neurosis circa 2001-’04 — there’s some “Stones From the Sky” in the thickened-riff sweep of the crescendo, and the initial guitar reach reminds of the end of “Burn” — they are very clearly working on a broader trajectory than any one piece of the three might encapsulate, but each cut stands on its own well.
The first is synthy post-rock, evocative and more than a soundscape but also that, with strums of threatening distortion creeping in near the finish. Of course, that’s a preface for the post-metalcore riffing of “Stage II: Seismic Wave,” which it’s easy to imagine both emo and death growl vocals accompanying, maybe together, and which veers into blastbeats with slower keyboard on top for a pre-midsection shove that is as tumultuous as Sidus get, followed by a brief break and rebuild in the second half of the song, its aforementioned chugging resolution coming through as firmly declarative.
And while “Stage III: Seismos” is intended to capture the inward brain-on-fire, chest-tightening tremor that panic becomes when physically manifest, it’s more than aural anxiety, and unfurls itself with complexity drawn from the two songs preceding, whether that’s the ambience of the opener or the more aggressive punch of the centerpiece. “Stage III: Seismos” becomes a fitting culmination for the release in finding a figurative middle between the first and second tracks, and the use of theme throughout demonstrates another way in which Sidus are growing — you know, to go with the lineup, the move from Greece to Germany, the production — as they continue their pursuit of the intangible toward their inevitable debut full-length, when and however they may get there.
Video for “Stage III: Seismos” premieres below. Heads up on suicidal imagery and implications if that’s a trigger for you. Words from the band and more follow from the PR wire.
Please enjoy:
Sidus, “Stage III: Seismos” video premiere
Sidus on “Stage III: Seismos”:
“The calm before the storm. Loss of control. Finally the explosion hits. Experiencing a complete mental and physical breakdown. Everything feels unstable, unsure, impermanent. Time stops and you need to face your worst fears. Panic attack is finally realized. Carrying the scars of this life changing experience as faultlines. However, even if an earthquake has the power to destroy its surroundings, we still find the strength to adapt and evolve, optimizing our survival mechanism.”
Credits: Created by Sidus. Mixed and mastered by Steve Lado at SL Studios, Athens, Greece. Drums and percussion recorded by Kostas Milonas at Bree Studios, Athens, Greece. Album cover designed by Vagelis Petikas (Revolver Design), Athens, Greece. Released via Argonauta Records. Video production by Giuseppe D’Addurno. Acting by Matteo Forni.
‘Seismos’ is a three song concept album about earthquakes. The theme of the songs correlates this explosive phenomenon to the individual fear and shock of a panic attack. The album explores the breathtaking beauty of this natural disaster, while raising awareness about mental health issues. Intense earthquakes create the unsettling feeling of insecurity due to their disastrous characteristics. The three songs are describing the genesis (‘Rupture’), path (‘Seismic Wave’) and expression (‘Seismos’) of the event. In the same way, panic attacks are often described in three stages.
The early stage starts with a mental fog/blur. Shortly after, several body parts are acting out of control while the person feels kind of paralyzed, leading to the final expression, which is the collapse of the entire body (the shivering). Even though an earthquake (or the experience of a panic attack) is an intense event, there is always a calming period of realization afterwards. The last calming moments of the EP is resembling the hopeful sense of security when the control is restored and the event has passed.
Hailing from Athens (based in Berlin), Sidus have carved a reputation for crafting cinematic, instrumental compositions in the same vein as bands like God Is An Astronaut, Russian Circles and The Ocean Collective. The band started out as a one-man project by Spyros Olivotos, which has seen the release of one EP and two singles (‘Seasons Reversed’ November 2020, ‘Pale Dot’ June 2021, and ‘Dark Flames’ December 2021). Their latest single ‘Dark Flames’ has been their most impactful release to date, gaining solid recognition among the genre-seeking audience. The band is currently working on their first debut album and are planning their first live shows.
That’s it. End of the Summer 2023 Quarterly Review and the last round of this kind of thing until, I don’t know, sometime here or there in late September or early October. I feel like I say this every time out — and I readily acknowledge the possibility that I do; I’ve been doing this for a while, and there’s only so much shit to say — but it is my sincere hope you found something in this round of 70 records that hits with you. I did, a couple times over at least. One of the reasons I look forward to the Quarterly Review, apart from clearing off album-promo folders from my desktop, is that my end-of-year lists always look different coming out of one than they did going in. This time is no different.
But, you know, if you didn’t get there this time, that’s okay too. There’s always the next one and one of the fortunate things about living in a time with such an onslaught of recorded music is that there’s always something new to check out. The Quarterly Review is over for a couple months, yeah, but new music happens every day. Every day is another chance to find your new favorite album, band, video, whatever. Enjoy that.
Quarterly Review #61-70:
Monolord, It’s All the Same
After nearly a decade of hard, album-cycle-driven international touring and standing at the forefront in helping to steer a generational wave of lumbering riffage, it doesn’t seem unreasonable to think Gothenburg, Sweden’s Monolord might feel stuck, and “Glaive (It’s All the Same)” seems to acknowledge that. Stylistically, though the lead and partial title-track on the roller trio’s new EP, It’s All the Same, is itself a way forward. It is more spacious than crushing, and they fill the single out with guitarist Thomas V. Jäger‘s sorrowful vocal delivery and memorable early lead lines, a steady, organic rhythm from drummer/engineer Esben Willems and bassist Mika Häkki — worth noting that all three have either released solo albums or otherwise explored solo work in the last two years — and Mellotron that adds a classically progressive flair and lets the guitar focus on mood rather than stomp, though there’s still plenty of that in “Glaive (It’s All the Same)” and is more the focus of “The Only Road,” so Monolord aren’t necessarily making radical changes from where they were on 2021’s Your Time to Shine (review here), but as there has been all along, there’s steady growth in balance with the physicality of tone one has come to anticipate from them. After scaling back on road time, It’s All the Same feels reassuring even as it pushes successfully the boundaries of their signature sound.
Raging not at all unthoughtfully for most of its concise-feeling but satisfying 38 minutes, Somnuri‘s third album and MNRK Heavy label debut, the nine-song Desiderium, is a tour de force through metallic strengths. Informed by the likes of Death, (their now-labelmates) High on Fire, Killswitch Engage, Gojira (at whose studio they recorded), thick-toned and swapping between harsh shouts, screams and clean-sung choruses — and yes, that’s just in the first three minutes of opener “Death is the Beginning” — the Brooklynite trio of guitarist/vocalist Justin Sherrell, bassist Mike G. and drummer Phil SanGiacomo brazenly careen and crash through styles, be it the lumbering and impatiently angular doom “Paramnesia,” the rousing sprint “What a Way to Go,” the raw, vocals-rightly-forward and relatively free of effects “Remnants” near the end, or the pairing of the fervent, thrashy shove in “Flesh and Blood” with the release-your-inner-Cave–In “Desiderium,” the overwhelming extremity of “Pale Eyes” or the post-hardcore balladeering that turns to djent sludge largesse in closer “The Way Out” — note the album begins at “…the Beginning” and ends at an exit; happy accident or purposeful choice; it works either way — Somnuri are in the hurricane rather than commanding from the calm center, and that shows in the emotionalism of prior single “Hollow Visions,” but at no point does Desiderium collapse under the weight of its ambitions. After years of touring and the triumph that was 2021’s Nefarious Wave (review here) hinting at what seems in full bloom here, Somnuri sound ready for the next level they’ve reached. Time to spend like the next five years straight on tour, guys. Sorry, but that’s what happens when you’re the kick in the ass heavy metal doesn’t yet know it needs.
Densely distorted Indianapolis heavybringers Void King have stated that their third full-length, the burly but not unatmospheric 36-minute The Hidden Hymnal, is the first of a two-part outing, though it’s unclear whether both parts are a concept record or these six tracks are meant to start a storyline, with opener “Egg of the Sun” (that would happen if it spun really fast) and closer “Drink in the Light” feeling complementary in their increased runtime relative to the four songs between. Maybe it’s an unfinished narrative at this point, or no narrative at all. Fine. Approaching it as a standalone outing, the four-piece follow 2019’s Barren Dominion (review here) with more choice riffing and metal-threatening, weighted doom, “The Grackle” breaking out some rawer-throat gutturalism over its big, big, big tone. The bassline of “Engulfed in Absence” (tell people you love them) caps side A with a highlight, and “When the Pinecones Close Up” (that means it’s going to rain) echoes the volatility of “The Grackle” before “Brother Tried” languidly swings until it’s time for a 100 meter dash at the end, and the aforementioned “Drink in the Light” rounds out mournful and determined. If there’s more to come, so be it, but Void King give their listeners plenty to chew on in the interim.
At the core of ostensibly Switzerland-based Inezona is multi-instrumentalist and vocalist Ines Brodbeck, and on Heartbeat — the fourth LP from her band and the follow-up to 2019’s Now, released as INEZ, and last year’s sans-vocals A Self Portrait — the sound is malleable around its folkish melodicism, with Brodbeck, guitarist/vocalist Gabriel Sullivan, bassist/synthesist Fabian Gisler and drummer Eric Gut comfortably fleshing out atmospheric heavy psychedelia more about mood than effects but too active and almost too expressive to be post-rock, though it kind of is anyhow. Mellow throughout, “Sea Soul” caps side A and meanders into/through a jam building on the smoky vibe in “Stardust” before the title-track strolls across a field of more ’60s-derived folk rock. “Veil” charms with fuzz, while “In My Heart” seems intent on finding the place where Scandinavian folk meets kosmiche synthesizer, and “Midnight Circle” brings Zatokrev‘s Fredryk Rotter for a guest duet and guitar spot that is a whole-album crescendo, with the acoustic-based “Leave Me Alone” and the brief “Sunday Mornings” at the end to manage the comedown. The sound spans decades and styles and functions with purpose as its own presence, and the soothing delivery of Brodbeck throughout much of the proceedings draws Heartbeat together as an interpretation of classic pop ideals with deep roots underground. Proof again that ‘heavy’ is about more than which pedals you have on your board.
It’s odd that it’s odd that Hauch‘s songs are in German. The pandemic-born Waltrop, Germany, four-piece present their first release in the recorded-in-2021, five-song Lehmasche, and I guess so much of the material coming out of the German heavy underground — and there’s a lot of it, always — is in English. A distinguishing factor for the 31-minute outing, then, which is further marked by an attitudinal edge in hard-fuzz riffers like “Es Ist” and the closer “Tür,” the aesthetic of the band at this (or that, depending on how present-tense we want to be) moment drawing strongly from ’90s rock — and no, that doesn’t necessarily mean stoner — in structure and affect, but presenting the almost-eight-minute leadoff “Wind” with due fullness of sound and ending up not too far in terms of style from Switzerland’s Carson, who last year likewise proffered a style that was straightforward on its face but, like Hauch, stood out for its level of songwriting and the just-right nature of its grooves. Lehmasche, the title translating to ‘clay ash,’ evokes something that can change shape, and the thrust in “Komm Nach Hause” and the hard-landing kick thud of centerpiece “Quelle” bear that out well enough. Keeping in mind it’s their debut, it seems likely Hauch will continue to grow, but they already sound ready to be picked up by some label or other.
Setting its nod in a manner that seems to have little time to waste on opener “The Mountain and the Feather” before breaking out with the dense, chugging swing of “The Corenne and the Prophecy Fulfilled,” Kentucky heavybringers El Astronauta bring a nuanced sound to what might be familiar progressions, but the mix is set up in three dimensions and the band dwells in all of them, bringing character to the languid reach of the mini-album Snakes and Foxes, bolstered by the everybody-might-sing approach from guitarist/keyboardist Seth Wilson, bassist Dean Collier and pushed-back drummer Cory Link, who debuted in 2021 with High Strangeness and who dude-march through “The Gambler and the General” as if the tempo was impeded by the thickness of the song itself. Through a mere 17 Earth minutes, El Astronauta carve out this indent for themselves in the side of a very large, very heavy style of rock and roll, but “The Axe or the Hammer,” which bookends topping five minutes in answer to “The Mountain and the Feather,” has a more subdued verse to go along with the damn near martial shouts of its impact-minded chorus, and fades out with surprising fluidity to leave off. The one-thing-and-another-thing titles give Snakes and Foxes a thematic feel, but the real theme here is the barebones greed-for-volume El Astronauta display, their material feeling built for beery singalongs.
With their third full-length behind 2021’s Chosen One (review here) and their 2018 self-titled debut (review here), Texan riff rollers Thunder Horse grow accordingly more atmospheric in their presentation and are that much more sure of themselves in leaning into founding guitarist/vocalist Stephen Bishop‘s industrial metal past in Pitbull Daycare. The keys give “Requiem” an epic feel at the finish, and even if the opening title-track is like what Filter might’ve been if they’d been awesome and “New Normal” and “Monolith” push further with semi-aggro metallurgical force, the wall-of-tone remains thusly informed until the two-minute acoustic “The Other Side” tells listeners where to go when it’s over (you flip the record, duh). “Monolith” hinted at a severity that manifests in the doomed “Apocalypse,” a preface in its noise and breadth for the finale “Requiem,” finding a momentum that the layered-vocal hook of “Inner Demon” capitalizes upon with its tense toms and that the howls of the penultimate “Aberdeen” expand on with Thunder Horse‘s version of classic boogie rock. They don’t come across like they’re done exploring the balances of influence in what they do — and I hope they’re not — but Thunder Horse have never sounded more certain as regards the rightness of their path.
The title “Vīrya” is Sanskrit and based on the Hindu concept of vitality or energy, often in a specifically male context. Fair enough ground for Kansas instrumentalists After Nations to explore on their single following last year’s impressive, Buddhism-based concept LP, The Endless Mountain (review here). In the four-minute standalone check-in, the four-piece remind just how granite-slab heavy that offering was as they find a linear path from the warning-siren-esque guitar at the start through the slower groove and into the space where a post-metallic verse could reside but doesn’t and that’s just fine, turning back to the big-bigger-biggest riff before shifting toward controlled-cacophony progressive metal, hints of djent soon to flower as they build tension through the higher guitar frequencies and the intensity of the whole. After three minutes in, they’re charging forward, but it’s a flash and they’re dug into the whatever-time-signature finishing movement, a quick departure to guitar soon consumed by that feeling you get when you listen to Meshuggah that there’s a very large thing rising up very slowly in front of you and surely you’ll never get out alive. Precise in their attack, After Nations reinforce the point The Endless Mountain made that technique is only one part of their overarching brutality.
There’s some incongruity between the intro “Introspection” (I see what you did there) leading into “Weightless Again” as it takes the mood from a quiet buildup to full-bore tonality and only then gives over to the eight-minute second track, but Ockra‘s Argonauta-delivered debut long-player thrives in that contradiction. Melodic vocals float over energetic riffing in “Weightless Again,” but even that is just a hint of the seven-songer’s scope. To wit, the initially acoustic-based “Tree I Planted” is recognizably parental in its point of view with a guest vocal from Stefanie Spielhaupter, and while centerpiece “Acceptance” is more doomed in its introductory lead guitar, the open strum of its early verses and the harmonies in its second half assure an impression is made. The Gothenburg-based trio grow yet more adventurous in the drone-and-voice outset of “We Who Didn’t Know,” which unfolds its own notions of what ‘heavy prog’ means, with guitarist Erik Björnlinger howling at the finish ahead of the start of the more folk-minded strum of “Imorgon Här,” on which drummer Jonas Nyström (who also played that acoustic on “We Who Didn’t Know” and adds Mellotron where applicable) takes over lead vocal duties from bassist Alex Spielhaupter (also more Mellotron). The German-language closer “Tage Wie Dieser” (‘days like these’) boasts a return from Stefanie Spielhaupter and is both quiet grunge and ambient post-rock before the proggy intensity of its final wash takes hold, needing neither a barrage of effects or long stretches of jamming to conjure a sense of the far out.
What’s another 20 minutes of music to Erik Larson, I wonder. The Richmond-based songwriter, multi-instrumentalist and vocalist has a career and a discography that goes back to the first Avail record three decades ago, and at no point in those decades has he ever really stopped, moving through outfits like (the now-reunited) Alabama Thunderpussy, Axehandle, The Mighty Nimbus, Hail!Hornet, Birds of Prey, Kilara, Backwoods Payback, Thunderchief, on and on, while building his solo catalog as well. Fortsett, the 20-minute EP in question, follows 2022’s Red Lines and Everything Breaks (both reviewed here), and features Druglord‘s Tommy Hamilton (also Larson‘s bandmate in Omen Stones) on drums and engineer Mark Miley on a variety of instruments and backing vocals. And you know what? It’s a pretty crucial-sounding 20 minutes. Larson leads the charge through his take that helped define Southern heavy in “Cry in the Wind,” the nodder “My Own,” and the sub-two-minute “Electric Burning,” pulls back on the throttle for “Hounder Sistra” and closes backed by drum machine and keys on “Life Shedding,” just in case you dared to think you know what you were getting. So what’s that 20 minutes of music to Erik Larson? Going by the sound of Fortsett, it’s the most important part of the day.
Ah, a Quarterly Review Wednesday. Always a special occasion. Monday starts out with a daunting look at the task ahead. Tuesday is all digging in and just not trying to repeat myself too much. Wednesday, traditionally, is where we hit the halfway point. The top of the hill.
Not the case this time since I’ll have 10 records each written up next Monday and Tuesday, but crossing the midpoint of this week alone feels like an accomplishment and you’ll pardon me if I mark it as such. If you’re wondering how the rest of the week will go, tomorrow is all-business and Friday’s usually a party one way or the other. My head gets so in it by the middle of next week I’ll be surprised not to be doing this anymore. So it goes.
Quarterly Review #21-30:
Khanate, To Be Cruel
Who among mortals could hope to capture the horrors of Khanate in simple words? The once-New York-based avant sludge ultragroup end a 14-year hiatus with To Be Cruel, a fourth album, comprising three songs running between 19-21 minutes each that breed superlative hatefulness. At once overwhelming and minimalist, with opener “Like a Poisoned Dog” placing the listener in a homemade basement dungeon with the sharp, disaffection-incarnate bark of Alan Dubin (also Gnaw) cutting through the weighted slog in the guitar of Stephen O’Malley (also SunnO))), et al), the bass of James Plotkin (more than one can count, and he probably also mastered your band’s record) and the noise free-jazz drumming of Tim Wyskida (Blind Idiot God, etc.), they retain the disturbing brilliance last heard from in 2009’s Clean Hands Go Foul (discussed here) and are no less caustic for the intervening years. “It Wants to Fly” is expansive and wretched death poetry set to drone doom, a ritual made of its own misery, and the concluding title-track goes quiet in its midsection as though to let every wrenching anguish have its own space in the song. There is no one like them, though many have tried to convey some of what apparently only Khanate can. As our plague-infested, world-burning, war-making, fear-driven species plunges further into this terrible century, Khanate is the soundtrack we earn. We are all complicit. All guilty.
Though plenty atmospheric besides, Vancouver heavy fuzz rockers Space Queen add atmosphere to their nine-song/26-minute Nebula EP through a series of four interludes: the a capella three-part harmonies of “Deluge,” the acoustic-strummed “Veil” and “Sun Interlude,” and the finishing manipulated space-command sample in “End Transmission” after the richly melodic doom rock of “Transmission/Lost Causemonaut.” That penultimate inclusion is the longest at 6:14 and tells a story in a way that feels informed by the three-piece of drummer/vocalist Karli MacIntosh, guitarist/vocalist Jenna Earle and bassist/keyboardist/vocalist Seah Maister‘s past in the folk outfit Sound of the Sun, but transposes its melodic sensibility into a heavier context. It and the prior garage-psych highlight “When it Gets Light” — a lighter initial electric strum that arrives in willful-seeming contrast to “Darkest Part” immediately preceding — depart from the more straight-ahead push of opener “Battle Cry” and the guitar-screamer “Demon Queen” separated from it by the first interlude. Where those two come across as working with Alice in Chains as a defining influence — something the folk elements don’t necessarily argue against — the Nebula EP grows broader as it moves through its brief course, and flows throughout with its veering into and out of songs and short pieces. This is Space Queen‘s second EP, and if they’re interested in making a full-length next, they sound ready.
Fasano, Italy’s King Potenaz debut on Argonauta Records with Goat Rider, which conjures raw fuzz, garage-doom atmospherics, and vocals that edge toward aggression and classic cave metal, early Venom or Celtic Frost having a role to play even alongside the transposition of Kyuss riffing taking place in the title-track, which follows “Among Ruins” and “Pyramids Planet,” both of which featured on the trio’s 2022 Demo 6:66, and which set a tone of riff-led revelry here with a sound that reminds of turn-of-the-century era stoner explorations, but grows richer as it moves into “Pazuzu (3:33)” — it’s actually 5:18 — with guest vocals from Sabilla and the quiet three-minute instrumental “Cosmic Voyager” planet-caravanning into the 51-minute album’s second half, where “Moriendoom (La Ballata di Ippolita Oderisi)” and the even doomier “Monolithic” dig into cultish vibes and set up the bleak shuffle of nine-minute closer “Dancing Plague,” departing from its central ’90s-heavy riff into a mellow-psych movement and then returning from that outward stretch to end. Even at its most familiar, Goat Rider finds some way to harness an individual edge, cleverly using the mix itself as an instrument to create the space in which the songs dwell. It may take a few listens to sink in, but there’s real potential in what they’re doing.
With the release of their third album, New World Hoarder, German art-sludgers Treedeon celebrate their first decade as a band. The combined vinyl-with-CD follows 2018’s Under the Manchineel (review here) and proffers raw cosmic doom in “Omega Time Bomb,” crossing the 10-minute line for the first time after the particularly-agonized opener “Nutcrème Superspreader” and before the title-track’s nodding riff brings bassist Yvonne Ducksworth to the fore vocally, trading off with guitarist Arne Heesch as drummer Andy Schünemann crashes cyclically behind. “New World Hoarder” gives over to side B opener “Viking Meditation Song,” which rolls like an evil-er version of Goatsnake, and “RHV1,” on which Heesch and Ducksworth share vocal duties, as they also do in 12-minute closer “Läderlappen” — a shouting duet in the first half feels long in arriving, but that’s how you know the album works — as the band cap with more massive chug following an interplay of melody and throatier fare. They’re right to ride that groove, as they’re right about so much else on the record. Like much of what Exile on Mainstream puts out, Treedeon are stylistically intricate and underrated in kind.
There are a couple different angles of approach one might take in hearing Orsak:Oslo‘s In Irons full-length. The Norway/Sweden-based instrumental troupe have been heretofore lumped in with heavy post-rock and ambient soundscaping, which is fair enough, but what they actually unveil in “068 The Swell” (premiered here), is a calming interpretation of space rock. With experimentalism on display in its late atmospheric drone comedown, “068 The Swell” moves directly into the more physical “079 Dutchman’s Wake (Part I),” the languid boogie feeling modern in presentation and classic in construction and the chemistry between the members of the band. The drums sit out much of the first half of “069 In What Way Are You Different,” giving a sense of stillness to the drone there, but the song embraces a bigger feel toward its finish, and that sets up the feedback intro to “078 The Mute (Part II),” which veers dreamily between amplifier drone and complementary melodic guitar flourish. Taking 17 minutes to do it, they close with “074 Hadal Blue,” which more broadly applies the space-chill of “068 The Swell” and emphasizes flow and organic changes from one part to the next. Immersive, it would be one to get lost in if it weren’t so satisfying to pay attention.
Fuck. Yes. As much grind as sludge as electronics-infused hardcore as it is furious, unadulterated noise, the 12-song/50-minute onslaught that is Boss Blades arrives via Modern Grievance at the behest of Jon Weisnewski, also of Sandrider, formerly of Akimbo. If Weisnewski‘s name alone and the fact that Matt Bayles mixed the self-recorded debut LP aren’t enough to pull you into the tornado of violence and maddening brood that opener “Boss Blades” uses to open — extra force provided by one of two guest vocal spots from Dave Verellen of Botch; the other is on “Lasers in the Jungle” later on — then perhaps the seven-minute semi-industrial march of “Obsolete Food” or the bruising intensity of “Poorly Made Pots” or the minute and a half of sample-topped drone psych in “Guitart,” the extreme prog metal of “Eat Meth” or “Manifest Piss Tape” will do the trick, or the nine-minute near-centerpiece “Many Knives” (which, if there’s a Genghis Tron influence here generally — and there might be — is more the last record than the older stuff) with its slow keyboard unfolding as a backdrop for Dust Moth‘s Irene Barber to make her own guest appearance, plenty of post-everything cacophony mounting by the end, grandiose and consuming. I could go on — every track is a new way to die — but suffice it to say that this is what my brain sounds like when my kid and my wife are talking to me about different things at the same time and it feels like my skull is on fire and I have an aneurysm and keel over. Good wins.
Sometimes harsh but always free, 2022’s Chapter 4 from Croatian instrumentalist double-guitar five-piece Mycena — guitarists Marin Mitić and Pavle Bojanić, bassist Karlo Cmrk, drummer Igor Vidaković and synthesist/noisemaker Aleksandar Vrhovec — brings three tracks that are distinct unto themselves but listed as part of the same entirety, dubbed “Dissolution” and divided into “Dissolution Part 1” (17:49), “Dissolution Part 2” (3:03), and “Dissolution Part 3” (18:11), and it may well be that what’s being dissolved is the notion that rock and roll must be confined to verse/chorus structuring. Invariably, Earthless are a comparison point for longform instrumental heavy anything, and given the shred in “Dissolution Part 1” around five minutes deep and the torrent rockblast in the first half of “Dissolution Part 3” before it melts to near-silence and quietly noodles its way through its somehow-dub-informed last 11 or so minutes, building in presence but not actually blowing up to full volume as it caps. While totaling a manageable 39 minutes, Chapter 4 is a journey nonetheless, with a scope that comes through even in “Dissolution Part 2,” which may just be an interlude but still carries a steady rhythm that seems to reorient the band ahead of their diving into the extended final part, the band sounding natural in making changes that would undo acts with less chemistry.
Filthy tone. Just absolutely nasty. Atlanta’s Bog Monkey tracked Hollow, their self-released debut LP, with Jay Matheson at The Jam Room in South Carolina, and if they ever go anywhere else to try to capture their sound I’d have to ask why. With seven cuts totaling 33 minutes play-time and fuzz-sludge blowouts a-plenty in “Facemint,” the blastbeaten “Blister” and the heads-down largesse-minded shove-off-the-cliff that is “Slither” at a whopping 2:48, Hollow transposes Conan-style shouted vocals on brash, thickened heavy, the bass in “Tunnel” and forward-charging leadoff “Crow” with its thrash-riffing hook is the source of the heft, but it’s not alone. Spacious thanks to echoes on the vocals, Hollow crushes just the same, and as the trio plunder toward the eight-minute “Soma” at the end, growing intense quickly out of a calmer intro jam and slamming their message home circa 3:40 with crashes that break to bass and guitar noise to establish the nod around which the ending will be based, all you can really do is look forward to the bludgeoning to come and be glad when it arrives. Don’t be fooled by their generic name, or the silly stoner rock art (which I’m not knocking; it being silly is part of the point). Bog Monkey bring together different styles in a way that’s thoughtful and make songs that sound like they just rose out of the water to fucking obliterate you. So go on. Be obliterated.
Punkish in its choruses like the title-track or opener “Sports,” the four-song Dead Nature EP from South Africa’s The Man Motels is the latest in a string of short releases and singles going back to their 2018 full-length, Quit Looking at Me!, and they temper the urgency of their speediest parts with grunge-style melody and instrumental twists. Bass and drums at the base of “Young Father” set up the sub-three-minute closer as purely punk, but sure enough the guitar kicks in coming out of the verse and one can hear the Nirvana effect before it drops out again. Whether it’s a common older-school hardcore influence, I don’t know, but “Sports” and “Young Father” remind of a rawer Fu Manchu with their focus on structure, but “The Fever” is heavier indie rock and culminates in a tonally satisfying apex before cutting back to the main riff that’s led the way for… oh, about three minutes or so. All told, The Man Motels are done in 15 minutes, but they pack a fair amount into that time and they named the release after its catchiest installment, so there. Maybe not the kind of thing I’d always reach for in my own listening habits, but I’m not about to rag on a band for being good at what they do or showcasing their material with the kind of energy The Man Motels put into Dead Nature.
With a couple short(er) outings to their credit, Bayonne, New Jersey, three-piece Pyre Fyre present seven songs in the 18 minutes of their self-titled, which just might be enough to make it a full-length. Hear me out. They start raw with “Hypnotize,” more of a song than an intro, punkish and the shortest piece at 1:22. From there, the Melvins meet Earthride on “Flood Zone” and the range of shenanigans is unveiled. Produced by drummer/noisemaker Mike Montemarano, with Dylan Wheeler on guitar, Dan Kirwan on bass and vocals from all three in its hithers and yons, it is a barebones sound across the board, but Pyre Fyre give a sense of digging in despite that, with the echo-laced “Wyld Ryde” doled out like garage thrash, while “Dungeon Duster/Ice Storm” sounds like it was recorded in two different sessions and maybe it was and screw you if that matters, “Don’t Drink the Water” hits the brakes and dooms out with stoner-drawl vocals later, “Arachnophobia” dips into a darker, somehow more metal, mood, and the fuzzy “Cordyceps” ends with swagger and noise alike in just under two and a half minutes. All of this is done without pretense, without the band pausing to celebrate themselves or what they just accomplished. They get in, kick ass, get out again. You don’t want to call it an album? Fine. I respectfully disagree, but we can still be friends. What, you thought because it was the internet I was going to tell you to screw off? Come on now.
Well here we are, at last. A couple weeks ago I looked at my calendar and ended up pushing this Quarterly Review to mid-July instead of the end of June, and it’s been hanging over my head in the interim to such a degree that I added two days to it to cover another 20 records. I’m sure it could be more. The amount of music is infinite. It just keeps going.
I’ll assume you know the deal, but here it is anyhow: 10 records per day, for seven days — Monday through Friday, plus Monday and Tuesday in this case — for a total of 70 reviews. Links and audio provided to the extent possible, and hopefully we all find some killer new music we didn’t know about before, or if we did know about it, just to enjoy. That doesn’t seem so crazy, right?
Quarterly Review #1-10:
Bongzilla, Dab City
None higher. Following extensive touring before and (to the extent possible) after the release of their 2021 album, Weedsconsin (review here), Madison, WI, canna-worship crust sludge-launchers Bongzilla return with Dab City, proffering the harsh and the mellow as only they seem to be able to do, even among their ’90s-born original-era sludge brethren. As second track “King of Weed” demonstrates, Bongzilla are aurally dank unto themselves, both in the scathing vocals of bassist Mike “Muleboy” Makela and the layered guitar of Jeff “Spanky” Schultz and the slow-swinging groove shoving all that weighted tone forward in Mike “Magma” Henry‘s drums. Through the seven tracks and 56 minutes of dense jams like those in the opening title-cut or the 13-minute “Cannonbong (The Ballad of Burnt Reynolds as Lamented by Dixie Dave Collins” (yes, from Weedeater) or the gloriously languid finale “American Pot,” the shorter instrumental “C.A.R.T.S.,” or in the relatively uptempo nodders “Hippie Stick” and “Diamonds and Flower,” Bongzilla underscore the if-you-get-it-then-you-get-it nature of their work, at once extreme in its bite and soothing in atmosphere, uncompromising in purpose. I’m not going to tell you to get bombed out of your gourd and listen, but they almost certainly did while making it, and Dab City is nothing if not an invitation to that party.
Adventures await as Redhill, UK, three-piece Trevor’s Head — guitarist/vocalist Roger Atkins, bassist/vocalist/synthesist Aaron Strachan (also kalimba), drummer/flutist/vocalist/synthesist Matt Ainsworth (also Mellotron) — signal a willfully open and progressive creativity through the heavy psych and grunge melodies of lead track “Call of the Deep” before the Primus-gone-fuzz-prog chug of “Under My Skin” and the somehow-English-pastoral “Grape Fang” balances on its multi-part harmonies and loose-feeling movement, side A trading between shorter and longer songs to end with the seven-minute, violin-inclusive folk-then-fuzz-folk highlight “Elio” before “Rumspringa” brings the proceedings to ground as only cowbell might. As relatively straight-ahead as the trio get there or in the more pointedly aggressive shover “A True Gentleman” on the other side of the Tool-ish noodling and eat-this-riff of “What Got Stuck” (answer: the thrashy gallop before the final widdly-widdly solo, in my head), they never want for complexity, and as much as it encapsulates in its depth of arrangement and linear course, closer “Don’t Make Me Ask” represents the band perhaps even more in looking forward rather than back on what was just accomplished, building on what 2018’s Soma Holiday (review here) hinted at stylistically and mindfully evolving their sound.
Born in the ’90s as Amend, turned more extreme as V and now perhaps beginning a new era as Vorder — pronounced “vee-order” — the Dalarna, Sweden, unit return with a new rhythm section behind founding guitarists Jonas Gryth (also Unhealer) and Andreas Baier (also Besvärjelsen, Afgrund, and so on) featuring bassist Marcus Mackä Lindqvist (Blodskam, Lýsis) and drummer Daniel Liljekvist (ex-Katatonia, In Mourning, Grand Cadaver, etc.) on drums, the invigorated four-piece greet a dark dawn with due presence on False Haven, bringing Baier‘s Besvärjelsen bandmate Lea Amling Alazam for guest vocals on “The Few Remaining Lights,” which seems to be consumed after its melodic opening into a lurching and organ-laced midsection like Entombed after the Isis-esque ambience of post-apocalyptic mourning in “Introspective” and “Beyond the Horizon of Life.” Beauty and darkness are not new themes for Vorder, even if False Haven is their first release under the name, and even in the bleak ‘n’ roll of the title-track there’s still room for hope if you define hope as tambourine. Which you probably should. The penultimate “Judgement Awaits” interrupts floating post-doom with vital shove and 10:32 finale “Come Undone” provides a resonant melodic answer to “The Few Remaining Lights” while paying off the album as a whole in patience, heft and fullness. Vorder use microgenres like a polyglot might switch languages, but what’s expressed from the entirety of the work is utterly their own, whatever name they use.
Multi-instrumentalist Beth Gladding (also of Forlesen, Botanist, Lotus Thief, etc.) shares vocal duties in New York’s Inherus with bassist Anthony DiBlasi (ex-Witchkiss) and fellow guitarist/synthesist Brian Harrigan (Grid, Swallow the Ocean), and the harsh/clean dynamic puts emphasis on the various textures presented throughout the band’s debut album. Completed by drummer Andrew Vogt (Lotus Thief, Swallow the Ocean), Inherus reach toward SubRosan melancholy on “Forgotten Kingdom,” which begins the hour-flat/six-track 2LP, and they follow with harmonies and grandeur to spare on “One More Fire” (something in that melody reminds me of Indigo Girls and I’m noting it because I can’t get my head away from it; not complaining) and “The Dagger,” which resolves in Amenra-style squibble and lurch without giving up its emotional depth. “Oh Brother” crushes enough to make one wonder where the line truly is between metal and post-metal, and the setup for closer “Lie to the Angels” in the drone-plus piece “Obliterated in the Face of the Gods” telegraphs the intensity to follow if not the progginess of that particular chug or the scope of what follows. Vogt signals the arrival at the album’s crescendo with stately but fast double-kick, and if you’re wondering who gets the last word, it’s feedback. Beholden may prove formative as Inherus move forward, but what their first full-length lays out as their stylistic range is at least as impressive as it is ambitious. Hope for more to come.
Even in the second half of “Tying Up the Noose” as it leads into “Give it Time” — which is about as speedy as Sonic Moon get on their Olde Magick Records-delivered first LP, Return Without Any Memory — they’re in no particular hurry. The overarching languid pace across the Aarhus five-piece’s 41-minute/seven-tracker — which reuses only the title-track from 2019’s Usually I Don’t Care for Flowers EP — makes it hypnotic even in its most active moments, but whether it’s the Denmarkana acoustic moodiness of centerpiece “Through the Snow,” the steady nod of “Head Under the River” later or the post-All Them Witches psych-blues conveyed in opener “The Waters,” Sonic Moon are able to conjure landscapes from fuzzed tonality that could just as easily have been put to use for traditional doom as psych-leaning heavy rock, uniting the songs through that same fuzz and the melody of the vocals as “Head Under the River” spaces out ahead of its slowdown or “Hear Me Now” eschews the huge finish in favor of a more unassuming, gentler letting go, indicative of the thoughtfulness behind their craft and their presentation of the material. Familiar enough on paper and admirably, unpretentiously itself, the self-recorded Return Without Any Memory discovers its niche and comes across as being right at home in it. A welcome debut.
With cosmic doom via YOB meeting with progressive heavy rock à la Elder or Louisiana rollers Forming the Void and an undercurrent of metal besides in the chug and double-kick of “Controlled Burn,” Cleveland’s Slow Wake make their full-length debut culling together songs their 2022 Falling Fathoms EP and adding the prior-standalone “Black Stars” for 12 minutes’ worth of good measure at the end. The dense and jangly tones at the start of the title-track (where it’s specifically “Marrow”-y) or “In Waves” earlier on seem to draw more directly from Mike Scheidt‘s style of play, but “Relief” builds from its post-rocking outset to grow furious over its first few minutes headed toward a payoff that’s melody as much as crunch. “Black Stars” indulges a bit more psychedelic repetition, which could be a sign of things to come or just how it worked out on that longer track, but Slow Wake lay claim to significant breadth regardless, and have the structural complexity to work in longer forms without losing themselves either in jams or filler. With a strong sense of its goals, Falling Fathoms puts Slow Wake on a self-aware trajectory of growth in modern prog-heavy style. That is, they know what they’re doing and they know why. To show that alone on a first record makes it a win. Their going further lets you know to keep an eye out for next time as well.
The Fierce and the Dead, News From the Invisible World
Unearthing a bit of earlier-Queens of the Stone Age compression fuzz in the start-stop riff of “Shake the Jar” is not even scratching the surface as regards textures put to use by British progressive heavies The Fierce and the Dead on their fourth album, News From the Invisible World. Comprised of eight songs varied in mood and textures around a central ethic clearly intent on not sounding any more like anyone else than it has to, the collection is the first release from the band to feature vocals. Those are handled ably by bassist Kev Feazey, but it’s telling as to the all-in nature of the band that, in using singing for the first time, they employ no fewer than six guest vocalists, mostly but not exclusively on opener/intro “The Start.” From there, it’s a wild course through keyboard/synth-fed atmospheres on pieces like the Phil Collins-gone-heavy “Photogenic Love” and its side-B-capping counterpart “Nostalgia Now,” which ends like friendlier Godflesh, astrojazz experimentalism on “Non-Player,” and plenty of fuzz in “Golden Thread,” “Wonderful,” “What a Time to Be Alive,” and so on, though where a song starts is not necessarily where it’s going to end up. Given Feazey‘s apparent comfort with the task before him, it’s a wonder they didn’t make this shift earlier, but they do well in making up for lost time.
Kliwon is the second offering from Indonesia-based meditative psych exploration unit Mud Spencer to be released through Argonauta Records after 2022’s Fuzz Soup (review here), and its four component songs find France-born multi-instrumentalist Rodolphe Bellugue (also Proots, Bedhunter, etc.) constructing material of marked presence and fluidity. Opener “Suzzanna” is halfway through its nine minutes before the drums start. “Ratu Kidul” is 16 minutes of mindful breathing (musically speaking) as shimmering guitar melody pokes out from underneath the surrounding ethereal wash, darker in tone but more than just bleak. Of course “Dead on the Heavy Funk” reminds of Mr. Bungle as it metal-chugs and energetically weirds out. And the just under 16-minute “Jasmin Eater” closes out with organ and righteous fuzz bass peppered with flourish details on guitar and languid drumming, becoming heavier and consuming as it moves toward the tempo kick that’s the apex of the album. Through these diverse tracks, an intimate psychedelic persona emerges, even without vocals, and Mud Spencer continues to look inward for expanses to be conveyed before doing precisely that.
It would seem that in the interim between 2021’s Ocean of Acid EP and this five-song/41-minute debut full-length, Tyhjiö, Finnish psychedelic death-doomers Kita traded English lyrics for those in their native Finnish. No, I don’t speak it, but that hardly matters in the chant-like chorus of the title-track or the swirling pummel that surrounds as the band invent their own microgenre, metal-rooted and metal in affect, but laced with synth and able to veer into lysergic guitar atmospherics in the 10-minute opener “Kivi Puhuu” or the acoustic-led (actually it’s bass-led, but still) midsection leading to the triumphant chorus of bookending closer “Ataraksia,” uniting disparate ideas through strength of craft, tonal and structural coherence, and, apparently, sheer will. The title-track, “Torajyvä” and “Kärpässilmät,” with the centerpiece cut as the shortest, make for a pyramid-style presentation (broader around its base), but Kita are defined by what they do, drawing extremity from countrymen like Swallow the Sun or Amorphis, among others, and turning it into something of their own. Striking in the true sense of: it feels like being punched. But punched while you hang out on the astral plane.
Greek fuzz alert! Heavy rocking three-piece Embargo hail from Thessaloniki with their first long-player, High Seas, using winding aspects of progressive metal to create tension in the starts and stops of “Billow,” “EAT” and “Candy” as spoken verses in the latter and “Alanna Finch” draw a line between the moody noise rock of Helmet, the grunge it informed, and the heavy rock that emerged (in part) from that. Running 10 tracks and 44 minutes, High Seas is quick in marking out the smoothness of its low tonality, and it veers into and out of what one might consider aggression in terms of style, “with 22 22” thoughtfully composed and sharply pointed in kind, one of several instrumentals to offset some of the gruffer stretches or a more patient melodic highlight like “Draupner,” which does little to hide its affinity for Soundgarden and is only correct to showcase it. They also finish sans-vocals in the title-track, and there’s almost a letting-loose sense to “High Seas” itself, shaking out some shuffle in the first half before peaking in the second. Greece is among Europe’s most packed and vibrant undergrounds, and with High Seas, Embargo begin to carve their place within it.
Posted in Whathaveyou on July 3rd, 2023 by JJ Koczan
Cheers to New Cumberland, Pennsylvania’s Almost Honest, who have signed on to release their third album later this year through respected purveyor Argonauta Records. The band have become a four-piece since they issued their second full-length, Seiches and Sirens (review here), in 2019 through Electric Talon. There isn’t a timeline yet on their new release, but they join a glut of bands the Italian label has picked up over the last two months — also 10 years — that includes Superlynx, Fraught, Thedus, Slow Wake, and Dune Pilot. That would seem to speak to a busy Fall to come, one way or the other.
And that busy Fall now includes Almost Honest as well. The band celebrate their 10th anniversary this year since getting together in 2013 — their first EP, Profits of Doom, came out in 2016, followed by their debut album, Thunder Mouth, in 2017 — and releasing a third record on Argonauta sounds like a pretty killer way to mark the occasion. Good on them. I’ll hope to have more to come on the release as we get there.
From the PR wire:
US Heavy Fuzz Rockers ALMOST HONEST Sign to ARGONAUTA Records; New Album During Fall
Coughed up from a smoke filled corner deep in the Central Pennsylvania rock scene in 2012, Almost Honest is a four-piece riff conspiracy dipped in enough sludge to choke mammoth, enough groove to make the dead dance, lyrics that could summon a Sasquatch and make her sing along, and a tonal brilliance that was crafted by master sound-smiths and enchanted by sonic-shamans.
Says the band: “We at Almost Honest are absolutely thrilled to be working with Argonauta Records to release our 3rd record. We have been working tirelessly since 2020 on our new tunes and we are happy that it finally has a home. We know that we are going to accomplish wonderful things together and we cannot wait to share with you what we have been working on.”
Helmed by the darkly dulcet guitarist Shayne Reed, driven by the jungle rattling bassist Garrett Spangler, lifted up by the immense leads of David Kopp and powered by the ent-war thump of drummer Quinten Spangler, Almost Honest has evolved into a rock act to be reckoned with.
Focusing the energy they would have put into extensive touring during the past two years and using ritual druid magics, they conceived, wrote, and recorded a brand new album whose details will be revealed soon.
Almost Honest is poised to deliver more of their unique, creamy fuzz soaked, metallic prog-funk potion, with a riot punch live show that Pennsylvania head bangers have come to crave as soon as the world is ready!
[Click play above to stream Dee Calhoun’s Old Scratch Comes to Appalachia in its entirety. Album is out tomorrow through Argonauta Records.]
Perhaps best known as the final vocalist for Iron Man and for currently fronting Spiral Grave, who are the spiritual successors of said legends of Maryland doom, Dee Calhoun takes on the task of his fourth solo album in expansive fashion. Across 10 songs/51 minutes, Calhoun, bassist “Iron” Louis Strachan (also of Iron Man lineage, as well as Life Beyond and Wretched) and percussionist/vocalist Rob Calhoun, present Old Scratch Comes to Appalachia as a complement to a Calhoun-penned collection of four novellas published under the same name. As regards full-lengths, it follows behind 2020’s Godless (review here) and 2018’s Go to the Devil (review here), his debut, Rotgut (review here), having arrived in 2016, and maintains in the vein of the Southern apocalyptic acoustic metal that has typified Calhoun‘s work to-date.
But the arrangements run deeper on Old Scratch Comes to Appalachia, and though Calhoun — who here is multi-instrumentalist as well as singer, playing acoustic and electric guitar and a variety of other stringed instruments as well as keyboard — and many songs are united by a kind of heavy, rhythmic, maybe software-based thud, a large-footed stomp in leaves or dirt that one compare to some of Author & Punisher‘s mammoth plod. As Calhoun makes his way through opener “The Day the Rats Came to Town,” soaring on the first sung lyric after the spoken intro, backed by acoustic guitar and harmonica, some flourish of electric guitar hints at the depth of detailing to follow throughout, whether it’s in a whisper track as on “Conjured” or the later “All I Need is One,” the sample at the start of “Verachte Diese Hure,” or the higher-notes line of keys peppered into “Pulse,” and so on. Like some aspect of each of Calhoun‘s solo albums to-date, the abiding theme is anti-religious, untrusting of the traveling preacher who turns out to be the devil, and so on, Calhoun at once sympathetic for the plight of this imaginary devil-beset populace and kind of calling them stupid for believing in the first place: “Closing minds that open wounds in the name of a counterfeit god/With the sin of their own, they spare the rod,” go the lyrics of “Pulse.”
Religious corruption is not the only theme, of course. Calhoun follows the sample in “Verachte Diese Hure” (German for ‘despise this whore’) with some far back percussion, string sounds and a simple, consistent beat, with his voice using the space in the mix, powerful as one might expect. There’s some swagger in his guitar work that wouldn’t be there a couple years ago, and he’s more willing to dwell in the parts, as later shows on the tense verses of “Self-Inflicted,” backed by Rob and a lower-mixed, slow beat behind the guitar. “A Wish in the Darkness” brings a Zeppelin via Down key change to brighter acoustic sentiments, its vocals in layers except that howl of “too late!” before three minutes in and folkish complemented by subtle keys later and Strachan‘s bassline.
That fullness of sound continues on the subsequent “New Modern World” with its hints toward flamenco rhythm missing just the the handclaps joining in and old Western catchiness, the vocals (at least) doubled over the sharp guitar progression as Rob takes his first and likely not last lead spot, plenty of room later for the harmonica solo and whatever wobbly-metal-thing, possibly found instrument percussion is banged on in the background, effectively, since for all the progression and opening sonic doors and bringing in new elements Calhoun does throughout Old Scratch Comes to Appalachia, it’s also his fourth album and by now he’s clearly got a decent idea of the kind of fun he’s looking to have. “New Modern World” is hookier than some of the material around it, but is a fitting landmark as Calhoun and company roll through “Pulse” and the dramatic, guitar-forward, swirling around of “Self-Inflicted,” which is foreboding in a less direct way than “Verachte Diese Hure” but still gets its point across in lyrics like “No life, no hope, no chance, no love from anywhere/Lash out but no one seems to care.” Amid distant crackles keeping the rhythm, keyboard enters at around three minutes in, the brooding sensibility maintained.
“Stand With Me” reignites the don’t-come-’round-here-again twang of “Verachte Diese Hure,” but pairs it with harmonized vocals — Dee and his daughter Nadia — and a fuller-sounding arrangement, that same thud buried under the guitars, harmonica or some such, some kind of thing-hitting-another-thing keeping a tinny beat for an extra backwoods feel that reminds all the more of Larman Clamor‘s swamp blues on “All I Need is One,” which follows and puts a heavier, distorted single-stringed diddley bow at the start before an up-front verse takes hold, down to the business of semi-plugged blues metal. A there and gone whisper, intertwining strum and shaker, it’s doom, or at very least Calhoun‘s recontextualizing of it. He is guttural in the line, “I don’t need a million preachers telling me the shape I’m in/All I need is one solution and the healing can begin,” and could carry this material with his voice alone, easily, but that he doesn’t is emblematic of his growth as a songwriter and his emergent willingness to experiment around his central approach.
The final lines of “All I Need is One” are about having “zero fucks to give,” the last one purposefully over-the-top and hilariously grandiose, and if that’s what’s gotten him to where he is, fair enough. As regards philosophies, one could clearly do worse. The closing title-track (premiered here) caps with continued thud and apocalyptic storytelling, some residual metallic shimmer or shake or rattle, and melody forcefully delivered in a way that’s very much Calhoun‘s own despite its long roots in classic metal. “Old Scratch Comes to Appalachia” is the longest cut on the album that shares its name at 6:50, and feels like it’s building initially, though it evens out as the verses unfold.
One can’t help but wonder what a full-band arrangement from Dee Calhoun — the name as a band — might sound like, with drums, bass, guitars, maybe keys given the more prominent role they play here? I don’t know, but Calhoun might get there given the steady growth in his approach that’s unfurled across what’s by this time a respectable solo catalog to go with all his ‘in-band’ pedigree. Multifaceted and multimedia as the album, book, videos and so forth are, it’s difficult to summarize a narrative or speak for the full scope of the outing, but in offering his audience as much depth as possible for Old Scratch Comes to Appalachia, Calhoun is well in keeping with the longstanding, sleeve-worn passion that’s been driving him all this time.
Dee Calhoun, “Old Scratch Comes to Appalachia” official video
Posted in Whathaveyou on June 16th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
We don’t even get the title of the new Superlynx album yet, let alone the release date — guessing September based on ‘early Autumn’ below — but we do find out that the Norwegian former-trio are now a four-piece with the addition of second guitarist Espen Krøll alongside vocalist/bassist Pia Isaksen, guitarist Daniel Bakken, and drummer Ole Teigen and there’s the reveal of the first single from the impending long-player called “Into the Sun,” which is delightfully headfirst-dive-in immersive in its post-doom wash and hypnotic melody. There’s a video for the song at the bottom of the post. If you skip from here, I won’t argue.
If you’re still here, thanks. Superlynx were announced last month as signing to Argonauta for their next full-length, so this news is part of a campaign already in progress, but that’s just fine. The band’s next album will follow behind 2021’s Solstice EP (review here) and be their fourth overall and first for Argonauta, though the Italian label also issued Isaksen‘s solo album under the Pia Isa moniker, 2022’s Distorted Chants (review here). Their last record was 2021’s Electric Temple (review here), which pushed deeper into the kinds of atmospherics that “Into the Sun” seems to present with stately patience. I’m looking forward to this album, if you couldn’t tell. I dig the band. You might also if you get the chance to check them out.
And with that, we turn it over to the PR wire and its magically blue text:
Norwegian Psych Heavy Rockers SUPERLYNX Release Single and Video of the New Song “Into the Sun”
After their recent signing with Italian label ARGONAUTA Records, Norway-based Psychedelic Doomsters SUPERLYNX release the first song from their forthcoming album, expected by early Autumn and whose details will follow in the next weeks.
The new song “Into the Sun” sees the band digging into their most introspective and ethereal twist.
“Into the Sun is one of the first songs that came out of our first jams for the new album, and it actually turned out very close to the initial jam. We feel it is a mellow and quite uplifting song, just diving into a feelgood vibe. It is about letting go and enjoying the moment, through an escape from your troubles and to your favourite space whatever that is, and allowing yourself to just be here and now.” Superlynx say.
“Pia who wrote the words comes from an island and has a deep connection to the sea, to beaches and the sun and the words are written from that perspective. But whatever is one´s favorite place or escape – sometimes you just have to let things be, zone out and have a good time. To us this is definitely a song suited for closing your eyes and drifting away.”
SUPERLYNX exceeds genres with their distinct sound and melts heavy psychedelic rock, doom, meditative atmospheres and droning riffs together. In 2023 Superlynx will celebrate their 10th anniversary as a band with releasing new music, a new additional live member and returning to the stage.
Indeed, the new album is written and played by the original trio Pia, Ole and Daniel as usual, but since the recording the band has expanded by including additional guitarist Espen Krøll. He will join the band on stage from now on for an even fuller live sound.
«We are super happy to have Espen in the band. He is a lovely person and guitarist and fits right in. We really look forward to hitting the stage with him» the band says.
Did you know? The name Superlynx is inspired by the big, beautiful, shy and rare, yet hunted cat living in northern areas – the Lynx. The band wanted to have a link to nature and the animal realm in their name, and it represents both a natural force, and the massive, heavy and rough but also fragile in their music. The Lynx also has its name from lux – meaning light – because of its super luminous eyes, and light is a constant focus for Superlynx even in their darker music.
Posted in Questionnaire on June 2nd, 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: Neal Stein of El Supremo
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How do you define what you do and how did you come to do it?
Sometimes I play guitar and make records.
Describe your first musical memory.
Music goes all the way back for me. My mom played guitar and sang in church and apparently when she was pregnant and played guitar I would quit fussing and kicking. I remember sitting in front of my parents’ stereo when I was very young and being just fascinated with it.
Describe your best musical memory to date.
The more I try to think of a single answer to that, the harder it gets. There have been those moments jamming with people you’ve spent a lot of time with where things happen spontaneously and simultaneously like you’re all on the same wavelength or whatever. That shit rules.
There have been some pretty incredible shows, too. Freak Valley in 2015 stands out. We didn’t even play that tight of a set, but the whole atmosphere of that show was really special. I was worried about the weather since it was grey and kinda looked like rain all morning, but the sky cleared up as we were on stage and it just felt like we were doing exactly what we should be doing at that moment.
Other smaller shows where the intense enthusiasm of everyone there outshines the fact that there aren’t many people make for some memorable experiences, too.
When was a time when a firmly held belief was tested?
Not sure, honestly. I don’t have a lot of precious beliefs. During the process making a record there’s always a point where I question my belief that music is a worthwhile endeavor, especially in the last two or three years.
Where do you feel artistic progression leads?
I suppose it’s a combination of finding your strengths and working with those and also finding new ways of doing things or finding out you’re capable of more than you previously thought. Getting better at playing your instrument; better at working with other people; learning new tools or new ways to use them. Getting more fluent at the language of creating, turning ideas into something tangible.
How do you define success?
Being able to spend more of your time doing what you care about instead of having to trade the majority of your time and energy working on shit you don’t want to do just to get by. There’s that kind of success, being able to sustain your chosen preferred activity. There’s also the success of just knowing you’ve seen something through, stuck it out until the album is done or the song is written or the tour is complete or whatever.
What is something you have seen that you wish you hadn’t?
Besides the morbid or gross shit out there…
I wish I didn’t see people pissing away their lives. Squandered talent or opportunities. Whether it’s shitty jobs, bad relationships, substance abuse. A lot of people just sort of exist.
Describe something you haven’t created yet that you’d like to create.
Part of my brain wants to say “an ambitious orchestral work that integrates mixed media for an immersive, mind-altering experience.” Really, though, I’d just like to make a good record in a real studio like Electrical Audio or something. Everything I’ve done has been DIY. It would be nice to have someone who actually knows what they’re doing record and mix while I can focus on playing.
What do you believe is the most essential function of art?
That’s a big question. I think it can transcend the sort of functionality that might be ascribed to a tool or something. It can connect people to each other, to their world, to ways of thinking they haven’t experienced. It can affect people on primal, intellectual, and emotional levels. I think that’s one of the things that makes us human and keeps us human. You take it away or corrupt it and we’re closer to machines or animals. It also functions as a time capsule, preserving an individual expression and even the zeitgeist of when it was created.
Something non-musical that you’re looking forward to?
Looking forward to the weather getting better so I can get back out on a bicycle again.
the band hasn’t worked with producer Panagiotis Katsaounis at P.K. Productions in Greece, but the timing on their relocating to Berlin might also be a factor there. But in comparison to what they’ve done in the last couple years, Sidus‘ sound has taken on new dimension with this EP, and one has to allow that a shift in the recording process might be part of why.
