Posted in Whathaveyou on November 3rd, 2020 by JJ Koczan
Texas fuzz forerunners Wo Fat made their debut on Ripple Music with Midnight Cometh (review here), in 2016, following it with a rework of 2015’s Live Juju at Freak Valley (review here) as Live Juju at Freak Valley… and Beyond! in 2017. Since then the band has focused on playing live which… well. Okay.
You’ll note the self-titled Funkadelic reference in their bio info below. That’s no accident, as the band have always had that edge going back to their beginnings. And if you’re newer to their work, you’ll get the chance to find out for yourself as Ripple will oversee reissues of Wo Fat‘s first three records in addition to releasing their next full-length next Fall. Really guys, no need to wait. The sooner the better. Unless, you know, you want to promote it on a stage or anything.
It’s good news one way or the other, so have at it:
Texas psychedelic doom veterans WO FAT announce new album on Ripple Music; first three records to be available for the first time in the US!
Chief purveyors of Texas-sized psychedelic doom WO FAT once again team up with Ripple Music for the upcoming release of their awaited seventh studio album — and followup to 2017’s acclaimed ‘Midnight Cometh’ — next year. Ripple Music is also set to reissue the trio’s first three albums in the coming months, making these long out-of-print classics available to North American fans for the very first time.
Over the course of a sonic odyssey which spans six studio albums, one live recording and two splits, Texas’ very own psychedelic doom mongers WO FAT have stayed true to the deep, dark blues that wail from within and have continually infused their riffs with primal grooves. Having secured their legendary status within the stoner rock community by appearing on much coveted bills at Roadburn, Desertfest, Freak Valley Festival, Hellfest and Psycho Las Vegas, their latest release and collaboration with Ripple Music, ‘Live Juju: Freak Valley’ seemed to be the perfect follow-up to their critically acclaimed 2017 album ‘Midnight Cometh’.
While WO FAT have just confirmed the release of their seventh full-length in the fall of 2021, Ripple Music will repress the band’s long out-of-print Nasoni Records albums from days past, starting with ‘Psychedelonaut’ (2009) in the spring of 2021, followed by ‘The Gathering Dark’ (2006) and ‘Noche Del Chupacabra’ (2011) in 2022. All upcoming reissues will be available on black vinyl and limited edition colored vinyl with new liner notes, for the first time ever to North American fans.
With voodoo drums beating and molten blues-tempered waves of guitar riffery, they are carrying on the WO FAT tradition of keeping things heavy and fuzzy, but also groovy, which, all too often, is a missing element in much modern heavy music. You can hear the echoes of field hollers and that oft forgotten “way back yonder funk” that fuel the fire that burns deep in the swamp at the witching hour. You can feel the rush of living on the edge and glimpse a phantasmal Coltrane in your peripheral vision as they careen through improvisational jams. And all this with an unrelenting metal heaviness underscoring apocalyptic lyrics that conjure visions of the end of an age, and black midnight bargains and the consequences reaped. While Wo Fat may be speaking a familiar language to the apostles of the riff, there isn’t anyone that sounds quite like them.
WO FAT is: Kent Stump – guitar, vocals Michael Walter – drums Zack Busby – bass
Posted in Whathaveyou on August 27th, 2020 by JJ Koczan
With funky, soulful riffs, rampant melodies, hooky songcraft and markedly smooth production, Holy Roller Baby sound like a band with some measure of experience behind them on their upcoming debut album, Frenzy. As well they should since the Texas-based band (Austin and Dallas) features three-fourths of the defunct Heavy Glow. Jared Mullins, Nick Snyder and Patrick Smith from that band join up with drummer Luke Callaway — also in Snyder‘s bluesy solo-ish project, Nick Snyder & The Real Deal, which released a debut EP in March — and while there remains a strong current of Josh Homme-style melody in Mullins‘ voice, Holy Roller Baby feel immediately less restrained by heavy rock convention than the prior outfit. Eschewing psychedelic elements for an earthier feel, a cut like “Blue Devin Inn” finds its way into the ethereal nonetheless, likewise the closer “Mantra,” and the starts and stops of “Id Vicious” and the strut of “Ravings at Your Window” expand on the core desert-hued familiarity one might hear in the opener “Leper Blues/Spread Your Love Around” and a song like “Eve.” It is an encouraging debut, built with a clear intention toward reaching out to an audience beyond the heavy rock underground and offering everyone a glimpse at what they’ve been missing.
Holy Roller Baby issued “Leper Blues” a few months back as a kind of sneak preview single and there’s a video below that’s ready for digging in. To guide you on your way, here’s the album announcement from the PR wire:
Louder than the sounds of rowdy groups and leaders in authority are the ever-so-honest thoughts of those who view life from the corner. Described as “rock that rolls with primitive swagger,” Holy Roller Baby’s upcoming album release offers rock lovers the intensity of a rock album with the heart of a soul record. Seeking to illuminate the human experience without being preachy or judgemental, this record is not about taking sides. By rallying listeners to simply figure out complex things together, all are invited to the “Frenzy” on October 9, 2020.
“A lot of cool kids make music, and I don’t really fit into that world,” says singer/songwriter Jared Mullins, candidly. “I don’t know what it’s like to be the cool kid.”
Written at a time where division may seem prevalent, Holy Roller Baby’s unfiltered lyrics throughout “Frenzy” offer listeners a fresh look at what it means to be human. All tracks were written by Jared Mullins using simple “rudimentary drum loops and very basic guitar parts” before they were presented to the band. Notably, Ian Davenport (Demob Happy, Band of Skulls, Radiohead) responded to their demos with great enthusiasm, inviting the band to record the full-length record at Courtyard Studios in Oxfordshire, England, owned by Radiohead’s management company; doors opened for Holy Roller Baby to open for Band of Skulls and Demob Happy during their US tour (September 9th). The band partnered with Chalupa Production in Dallas, TX to create music videos for this album, one of which (“Ravings At Your Window, released June 14th, 2019) hit 100K+ views within about three months of its debut.
Complex in its simplicity, “Frenzy” signifies a turning point for Holy Roller Baby, once subject to descriptions that didn’t match who they know they are, deep down. By fusing the extremes of songs that are heavy (“Leper Blues” and “Eve”) with a soulful-Motown feel (“Your Body Will Sing”), the result is an unboxed sound that beams with confidence. With pure intentionality, the band’s ability to articulate what they’re about has come to inform everything they do. From recklessly-fun rhythms to their edgy lyrics, listeners will find it nearly impossible not to relate.
As Jared put it plainly, “I don’t f***ing get life yet. I feel like I should, but I don’t.”
In many ways, Holy Roller Baby’s music marks an era where it’s okay not to have it all figured out. To view life from the corner alongside them, join the “Frenzy.”
Holy Roller Baby are: Jared Mullins – Lead Guitars, Vocals, Rhodes Nick Snyder – Lead Guitars, Slide Guitar Patrick Smith – Bass, GoPros Luke Callaway – Drums
Yesterday was miserable. Wretched. Front to back. I wanted nothing more than for the day to end. I slept late, until about 6:30AM, took a two-hour nap in the afternoon — same as The Pecan — and went to bed around 8:30PM, and it was still too much day, by far. I wished I could’ve run through the thing at 1.5x speed, like you can do on YouTube. Just get it over with.
Today will be better. Or it won’t. I don’t know. It’s kind of out of my hands these days, or at least it feels that way.
I asked on the Twitterer a little bit ago where to start with True Widow, and 2013’s Circumambulation, above, was the clear pick. I’ll admit I haven’t dug in as deep as I might otherwise like to do before I write about something — though if I was to put a number to it I’d say I’ve made it through listening five or six times, and certainly I’ve reviewed records on less, if poorly — but even superficially it’s clear enough to understand why. The Austin, Texas-based three-piece’s third album came out in 2013 (right time) on Relapse Records (right place) with a murky sound that has helped define heavy/doomgaze in the years since. I read somewhere someone comparing them to Dead Meadow — their bio, maybe? I don’t know — and can’t get that out of my head, though the mood throughout Circumambulation is plainly darker. And in addition to the drums of Timothy “Slim Texas” Starks keeping things rolling, the well placed lead vocal tradeoffs between bassist Nicole Estill and guitarist Dan Phillips — as on “S:H:S” and “Fourth Teeth” — are an asset toward staving off ‘gaze monotony that, frankly, even Dead Meadow don’t have.
But it’s mellow, and it’s melancholy, and it has tonal presence, and for a lot of people into the heavier end of stuff finding it due to the exposure from releasing on Relapse — their first two records, a 2008 self-titled and 2013’s As High as the Highest Heavens and From the Center to the Circumference of the Earth were on End Sounds and Kemado, respectively — it’s easy enough to understand why it would make an impression. I did write about it in 2013, but it was only basically to note that I hadn’t heard it. What can I say? I suck at this. My head was elsewhere that year.
I wonder if I’ll say that about 2020 seven years from now. “Oh that? That was the plague year. No wonder I missed that record.”
Haven’t been sleeping, or sleeping well. I was up just about every hour last night, and I’ve been taking ZzzQuil, which is NyQuil’s sleep aid that’s not a cough suppressant. The Patient Mrs. has also been up, and has been sharing her anxiety dreams with me. She remembers more than I do. Yesterday morning, before I went upstairs to get The Pecan and received the first of the day’s many toddler-faceslaps for the effort, she told me about one in which we were running to find safety in a kind of post-apocalyptic dystopian ethnofascist state — so now, basically — while being chased I guess by republicans who were maybe zombies but were definitely coming for us probably because she read the wrong books and one time on the internet I said Bernie Sanders wasn’t liberal enough, and we had a rag-tag crew with us but no kid I guess so at least it was probably quiet. The way she described it was somewhere between National Lampoon’s Vacation and The Walking Dead.
For what it’s worth, last night I dreamt I was at SXSW but SXSW was also Roadburn and I was hanging out with Jarvis from Scissorfight (random; he’s a nice guy in the times we’ve spoken, but I don’t know him that well) talking about old sludge bands and then I went and saw Usher and I was the only white person there but Usher was good and it wasn’t too crowded so that’s a win. There were no zombies or republicans.
I yelled at a couple cops outside Wegman’s the other day for not wearing masks. It was a minor thrill.
I’m afraid.
I don’t even know of what anymore though. Getting sick and dying in horrible pain? Fine. Bring it.
I’ve kept The Patient Mrs. on pretty severe lockdown. She doesn’t go in places or anything like that. My family is on pretty severe lockdown, as overseen by my sister. And The Pecan is young enough that I’m not worried about him getting it — I think of the 73,000-plus US deaths, one has been a child under three. Something like that. In any case, I’m way more concerned he’ll undo the locks on his window and climb out saying to himself “I can do it” before he plummets from the second floor.
When I think about it, our position could be far worse, but these are hard days and not at all given to logical reasoning.
We’re ramping up rhetoric about getting a dog. I don’t want one. I still miss my little dog Dio and any dog we get is going to pale in comparison to She Who Was The Best Dog. But on the other hand it might still be months before The Pecan can be around other kids and he needs something that isn’t his parents to spend his time with. So, dog. Ugh. Have fun, kid. Here’s a thing you can watch get old and die. That’s what’s going to happen to daddy!
Last night for dinner I made a salad with baby spinach, some leftover roasted chicken breast cut up and heated on the stove with oil, pepper and fresh-grated parm reg cheese, peppers, and toasted pine nuts. The internet is out here — need a new router, maybe, I don’t know; that’s today’s problem to solve (yesterday it was removing an old fridge from the kitchen, which I did in satisfyingly dudely fashion) — so after putting The Pecan to bed The Patient Mrs. and I ate at the table instead of on the couch streaming Star Trek, as is our wont, and then we moved into the living room to read for a bit and have dessert. She streamed an Indigo Girls live-in-the-living-room thing and was into that and I read and ate too much dessert, as I will do these days. Gotta have some reason to hate myself when I go to bed, apart from, you know, the rest of it.
But hey, the True Widow record is pretty good and I’m glad to hear something I whiffed on seven years ago. They followed it up with Avvolgere in 2016 so maybe I’ll check that out next and when the next one comes along not be such a dope. See? Learning is a lifelong process.
It’s just past 6:30AM now and I can hear the kid banging on the walls upstairs, so I should go grab him. Great and safe weekend. Wash your hands and all that shit.
Posted in Features on April 23rd, 2020 by JJ Koczan
The statistics of COVID-19 change with every news cycle, and with growing numbers, stay-at-home isolation and a near-universal disruption to society on a global scale, it is ever more important to consider the human aspect of this coronavirus. Amid the sad surrealism of living through social distancing, quarantines and bans on gatherings of groups of any size, creative professionals — artists, musicians, promoters, club owners, techs, producers, and more — are seeing an effect like nothing witnessed in the last century, and as humanity as a whole deals with this calamity, some perspective on who, what, where, when and how we’re all getting through is a needed reminder of why we’re doing so in the first place.
Thus, Days of Rona, in some attempt to help document the state of things as they are now, both so help can be asked for and given where needed, and so that when this is over it can be remembered.
Thanks to all who participate. To read all the Days of Rona coverage, click here. — JJ Koczan
Days of Rona: Kelsey Wilson, Andi Cuba, Erica Pipes, and Christian Wright of Temptress (Dallas, Texas)
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How are you dealing with this crisis as a band?
We are following established CDC recommendations and following our local ordinances. Three out of four of us are out of work at the moment due to business shutdowns. We hope things get back to normal in a reasonable amount of time. Safety first, we are just going with the flow at the moment.
Have you had to rework plans at all?
Indeed. We had to cancel all SXSW appearances, including Lucky Duck lineup, Stoner Jam and Spider ball. Our upcoming Arkansas and Oklahoma dates were scrapped, as well as our local/regional support slots for Weedeater/Goddamn Gallows, Weed Demon/Mother Iron Horse, War Cloud, Elder/Bask/Wo Fat, and our appearances at Sloth Fest and Thin Line Fest (Denton, TX) were all canned. We are 90 percent sure we will be cancelling our dates at the very end of May, as well. We are waiting until we are about two weeks out in hopes that the scale tips back in our favor, however it appears unlikely.
We had planned to finish recording the new album and have it pressed for a late summer/fall tour, but we all live separate and are practicing social distancing as not to put others at risk. This has stopped our rehearsal schedule and pushed back the remaining studio time we had planned. We looked at scheduling tour dates for late summer/fall regardless, since we seem to have a bit of time on our hands, however venues are saturated with holds as everyone is trying to move tours to that window at this time. Half the venues are worried about even surviving the storm. A lot are living off Go Fund Me donations and the like. I am sure we will gig regionally when things stabilize. Beyond that for 2020, only time will tell.
How is everyone’s health so far?
We are alright, stir crazy, but faring better than a lot of folks.
What are the quarantine/isolation rules where you are?
We are currently under stay at home orders until 5/20 in Dallas County. Otherwise, we are on par with other large urban centers nationally. https://www.dallascounty.org/covid-19/
How have you seen the virus affecting the community around you and in music?
Yes, retail, hospitality, event staff and venues are screwed. Working musicians screwed, streaming for tips seems to be a trend and pushing merch like timeshare salesmen. Got do what you have to do, that is the short of it. All the homies are feeling it.
What is the one thing you want people to know about your situation, either as a band, or personally, or anything?
We are going to persevere, personally and as a band. We are in uncharted waters, but we are strong. Look out for your family, friends, community and fellow humans, be kind and help when and where you can. We love you and we hope to see you soon. One love.
Posted in Bootleg Theater on January 10th, 2020 by JJ Koczan
Heavy rock and roll’s history — and that of rock more generally — is replete with vehicular infatuation. From Chuck Berry‘s “No Particular Place to Go” to Deep Purple‘s “Highway Star” to Nebula‘s “Down the Highway,” it is a thread that unites subgenres around notions of self-direction, freedom and, of course, movement. In the hands of Dallas three-piece Wo Fat, the idea of the “highway” became “Lost Highway,” with a darker, swampier spin on the trope befitting the album it led off, 2012’s The Black Code (review here; LP review here). The first of two offerings they’d make through Small Stone Records, it followed just a year behind 2011’s Noche del Chupacabra (review here), which if I’m not mistaken gave Wo Fat the distinction of being one of if not the first American band to release through Nasoni Records — if they weren’t actually first, it’s still very select company to be in — and continued momentum built from the success of their 2009 sophomore outing, Psychedelonaut (review here; discussed here). That album solidified elements present on 2006’s nascent The Gathering Dark and established the penchant for hooks and bluesy and well-fuzzed tone of guitarist/vocalist Kent Stump, and furthered a penchant for jammier vibes between Stump, bassist Tim Wilson and drummer/backing vocalist Michael Walter that would continue through all their subsequent work to-date.
What makes The Black Code‘s five-track/46-minute stretch a landmark in Wo Fat‘s catalog, however, is a combination of three factors. I’ll bullet-point them to make everyone’s life easier:
The songs.
The evolution.
The timing.
The first one is probably the most straightforward. “Oh yeah we’re goin’ down the lost highway/Oh yeah there’s gonna be hell to pay” is as righteously catchy as it is righteously simple a hook, but it’s just the first of the bunch on The Black Code, and even the 12-minute “The Shard of Leng” has a chorus it drives home, let alone the album’s 10-minute title-track or closer “Sleep of the Black Lotus.” The centerpiece “Hurt at Gone” would seem to veer elsewhere structurally, but it makes a point to drive home repetitions of its title as well, and proves memorable for its use of slide guitar ahead of the Rhodes on “The Shard of Leng.” The songs all came together around an open-feeling sensibility, not necessarily meandering, but willing to flesh out with a natural patience and explore the territory around them with Stump‘s soloing leading the way. Noche del Chupacabra made a point of its swampiness on “Bayou Juju,” but The Black Code — if it didn’t come right out and say so — continued the theme fluidly.
Which brings up the second point. The reason it’s fair to call The Black Code a landmark isn’t just because it’s been influential in the years since it was released, but it was a critical moment in Wo Fat‘s development as a band. There was a lot that worked from the outset on The Gathering Dark, and that potential came forward on Psychedelonaut. Noche del Chupacabra stripped down some of the second album’s reach and put the focus on the combination of craft and jams. The Black Code ultimately succeeded because it — just a year later — took the lessons of all Wo Fat‘s prior LPs and put them to use in a span of songs that brought together in a way that made the record equal parts immersive and memorable. It was a culmination of everything Wo Fat had accomplished to that point, and those accomplishments had already been significant. In short, it was the moment where Wo Fat “figured it out” as regards the band they wanted to be and what they wanted to do with their music. It pushed them past their influences and onto ground more thoroughly their own.
And the timing for that couldn’t have been better. Consider the spread of mobile social media, the advent of YouTube Channel proliferation of music, Bandcamp, Spotify and so on. I don’t think Stump, Walter and Wilson were sitting at a Wo Fat board meeting planning out their digital strategy as to how to get the most out of the solo-into-oblivion methodology at play on “Sleep of the Black Lotus,” but no question that word spread of Wo Fat‘s excellence in a space that, even a few years before, didn’t exist in the same way, and that that had an impact on how they were received, particularly by a new generation of fans. They hit their stride, as it were, and the music-on-social-media infrastructure was there to let them reap the benefits. It doesn’t seem like a coincidence that Wo Fat went to Europe for the first time supporting The Black Code, playing Roadburn 2013 (review here) in the Netherlands and a slew of other dates besides.
In 2013, Wo Fat also released their split with Egypt, Cyclopean Riffs (review here), and that momentum would continue to carry them through 2014’s The Conjuring (review here), a more than worthy follow-up to The Black Code. A limited 7″ split with The Re-Stoned arrived in 2015 ahead of their Ripple Music debut, Midnight Cometh (review here), in 2016. In 2017, Ripple took the 2015 live album, Live Juju at Freak Valley (review here), and with additional tracks, offered it as Live Juju at Freak Valley… and Beyond! on CD and LP, but 2020 will make it four years since their last proper studio offering, which is the longest stretch of their career to-date. They went to Australia in 2019 though and they’re set to play Monolith on the Mesa this year and other gigs, so they’ve been plenty busy one way or the other. Still, I’ve got my fingers crossed for a new record sometime before December.
I’ll admit it felt almost too easy to close out the week with The Black Code, but in thinking about why, it’s because the record so damn relevant. It doesn’t seem nearly as close to eight years old as it is, and given the impact it’s had on the structure of Wo Fat‘s work since — I would expect a new album to bring something of a shift in that, but I’ll save that speculation for another time — the recent discussion here of the best albums of the 2010s, and the ongoing spread of their influence more generally, it speaks as its own best argument. Maybe I’ll shut up finally and just let it do that.
As always, I hope you enjoy.
Thanks for reading.
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Thanks for reading.
I lost The Pecan’s hat yesterday evening. Actually my hat, but he has taken it for his own and I have another of the same one, so whatever. Yes, we have matching winter hats. It is a white knit hat that my wife’s grandmother, Helen, first made for me well over 15 years ago. At some point, I came into the second one, and that was the one that didn’t make it out of Stop & Shop at Rt. 10 & 202 last night. Not a tragedy — it’s not like I lost the kid, right? — but an object of marked sentimental value to me and a genuine bummer. I called the grocery store and asked them to keep an eye out. The poor customer service woman thought I was insane. I spared her the full explanation of the hat’s origin.
My sister went twice and looked in the parking lot for it. She also went in and talked to customer service. Her husband went on his way to work this morning too. And The Pecan and I were out this morning early as well. I looked in the parking lot as the sun was coming up and then looked again in the back of the car by his seat and it was there under the floor. It had been there apparently the whole time. Real human relief. Exhale.
Last night, after he went to bed, I also accidentally broke my Chemex carafe that I use to make coffee. I had poured water in the coffee maker (8 cups, same as ever) and was shaking out the excess in the sink and the glass caught the faucet and broke. Again, could’ve been worse. Not a big mess of glass to clean up on the floor, and not the actual, much more expensive, coffee maker broken. But after the day I’d already had running solo point on Pecan duty as The Patient Mrs. is away on a work trip — dude was pissed to have a no-mommy day — and after the thing with the hat, it was clearly time to cut my losses, have dessert and get in bed.
This morning, before I even found the hat, I woke up to a message from a record label whose work I respect telling me that an artist whose work I very much respect has a yet-unannounced new album, and did I want to write the album bio for it. I said yes, and it’s a quick turnaround, so I’ll have to write it tomorrow, but I’m listening to the album now (it’s not Wo Fat, though that’d be cool too), and it’s really good, so all the better. It’s something to look forward to writing about tomorrow, and as it happens, getting blindsided by a new album and then looking forward to writing about it is among my very favorite things in the universe. Right up there with roasted garlic and hot showers.
That was a welcome start to the day, and I haven’t bought a new coffee carafe yet as of this writing — I got a cup at the Panera drive-thru, which was at very least better than Dunkin’ or Starbucks in the realm of “loosely acceptable in a pinch” — but obviously that’s on the agenda. I’m also making pesto this afternoon with kale and hazelnuts and my own roasted garlic that I’ll eat tonight with cauliflower and leftover chicken for dinner. Need to get parm reg at the grocery store when I buy the carafe.
I have a doctor’s appointment at 12:30 — it’s 10:30 now — to do a follow-up ultrasound I guess because they’re worried I might throw a clot after the surgery I had a week ago on my leg and they want to make sure everything’s kosher. Whatever. My father threw a clot in his leg a while back; didn’t kill him. Dude’s heartier than me, but if I dropped dead, well, at least I found that hat and got to hear one more good record that I was looking forward to writing about.
If I did though, I’d miss Ode to Doom next Wednesday in Manhattan, and that’d be a bummer. Apparently it’s Joe Wood from Eternal Black’s birthday. Dude is more than a prince. He’s a king. Seriously one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. If you ever have the opportunity to know him, take it. It will make your life better.
One would expect his birthday would draw a good crowd, even for a weeknight in January.
Tomorrow’s plans include a drive to Connecticut so that The Pecan can visit with The Patient Mrs.’ family and I can continue on to Rhode Island to purchase chicken from the Buffoni Poultry Farm in Johnston. I will get at least 40 pounds of chicken, no bullshit. I was thinking about getting 30 pounds of thighs if I can. It’s almost the start of the semester, so basically we’re stocking up for the next few months ahead of The Patient Mrs.’ break ending, and it’s not like I want to make a three-hour drive for chicken every week. So yeah, I’ll be buying in bulk.
No one in New Jersey runs a free-range, preferably organic, farm that does their processing on-site and sells boneless thighs. These are very exacting standards, and I’ve yet to find anyone who meets them. Plus the chicken from the place in RI is better than anything I’ve had here, and I’ve been through a few farms at this point.
I could go on, but this post is already beyond manageable. Guess I feel like writing. Bodes well for the weekend if I can keep it up. Always plenty of work to do.
Real quick — next week: Premieres for Red Mesa (video), Grey Skies Fallen (track), Yuri Gagarin (video), and another video I’m not sure I’m allowed to talk about ahead of time but that’s slated for next Friday. Also the Ode to Doom review will be up Thursday.
So good stuff to come.
Please, great and safe weekend, and thanks again for reading.
Posted in audiObelisk on December 6th, 2019 by JJ Koczan
Dallas, Texas, heavy rockers Wooden Earth are gearing up to release their new digital single ‘Fangs’ next Friday, but if you’re feeling fancy — and I know you are — you can stream the track on the Bandcamp player below. Recorded as the duo of guitarist Devin Moreno and drummer/vocalist Griffin Thomas, it is the follow-up to the band’s 2018 debut EP, Waves of Smoke, and finds them working along similar principles of putting their priorities in line as being groove, heft and a tight-knit execution of songwriting. The EP dug into some bluesy vibes, and though “Fangs” keeps the boogie and the periodic use of vocal layering/harmonies, it’s also somewhat more progressive feeling. Or at very least creatively willful.
Thomas and Moreno have been together as Wooden Earth for two years, and in that time they’ve had three bass players come and go as they’ve tried to assemble a touring lineup. Some you win, some you lose, but if “Fangs” is their way of testing out life as a duo, a lack of low end doesn’t seem to be holding them up at all. Rather, in three and a half minutes, “Fangs” turns from upping the tempo on some Sleep-style riffing to play up a shuffle to paying that off with an Elder-esque turn of melody and drive in the second half of the song. All the while, it’s quick, and it moves. There’s an organ featured in there, unless it’s cleverly layered guitar effects — always possible — and though structurally it’s not such an outlandish turn from Waves of Smoke before it, in that melody and in Thomas‘ pulled-back-on-the-burl vocal approach, one can hear the sound of the band beginning to take shape. It’s nothing but encouraging.
They’ve been hither and yon around Texas for the last couple years, but especially if they decide post-“Fangs” to make it work live as a duo, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they started getting out beyond Lone Star borders and doing more tours. I don’t know what their plans are ultimately, but a debut album is an inevitability of the path they’re on, and “Fangs” only portrays them as more ready for that task than they were even a year ago.
If you’re in the Dallas area (and aren’t we all, really?), they’ll be at The Blue Light on Jan. 10 with kingpins Mothership as well as Bull by the Horn and Holy Death Trio. Got that event page right here: https://www.facebook.com/events/435447817399515/.
They offer some short comment below and there’s more from the PR wire, but of course the reason we’re all here is the song itself, so that’s right under these lines for your consumption. You’re almost there. Just keep going.
Good.
Enjoy:
Wooden Earth on “Fangs”:
We’re happy to be releasing our new song FANGS! The song is about conquering your reality with a blood thirst to survive. Pushing forward and building something great. Being optimistic when the world is at its darkest.
Dallas Texas WOODEN EARTH will release their new single “Fangs” on December 13th 2019.
Since their formation in 2017 the group has not only started to craft concept records starting with 2018’s Waves Of Smoke EP, but also written a yet-to-be-released comic book depicting the story behind the band. To become road dogs they have had to stay resilient, the core duo of drummer/vocalist Griffin Thomas and guitarist Devin Moreno have been through three bassists and are currently touring as a two-piece. Currently the band is preparing for a several week tour in early 2020 as well as the release of their debut album. This new record will see them building on the controlled chaos that is their sound and will build on of over a decade of playing together.
Wooden Earth is: Griffin Thomas – Drums/Vocals Devin Moreno – Guitar
Got my laptop back. Turned out the guy had to give me a new hard drive entirely, clone all my data on it, and scrap the other drive. I’m sure if I took it to another technician they’d have said something completely different, either for better or worse, but it was $165 and I got my computer back, working, in a day, so I can’t really complain. Worth the money, obviously, even though it was $40 more than the estimate. I assume that was a mix of “new hard drive” and “this is the last thing I’m doing before a four-day weekend.” Either way, totally legit. Bit of stress on my part, but what’s a Quarterly Review without it?
This ends the week, but there’s still one more batch of 10 reviews to go on Monday, so I won’t delay further, except to say more to come.
Quarterly Review #41-50:
Elizabeth Colour Wheel, Nocebo
A rare level of triumph for a first album, Elizabeth Colour Wheel‘s aesthetic scope and patience of craft on Nocebo result in a genre-spanning post-noise rock that maintains an atmospheric heft whether loud or quiet at any given moment, and a sense of unpredictability that feels born out of a genuinely forward-thinking songwriting process. It is dark, emotionally resonant, beautiful and crushing across its eight songs and 47 minutes, as the Philadelphia five-piece ebb and flow instrumentally behind a standout vocal performance that reminds of Julie Christmas circa Battle of Mice on “Life of a Flower” but is ultimately more controlled and all the more lethal for that. Bouts of extremity pop up at unexpected times and the songs flow into each other so as to make all of Nocebo feel like a single, multi-hued work, which it just might be as it moves into ambience between “Hide Behind (Emmett’s Song)” and “Bedrest” before exploding to life again in “34th” and transitioning directly into the cacophonous apex that comes with closer “Head Home.” One of the best debuts of 2019, if not the best.
Ancients is the third full-length from Baltimore’s Black Lung, whose heavy blues rock takes a moodier approach from the outset of “Mother of the Sun” onward, following an organ-led roll in that opener that calls to mind All Them Witches circa Lightning at the Door and following 2016’s See the Enemy (review here) with an even firmer grasp on their overarching intent. The title-track is shorter at 3:10 and offers some post-rock flourish in the guitar amid its otherwise straight-ahead push, but there’s a tonal depth to add atmosphere to whatever moves they’re making at the time, “The Seeker” and “Voices” rounding out side A with relatively grounded swing and traditionalist shuffle but still catching attention through pace and presentation alike. That holds true as “Gone” drifts into psychedelic jamming at the start of side B, and the chunkier “Badlands,” the dramatic “Vultures” and the controlled wash of “Dead Man Blues” take the listener into some unnamed desert without a map or exit strategy. It’s a pleasure to get lost as Ancients plays through, and Black Lung remain a well-kept secret of the East Coast underground.
This just fucking rules, and I feel no need to couch my critique in any more flowery language than that. Driving, fuzzy heavy rock topped with post-Homme melodies that doesn’t sacrifice impact for attitude, the self-released, self-titled debut from Perth, Australia’s Giant Dwarf is a sans-pretense 35 minutes of groove done right. They may be playing to genre, fine, but from the cover art on down, they’re doing so with a sense of personality and a readiness to bring an individual sensibility to their sound. I dig it. Summery tones, rampant vocal melodies in layers, solid rhythmic foundation beneath. The fact that it’s the five-piece’s first album makes me look less for some kind of stylistic nuance, but it’s there to be heard anyway in “Disco Void” and the bouncing end of “High Tide Blues,” and in surrounding cuts like “Repeat After Defeat” and “Strange Wool,” Giant Dwarf set to the task before them with due vitality, imagining Songs for the Deaf with Fu Manchu tonality in “Kepler.” No big surprise, but yeah, it definitely works. Someone should be beating down the door to sign this band.
Land Mammal‘s debut outing is a 14-minute, proof-of-concept four-songer EP with clarity of presentation and telegraphed intent. Marked out by the Robert Plant-style vocal heroics of Kinsley August, the band makes the most of a bluesy atmosphere behind him, with Will Weise on wah-ready guitar, Phillip PJ Soapsmith on bass, Stephen Smith on drums and True Turner on keys. On opener “Dark with Rain” and closer “Better Days,” they find a pastoral vibe that draws from ’90s alternative, thinking Blind Melon particularly in the finale, but “Earth Made Free” takes a bluesier angle and “Drippin’ Slow” is not shy about nor ashamed of its danceability, as its lyrics demonstrate. For all the crispness of the production, Land Mammal still manage to sound relatively natural, which is all the more encouraging in terms of moving forward, but it’ll be interesting to hear how they flesh out their sound over the course of a full-length, since even as an EP, this self-titled is short. They have songwriting, performance and production on their side, however, so something tells me they’ll be just fine.
Even before they get to the ultra-“N.I.B.” patterning of second track “Stand in the Sun,” Skunk‘s Sabbathian loyalties are well established, and they continue on that line, through the “War Pigs”-ness of “Goblin Orgy” (though I’ll give them bonus points for that title), and the slower “A National Acrobat” roll of “The Black Crown,” and while that’s not the only influence under which Skunk are working — clearly — it’s arguably the most forward. They’ve been on a traditional path since 2015’s mission-statement EP, Heavy Rock from Elder Times (review here), and as Strange Vibration is their second album behind 2017’s Doubleblind (review here), they’ve only come more into focus in terms of what they’re doing overall. They throw a bit of swagger into “Evil Eye Gone Blind” and “Star Power” toward the end of the record — more Blackmore or Leslie West than Iommi — but keep the hooks center through it all, and cap with a welcome bit of layered melody on “The Cobra’s Kiss.” Based in Oakland, they don’t quite fit in with the Californian boogie scene to the south, but standing out only seems to suit Strange Vibration all the more.
Like countrymen outfits in Vokonis or to a somewhat lesser degree Cities of Mars, Gävle-based riffers Silver Devil tap into Sleep as a core influence and work outward from there. In the case of their second album, Paralyzed (on Ozium Records), they work far out indeed, bringing a sonic largesse to bear through plus-sized tonality and distorted vocals casting echoes across a wide chasm of the mix. “Rivers” or the later, slower-rolling “Octopus” rightfully present this as an individual take, and it ends up being that one way or the other, with the atmosphere becoming essential to the character of the material. There are some driving moments that call to mind later Dozer — or newer Greenleaf, if you prefer — such as the centerpiece “No Man Traveller,” but the periodic bouts of post-rock bring complexity to that assessment as well, though in the face of the galloping crescendo of “The Grand Trick,” complexity is a secondary concern to the outright righteousness with which Silver Devil take familiar elements and reshape them into something that sounds fresh and engaging. That’s basically the story of the whole record, come to think of it.
Comprised of guitarist/vocalist/engineer Vessel 2 and drummer/vocalist Vessel 1 (also ex-Mühr), Sky Burial release their debut EP, Sokushinbutsu, through Break Free Records, and with it issue two songs of densely-weighted riff and crash, captured raw and live-sounding with an edge of visceral sludge thanks to the harsh vocals laid overtop. The prevailing spirit is as much doom as it is crust throughout “Return to Sender” (8:53) and the 10:38 title-track — the word translating from Japanese to “instant Buddha” — and as “Sokushinbutsu” kicks the tempo of the leadoff into higher gear, the release becomes a wash of blown-out tone with shouts cutting through that’s very obviously meant to be as brutal as it absolutely is. They slow down eventually, then slow down more, then slow down more — you see where this is going — until eventually the feedback seems to consume them and everything else, and the low rumble of guitar gives way to noise and biting vocalizations. As beginnings go, Sokushinbutsu is willfully wretched and animalistic, a manifested sonic nihilism that immediately stinks of death.
One finds Montana’s Wizzerd born of a similar Upper Midwestern next-gen take on classic heavy as that of acts like Bison Machine and Midas. Their Cursed Tongue Records-delivered self-titled debut album gives a strong showing of this foundation, less boogie-based than some, with just an edge of heavy metal to the riffing and vocals that seems to derive not directly from doom, but definitely from some ’80s metal stylizations. Coupled with ’70s and ’90s heavy rocks, it’s a readily accessible blend throughout the nine-song/51-minute LP, but a will toward the epic comes through in theme as well as the general mood of the riffs, and even in the drift of “Wizard” that’s apparent. Taken in kind with the fuzzblaster “Wraith,” the winding motion of the eponymous closer and with the lumbering crash of “Warrior” earlier, the five-piece’s sound shows potential to distinguish itself further in the future through taking on fantasy subject matter lyrically as well as playing to wall-sized grooves across the board, even in the speedy first half of “Phoenix,” with its surprising crash into the wall of its own momentum.
The core of Ian Blurton‘s Signals Through the Flames is in tight, sharply-executed heavy rockers like “Seven Bells” and “Days Will Remain,” classic in their root but not overly derivative, smartly and efficiently composed and performed. The Toronto-based Blurton has been making and producing music for over three decades in various guises and incarnations, and with these nine songs, he brings into focus a songcraft that is more than enough to carry song like “Nothing Left to Lose” and opener “Eye of the Needle,” which bookends with the 6:55 “Into Dust,” the closer arriving after a final salvo with the Scorpionic strut of “Kick out the Lights” and the forward-thrust-into-ether of “Night of the Black Goat.” If this was what Ghost had ended up sounding like, I’d have been cool with that. Blurton‘s years of experience surely come into play in this work, a kind of debut under his own name and/or that of Ian Blurton’s Future Now, but the songs come through as fresh regardless and “The March of Mars” grabs attention not with pedigree, but simply by virtue of its own riff, which is exactly how it should be. It’s subtle in its variety, but those willing to give it a repeat listen or two will find even more reward for doing so.
“Lackland” is the first new material Berlin three-piece Cosmic Fall have produced since last year’s In Search of Space (review here) album, which is only surprising given the frequency with which they once jammed out a record every couple of months. The lone 8:32 track is a fitting reminder of the potency in the lineup of guitarist Marcin Morawski, bassist Klaus Friedrich and drummer Daniel Sax, and listening to the Earthless-style shred in Morawski‘s guitar, one hopes it won’t be another year before they come around again. As it stands, they make the eight minutes speed by with volcanic fervor and an improvised sensibility that feels natural despite the song’s ultimately linear trajectory. Could be a one-off, could be a precursor to a new album. I’d prefer the latter, obviously, but I’ll take what I can get, and if that’s “Lackland,” then so be it.
We meet again. The Summer 2019 Quarterly Review. It’s four in the morning and I’m getting ready to start the day. I haven’t even managed to pour myself coffee yet, which even as I type it out feels like a crime against humanity, such as it is. I’ll get there though.
Wednesday in the Quarterly Review marks the halfway point of the week, and as we’ll hit 30 reviews at the end, it’s half of the total 60 as well, so yeah. Feeling alright so far. As always, good music helps. I’ve added a couple things for consideration to my ongoing best-of-the-year list for December, so that’s something. And I think I’ll probably be doing so again today, so let’s get to it.
Quarterly Review #21-30:
Torche, Admission
15 years later and Torche‘s sound is still expanding. To that point, it’s never sounded quite as expansive as it does on Admission, their fifth album and second for Relapse behind 2015’s Restarter (review here). There are still plenty of straight-ahead heavy riffs on cuts like “Reminder” or “Slide” or the bomb-tone-laden “Infierno,” but in the title-track, in “Times Missing,” the closer “Changes Come,” “Slide” and even the 1:30-long “What Was,” there’s a sense of spaciousness and float to the guitars to contrast all that crunch, and it effectively takes the place of some of the manic feel of their earlier work. It’s consistent with the brightness of their melodies in songs like “Extremes of Consciousness” and the early pusher “Submission,” and it adds to their style rather than takes away, building on the mid-paced feel of the last album in such a way as to demonstrate the band’s continued growth long after they’d be well within their rights to rest on their laurels. Sharp, consistent in its level of songwriting, mature and engaging across its 36-minute entirety, Admission is everything one might ask of Torche‘s fifth album.
If you, like me, believe doom to be the guardian style of classic heavy metal — you could also argue power metal there, but that’s why it’s an argument — Chicago’s Spillage might be the band to help make your case. With their own Ronnie James Dio in Elvin Rodriguez (not a comparison I make lightly) and a connection to the Trouble family tree via founding guitarist Tony Spillman, who also played in Earthen Grave, the band unfurl trad-metal poise throughout their 53-minute second album, Blood of Angels, hitting touchstones like Sabbath, Priest, and indeed Trouble on a chugger like “Free Man,” a liberal dose of organ on “Rough Grooved Surface” adding to the classic feel — Rainbow, maybe? — and even the grandiose ballad “Voice of Reason” that appears before the closing Sabbath cover “Dirty Women” staying loyal to the cause. I can’t and won’t fault them for that, as in both their originals and in the cover, their hearts are obviously in it all the way and the sound is right on, the sleek swing in the second half of “Evil Doers” punctuated by squealing guitar just as it should be. Mark it a win for the forces of metal, maybe less so for the angels.
San Diego strikes again with Pharlee‘s self-titled debut on Tee Pee Records, a 29-minute boogie rock shove that’s marked out by the significant pipes of Macarena Rivera up front, the shuffling snare work of Zack Oakley (also guitar in JOY and Volcano) and the organ work of Garret Lekas throughout, winding around and accentuating the riffs of Justin “Figgy” Figueroa and the air-push bass of Dylan Donovan. It’s a proven formula by now, but Pharlee‘s Pharlee is like the band who comes on stage in the middle of the festival and surprises everyone and reminds them why they’re there in the first place. The energy of “Darkest Hour” is infectious, and the bluesier take on Freddie King‘s “Going Down” highlights a stoner shred in Figueroa‘s guitar that fits superbly ahead of the fuzz freakout, all-go closer “Sunward,” and whatever stylistic elements (and personnel, for that matter) might be consistent with their hometown’s well-populated underground, Pharlee take that radness and make it their own.
Long-running desert rockers Dali’s Llama return with Mercury Sea, their first release since 2017’s The Blossom EP (review here) and their first full-length since 2016’s Dying in the Sun (review here), sounding reinvigorated in rockers like opener “Weary” and the subsequent grunge-vibing “Choking on the Same,” “When Ember Laughs” and the garage-style “She’s Not Here.” Persistently underappreciated, their albums always have a distinct feel, and Mercury Sea is no different, finding a place for itself between the laid-back desert blues and punkier fare on a cut like “Someday, Someday,” even delving into psychedelic folk for a while in the 6:54 longest track “Goblin Fruit,” and a bit of lead guitar scorch bringing it all together on closer “All My Fault,” highlighting the theme of love that’s been playing out all the while. The sincerity behind that and everything Dali’s Llama does is palpable as ever in these 11 tracks, an more than 25 years on from their inception, they continue to deliver memorable songs in wholly unpretentious fashion. That’s just what they do.
Speedealer ride again! And just about at top speed, too. The Dallas, Texas, outfit were last heard from circa 2003, and their turnabout is marked with the self-release of Blue Days Black Nights, a fury-driven 10-tracker that takes the best of their heavy-rock-via-punk delivery and beefs up tones to suit another decade and a half’s worth of hard living and accumulated disaffection. The Dallas four-piece blaze through songs like “Never Knew,” the hardcore-punk “Losing My Shit,” the more metallic “Nothing Left to Say,” and the careening aggro-swagger of “Rheumatism,” but there’s still some variety to be had throughout, as highlight “Sold Out,” “War Nicht Genung” and “Shut Up” find the band no less effective working at a somewhat scaled-back pace. However fast they’re going, though the attitude remains much the same, and it’s “fuck you fuck this” fuckall all the way. Those familiar with their past work would expect no less, and time has clearly not repaired the chip on Speedealer‘s shoulder. Their anger is our gain.
Based in Nijmegen, the Netherlands, the instrumentalist four-piece Mt. Echo present a somewhat noisier take on Russian Circles-style heavy post-rock with their nine-song/46-minute debut, Cirrus. Not at all shy about incorporating a noise rock riff or a more weighted groove, the dual-guitar outfit nonetheless spend significant time patiently engaged in the work of atmosphere-building, so that their material develops a genuine ebb and flow as songs tie one into the next to give the entire affair a whole-album feel. It is their first outing, but all the more striking for that in terms of how much of a grip they seem to have on their approach and what they want to be doing in a song like “Lighthouse at the End of Time” with airy lead and chugging rhythm guitars intertwining and meeting head-on for post-YOB crashes and an eventual turn into a harder-pushing progression. Ambience comes (mostly) to the fore in the seven-minute “Monsters and the Men Who Made Them,” but wherever they go on Cirrus, Mt. Echo bring that atmospheric density along with them. The proverbial ‘band to watch.’
Over the course of five longform tracks on Ocean, Germany’s Monocluster build fluidly on the accomplishments of their 2015 self-titled debut (review here), greatly expanding on the heft and general reach of their sound while, as opener “Ocean in Our Bones” demonstrates, still holding onto the ability to affect a killer hook when they need one. Ocean is not a minor undertaking at 56 minutes, but it dedicates its time to constructing a world in cuts like “Leviathan” and “A Place Beyond,” the giant wall of fuzzed low end becoming the backdrop for the three-part story being told that ends with the 11:43 “Home” standing alone, as graceful and progressive as it is brash and noisy — a mirror in that regard to the nine-minute centerpiece “Guns and Greed” and a fitting summation of Ocean‘s course. They keep this up for very long and people are going to start to notice. The album is a marked step forward from where Monocluster were a few years ago, and sets up the expectation of continued growth their next time out while keeping a focus on the essential elements of songwriting as well. If we’re looking for highlights, I’d pick “Leviathan,” but honestly, it’s anyone’s game.
The third full-length from Argentine trio Picaporters marks another level of achievement for them as a band. XXIII arrives three years after El Horror Oculto (review here) and is unquestionably their broadest-cast spectrum to-date. The album comes bookended by eight-minute opener “La Soga de los Muertos” and “M.I.,” an 18-minute finale jam that would give a Deep Purple live record reason to blush. Soulful guitar stretches out over a vast rhythmic landscape, and all this after “Jinetes del Universo” motorpunks out and “Vencida” pulls together Floydian melo-prog, “Numero 5” precedes the closer with acoustic interplay and the early “Despertar” offers a little bit of everything and a lot of what-the-hell-just-happened. These guys started out on solid footing with their 2013 debut, Elefantes (review here), but neither that nor El Horror Oculto really hinted at the scope they’d make sound so natural throughout XXIII, which is the kind of record that leaves you no choice but to call it progressive.
As their moniker hints, there’s some edge of danger to Belgium’s Beaten by Hippies‘ self-titled debut (on Polderrecords), but the album ultimately resolves itself more toward songwriting and hooks in the spirit of a meaner-sounding Queens of the Stone Age in songs like “Space Tail” and “More is More,” finding common ground with the energy of Truckfighters though never quite delving so far into fuzzy tones. That’s not at all to the band’s detriment — rather, it helps the four-piece begin to cast their identity as they do in this material, whether that’s happening in the volatile sudden volume trades in “Dust” or the mission statement “Rock ‘n’ Roll,” which feels geared a bit to the anthemic but would probably work just as well in whatever pub they happen to be terrorizing on a given evening. Their delivery skirts the line between heavy and hard rock as only that vaguely commercially viable European-style can, but the songs are right there waiting to take the stage at whatever festival is this weekend and blow the roof — or the sky, I guess, if it’s outdoors — off the place.
Guitarist/vocalist Dave Angstrom may be best known in heavy rock circles for his work alongside John Garcia in Hermano, but in leading the four-piece Luna Sol through their 12-song/50-minute sophomore outing, Below the Deep (on Slush Fund Recordings), he proves a capable frontman as well as songwriter. Sharing vocal duties with bassist Shannon Fahnestock while David Burke handles guitar and Justin Baier drums, Angstrom is a steady presence at the fore through the well-constructed ’90s-flavored heavy rock of “Below the Deep” and “Along the Road” early, the later “Garden of the Gods” playing toward a more complex arrangement after the strutting “The Dying Conglomerate” paints a suitably grim State of the Union and ahead of the fuzz-rich ending in “Home,” which keeps its melodic purpose even as it crashes out to its languid finish. Whether it’s the charged “Man’s Worth Killin'” or the winding fuzz of “Mammoth Cave,” one can definitely hear some Hermano at work, but Luna Sol distinguish themselves just the same.
