The world wasn’t ready for Dopefight a decade ago. Would it be now, I wonder?

Guitarist/vocalist Owen Carty, drummer Ant Cole and bassist Epic-fail Hale put out the first of Dopefight‘s several split releases in 2009, along with a self-titled demo (discussed here). Their debut full-length, the 13-track, 50-minute Buds (review here) was a revelation when it followed in 2010. Here was a trio emergent in Brighton, UK, just at the cusp of a generational rollover. In the post about that demo is a link to Dopefight‘s MySpace page. By the time they took the stage at the first Desertfest London in 2012 (review here), heads in the crowd were talking about them as legends. Watching them on stage, I felt like someone standing in front of Saint Vitus in 1986 at the Palm Springs Community Center in that video Tony Tornay took.

Here was the fucking future, bashing itself whole-body over your head with what definitely felt like but wasn’t actually reckless abandon. Dopefight — whose moniker I’ll note was originally written as DopeFight — stood along with a group of English acts at the crest of a generational wave the impact of which continues to flesh out. Bands like Steak, Alunah, Grifter, Trippy Wicked, then Stubb and eventually Elephant Tree and so on, who in the last 10-plus years built UK heavy into a rich and varied underground second to none in the world, be it the US, Germany or Australia. Yes, Desertfest is a huge part of that in supporting up and coming acts, but that’s just the point. Dopefight were there at, and before, the start. Probably a little too early.

Because imagine a world in which Dopefight kept it going. Not only kept it going, but pushed further along the disaffected raw punk-doomcore of Buds in songs like “Brighton Town is a Fuckin’ Whore” or “Pistophelees,” the trio’s point of view evident even before the outright barrage of riffs starts. On Buds, the formula revealed itself (in part) to be starting a track with a fast riff, play another riff or two, sometimes they flow, sometimes it’s just these-are-two-riffs-and-fuck-you, then slowing down and sludging out later, and that’s where, generally, the vocals come in. There are departures, of course, as “Slug ‘n’ Mop” rolls its largesse in linear fashion and “Nob.Nod.Noi” crushes outright, but speaking broadly, the doom and the hardcore-derived aggressive shove both manifest in choice riffing and ferocious assault.

A second Dopefight album — perhaps following tours in the UK and Europe that didn’t really happen — might have found the trio pushing farther along these lines. Would they be more aggro? Groovier? Heavier in tone or faster in tempo or neither or both and more besides? Because with one record, well, you get a badass collection of songs, and at 50 minutes, Buds doesn’t owe you anything in terms of conveying where Dopefight were at circa 2010. With a second one, it would almost be the moment when we might have found out who they were going to be as a band. How would the follow-up compare to the debut? What did they carry over in sound? What did they leave behind? If you think of the changes their generational cohort has been through over the last 10-15 years, would Dopefight have been able to meet the standard of anger that “Baby Goat Sick” or the dragging-till-it-runs “(Don’t Inflict Your) Spawn (Upon Me)” set?

The potential here was huge. A homegrown Church of Misery in England’s green and pleasant land. Kids looking to clear away the dust gathered from the aughts with the sheer force of the air pushed by their amplifier worship. From Belzebong in Poland to Dopethrone in Montreal with scores in between, Dopefight were an incarnation of over-the-top heavy, crunchy stoner sludge, and they never got the chance really to be counted among those others. There was no second record. After Buds, they put out splits with Gurt, Lex Rhino and The Fucking Wrath, and there was another demo in 2012, but in 2013-2014, when they probably should’ve been announcing that they’d signed to whatever label to put out their next long-player, there was nothing.

And there were fewer labels at the time. Now, stick Dopefight on New Heavy Sounds, Heavy Psych Sounds, Magnetic Eye Records or Majestic Mountain, among a slew of others, and Buds would find ears. If this record was released as new in 2023, you’d have already heard about it. And yeah, maybe saying sludge still sounds like sludge 13 years later isn’t such a hot take — the point of genre is there are consistent aspects of style — but Buds was enough ahead of its time that there’d be no question of its relevance in the current underground sphere. The underground was lucky when Dopefight came along. If the band got back together today, the underground would be lucky again.

They announced they were done in Sept. 2012 and other projects began to take shape, mostly from Carty in the form of Grey Widow and Chubby Thunderous Bad Kush Masters. The latter released their own debut, Come and Chutney (review here), in 2018, and took on some of the disgruntled restlessness of Dopefight in a willfully quirky presentation — makeup, taking the piss out of heavy rock and nü-metal, life in general, tie-dye, etc. — and were active in 2021, and the drone project Thon seems to have taken shape from out of that lineup, but I’m not sure if that’s Carty or someone else from Chubby Thunderous behind it. It’s a far cry from Buds, in any case, if you’re following a family tree trajectory, Thon is on Bandcamp here.

To be sure, the world has gone on without Dopefight, and more bands have come and gone and come again and gone again in some cases. But in my mind, this was a trio who never got to realize their forward potential or contribute as much as they could have to the UK underground. Oh, what could’ve been. Second album in 2016, third album sometime between 2020-’21. They’d be over a decade old by now and probably some dingus like me would be calling them veterans. I wouldn’t have minded if that’d happened instead of the one and done.

As always, I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading.

—

Week sucked. I’m glad it’s over. My birthday was yesterday. Wrote the Howling Giant review as a favor to myself, and was going to pair it with a video interview — that actually turned out alright — I did earlier this week with all three members of the band. Well, Zoom got fucked up on my old-ass computer and I lost the interview. Review went up today, and that’s fine, but my special thing that I was going to have up for the end of their tour this weekend at Desertfest Belgium, the chat I got to do with the band when they were in Europe for the first time? Gone. It was a good talk.

The Patient Mrs. took off Monday and Tuesday from work, has Wednesday off anyway, and went back yesterday. So while I sat by myself and tried to finish that Howling Giant review — a record I started taking notes on over a month ago, mind you — a call came in from the principal over at the school that my daughter had punched her teacher in the stomach and had scratched at another kid’s face and was threatening someone with a chair or some such. Happy birthday, asshole. She had therapy yesterday evening. My mom came over for late dinner. I went to bed eventually. It was fine. I’m 42.

And the kid? What the fuck do you do? All the bribes, all the accommodations, all the help she’s getting at this point is in place. She has good days, but the message I’m getting from yesterday is that there’s clearly some gap in the fence keeping that kind of shit on lockdown. Impulse control is hard. Maybe she’s cold, or hungry, or misses her mom, or the dog. Who the hell knows. I said I heard she had a hard day, that I loved her and that today was another day.

Kid’s birthday is next week so this weekend is the big party. Gonna be a mess. You can come. Hit me up if you need the address.

Whatever you’re up to, I wish you a great and safe weekend. Have fun, watch your head, hydrate, all that. I’m just glad I fucking managed to finish writing this today.

FRM.

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If the “ex-members of Dopefight” doesn’t get you, the repurposed nod to “Symptom of the Universe” that launches headfirst into grinding punk probably will. Brighton-based trio War Wolf, who will release their Riding with Demons debut 10″ on Headless Guru Records early in 2013, are not shy in their intent, and their intent is bludgeoning. As someone who was genuinely bummed at the demise of Dopefight earlier this fall, to see two out of the three members emerge with new material so quickly is like they hardly missed a beat. I haven’t done a side-by-side comparison with Dopefight‘s last demos, but War Wolf definitely has their own personality.

That personality? More punk, more abrasive vocally, less stoned, more given to fits of grinding like the one noted above, which comes early into Riding with Demons on the track “Stench of Death.” More mosh-ready hardcore. But there remains a propensity every now and again to slow things to an excruciating crawl and bask in sounding as fucked up as possible, which is nothing if not consistent. Riding with Demons is short, but it’s a bold mission statement nonetheless, like what earliest Hatebreed might have been if it ever put on a Vitus record, or like a drunkard’s Napalm Death.

Either way, it’s fucking heavy and the trio find room to work a political bent as well, sampling former UK Prime Minister Tony Blair talking about the start of the Iraq War on “Liberation” before nailing the d-beat on closer “Slain Deity,” which is positively sprawling at 2:18. I’m about the least-likely proponent of hardcore-based anything you’re going to find, but with the sense of extremity underlying most of Riding with Demons, War Wolf prove they’re not going for any kind of tough-guy pose-out, and they’re a little too reckless to tie completely to one genre or another. Let’s hope they stay that way.

War Wolf is on Thee Facebooks here, and here’s the stream of Riding with Demons, courtesy of the War Wolf Bandcamp:

Way back on Sept. 8 — which, is like, ancient history in Internet Dog Years (IDY) — one of the UK’s most irreverent sludge acts called it quits. Dopefight announced their disbanding on their Thee Facebooks thusly:

Official Announcement: It is with great sadness that we bring you all this news but we have decided to call it a day. Dopefight is no more. Unfortunately the differences between us as individuals, both personally and musically are now too great for us to continue as the friends we once were, let alone as a functioning band. We got to meet so many great people and did so much cool stuff as a band, we’re very proud of everything that we achieved! Apologies for the abruptness of this, sadly there will be no last show!

We’d like to thank every last one of you that has supported us in anyway, come to our shows, bought our records, let us crash on your floor etc. We are very grateful; we love you all because without you we could not have created so many amazing memories! It’s a shame that it has ended this way but time and people have to move on. All remaining merch will still be available to purchase, once it’s gone though it really is gone and our new split vinyls with Lex Rhino and The Fucking Wrath will still be released, we’ll keep you informed on the release dates. But don’t fear, new music projects are already on the way and there will be plenty of new music to come, we will keep you all informed, so please keep checking the page for all future announcements. Thank you and goodnight! RIP.

Don’t get me wrong, I was already really, really glad to have seen Dopefight at this year’s Desertfest in London (you’ll pardon me for recycling the photo above), but this changes everything. Aside from it being a massive shitter the trio couldn’t keep it together and continue to destroy both their own and the brain cells of everyone in their path, their departure leaves one to wonder just what’s next?

The statement above, though abrupt in its “sorry but we’re fucking done”-ness, does leave the door open. Dopefight‘s splits with The Fucking Wrath and Lex Rhino will be released, and though the band has put all of their merch on sale through their BigCartel store to get rid of it, the end of the statement still talks about other projects being underway, so there’s hope yet for more to come from these dudes — if not in Dopefight form.

Best wishes to the members of Dopefight for their future projects and thanks for kicking ass while it was feasible for you to do so. Good band, taken too soon.

Here’s a victory lap through “Stonk,” for old times’ sake:

04/07/12 — 23.00 — Saturday — Hotel

Today was the day I decided to have it all. Maybe it was walking up High Street circa noon to hit Music and Video Exchange and buying a ham and cheese crepe for breakfast to go with my cup of coffee. Maybe it was the simple fact that for all the drinking I did yesterday, I wasn’t hungover in the slightest. Maybe it was just the entire galaxy of good music playing out the middle day of this fest. Whatever it was, I was on board today. All the way. Let’s go.

And go I did — or, I guess I went. Whatever. The schedule was packed today. Really. From the time I rolled into The Black Heart to the time I left The Black Heart — digging a certain symmetry in starting and ending each day at Desertfest‘s smallest venue, definitely — it was basically nonstop. Whereas yesterday I got to basically park myself at The Purple Turtle, at the expense of seeing Ancestors, but still, there was none of that happening this afternoon and evening. As the day wore on, in fact, it only got busier.

My major question was how the hell I was going to see everything I wanted to see. Orange Goblin, Black Pyramid, and Grifter all went on in 25-minute succession of each other, in that order. All three bands — and after a full day of rock. It wasn’t going to be easy.

As far as starts to the day go, however, I couldn’t have asked for something more mellow than an acoustic set from Deville. Frontman Andreas Bengtsson took the stage on his own, just him and a guitar. He was plugged in — Desertfest: “Where Even the Acoustic Guitars Run through Orange Stacks” — and he ran through a charming set of reworked Deville tracks, including “Lava,”  which I recalled from their recently posted video for the song. Roadsaw frontman Craig Riggs and I would have an interesting conversation later about how much videos matter again now, but watching Bengtsson perform, there was clearly more to his songwriting than a funny video could convey. I don’t know the name of the last song he played, but it was a classic Kyuss riff, and hearing it through an acoustic was like finding a copy of Paranoid in a museum. Read: just right.

There was a 40-minute break between Bengtsson and the next band at The Black Heart, which was Steak, so I made use of the time and went across the street to The Underworld to check out some of Shrine ’69‘s set. They were young, but heavy, and no one told me, but apparently giant embroidered v-necks are the new t-shirt and jeans. Fair enough. I was more into the UK natives than I thought I’d be just going by their name, and I picked up their CD to give it a listen later on, figuring no time like the present, and contrary to what I told the French lady who sold me my breakfast, it’s not every weekend I’m in London. Shrine ’69‘s crowd knew them better than I did, and I was glad to default to the judgment of the masses on this one. Helped, I suppose, that I agreed with them. Another quality UK band to add to the seemingly endless list.

Also local, Steak drew a large crowd back at The Black Heart. I had bought their EP yesterday without knowing who they were, and only later found out that the band includes Dan and Reece from DesertScene, who organized the fest. They were solid heavy rock, self-aware stoner, and they proved yet again one of the things I’ve always most enjoyed about this kind of music — the people who are into it, do it. Seeing these dudes made me wish I didn’t live in the asshole of the world, considering the raw passion for what they do and the time and effort they were willing to put into putting Desertfest together across three venues in busy Camden Town, 50-plus bands over three nights. They’ve made it really easy for someone outside of this geographic scene (like I am, despite having people in it I consider friends), to be jealous of it, and they rocked besides. Can’t ask for more than that.

I’d seen the Roadsaw dudes around, shot the shit for a while with drummer Jeremy Hemond, bassist (and Obelisk columnist) Tim Catz, the aforementioned Mr. Riggs and guitarist Ian Ross, and I was looking forward to their set at The Underworld. Not because I’ve never seen them before, but because I knew this was a special show. It was special for me just being here, so I figured being that dudes from basically the same region I’m from (at least relative to London), who flew out just for this show and then were set to fly back home, they’d be really into it, and Roadsaw did not disappoint. Awesome to look by the side of the stage and see the Orange Goblin guys showing respect, and awesome to see Roadsaw throw down. They played a couple tracks off their Desertfest EP, which they were also giving away on CD free of charge — I took two — and “Thinking of Me” and “Long in the Tooth” off the self-titled (review here) were highlights. I’ll have to see if they’re playing at all in Boston come June or July, because as I stood and watched them tear through these songs, it occurred to me that I’ve never seen them on their home turf, and that’s something I should probably get on remedying. They did New England proud.

Sungrazer was on next, so I stayed put at The Underworld. This was my second time seeing the Dutch natives, who were a highlight of Roadburn last year and who I really consider to be the future of fuzz. Sander Haagmans‘ Rickenbacker rules all. If Sander Haagmans‘ Rickenbacker was running for US president as a republican, I would go against my beliefs and vote for it, because it’s just that awesome. But you know what? Sander Haagmans‘ Rickenbacker wouldn’t run as a republican, because it’s warm and inviting and progressive and doesn’t give a shit if gay people want to get married. It’s fucking great, is what I’m trying to say. His and guitarist Rutger Smeets‘ tones were dead on. They opened with “If” from their 2010 self-titled (review here) and went directly from there into “Octo” from last year’s fabulous Mirador (review here), but what I was really hoping for came later, with the new song “Dopo.” When I saw them last, they played a couple Mirador tracks, and with the acknowledgement that one live listen is no real basis for judgment, I’ll say it seems like they’re going even further into their meandering heavy psych, leaving behind some of the Colour Haze-type influence and doing more of their own thing. Maybe that’s me reading into it, but that was the impression I got, anyway, and it made me excited to hear what they do on their next record. They finished with the Fu Manchu-worthy fuzz of “Common Believer,” which of all the songs I heard today from all the bands I saw, is the one still stuck in my head.

There was a little time before Alunah were set to go on at The Black Heart, but I made my way over there early to get a spot up front. Grabbed a beer and bought a copy of Alunah‘s Call of Avernus before they took the stage, which they did following some technical difficulties with bassist Gaz Imber‘s amp. The troubles were short-lived, though, which I suppose is one of the benefits of having your fest sponsored by Orange — an awesome-sounding replacement for whatever’s broken is never far off. They were cool, unpretentious riffy doom. Vocalist/guitarist Soph Day had the crowd eating out of her hand, and the whole band seemed right at home both with the audience and in the venue. I’m still reminded of Acid King by Day‘s echoing vocals, but that’s hardly a complaint in my mind. Their next record, which will be their first for PsycheDOOMelic — apparently titled White Hoarhound — is one to look forward to. Like Grifter who would play later, Alunah seem to be coming of age as a band and it was exciting to watch. Valient Thorr was on at The Underworld, and I heard later they were great, but seeing Alunah play under their psychedelic lighting effects, I felt like I was right where I needed to be.

This is where things got really tricky. I’d worked out the rest of the evening so that the order of bands was going to be as follows:

Truckfighters at The Underworld (18.30-19.15)
Dopefight at The Purple Turtle (19.15-19.45)
Church of Misery at The Underworld (19.45-20.30)
Orange Goblin at The Underworld (21.00-22.15)
Black Pyramid at The Purple Turtle (21.25-22.25)
and Grifter at The Black Heart (21.50-22.50)

I wouldn’t get to see Serpent Venom or Slabdragger, but this way I felt like I was maximizing the amount of bands I’d see, catching the headliners where last night I didn’t, and still getting back to the hotel in decent time to write about this massive fucking day. Obviously I didn’t see everyone’s set front-to-back, and there was one point where I left The Underworld after Church of Misery thinking Black Pyramid was going on immediately only to find I wasn’t that far into the schedule yet, but basically this plan worked, which I guess is why I felt so victorious as I started this review.

Though I guess it would be hard not to be stoked on any night watching Truckfighters. Yes, it was my third Truckfighters show in a month’s time (see here and here), but as soon as Dango started up the “Desert Cruiser” riff, The Underworld went off. Heads were banged, fists were pumped, fuzz was thick, and where they had been relatively subdued in Manhattan, the Swedish trio pulled no punches for Desertfest. It was intense, heavy desert rock. They followed “Desert Cruiser” with “Monte Gargano,” and at that point, there was no turning back. Oskar “Ozo” Cedermalm showed no wear for the set he did last night fronting Greenleaf at The Purple Turtle, and as ever, their energy was infectious and they brought the crowd along with them via killer grooves and some of the finest stoner riffing to be found the world over. Desertfest was perfect for them and they were perfect for Desertfest.

It killed me to leave, but Dopefight awaited. The British trio were one of the native bands I was most excited to see (seems like I say that for every native band, but it’s true), especially after their debut, Buds, found such favor late in 2010. Knowing their modus of “slow riffs first, then punk out with vocals,” I assumed it would take them a little while to get going, and it did. They played an instrumental intro before unleashing a few cuts off Buds and a new song from their upcoming split with Gurt. Good times were had. Much like Alunah and Steak earlier in the day, the crowd knew Dopefight and had pretty clearly seen them before. I hadn’t, and they killed. “Specimen” and “Nob. Nod. Noi.” made sure I didn’t go anywhere for the duration of their time on stage, though I’ll admit to getting a Newcastle and moving to the back of The Purple Turtle, as the day was beginning to wear on me. Nonetheless, Dopefight were every bit worth sticking through. I hope this isn’t the last time I see them.

Rumors were around that Japan’s Church of Misery had a new singer and guitarist, the latter coming on as a replacement for Tom Sutton, but lo, when I got back to The Underworld for the start of their set, there was Sutton himself. They did have a new vocalist since the last time I caught them, but as ever, Church of Misery delivered, Tatsu Mikami wearing his bass characteristically low-slung as he stood on the stage monitors. I don’t know who the new singer was — or, come to think of it, if it wasn’t in fact Hideki Fukasawa. He had the noisemakers going and the songs they played off 2009’s Houses of the Unholy (review here) sounded right on, but the stage presence was different, less manic and frantic. Less fake-shotgunning the crowd. It didn’t matter to the crowd, who were dead into it from the outset. It seemed like they didn’t play long, but I guess it just went quick. Either way, they’re touring Europe this month, playing Roadburn next week, and then heading to the States for a cross-country run that includes a stop at Maryland Deathfest at the end of May. Whoever’s in the band, they seemed ready.

Hometown heroes, Orange Goblin made for an especially cool headliner for the first Desertfest Saturday night because in no small way they’re responsible for influencing the current British scene. From Grifter, with whom they’re touring, to the likes of Desert Storm who play tomorrow, Orange Goblin — on the road supporting this year’s excellent A Eulogy for the Damned (review here) — are the statesmen of this scene, and though they’re as raucous as ever, they play the role well. The setlist was amazing. “The Fog” and “Stand for Something” off the new one, plus “Scorpionica” for an opener, “Some You Win, Some You Lose” and a rendition of the anthemic “The Filthy and the Few” that they brought out Craig Riggs from Roadsaw to join Ben Ward on vocals. I know it hasn’t been that long since they were last on my home shores, but I really hope Orange Goblin get to do a US tour for this album. The songs are so tight and crisp, but still rougher live than they are on the record. I’d love another shot at checking them out. You’ll note the headline for this post comes from “The Ballad of Solomon Eagle.” No coincidence there. Orange Goblin were a high point of the weekend.

In fact, I probably stayed at The Underworld longer than I should have, because by the time I got back down the road to The Purple Turtle — a 10-minute walk, basically — Black Pyramid was already well into “Mercy’s Bane” and the room was full. I’d heard a lot of people say they specifically wanted to see them, and I guess since the whole of Desertfest was running a little early, I just mistimed it. I stayed for a little while and grooved out for a couple minutes, and was glad for their success here as I was last year seeing a different incarnation of the band kill it at Roadburn, but soon enough I was back out the door and on my way north (was it north? Felt like north, but it was uphill, and I’m no judge, so take that for what it’s worth) to round out the night at The Black Heart, not before buying a copy of Serpent Venom‘s Carnal Altar album from their merch table in its awesome weirdo packaging. My camera bag was starting to weigh down my shoulder from the heft of the day’s acquisitions, but if the worst that comes of it is my arm falling off, I can’t really say I lost out.

Though by the time Grifter were getting ready to roll, I was tired and I could feel myself being tired. For a soundcheck, the three-piece jammed out a bouncy, low-key riff — it reminded me of something Asteroid might have extended for another six or seven minutes the night before in the same room — and inadvertently hooked the crowd, so that when they stopped, the room erupted in cheers. It was awesome, though kind of a bummer they didn’t just pick up from there and keep going. There were still a couple minutes before their set actually began, but when it did, it was worth the wait. Like last year’s Ripple Music self-titled full-length (review here), the live show showed them as a no bullshit heavy classic rock band. They played a couple older songs off their first EPs, which were well received, and were a cool way to finish up the night. I think a lot of people had gone off to the pub or decided to call it quits on the evening, but those who stayed for Grifter were definitely rewarded for the effort. I did, anyhow. Their set was like the destination I’d been running to all day, and I suppose it was. I’ll be honest: I didn’t make it through the whole thing, with time wearing on and knowing this was going to be the giant slab of probably typo-laden copy it has turned into. As as been the case many times so far this weekend, though, I was glad I saw what I did.

Tomorrow’s Easter — Happy Easter, if that’s your thing — and I think the whole town has the day off, but Desertfest rolls on. It’s the last day, and way more relaxed than was today (no doubt in my mind that was a purposeful move on the part of the DesertScene crew), but I’m still looking forward to seeing the likes of Wiht‘s last show ever, Leaf Hound and Samsara Blues Experiment, so as soon as I can, I’m going to crash out. It’ll probably be another hour or two of putting together the photos for this post [NOTE: No such luck. Post went up at 04.58), but whatever. I got takeout Indian food for dinner and am feeling strong as a result. Days like today, if they happen once, you’re lucky. I’m exhausted, and sore, and I don’t know if I’d call myself “lucky” — something about doing so just makes me think a piano will immediately fall out of the sky and land on my head — but “fortunate” definitely applies.

Thanks for reading. More pics after the jump.

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The UK scene is so fucking good. Whether it’s Orange Goblin leading the charge, or bands like Trippy Wicked and Stubb‘s rocking riffs, Serpent Venom‘s killer old-school doom, Conan‘s mighty thunder, Groan‘s smoked-out haze, or Dopefight‘s unbridled contempt, I’m in awe of the stuff coming out of there these days. Dopefight reportedly have a new album in the works, and over the weekend, they put up a video for the song “Fake Hippies,” which carried this explanation:

Why our forefathers and mothers upheld a movement that meant something, nowadays meaningless empty vessels try to stand for something they have no concept where their origin began.

Fake Hippies – Sponging off our hypocritical systems and their affluent parents that their governments financially protect.

Don’t get me wrong, fuck those people and everyone else. But while I can’t really argue with the reality of the point or the vitriol (not to mention the riffs) with which Dopefight present it, the notion of “our forefathers and mothers” upholding a movement that “meant something” strikes me as a little off base when one considers the fact that they were the same generation who also turned 40 in the mid-’80s and sold the planet up a river of three successive decades of corporate greed and warmongering (so far) — resulting in a complete undercutting of the “countering” cultural norms they claimed to be doing and actually failed to change in any substantive way — wahoo, we can show tits on tv; call me when there’s an equal rights amendment — or the fact that many of the participants in the original hippie movement, much like the privileged “Fake Hippies” Dopefight names this song after, were also part of the upper or upper middle class.

The real difference seems to be they had Jimi Hendrix and we have John Mayer, which by itself is more than enough to justify Dopefight‘s frustration.

I don’t like listening to self-important 20-year-old leftists whose moms and dads pay their rent either, but they’re kids, and at least they’re on the right side of the argument for the time being until they, like their parents, grow up and continue to spiral our existence into oblivion as each successive generation’s “revolutionary” ideals have done in the past. However, I will say that if things are to be utterly hopeless (and they are), then I’m glad as hell to have Dopefight as the accompaniment to that hopelessness, because they fucking kill. Here’s “Fake Hippies”:

Seriously. New Dopefight. Hello, heavy:

Don’t know squat about the new record, but can only assume it’ll be out as soon as these dudes are lucid enough to press it. So probably never.

Not that this is by any means the only measure of its worth, but UK noisemongers Dopefight‘s debut long-player Buds was easily the stoned-est record I heard all year. Everything about it just screamed, “We’re high,” from the abrasive Bongzilla-on-speed riffs to the album art above and the takeout Chinese food that appears on the back cover. Even once the “riff first, vocals later” formula became apparent and I started to get a sense of how the trio was constructing their songs, the tracks were no less enjoyable. And by “enjoyable,” I mean face-peeling.

Because that’s really the thing about Buds. Where usually “stoner” is a tag hoist upon the mellower side of rock and/or metal — no one would walk around calling Cannibal Corpse or Hate Eternal “stoner” bands, however much they may or may not get high — Dopefight foster an oldschool aggression that’s not at all offset by their weedian proclivities. The tracks on Buds were sludgy and loud, but the band was tight and the songs were well-composed. Their anger didn’t overwhelm or take precedence over the music, and Buds knew precisely what it was doing while it was kicking your ass.

It’s going to be a tough one to top, but here’s hoping Dopefight can pull it out for next time. On the strength of Buds alone, I’d still say they’re probably the best British sludge outfit I’ve heard since Iron Monkey. They prove there’s still new avenues to explore within the stoner realm, and that even if you’re walking previously-tread ground, if you step hard enough, the footprint is going to be your own.

They don’t share much if anything in terms of sound, but I’d still liken UK noisemongers Dopefight to Bongzilla, if only for the overarching weedian worship that makes its way into their music. It’s sticky, and on the trio’s first self-released full-length, Buds, there’s little left to wonder why. Even unto their album cover, Dopefight leave no question as to their proclivities, and the album is all the stronger for it. They’re not hiding behind their stoner side, not cowering away from it with pretty genre names or long explanations of why they’re something else. They’re punching you in the face with riffs and saying fuck off if you don’t care or don’t get it. Think of the aggressiveness of (-16-) at their best and maybe even a little Unsane melded with angry-as-hell lyrics and steady blasts of burnt out hardcore punk, and you might just be ready to take on Buds.

Though guitarist Owen Fareye Karti provides vocals on almost every cut – “La Mano Del Daemons” and the unnamed hidden track being exceptions – I’d still classify Dopefight as mostly instrumental, since many times you’re more than halfway through the song before any shouts crop up. In the case of “Brighton Town is a Fuckin’ Whore,” there are 20 seconds left in the song, and about half a minute for the later “Jock Witch,” “Bogtrotter” and “Pistophelees.” On some of the earlier material, the vocals come more toward the middle, as with “Leviathan’s Burp,” “Nob. Nod. Noi.” and “Specimen” – which appear in succession following opener “BabyGoatSick” – but even on that first track, they don’t appear until well after the halfway point. This lets the listener know off the bat it’s the music that counts, the riffs and the excellent bass work from Epic-fail Hale and the killer drum sounds of Ant Cole, but it can also be disorienting. If you’re not paying strict attention and expect vocals at the beginning of a song, where they usually are, it’s possible to get lost and not know where one song ends and another begins. It’s not like Dopefight are doing steady verse-chorus-verse songs. The vocals come in bursts, well after the riffs of a given track have established themselves.

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