Posted in Whathaveyou on May 30th, 2025 by JJ Koczan
The photo above was taken this past weekend at the Tonzonen Festival, which long-running German garage/psych/acid/more-psych rockers Vibravoid played as part of their ongoing 35th anniversary celebration. Headed off by the single “Neustart,” the band will also have a new album, Remove the Ties, out in September as part of the revelry, and you can see the clip for the fuzz-buzzy track below, and even if it’s not the most complex story you’ve ever seen in a video — flashing lights and a couple well-dressed, dancing young women — those who stick around are rewarded when the freakout hits later on. Just a heads up to give it a chance, is all I’m saying.
I hear a fair amount of space and krautrock in here, which is fair enough game for Vibravoid, but they’ve always been a band aesthetically rooted in the latter half of the 1960s, so I would expect at least some of that anachronism to show up on the new record as well. Look out for other live dates too, as they seem to have stuff booked already for December for the anniversary.
From social media:
VIBRAVOID – 1990-2025 – 35 YEARS OF MAXIMUM VOID VIBRATION
As children of the hippie era, VIBRAVOID belong to the only generation that, as teenagers in the 1980s, was able to save their parents’ Psychedelic-, Kraut Rock, Fuzz effects, and vinyl records from being thrown away. VIBRAVOID thus occupies a unique position within the German music scene.
Growing up in the tension between Ratinger Hof, Creamcheese and the Art Academy, founded in 1988 as Lightshow Society Düsseldorf and formed in 1990 as VIBRAVOID, the Düsseldorf band is Germany’s longest running active Neo-Psychedelic band, inventors of Neo-Kraut Rock, and an initiator of today’s vinyl boom. Vibravoid is a unique phenomenon. VIBRAVOID stands in the tradition of the first European psychedelic scene, which began in 1966 in the music metropolis of Düsseldorf and would change the world!
Like its predecessors of the first Kraut Rock wave, the VIBRAVOID sound was more popular abroad, with the band playing more often in London, Rome, Athens, and Helsinki than in Hamburg or Munich. The debut album “2001” was released in the first reprint for the Japanese market. Nevertheless, VIBRAVOID also set new impulses in their hometown; in 2000, the “2001” record release party at the Ratinger Hof was the first new rock concert there after 10 years of techno. In 2001 VIBRAVOID organized the first PSYCH FEST of the new millenium.
NEUSTART from the new album REMOVE THE TIES available SEPTEMBER 2025 from TONZOENEN Records.
Posted in Reviews on October 9th, 2024 by JJ Koczan
I have to stop and think about what day it is, so we must be at least ankle-deep in the Quarterly Review. After a couple days, it all starts to bleed together. Wednesday and Thursday just become Tenrecordsperday and every day is Tenrecordsperday. I got to relax for about an hour yesterday though, and that doesn’t always happen during a Quarterly Review week. I barely knew where to put myself. I took a shower, which was the right call.
As to whether I’ll have capacity for basic grooming and/or other food/water-type needs-meeting while busting out these reviews, it’s time to find out.
Quarterly Review #21-30:
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Vibravoid, We Cannot Awake
Of course, the 20-minute title-track head rock epic “We Cannot Awake” is going to be a focal point, but even as it veers into the far-out reaches of candy-colored space rock, Vibravoid‘s extended B-side still doesn’t encompass everything offered by the album that shares its name. Early cuts “Get to You” and “On Empty Streets” and “The End of the Game” seem to regard the world with cynicism that’s well enough earned on the world’s part, but if Vibravoid are a band out of time and should’ve been going in the 1960s, they’ve made a pretty decent run of it despite their somewhat anachronistic existence. “We Cannot Awake” is for sure an epic, and the five shorter tracks on side A are a reminder of the distinguished songwriting of Vibravoid more than 30 years on from their start, and as it’s a little less explicitly garage-rooted than their turn-of-the-century work, it further demonstrates just how much the band have brought to the form over time, with ‘form’ being relative there for a style that’s so molten. Some day this band will get their due. They were there ahead of the stoners, the vintage rockers, the neopsych freaks, and they’ll probably still be there after, acid-coating dystopia as, oh wait, they already are.
Taking influence from the earlier-Mastodon style of twist-and-gallop riffing, adding in vocal harmonies and their own progressive twists, West Virginia’s Horseburner declare themselves with their third album, Voice of Storms, establishing a sound based on immediacy and impact alike, but that gives the listener respite in the series of interludes begun by the building intro “Summer’s Bride” — there’s also the initially-acoustic-based “The Fawn,” which delivers the album’s title-line before basking in Alice in Chains-circa Jar of Flies vibes, and the dream-into-crunch of the penultimate “Silver Arrow,” which is how you kill Ganon — that have the effect of spacing out some of the more dizzying fare like “Hidden Bridges” and “Heaven’s Eye” or letting “Diana” and closer “Widow” each have some breathing room to as to not overwhelm the audience in the record’s later plunge. Because once they get going, as “The Gift” picks up from “Summer’s Bride” and sets them at speed, the trio dare you to keep pace if you can.
Some pressure on Dune-themed Montreal heavy rockers Sons of Arrakis as they follow-up their well-received 20222 debut, Volume I (review here) with the 10-track/33-minute Volume II. The metal-rooted riff rockers have tightened the songwriting and expanded the progressive reach and variety of the material, a song like “High Handed Enemy” drawing from an Elder-style shimmer and setting it to a pop-minded structure. Smooth in production and rife with melody, Volume II isn’t without its edge as shown early on by “Beyond the Screen of Illusion,” and after the thoughtful melodicism of “Metamorphosis,” the burst of energy in “Blood for Blood” prefaces the blowout in “Burn Into Blaze” before the outro “Caladan” closes on an atmospheric note. No want of dynamic or purpose whatsoever. I’ve seen less hype on the interwebs about Volume II than I did its predecessor, and that’s just one of the very many things to enjoy about it.
Classic heavy metal is fortunate to have the likes of Crypt Sermon flying its flag. The Philadelphia-based outfit continue on The Stygian Rose to stake their claim somewhere between NWOBHM and doom in terms of style — there are parts of the album that feel specifically Hellhound Records, the likes of “Down in the Hollow” is more modern, at least in its ending — but five years on from their second LP, 2019’s The Ruins of Fading Light (review here), the band come across with all the more of a grasp of their sound, so that when “Heavy is the Crown of Bone” lays out its riff, everybody knows what they’re going for is Candlemass circa ’86, but that becomes the basis from which they build out, and from thrash to ’80s-style keyboard dramaturge in “Scrying Orb” ahead of the sweeping 11-minute closing title-track, which is so endearingly full-on in its later roll that it’s hard to keep from headbanging as I type. Alas.
The kind of undulating riffy largesse Eyes of the Oak proffer on their second full-length, Neolithic Flint Dagger, puts them in line with Swedish countrymen like Domkraft and Cities of Mars, but the former are more noise rock and the latter aren’t a band anymore, so actually it’s a pretty decent niche to be in. The Sörmland four-piece use the room in their mix to veer between more straight-ahead vocal command and layered chants like those in the nine-minute “Offering to the Gods,” the chorus of which is quietly reprised in the 35-second closing title-track. Not to be understated is the work the immediate chug of “Cold Alchemy” and the marching nodder “Way Home” do in setting the tone for a nuanced sound, so that the pockets of sound that will come to be filled by another layer of vocals, or a guitar lead, or an effect or whatever it is are laid out and then the band proceeds to dance around that central point and find more and more room for flourish as they go. Bonus points for the soul in “The Burning of Rome,” but they honestly don’t need bonus points.
A kind of artful post-hardcore that’s outright combustible in “Concrete,” Mast Year‘s sound still has room to grow as they offer their first long-player in the 25-minute Point of View on respected Marylander imprint Grimoire Records, but part of that impression comes from how open the songs feel generally. That’s not to say the nine-minute “Figure of Speech” doesn’t have its crushing side to account for or that “Teignmouth Electron” before it isn’t gnashing in its later moments, but it’s the band’s willingness to go where the material is leading that seems to get them to places like the foreboding drone of “Love Note” and deconstructing intensity of “Erocide,” just as they’re able to lean between math metal and sludge, which is like the opposite of math, Mast Year cover a lot of ground in their extremes. The minor in creeper noisemaking — “Love Note,” closer “Timelessness” — shouldn’t be neglected for adding to the mood. Mast Year have plenty of ways to pummel, though, and an apparent interest in pushing their own limits.
In the span of about 20 minutes, Wizard Tattoo‘s Living Just for Dying EP, which finds project-founder Bram the Bard once again working mostly solo, save for guest vocals by Djinnifer on “The Wizard Who Loved Me” and Fausto Aurelias, who complements the extreme metal surge and charred-rock verse of “Tomorrow Dies” with a suitably guttural take; think Satyricon more than Mayhem, maybe some Darkthrone. Considering the four-tracker opens with the acoustic “Living Just for Dying” and caps with similar balladeering in “Sanity’s Eclipse,” the EP pretty efficiently conveys Wizard Tattoo‘s go-anywhereism and genre-line transgression at least in terms of the ethic of playing to different sounds and seeing how they rest alongside each other. To that end, detailed transitions between “The Wizard Who Loved Me” and “Tomorrow Dies,” between “Tomorrow Dies” and “Sanity’s Ecilpse,” etc., make for a carefully guided listening process, which feels short and complete and like a form that suits Bram the Bard well.
Virginian trio Üga Büga — guitarist/vocalist Calloway Jones, bassist/backing vocalist Niko Cvetanovich and drummer/backing vocalist Jimmy Czywczynski — don’t have to go far to find despondent sludgy grooves, but they range nonetheless as their debut full-length, Year of the Hog unfolds, “Skingrafter” marrying a crooning vocal in contrast to some of the surrounding rasp and burl to a build of crunching heavy riff. The album is bombastic as a defining feature — songs like “Change My Name” and “Rape of the Poor” come to mind — but there’s a perspective being cast in the material as well, a point of view to the lyrics, that comes through as clearly as the thrashy plunder of “Supreme Truth” later on, and I’m not sure what’s being said, but I am pretty sure “Mockingbird” knows it’s doing Phantom of the Opera, and that’s not nothing. They round out Year of the Hog with its eight-minute title-track, and finish with a duly metallic push, leaning into the aggressive aspects that have been malleably balanced all along.
Ultimately, The Moon is Flat‘s methodology on their third album, A Distant Point of Light, isn’t so radically different from how their second LP, All the Pretty Colors, worked in 2021, with longer-form jamming interspliced with structured craft, songs that may or may not open up to broader reaches, but that are definitively songs rather than open-ended or whittled-down jams (nothing against that approach either, mind you). The difference between the two is that A Distant Point of Light‘s six tracks and 52 minutes feel like they’ve learned much from the prior outing, so “Sound the Alarm” starts off bringing the two sides together before “Awestruck” departs into dream-QOTSA and progadelic vibery, and “I Saw Something” and its five-minute counterpart, closer “Where All Ends Meet” sandwich the 11-minutes each “Meanwhile” and “A Distant Point of Light,” The Moon is Flat digging in dynamically through mostly languid tempos and fluid, progressive builds of volume. But when they go, they go. Watch out for that title-track.
Chronicle II: Hypergenesis continues the thread that London instrumentalists began with their debut 2020’s Chronicle I: The Truthseseker and continued on the prequel EP, 2021’s Chronicle: Prologue, exploring heavy progressive conceptualism in evocative post-heavy pieces like opener “Daybreak,” which resolves in a riotous breakdown, or “The Archivist,” which is more angular when it wants to be but feels like a next-generation’s celebration of riffy chicanery in a way that I can only think of as encouraging for how seriously it seems not to take itself. The post-rocking side of what they do is well reinforced throughout — so is the crush — whether it’s “Dead Language” or “Into the Hazel Woods,” but there’s nothing on Chronicle II: Hypergenesis more consuming than the crescendo of the closing “Hypergenesis,” and the band very clearly know it; it’s a part so good even the band with no singer has to put some voice to it. That last groove is defining, but much of Chronicle II: Hypergenesis actively works against that sort of genre rigidity, and much to the album’s greater benefit.
Posted in Whathaveyou on July 1st, 2024 by JJ Koczan
German psychedelic/garage rockers Vibravoid mark their 35th anniversary as they invariably would: with a new album. We Cannot Awake will be released on Aug. 23 through Tonzonen, and it’s the latest in a flurry-rush of 2020s outings from the Düsseldorf trio, whose 2023 full-length, Edge of Tomorrow, can be streamed at the bottom of this post. There’s no audio from the new one yet, but preorders are up now and if you think they’re about to radically depart from the lysergic vehemence they’ve proffered for the last three and a half decades, cosmic and steeped in late-’60s traditionalism, well, I haven’t heard it yet, but that doesn’t strike me as particularly likely.
The band, via the PR wire, offer some perspective on their 35 years below, and you’ll find the release announcement for We Cannot Awake, including the e’er crucial preorder link, thereafter. Turn on, dig in:
Neo-Kraut/ Psychedelic Rock Outfit VIBRAVOID Announces New Album We Cannot Awake.
35 YEARS OF MAXIMUM VOID VIBRATION – About 35 years of Vibravoid.
“We were incredibly lucky that we were able to do all this as teenagers. It was this “teen anti-attitude” that no longer exists today. Kraut rock, fuzz effects, light shows, ’67 psychedelic rock and therefore real hippie culture were completely out or dead – so we thought it was “cool”. Here in Düsseldorf, kraut rock and psychedelic records, including record players, were lying around in the bulky waste, nobody wanted them anymore. That was underground. Even vinyl records were only really “cool” when nobody wanted them anymore – today it’s lame mainstream.”
Those were all unique moments back then and we were somehow always in tune with the times and were able to help shape them. Back then, we wanted to be pioneers of a new “beat and psychedelic movement”, just as a naive teenager would imagine. We really lived it all, for us there was no world after 1970… I really didn’t think it would be such a crazy trip back then. It’s all really crazy!”
New album We Cannot Awake is the perfect soundtrack for THC legalization and Vibravoid is the essence of Düsseldorf genetics. They create musical fever dreamscapes that are stronger than LSD. We Cannot Awake is the In A Gadda Da Vida of Generation X. Vibravoid haven’t released a real longtrack for several records, but now the band is making up for this and adding a few more hits.
With Get To You, Vibravoid deliver the psychedelic earworm for every large-space disco. Grooving pop music with hymnic hooks meets the effects wall of the 1960s. The ideal music for any highway.
The band’s love of The Byrds is obvious from tracks like Nothing Is Wrong or A Comment On The Current Times – but the combination with Düsseldorf’s “Motorik Sound” is a completely new level on which psychedelic music can work. The End Of The Game still shows Vibravoid as the German masters of the fuzz effect. Ultra psychedelic guitar sounds and echo effects create a maelstrom that pulls the listener into the spell of the complex rhythm. Vibravoid are not stingy with creative ideas, but still shake themselves out of their sleeves after 35!
Side A closes with On Empty Streets and paints a dystopian picture, yet Vibravoid manage to crank up the pop factor so high that the riffs almost burn themselves into your consciousness… expanding it. All the sound effects are perfectly embedded, you hardly notice that this is actually highly experimental music in the sense of the Düsseldorf school.
We Cannot Awake completely fills side B with over 20 minutes. Musically, the listener is in for a very special experience. Vibravoid fuse their Düsseldorf sound with the year 2024 at the highest level. We Cannot Awake is a journey into the abysses of human existence and other depths of the outer cosmos. Driving beats and interstellar frequencies channel the primal fear of the unknown, because this music is dangerous. Sonic carpets of strychnine and psylocibin. Magical mushrooms. Time is running out. We cannot awaken!
Posted in Bootleg Theater on December 2nd, 2022 by JJ Koczan
Throughout their relatively quick five-year run Aleph Null were only ever Philip on guitar/vocals, Carsten on bass and Jens on drums. The band was founded circa 2012 in Düsseldorf and Nocturnal was their lone full-length, self-produced and self-released with a pickup soon after by RidingEasy Records for a 2LP issue. By then, the German three-piece had already garnered a reputation for choice riffs and plus-sized tonality for which the seven-song/42-minute offering would end up serving as something of a culmination, having released their first EP, Dale, in 2012, and a second, Belladonna, in 2013. And though they’d follow Nocturnal with the not-unsubstantial four-songer Endtime Sisters in 2016 as their final release, it’s the album itself that seems to most encapsulate who they were as a band, where they were coming from and where they were going before they decided, ultimately, not to go.
It was, as I recall, a well-hyped record. The social media word-of-mouth among the international underground had taken hold by the time 2014 came around, and an eager audience surfing Bandcamp tags and other recommendations found Aleph Null with a sound to devour, able to crush as with opener “Roman Nails” and the slowest lurches of 11-minute finale “Nocturnal Part II,” but in all the ‘cool riffs bruh’ discussion of Nocturnal I ever saw — and granted, I don’t read reviews and this was eight years ago — I don’t remember much mention of the band’s ability to pivot from their sludge-rocking foundation into other styles. A record that goes from reinventing the verse of “21st Century Schizoid Man” to Sabbath-boogie-circa-’75 on centerpiece “Black Winged Cherub,” never mind the sleek, Graveyardian groove of “Muzzle of a Sleeping God,” topped off with cowbell as it is, or the vocal layering in second track “Backward Spoken Rhymes” adding melodic breadth to the feedback-laden rolling plod of the leadoff’s ending — there’s a lot more going on with Nocturnal than just the manner in which it riffs, though that too is a thing to get excited about.
Part of what makes the album so satisfying to dig into these years after the fact is that righteous bit of misdirection at the top. “Roman Nails” is a massive, spacious-feeling groove, communicating its largesse through tonal density and vocal echo, and even the snare drum manages to sound thick. It is slow enough to be called lumbering but not as slow as Aleph Null will get, but where one might expect it to lead into more of the same from the rest of what follows, they instead decide to reinterpret ’90s-style heavy rock — definitively not grunge but not long after it in the timeline — into the creeper sensibility of “Backward Spoken Rhymes,” declining lead guitar swirling around before a chugging verse takes hold in leading to a bigger hook, like a dirtier-toned version of Deliverance-era C.O.C., but more born out of that influence than trying to capture it exactly. That is, in particularly impressive fashion for it being their first record, Aleph Null bring that style into their own context rather than try to convince the listener all of a sudden they’ve gone Southern heavy. It’s a striking one-two, and it’s not the last twist, as “Muzzle of a Sleeping God” — which indeed seems to start with backward speech and swirls, manifesting the prior title — plays through its languid shuffle, making its way smoothly into a more weighted progression in its fourth minute as a kind of arrival point for where that initial movement was leading. When this band wanted to, they could land with a thud to shake the ground, but clearly as represented across Nocturnal, that wasn’t all they had in mind.
The aforementioned “Black Winged Cherub,” with its hey-remember-mashups vibe, leads fluidly into the longer “Stronghold,” which is suited to its position ahead of the two-part closer. Slowed down The Sword riffing, with an effectively shouted chorus, leads into a dreamier stretch of lead-topped nod, but it’s the bass that’s the bed for the verse while the guitar spaces out, the drums giving skeletal structure beneath but not overplaying — you wouldn’t immediately think of it as classy or thoughtful, but it’s both. And the way the vocal melody aligns with the guitar feels like what would’ve been a sign of things to come from Aleph Null for future releases. If I was reviewing it as a new album today, I’d talk about “Stronghold” as broadcasting their potential for listeners to hear, right up to its noisy, multi-tiered feedback finish, which fades out before hitting seven minutes and gives way to “Nocturnal Part I,” the three-minute instrumental interlude-plus that seems wholly intended to hypnotize ahead of the more extended capper “Nocturnal Part II,” its rumble indicative of a threat of what’s to follow even as the quieter ambience feels like a departure from nearly everything else on offer with Nocturnal thus far.
“Nocturnal Part II” arrives — and it is an arrival — with a seamless transition and feels right to move quickly into its verse. Its roll is immediate, encapsulating, engrossing and the doubling of the vocals for the last line of the initial verse signifies the change into a speedier push, a vital swing playing back and forth with the tonal morass as the title line is dropped after three minutes into the march. They cycle through again, growing more chaotic simultaneously as they reinforce the underlying plot they’re following, and hit into the last big slowdown with time to spare, feeling well within their rights to tear down the wall of sound they’ve worked so diligently to build all the while.
As noted, Nocturnal isn’t the final release Aleph Null had during their time, but it is something of a shame that the LP didn’t get the sequel it seemed to set up throughout its run. In 2017, Philip and Carsten re-emerged with the duo Milkbrother and issued a first, self-titled EP (discussed here), and there was potential there as well, but to-date there has never been a follow-up. The history of rock and roll, let alone heavy rock, is littered with footnotes of one-album killers who never manifested what might’ve been, and maybe Aleph Null belong in that category, but that does nothing to undercut the accomplishments of this debut.
As always, I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading.
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This was a pretty shitty-feeling week. On a personal level, this is a pretty shitty-feeling time. And I’ve been kind of bummed on the site too, the whole process of reviewing trying to keep up with news, doing premieres, emails coming in that I don’t have time or really desire to answer, on and on, and I’ve been asking myself what I’m continuing to do this for. Not money, since there isn’t much if any to speak of. Not free records, since even bands I’ve written about for over a decade are giving me shit about sending a download like I’ve been working the long-con writing about music for the last 18 years so I could start leaking stoner rock albums now, so what is it? There’s an audience, I think, but if I’m doing this for an ego boost, I’m selling myself cheap, and that doesn’t really feel good either. So what? I can write for Creem? Do a show on Gimme Metal? I can travel to fests a couple times a year if I’m lucky and can get away? That last one is actually the best argument, but the payoff for the level of labor it actually takes to do this thing the way I feel like it needs to be done is still low.
I know I want to hit 15 years, which I will in 2024, but if things stay the way they are now, I’ll reassess after that where I’m at with this whole project. I told myself I wasn’t going to make any big decisions during the pandemic when there was no live music happening, and I’ve been really, really down on any number of things lately, so this doesn’t seem like a time to decide either way, if it’s just that I’m in a shitty place mentally. But when would be good? Am I delaying ripping off a Band-aid if I say another year? And who am I without The Obelisk? It’s been so long I don’t even know. I barely know who I am with it.
This weekend I’m driving to Richmond, Virginia, to attend the Alabama Thunderpussy reunion (info here), and next week I’m going to Sweden with the guys in Kings Destroy to the Truckfighters Fuzz Festival in Stockholm. My hope is that these events and the respective and concurrent time with friends will redirect some of my general energy, because if you want to look back, I’ve had kind of a sour taste in my mouth since I returned from Psycho Las Vegas, and every trip I take in service to covering bands, I pay for in resentment from my family and my own guilt upon my return. It can be and has been a brutal metric.
Even if I stopped The Obelisk tomorrow, I can’t really ever see myself not writing. Could I freelance? Think maybe Lee over at The Sleeping Shaman would have a spot to let me do what I want? I don’t know. To be honest I haven’t given a post-Obelisk life much thought, I think in no small part because The Obelisk takes up such a significant portion of my time and my identity now. Could I just be a dad for a few years? Would I go out of my mind? Am I not going out of my mind now?
Maybe not. Things could be and have been worse. But it’s been a while since I’ve looked forward to getting up in the morning, even though the coffee is good. I’ve been hit or miss on music the last few weeks though, and that troubles me deeply. Though the new Forlesen record has been blowing my mind this afternoon.
A few hours alone in the car will do me good driving to Virginia and back, and Sunday is the Gimme Metal Obelisk-athon, so that will be something to listen to at least for as long as I can stand the sound of my own voice. I want to review that Forlesen next week, and Sky Pig if I can get to it. Looking like the Quarterly Review — another 100-album one — will have to wait until January, because the task is year-ending stuff for 2022 will be significant. Blah blah, scheduling.
I also just booked a Witchthroat Serpent video premiere for next Wednesday. So that’s a thing.
Thanks to everybody who’s left a list so far in the year-end poll, and thanks for reading. Have a great and safe weekend.
Posted in Reviews on December 12th, 2018 by JJ Koczan
Not to get off topic here, but it’s December, and god damn, I hate the fucking holidays. Christmas, even if you believe in the religious significance of the day, is pure garbage. I like giving presents well enough, don’t particularly enjoy receiving them, but even if you put aside the whole “oh it’s so commercial ‘now'” thing, like there was a time anyone now living ever saw when it wasn’t, it isn’t fun. The meal sucks. It’s dark. It’s cold. The songs are fucking endless and terrible — yes, all of them — and the whole experience is just a bummer the whole way through. If there was actually a war on it, I wish they’d drop the bomb and incinerate the entire thing.
Take Thanksgiving, make it start in November and end in December. A month-long festival for the season. You can even give gifts at the end, if you want. It could be like Ramadan, or, probably more likely and much on the opposite end of the spectrum, Oktoberfest.
There. Problem solved. Have a great day, everyone. Let’s do some reviews.
Quarterly Review #71-80:
BongCauldron, Tyke
Biscuit, Corky and Jay of BongCauldron return less than 12 months out from their Binge LP (review here) with Tyke (on APF), three more cuts of weed-eating, dirt-worshiping, weed-worshiping, dirt-eating sludge, fueled as ever by fuckall and booze and banger riffs — and yes, I mean “banger” as in “bangers and mash.” There’s a lead that shows up in closer “Jezus Throat Horns” and some vocal melody that follows behind the throaty barks, but for the bulk of the three-tracker, it’s down to the business of conveying dense-toned disaffection and rolling nod. “Pisshead on the Moon” opens with a sample about alcohol killing you and works from its lumber into a bit of a shuffle for its midsection before hitting a wall in the last minute or so in order to make room for the punker blast of “Back up Bog Roll,” which tears ass and is gone as soon as it’s there, dropping some gang vocals on the way, because really, when you think about it, screw everything. Right? “Jezus Throat Horns” might be offering a bit of creative progression in closing out, but the heart of BongCauldron remains stained of finger and stank of breath — just the way it should be.
Oh yes. Most definitely. From the Sabbath swing behind the chugging “Love the Drugs” and the march of “Wicked Witch” through the what-would-happen-if-Danzig-was-interesting “Summer Spells” and fuzzed-out post-punk shouts of “Videodrone” en route to the nine-minute “Curtains at the Mausoleum,” London four-piece Black Helium make heavy psychedelic songcraft into something as malleable as it should be on their Riot Season debut, Primitive Fuck, holding to underlying structures when it suits them and touching on drone bliss without ever really completely letting go. Opener “Drowsy Shores” is hypnotic. The aforementioned “Curtains at the Mausoleum” is hypnotic. Even the chug-meets-effects-blowout closing title-track is hypnotic, but on the handclap-laced “Do You Wanna Come Out Tonight?” or “Videodrone,” or even “Summer Spells,” there are hooks for the listener to latch onto, life-rafts floating in the swirling tonal abyss. The truth? There isn’t a primitive thing about it. They’re not so much lizard-brained as astral-planed, and if you want a summation of their sound, look no further than their name. It’ll make even more sense when you listen. Which you should do.
The immediate association in terms of riff is going to be Sleep. “Drop Dead,” the 10-minute first of two songs on Earthbong‘s debut Demo 2018, rolls out with pure Dopesmoker-ism and follows the model of gradual unfolding of its weedian sludge riffery. No complaints. The Kiel, Germany, trio are obviously just getting their start, and since it’s a demo and not the “debut EP” that so many otherwise demos try to position themselves as, I’ll take it. And to boot, “Drop Dead” ultimately departs its Sleepy environs for altogether more abrasive fare, with Bongzilla-style screams and an increasingly aggressive shove, the drums crashing like the cymbals did something wrong, and feedback capping into the start of “Wanderer,” which is shorter at seven minutes and opens its assault earlier, the vocals no less distorted than the guitar or bass. There’s some space in a solo in the second half, but Earthbong again twist into harsh, crusty doom before letting feedback carry them out to the demo’s finish. Growing to do, but already their violence seethes.
Grunge, noise rock and Queens of the Stone Age-style melody-making collide on Walk to the Moon, the debut full-length from German four-piece Sir Collapse, sometimes on disparate cuts, like the noisy intro given to the album by “Lower Principles,” and sometimes within the same song, as in the later “Like Me.” A jangly swing in “Mono Mantra” and the Nirvana-esque hook there soon gives way to the desert-hued thrust of “One Man Show” and the early ’90s fuzz of “Happy Planet Celebration,” while “The Great Escape” leads the way into some measure of evening out the approach in “Like Me,” “Too Late,” “Hey Ben” and “The Family,” unless that’s just the band acclimating the listener to their style. Fair enough either way. Sir Collapse round out with a return to the uptempo push shown earlier, giving their first LP an impressive sense of symmetry and whole-work presentation as layers of vocals intertwine with melody alternately lush and raw, sounding very much like a band who know the parameters in which they want to work going forward. So be it.
Organ-soaked Baltimorean garage doomers Alms enter the conversation of 2018’s best debut albums with Act One on Shadow Kingdom, a collection rife with choice riffing, dynamic vocals and a nuanced blend of heft and drama. That a song like “The Toll” could be both as traditional sounding as it is and still modern enough to be called forward-thinking is nothing short of a triumph, and in the stomping “The Offering,” Alms cast forth a signature chorus that stands out from the tracks surrounding without departing the atmosphere so prevalent in their work. “Dead Water” at the outset and “For Shame” build a momentum through side A that the five-piece of keyboardist/vocalist Jess Kamen guitarists Bob Sweeney (also vocals) and Derrick Hans, bassist Andrew Harris and drummer Derrick Hans expand in the second half of the record, winding up in the early gruel of “Hollowed” only to resolve the album with speedier swing and as sure a hand as they’ve guided it all along. At six songs and 33 minutes, Act One unmistakably leaves the audience wanting more, and indeed, the plot may just be starting to unfold.
It is a sharp, biting 27-minute run, but Swamp Mama isn’t just thrown together haphazardly. Alberta-based sludge metallers Haaze build a song like “35 Indians” to a head over the course of a deceptively efficient 4:44, following opening track “Beast of the Bog” with a developed sense of craft underlying the outward negativity of their sound. I’ll give the band bonus points for finishing side A with a song called “Stereotypically Doomed,” but more for the crash cymbal that seems to devour the mix. There’s a trashy undercurrent to the subsequent title-track, and as it finishes its pummel, it relinquishes ground to the acoustic interlude, “The Mechanic,” which I’m just going to assume is named for the Charles Bronson movie. That of course sets up the most extreme cut included in closer “AL,” which layers fierce growls and screams atop a rhythm clearly designed for maximum assault factor. A little more metal than sludge, it nonetheless remains tonally consistent with what comes before it, giving Swamp Mama a vicious ending and a feel that’s all the more lethal for it.
Copenhagen four-piece The Sledge boasts the three former members of heavy rockers Hjortene in guitarist/keyboardist/vocalist Palle, drummer/vocalist Kim and bassist Claus, so while they’ve revamped their identity and gone on to add vocalist Magnus Risby — who appears here on “179 Liars” and “Yet Untitled” — perhaps its somewhat disingenuous to consider their first album under the new moniker, On the Verge of Nothing, a debut. Issued through Kozmik Artifactz, the record collects eight tracks produced by Anders Hansen (who also worked with Hjortene) and mixed by Matt Bayles, and in listening to the cuts with Risby in the lead spot, the vibe taps into a thicker take on late-era Dozer with no less righteous melodicism. That, however, is just a fraction of the total story of On the Verge of Nothing, which taps earlier desert idolatry on “Death Drome Doline” and brings in none other than Lorenzo Woodrose himself for guest spots elsewhere. People in and out of the lineup through different tracks should make the LP disjointed, but as ever, it’s the songwriting that holds it together, and one can’t discount the core band’s experience playing together as a part of that either. Debut or not, it’s an impressive offering.
One tends to think of serenity and peaceful drift when it comes to Danish heavy psych rockers Red Lama, but as the seven-piece band quickly turn around follow-up to their 2018 sophomore LP, Motions (discussed here), cuts like opener “Time” and “RLP” unfold with a particular sense of urgency, the former seeming to showcase an acknowledgement of sociopolitical circumstances in Europe and beyond in a way that seems to readjust their focus. That’s a tidy narrative, but if it’s a case of priorities being rebalanced, it’s striking nonetheless. To coincide, “RLP” has a heavier roll in its second half, and while second cut “State of the Art” and closer “Tearing up the Snow” both make their way past the five-minute mark with post-rocking pastoralia and dreamy melodies, there remains a feeling of a tighter focus in the tracks that could portend a new stage of the band’s development or could simply be a circumstance of what’s included here. The next album will tell the tale.
Fronted by Andy Fernando of Don Fernando, Full Tone Generator‘s debut long-player, Valley of the Universe, nonetheless bears the unmistakable hallmark of the Californian desert — in no small part because that’s where it was recorded. Fernando and guitarist/bassist/backing vocalist Brad Young traveled to that famed landscape to record with Bubba DuPree and Brant Bjork at Zainaland Studios, only to have the latter end up playing drums and contributing backing vocals as well to the eight-tracker. Not a bad deal, frankly. The key reference sound-wise throughout Valley of the Universe is Kyuss, particularly because of Bjork‘s involvement and Fernando‘s vocal style, but the slow-rolling “I Only Love You When I’m Loaded,” 59-second blaster “No Future” and the ending jam duo of “Preacher Man” and “Never to Return” make the ground their own, the latter with some surprise screams before it bounces its way into oblivion as though nothing ever happened. They’ve got the vibe down pat, but Full Tone Generator do more as well than simply retread desert rock’s founding principles.
Keys give Montreal four-piece Mountain Dust a tie to classic heavy blues and they use that element well to cast their identity in the spirit of a post-retro modern feel, details like the backing vocals of “White Bluffs” and the waltzing rhythm held by the snare on “Witness Marks” doing much to add complexity to the persona of the band. “You Could” goes over the top in its boozy regrets, but the dramas of “Old Chills” are full in sound and satisfyingly wistful, while closer “Stop Screaming” offers a bit of twang and slide guitar to go along with its sense of threat and consuming seven-minute finish. Tight songwriting and clean production do a lot to give Seven Storms a professional presentation, but ultimately it’s the band itself that shines through in terms of performance and as Mountain Dust follow-up their well-received 2016 debut, Nine Years, they sound confident in their approach and ready to flesh out in multiple directions while maintaining a central character to their sound that will be familiar to the converted enough to be a work of genre while setting the stage to become all the more their own as well.
Day four. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling it, but you know, that’s what caffeine is there for. If I push past the day’s quota of mental energy, fine. Hasn’t stopped me yet, and there are only 20 reviews of the total 50 left. Not quite the home stretch, but it’s up there on the horizon. Some cool stuff today, and that always helps as well.
Quarterly Review #31-40:
Leather Nun America, Buddha Knievel
Though they’re mostly indebted to a Wino-style Maryland doom sound, San Diego three-piece Leather Nun America touch on more dramatic fare late into their fifth album, the awesomely-titled Buddha Knievel (on Nine Records). Pairing the acoustic-led instrumental “Gloom” and 7:51 “Winter Kill,” which swirls its way to an apex of lead guitar from John Sarnie with some subtle touches of extreme metal from drummer Sergio Carlos, they expand beyond a riff-and-groove ethic – though of course they do that well too. Sarnie and bassist Francis Charles Roberts (also of Old Man Wizard) offer familiar structures but satisfying tones, cuts like “Into Abyss” taking a darker turn on some of Spirit Caravan’s road-ready groove. An intro (“Prologue”) and subsequent interludes offer further depth, but the heart of “Burning Village” and Buddha Knievel as a whole is in the three-piece’s take on doom rock, and some of the record’s most satisfying moments come from precisely that, even unto the surprisingly boogieing closer “Irish Steel.”
Seems longer than three years since Virginia’s Corsair made their self-titled full-length debut (review here), but with the fervent support of Shadow Kingdom Records, they return with One Eyed Horse, an album much sweeter than its somewhat disturbing cover art might indicate, the four-piece of guitarist/vocalists Marie Landragin and Paul Sebring, bassist/vocalist Jordan Brunk and drummer Michael Taylor gracefully delving further into progressive heavy rock textures in cuts like “Shadows from Breath,” which though it winds up in blastbeats, never loses its sense of pose. That’s emblematic of the masterfully-handed twists and turns One Eyed Horse presents throughout its 45 minutes, highlights like “Sparrows Cragg” soaring and immersive while elsewhere “Brothers” reminds that sometimes it’s important to just get down to business and rock out. Corsair remain a well-kept secret, and one wonders while listening to the harmonies and post-rock bliss of “Royal Stride” just how long they can stay that way. Gorgeous, heavy and definitively their own, there’s nothing one could ask of One Eyed Horse that it doesn’t deliver. And yes, I mean that.
“Seer,” “Moros” and “Chronos” are the first three tracks to be released by Boston newcomer post-metallers Sea, but already their Demo showcases an impressive atmospheric breadth. Churning riffs from guitarists Liz Walshak (who also drew the cover; ex-Rozamov) and Mike Blasi (Rhino King) are given added depth from bassist/vocalist Stephen LoVerme (Olde Growth), and propelled ahead by drummer/engineer Andrew Muro, though there’s room left in each cut for ambience as well, “Seer” trading off, “Moros” beginning a linear build, and “Chronos” finding a middle-ground in switching between harsh and clean vocals before a slowdown brings about the chugging, memorable finale. Opening with its longest cut (immediate points), Demo proves an ambitious first release, but there’s nothing Sea set out to do on it that they don’t accomplish, and I take it as a particularly encouraging sign that in three cuts, there’s just about no structural repetition to be found. That bodes well in the classic demo sense, but more than what’s to come, these songs are already worth hearing.
Aggressive Sabbath-style doom with East Coast roots – The Munsens recorded at Moonlight Mile with Mike Moebius (Pilgrim, Kings Destroy) in NJ – Weight of Night finds the trio amidst the legal flora of Denver, Colorado, which is a fitting enough setting for the three riff-led cuts they offer on the tape. Of them, side one’s “Slave” is the most decidedly Iommic, a layered solo rounding out after “Under the Sun”-style descent — it also opens with a sample of Julie Newmar as the devil from The Twilight Zone — but both “Weight of Night” and side two’s 11-minute “The Hunt” boast the root influence as well, though the latter is invariably a standout for its crawling progression, almost Pallbearer-esque, that pushes up the tempo in its second half, arriving at a driving pace that’s even farther from where it started than the runtime would have you believe. The opening title-track works somewhat similarly, but ends with a piano interlude, and the shouting, metallic vocals hold back later on “The Hunt,” making its lumbering all the more hypnotic.
Philly trio Gondola waste just about no time showing off primo guitar antics on their Budro Records-released Get Bent LP, a penchant for jamming underscoring a lot of the wah-drenched movement on opener “Brain Ghost” and its side A compatriots “Psychic Knife,” “Poison Path” and “The Hornet.” There’s a decidedly stoner influence, vocals gaze-out Dead Meadow-style on “Psychic Knife,” but a Naam jam in “Brain Ghost” and the Fu Manchu drive of side B highlight “Electric Werewolf” offer plenty of variety within that sphere, guitarist/vocalist Rocky Rinaldi, bassist/vocalist Jordan Blumling and drummer Tim Plunkett finding space to make their own thanks in no small part to a palpable chemistry between them. Heavy rock and roll, and a damn good time, Get Bent comes across more as a suggestion than an imperative by the time the arm’s returned after “Life Cult” but either way, Gondola’s jam-laden push and brainmelter leads make this one a howler not to be missed, and just because it vibes hard doesn’t meant the songs don’t move.
Consistently unpredictable and reliably prolific, Boston outfit Space Mushroom Fuzz – spearheaded by Adam Abrams of Blue Aside – isn’t through opener “Let’s Give Them Something to Hate About” before a sampled bong and sickly-sweet solo interwine with a progressive psychedelic jam. One never really knows what’s coming from Space Mushroom Fuzz, and on Future Family, it seems to be a blend of traditional songwriting with the project’s long-established weirdo sensibilities. “A Day in the Strife” is particularly Floydian, but even that has a structure, and “Saving all My Love for U2” has just about the heaviest, most straightforward push I’ve heard from Abrams in this context, even though there’s plenty of freakout to be had as well. What holds the release together is the persistent anything-goes vibe, which is maintained even unto the acoustic-led swirl of closer “L’Americana,” not quite fully departing an underlying cynicism, but escaping sonically the irony in some of the album’s titles in a manner that’s sincere whether or not it wants to be.
The key to Deep Aeon’s Temple of Time (released on H42 Records) is in the momentum the German four-piece commence to build on opener “Element 24” and how utterly unwilling they are to relinquish it at any point over the release’s 29-minute span. Even six-minute closer “River” has a shuffle – and handclaps. Vocalist Marcel Röche keeps a gruff edge to his voice throughout, but that could just as easily be from keeping up with guitarist Alexander Weber, bassist Axel Meyer and drummer Nikolaj Marfels. Songs like “Floating” and side-B launch “With that Priest on the Back Seat” offer straightforward fuzzy heavy rock, but rhythmically, Temple of Time swings and swings and swings and there’s just no getting away from it. If the record was 50 minutes long, I’m not sure it would be sustainable – someone’s bound to need to catch their breath, band or listener – but for being in and out in under half an hour, Deep Aeon make a clean, efficient run with little use for letup. Bonus points for the Alexander von Wieding artwork.
“Come with me, let’s go get high,” urges Teepee Creeper guitarist/vocalist Jon Unruh on “Rainbow Sex Glow” from his band’s seven-track/33-minute Ashes of the Northwest full-length, recorded by Mos Generator’s Tony Reed, who also drums and whose band released a split 7” with Teepee Creeper last year (review here). I won’t say “let’s go get high” sums it all up, but a lot of it. Riffs rule the day, and deservedly so, on tracks like “Far Far Away,” the live-tracked “Crushing the Gods of Men” and “The Raven’s Eye,” which caps with a particularly righteous roll. Rounded out by bassist Jeremy Deede – no slight presence in the mix – and now featuring drummer Ian Hall, Teepee Creeper seem to get better the higher the volume goes, the impressive and open-sounding tones surrounding the listener on the aforementioned “Rainbow Sex Glow” like a meaner version of Texas’ Wo Fat, and yes, that is a compliment. The album may or may not reduce their native region to ashes, but it’s bound to turn some heads in their direction.
How right the umlaut-happy Hellräd are when the Philly sludge slammers posit that Things Never Change. Their destructive, blown-out grime makes its nihilism plain in songs like “Homegrown Terrorist,” “My Jihad Against My Own Mind,” “Dopefiend Jesus,” and of course “Smoke More Crack,” weighted, lumbering grooves switching off at a clip with full-speed punker fuckall. Guitarist Mike Hook, noisemaker/vocalist Dirty Dave (not the same Dirty Dave from The Glasspack), bassist Herb Jowett and drummer Robert Lepor get down to all-out bludgeonry from the start of “Street Zombies,” the opener and longest track (immediate points) at 6:55, but there’s just something about the rolling groove of “Fuck Up (All I’ll Ever Be)” that hits home. Probably not as primal in its making as the energy with which it’s conveyed might lead one to believe, the ultra-nasty 38-minute debut full-length is nonetheless likely to leave a dent in your skull. Or have your skull leave a dent in something else. A wall, maybe. Or another skull.
Working in longer form on the four original tracks included on Dead Sun Worship, their full-length debut, Dublin four-piece Venus Sleeps make an atmospheric centerpiece out of the Syd Barrett cover “Golden Hair,” which in the context of what surrounds it is almost an interlude. Shades of Electric Wizard show themselves on the howling “I am the Night,” but the opening duo of “Ether Sleeper” and “Dawn of Nova” is more progressive, the guitarist/vocalist Sie Carroll, guitarist/backing vocalist Steven Anderson, bassist Seán O’Connor and drummer Fergal Malone exploring a psychedelic blend of doom and heavy rock riffing that comes to the fore again on 11-minute closer “Age of Nothing,” despite that song’s healthy dose of wah. The range they show in the original material seems only bolstered by the cover, and especially as their debut, the ambition and scope Venus Sleeps showcase is admirable. There are moments when the production seems to contract when a given part wants it to expand, to sound bigger, but Dead Sun Worship lacks nothing for clarity in purpose or execution.
Posted in Reviews on December 27th, 2011 by JJ Koczan
German outfit Vibravoid are a hard band to keep up with. Since their 2001 debut was released on CD in 2000, they’ve gone on to become wildly prolific, working with labels like Nasoni, Sulatron, Fruits de Mer and Herzberg Verlag. In 2011, the Düsseldorf natives had their busiest year yet, with three 7” singles/splits, their second live album recorded at the Burg Herzberg festival (their 2010 set was also released last year), and the Minddrugs studio full-length on Sulatron (CD) and the Greek imprint Anazitisi Records (LP). Between that, their stake in the Timezine print fanzine and their affiliation with the ultra-retro Chenaski clothing line, the band has so much happening at any given moment that it’s hard not to get lost somewhere along the way. Even their lineup is nebulous. There’s no info included with the Minddrugs CD in that regard, except that the guitars, bass, mellotron, “stylophone” and theremin are played by Vibravoid, and depending on where you try to find the info, they’re either a trio or a four-piece, the only consistent member of which seems to be band founder/guitarist/vocalist Christian Koch. This can be frustrating if, say, you’re a stickler for including that kind of information in your reviews (cough cough), but ultimately, it stands in accord with Vibravoid’s propensity for mind-bending. Everything they do is steeped in a swirling, surreal psychedelia. What’s most surprising about Minddrugs is the varied forms that psychedelia takes.
Arguably, Vibravoid are best known for the kind of upbeat, late-’60s psych pop that hones in on the era before ballsy riffs took over in rock and it was more about the organ, the swirl, the echoes and the danceable feel. Even unto 2008’s The Politics of Ecstasy, that was the core of their style, and though those elements show up on Minddrugs as well, Koch and his fellow players are not at all limited by the confines of pop. In six tracks’ time, Vibravoid eases their way from the friendly garage fuzz of opener “Seefeel,” on which the vocals echo their verses and choruses bordering on indecipherability, to an epic closing rendition of Pink Floyd’s “Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun,” which comes in at nearly 23 minutes and boasts expansive sections of effects play, tripped-out singularities and, finally, cosmic triumph. In between the two extremes, cuts like “What You Want” and “You Keep on Falling” (the latter released as a 7” earlier this year) offer balanced space rock/pop, the 12 minutes of “What You Want” seeming to pass quickly through its undulating midsection jam for the strength of the hook surrounding, and shorter excursions “Do it Allright” and “Lost Intensity” offering deconstructed and surprisingly abrasive noise and subdued, well-executed sub-drone atmospherics, respectively. Minddrugs is every bit the journey its title and artwork suggest, but even as “Do it Allright” devolves into a long fadeout/in that immerses the listener in painful static and echoplex noise, one doesn’t get the sense they’re out of control or unaware of what they’re doing.
