No question that by now High on Fire are a known quantity. For over 20 years, they’ve become not just a staple band of the heavy underground, but of heavy metal in general. To wit, they won a Grammy. One is hard-pressed to think of something that qualifies as “mainstream acceptance” more than that, short of founding guitarist/vocalist Matt Pike actually being elected President of the United States in some kind of meme-come-to-life grassroots write-in campaign.

Of course, that mainstream acceptance was a long time in coming, and earned the hard way — you might think of it as being ripped from the hands of the cultural gatekeepers, more breaking down the door than being let in; a convenient narrative to suit their aesthetic, to be sure — and much of the focus on High on Fire‘s emergence and success has been related to their work post-2010’s Snakes for the Divine (review here), the trilogy of Kurt Ballou-produced full-lengths in 2012’s De Vermiis Mysteriis (review here), 2015’s Luminiferous (review here) and 2018’s Electric Messiah (review here) helping to secure their place at the forefront of a generation of heavy music makers.

Their 2000 debut, The Art of Self-Defense, has been reissued a few times since its first 2000 release on Man’s Ruin Records, first by Tee Pee in 2001, then through Southern Lord in 2012 and 2021, and since 2012, those reissues have included the three songs from the band’s first self-titled demo, originally put out in 1999 by 12th Records. For those unfamiliar, 12th Records is the in-house label of Electric Amps — they still sell on eBay — and responsible for the debut offerings from High on Fire, YOB, Starchild, Ocean Chief, Bongzilla-offshoot Cuda, and others. People, in other words, who know what’s up. Relatively unsung heroes perhaps in helping shape a movement of capital-‘h’ Heavy.

But even High on Fire‘s High on Fire isn’t a lost release or some such, however much time has passed since it came out. The three tracks it contains — “Blood From Zion,” “10,000 Years” and “Master of Fists” — all appeared reworked on The Art of Self-Defense, and as noted, these songs have been included on the reissues along with the Celtic Frost cover “Usurper” and “Steel Shoe” (which first showed up on Tee Pee‘s edition of the album in 2001) as a document of the band at that time. Fair enough.

To listen to them on their own, however, brings to mind just how rudimentary they are but also how much they speak for the intentions of the band at that point. Pike, along with founding drummer Des Kensel, who left the band in 2019, and bassist George Rice, who was gone after 2002’s Surrounded by Thieves, had been together for about a year by the time these songs came together, and it should be noted that The Music Cartel‘s posthumous release of Sleep‘s Jerusalem also came out in 1998, so these changes were happening in real time, Pike moving from one band even as the other was continuing to wind down.

High on Fire‘s intentions were different, of course, and one can hear the foundations of their trademark marauding thrash in “Blood From Zion” and “10,000 Years,” but in those cuts — maddeningly catchy as they are; I’m going to have “10,000 Years” on repeat in my head for a week but sacrifices must be made — as well as the 10-minute “Master of Fists,” there’s a kind of overarching groove that the band at their most riotous would let go even by the time Surrounded by Thieves or 2005’s Blessed Black Wings (review here) were out. By that point, High on Fire had more fully embraced the idea of being something different in terms of songwriting than the pioneering stoner metal from whence Pike had come in Sleep. High on Fire became their own band.

This self-titled — which feels ripe for a 10″ pressing if anything in the universe possibly could; please, MNRK (formerly E1), do the thing right and keep the original artwork — is something earlier. It doesn’t completely let go of who Sleep were, even as it feels out the spaces of influence that would eventually define High on Fire‘s work in the aforementioned Celtic Frost, as well as Motörhead, Slayer, etc. Pike‘s vocals are layered and mostly clean, as he’d not yet developed the gruff, sometimes-screaming shouts that he would not only turn into a trademark but that would become a point of influence for other bands.

His underlying ambitions and perhaps insecurities as a singer have been a theme in his work all along, from fronting the side-project Kalas sans-guitar to his 2022 solo debut, Pike vs. the Automaton. Accordingly it’s somewhat ironic that other players out there are trying to match his barbarous, barking style, but that’s about as classic a dynamic as metal has. Take the thing you can do, make it yours, and own it. Stage presence also helps, I’m sure.

Keep in mind as you listen that I’m not trying to sell you on the High on Fire EP/demo as anything other than what it is. These are the band’s rudimentary beginnings, and despite the clear vocals, it’s still plenty raw in sound and tone as one might expect, but listening to it now with more than two decades of hindsight is a worthy reminder of where they came from and how far they’ve gone in the years since.

I seem to recall they were in the studio with Ballou again at some point, the band now comprised of Pike, bassist Jeff Matz (since 2006; man, time flies; wonder how he feels not being “the new guy” anymore) and drummer Coady Willis (also Big Business), the latter of whom joined after the departure of Kensel. Either way, they’ve got shows this year from Desertfest NYC to the Sound of Liberation anniversary parties to Heavy Psych Sounds Fest to SXSW next weekend. Hard to imagine they won’t be at Psycho Las Vegas one way or the other, too. They’re kind of the house band of that festival, if not the sheer embodiment of its ethic. In any case, a new album would be nothing but welcome, if and when.

As always, I hope you enjoy.

—

Spent most of the week feeling overwhelmed, the way one does. Even last night, I had my laptop out to try and get some work done and I was just too tired to actually put fingers to keyboard to make anything happen. I guess it’ll be Monday for the new Samavayo video since The Pecan’s school bus is due home in about half an hour and, well, I need more time than that to do a thing.

They really fucked my shit up when they switched his bus from like 8AM to a little before 9. That extra hour has proven to be the difference between me feeling like I’m handling what needs to be handled in a given day and me feeling like I felt this week, which is very much the opposite. Throw in more potty-training woes and I think you get a pretty accurate picture of the headspace I’m currently occupying. It is, and has for a while now been, a grind.

And if you believe the weekend brings any relief, well, you’ve probably never met my four-year-old. The Patient Mrs. gets preferential work time, because, you know what she does with it actually pays for the roof over our heads, but I’ve been struggling to keep up with things, and I find myself putting together the back ends of posts during late-in-the-day TV time, while waiting at speech or OT — The Pecan receives both — and any other moment I might have a hand free to hold my phone. I’m writing on it right now, for example, watching the little clock in the corner that seems to count down as much as it’s counting up.

Small stakes, right? I know. Who cares, right? I know. To whom does it matter if this post doesn’t happen? Me, god damn it. It matters to me.

So what’s the answer? What would be enough time? Well, it sure would be nice to have that hour back every Monday-to-Friday, especially since I proved yesterday in writing that Moura review that if I want to dig into stuff like that it’s going to have to be accounted for on the clock, but one can’t pull hours out of one’s ass in infinite supply. I could start waking up early again, rebuild that habit. Might not be a terrible idea anyway, but even getting up at 6:30AM instead of 5AM, I’m still tired as crap by like 8PM and ready for bed. I don’t know where to put myself, ultimately. I suppose that’s nothing new.

Add to that body stress — I hate the way I look, the way I feel in my own skin. Also nothing new. But it’s always there, like a hum in the background. Self-loathing of my physical person as the existential white noise in which I reside. Burrowed deep.

I could go on, but for the clock.

I wish you a great and safe weekend. Next week is packed full already, so at least I know what’s coming — Mount Saturn, Uncle Woe, Soldat Hans, Besvarjelsen, Red Sun Atacama, Ealdor Bealu — off that’s a lot of good stuff. Wow. I should get to work on that.

Have fun. Watch your head. Hydrate. MiBK’s fundraiser for Ukraine is still going on, so buy Obelisk merch and support that. All proceeds go.

FRM.

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