First, slow down.

I’ll spare you the diatribe about how fast life moves these days because you already know. My advice, coming from a place of friendship, is before you dig into the video premiering below, do whatever you gotta do to inject a little calm into the moment. Deep breathing is a decent go-to. I often pause to take a drink of water if I’m feeling tense, frustrated, or just need to reset my brainvoice a little bit. If you want to step out and do a j, you can keep reading on your phone. But take a second to adjust the headspace before “Hunted” starts and I think you’ll be in a better position to appreciate it. Again, friendly advice.

Baltimorean folk-infused heavy psychedelic explorers Holy Fingers released their third album, titled Holy Fingers III — or maybe just III (review here) if you’re feeling casual — in the earliest, still-solstice-dark hours of 2024. It was the first review I did this year, and that was very much on purpose. After an algorithmic fluke on a now-subsumed social media platform put their stuff in front of my face — what used to be called a ‘chance encounter’ — I had spent some stay-indoors time circa 2021 with their second record, II (discussed here) and last April, in getting to see them live for the first and hopefully not last time, it confirmed in my head the anticipation for what would come next. Sure enough, III righteously finds connections between post-rock, heavy bluesy psych, folk pastoralism and command, and a progressive songwriting mindset. In atmosphere and hooks, vibe and structure, it delivers. I waited months to review it, but knew it was how I wanted to launch the New Year last month.

It’s not where the hype is at, I’m kind of sorry to say, but as it sometimes goes with that kind of thing, the ears with which it resonates will perhaps feel it more deeply for that as something to be treasured. If you haven’t heard it yet — and if not, that’s cool; it’s been out for a month, not three years; don’t let the internet make you feel like you’re behind on a thing — the full Bandcamp stream is included below so you can get a sense of how “Hunted” fits on the album. Following the fuzzy roll of “Blood Red Sun” and the open-strum and rhythmic sway of “Bring Me the Beasts” on side A, its throbbing groove is particularly tense, bringing the reverbed breadth of Ides of Gemini-style post-heavy to bear in deceptively forceful repetitions of the title in its chorus. Consistent in ambience and general sound, it follows its own path, and is a standout highlight instead of an awkward fit.

Holy Fingers III is the band’s second album in their current configuration and the places it explores speak to subconscious familiarity, something primal but not necessarily in an aggressive way. I could go on here, but I’d rather not keep you from the clip itself if you’re still reading. “Hunted” uses practical effects by Josh James of Rainbow Death Cult to create a visually atmospheric complement to the song. It is not AI — since that apparently needs to be said this week — and like the track itself, it shows its humanity in its intricacies and finer details while reaching into the abstract, or ethereal, if you prefer, for expression. This won’t hit with everyone, but it is my sincere hope that someone reading this loves it, and maybe that’s you.

Did you slow down? Good, because they’re gonna build back up a bit. Here goes:

Holy Fingers, “Hunted” video premiere

Hunted from Holy Fingers III available now on all streaming platforms. Vinyl preorders at holyfingers.bandcamp.com.

Video by Josh James | Rainbow Death Cult

‘III’ Recorded and mixed by Kevin Bernsten at Developing Nations Recording Studio, Baltimore, MD
www.instagram.com/developing_nations/

Mastered by Brian McTernan at Salad Days Studio
www.instagram.com/saladdaysstudio/

Holy Fingers are Tracey Buchanan, Dave Cannon, Theron Melchior and Josh Weiss.

Holy Fingers, Holy Fingers III (2024)

Holy Fingers on Facebook

Holy Fingers on Instagram

Holy Fingers on Bandcamp

Folk-informed heavy psychedelic blues rockers Holy Fingers are among the best kept secrets in the Baltimorean underground, and their third full-length, the self-released III, is a moment of realization that’s due more fanfare than it is likely to receive. They arrive its Jan. 1, 2024, release date at eight years’ remove from their 2016 self-titled debut, released as the instrumentalist trio of Dave Cannon, Theron Melchior and Josh Weiss prior to guitarist/vocalist Tracey Buchanan joining ahead of 2018’s follow-up, Holy Fingers II (discussed here), and continues a thread of collaboration with producer Kevin Bernsten at Baltimore’s Developing Nations Recording Studio that began on the last record and was most definitely not broken there and as such requires no fixing across the eight-song/circa-40-minute Holy Fingers III, which finds the band pushing further into progressive textures and expanding the reach of their songwriting.

A fuzzy roll arrives just a second after Buchanan starts the first line of opening track “Blood Run Sun,” beginning right after, “You are my…” and before the title itself is delivered. Later pieces like “Astral Anchor” and its complement “Estival” will dig into vibes born of ’60s Britfolk and given semi-retroist heavy life in such malleable fashion as to remind of Graveyard in “Bring Me the Beasts” before the more urgent rhythm of “Hunted” casts that in the Americana-infused neofolk of Wovenhand and leads through the album’s side flip and into the soft shuffle of “Majnac” ahead of “In Warrior’s Stead” and “Hunter’s Moon,” which turn toward heavy post-rock expanse, building on the hints toward Black Math Horseman-style ceremony in “Hunted” and, in the latter, tying that in part to the more folkish side, tying together elements that have been spread throughout but not feeling forced in the doing.

In fact, let’s take that ethic, start it at the start and pull it over the rest of the album like a well-flattened top-sheet (you bedmakers know what I’m talking about): It is unforced. I do not know the circumstances that might’ve led to six years between Holy Fingers‘ second and third full-lengths, but I don’t imagine the band is anyone’s full-time, live-on-this gig, and life happens. Sometimes it happens that a band will turn around after a while and crunch a record together and rush it out to get on tour, etc. That’s not this. The songs on Holy Fingers III feel lived with and lived in. They’re not overthought, but they’ve been smoothly balanced to become what they are, and that worked-on feel extends to the linear fluidity that runs from front to back. Holy Fingers are grooving here as a paramount, and coinciding with that is the focus on melody mostly but not entirely represented in Buchanan‘s vocals.

That is to say, while Buchanan is a strong presence throughout, her voice isn’t the only source of melody. The bouncing slink of “Majnac” is all the more memorable for the way its notes move up and down, a cool born of jazz and turned into classic-style prog, and the lead guitar in “Hunter’s Moon” adds no less drama to the closer’s outward procession than the cave-echo treatment on the vocals. As they draw from different influences throughout and bring ideas together across various songs, the presentation is never quite the same twice and never so outlandish as to be out of place. A shorter cut can be intense as “Hunted” gets or languid like “Blood Red Sun” at the outset, its later jangle like proto-grunge noise played at half-speed with about a quarter of the directionless, would-be-silly-in-context aggression. Longer songs like “Astral Anchor” unfurl a complete build, and “In Warrior’s Stead” — the longest inclusion at 7:28 — accomplishes this while in conversation with the broader sphere of American heavy psychedelia, seeming specifically to work off of some of King Buffalo‘s make-a-world-and-put-a-riff-in-it ideology.

And in all of this, in the places it goes and the stylistic shifts and slight turns it makes along the way, Holy Fingers III is unflinchingly organic. Its pacing isn’t staid or too slow, but it works into a kind of steady nod and even when this is purposefully interrupted, as in the churning push at the end of “Bring Me the Beasts” or in “Majnac” — dig that line of fuzz running through the song; reminds a bit of something Lammping might try, as if my heart were not yet won here, and is indicative of both an intricacy of mix and the attention to detail that makes this all sound so easy in the first place — the momentum built isn’t wasted. If the side split is between “Astral Anchor” and “Estival” — and I think it is but I’m not 100 percent certain — then the first half of Holy Fingers III presses forward through its three shorter tracks into that pond of psychedelic lushness, while “Estival” starts side B with a folkish bent that lends the movement of “Majnac” a complementary Britness ahead of “In Warrior’s Stead” turning back to the far out and “Hunter’s Moon” ending big and expansive like some vision of the American West, complete with Morricone-via-Earth in the resonant and meditative guitars.

There is, just apparently to belabor the point, a lot going on in the material that comprises Holy Fingers III, but the band do not lose sight of their structured intent when faced with the task of moodmaking in their songs, and those songs are that much stronger for it. One could easily argue that it’s the underlying structures that allow Holy Fingers to harness such breadth of sound, but it’s academic as compares to the experience of putting the album on and having Buchanan commandingly lead the way into “Blood Red Sun” as the full band lines up around a classic-but-obscure-enough-to-be-individual groove warm in tone and melody but wanting nothing for heft either and able to pivot in delivery so as to be that much more flexible when it comes to atmosphere overall. There is, of course, also plenty of atmosphere, but like the rest of Holy Fingers III, it is accomplished with rare poise and distinct identity, adding to and taking nothing away from the collection of songs that feels nothing so much as loved in their making.

Holy Fingers, Holy Fingers III (2024)

Holy Fingers on Facebook

Holy Fingers on Instagram

Holy Fingers on Bandcamp

Before the show, at The Ottobar

Never been here before, but it’s a spot on the circuit so certainly The Ottobar is a familiar name. I expect that by the time the sun goes down later it’ll be a good deal warmer in here, and fair enough.

My first time in the space, my first time at Grim Reefer Fest. A little anxious as will happen. I ran into Mersch from Sun Voyager on my way in, did dad talk, which is probably what I’m good for these days. The first-face familiarity was a welcome reminder I’m here to enjoy myself. It was to some degree perilous leaving the house, and my car slipped on a wet Rt. 202 in the Flemington Circle and nearly ran into the driver’s side of a Toyota SUV — far be it from me to impugn the handling or traction of the Chevy Malibu, a car that’s as comfortable as a couch and gets the same gas milage, but you know — but beyond that, pretty smooth getting here for the three and a half hours of road time. I was in this town a week ago, if not the room.

But the fest is soon to start, and I worked really hard not to get here at like 10AM or otherwise stupid early, such is always an impulse to b fight. Hard to argue with 10 bands, though looking at that schedule above, I’m willing to bet that by the time Bongzilla go on, I’ll be rethinking various life choices, but screw it, it’s been a while since I got out and I need a day of having riff-forward audio dropped on my head. Desperately. These things remind us who were are, and, if we’re lucky, why. Ate half a gummy. Might disappear into a hole of myself for a while later, I don’t know. We’ll see what the afternoon brings.

So let’s see:

Blightbeast

Their first show, and they were likely the most aggressive band of the day, if not the heaviest, whatever that means at this point. They went to it hard, some bass trouble at the start, and tore the early crowd the proverbial new one. Solos were shredded, riffs were bludgeoned, screams were screamed, and a merry air of shenanigans pervaded, even with (because of?) the chicken bone necklace and bulletbelt on vocalist Phil Doccolo, who doubles as part of the team behind Grimoire Records. Blightbeast also share personnel with Haze Mage (playing later; it’s their party as I understand it) and Random Battles, among others. Everybody seemed to know them, but they were a heavy metal meatgrinder sound-wise, blackthrashing here and slinging sludge periodically throughout. I’m not sure they’d be my thing on record, but I don’t regret seeing their first show in the slightest, and if the record follows suit from the set, I retract my earlier supposition.

—

Holy Fingers

Meanwhile, on the other end of the spectrum, and from maybe as far afield as across town, Holy Fingers heavy folk-psyched their way into my heart. My admittedly limited experience of their studio work in this incarnation, 2018’s Holy Fingers II (discussed here), was irrelevant to the liquid progressions coming from the stage. With a guitar on either side, bassist/vocalist Tracey Buchanan held down both the brooding low rhythm of “Hunted” and from about there on, everything else today is gravy. That’s a band that needs to do a record. Like, today. Release that set. Anything, just take my fucking money. I don’t generally think of a band’s music itself as inspiring, but Holy Fingers made me want to write. In a field. On another planet. Three-sun day. Space birdsong and shit. Their setlist, which yes, I got, had six songs. I don’t know if they played all six but I lost time in there somewhere maybe. Mesmerized. Hell’s bells.

—

Faith in Jane

A resounding argument in favor of live music are Faith in Jane. Band is hot shit. So what, you say? They were hot shit seven years ago, you say? That’s true, and they’ve grown into themselves a little bit since then — they had a single out in March, if you’re up for studio documentation — but they’re still young and they’re more confident on stage. Guitarist/vocalist Dan Mize, bassist Brendan Winston and drummer Alex Llewellyn — I can’t help but feel like if it was 1991 or maybe even 1971 would’ve been scooped up by some major label by now and turned into household names. True, they would not be the first heavy band from Maryland to miss out on the commercial potential of another era, but Faith in Jane are on their way to being on-stage masters — again, a road they’ve been walking for a while now — and they’ve got like 15 records or some such and none of them suck. They picked up on the pastoralia and guitar nuance of Holy Fingers and found the only grunge-blues bar in existence to present them in. And I know Mize is a beast, he is, a genuine talent and a pleasure to watch play since he still puts his soul in it when he’s good enough to probably get away with not, but Winston and Llewellyn too, each one of them locked into being part of the trio. Classic.

—

Sun Voyager

Looked up and didn’t recognize Sun Voyager until I looked stage right and saw bassist Stefan Mersch. They’re using a drummer who played or plays in fellow King Pizza Records denizens The Daddies, filling in for Kyle Beach, who had a good excuse. Between that and still-new-to-me guitarist/vocalist Christian Lopez, they were two-thirds a new lineup since I last saw them, which is also since they released their self-titled LP (review here) on Ripple Music. Fill-in drummer and new-ish guitar player, plus the change in dynamic bringing Mersch to a more prominent role vocally, while Lopez’s voice is blown out through effects, it feels almost unfair to point out how much fun the set was since the band’s got so much flux going on and who knows what it’ll be next time. What’s going to happen with Sun Voyager? Forefront of a generation of East Coast heavy psych? Inheritors to Naam? Barely-upstate curio? I feel like it may take the next five years to find out. In the meantime, they’re doing the work, doing everything they need to be doing, including not forcing it, putting out killer records and burning even more barns on stages of rooms like The Ottobar moments ago, and no, I’m not going to fix that metaphor because fuck it biker space rock. Early headliners for me.

—

False Gods

They were a big change in vibe coming off Sun Voyager, Faith in Jane, Holy Fingers, but False Gods claimed the stage for their own and smashed it accordingly. The New York outfit are hardcore-rooted, sludge-adjacent, and aggressive enough in presentation to give Blightbeast a challenge in that regard. They bring the styles together though, so it’s not just a hardcore part then a doom riff then the big mosh break, but something of the band’s own made from those parts and impulses. They seemed happy to be here, and their 2022 album, Neurotopia, was no less dense. There are a few different presences within the four-piece, but that came together around some pretty mammoth groove and by the time they were done, they had well established dominance over the room, and by extension, the greater Chesapeake region. Vocalist fell to his knees — which, first of all, man, I don’t know which side of 40 you’re in but having had surgery in November and still wearing a brace here, take it easy on those knees — twice, which was a bold move but earned by the subsequent screams. That shit can make you lightheaded and I’m not even being a smartass. Safety first.

—

Wizard Rifle

Well, Nanotear has been right all along about Wizard Rifle. I had the feeling. The rest of us, you, me, we’ve been missing out. Or maybe not you since you’re cooler than I am. Me. I’ve been missing out. Fortunate, then, that the duo are on tour with Bongzilla, who are fellow clients of Nanotear Booking, the aforementioned agency who’ve been so thoroughly correct. Wizard Rifle, whose press shots I know better than their songs, took West Coast quirk riffing to its logical prog extension, and it was impressive energetically as much as technically. I wouldn’t say they laid waste, since they’re not really that kind of band, but in terms of style they’re firecracker heavy rock, bursts and booms set up in contrast to skyward sprints, but they’re dug in too and surprisingly immersive as they seem also to be testing each other and themselves onstage and with the material. I guess it’s time to go back and get with the records — there’s merch upstairs but I don’t want to leave my spot up front — because having seen that in-person, I’m interested to learn how it translates. Nothing says, “this was a very cool and fun rock and roll show” like assigning yourself homework.

—

Haze Mage

Well that was a win. Haze Mage didn’t take it easy on themselves, picking their own slot after Wizard Rifle, but they have a deceptive amount going on for a band who are also such a party. They’re metal one minute, weed-worship the next, classic doom, bit of char on the tremolo — it was a blast. Songs brought in some slide guitar, some tambourine, all in the name of differentiating the songs, and they had only the second standalone frontman of the day, and perhaps Matthew Casella was more subdued than he might’ve otherwise been owing to whatever apparatus that was on his leg — I’m telling you, you gotta watch out — it looked significant, but he still delivered in terms of performance, as all five of them did in their own way, guitarists Nick Jewett and Kevin Considine kind of on Planet Guitar together on stage left while bassist Scott Brenner took advantage of the extra space to boogie on his own side, John De Campos behind on drums, occasionally adding vocals. They were a trip, to be sure, and while I dug their March 2020 (oof) split with Tombtoker (review here), the really good news is most of what they played was new, so they should hopefully have some kind of release or another in the works soon.

—

Borracho

Could not possibly tell you the last time I saw Borracho, and I tried looking back. It’s been a while since I’ve or another doom fest but definitely it was before the pandemic, so I’ll say it’s been at least half a decade. Long enough, to be sure. The D.C. trio — guitarist/vocalist Steve Fisher, bassist/vocalist Tim Martin, drummer Mario Trubiano, as they’ve been since they first pared down from a four-piece to a trio like 11 years ago now. They posted two new tracks yesterday in kind of a space rocking feel, but they’ve got a new record coming out to follow-up 2021’s Pound of Flesh (review here), and it’s a Borracho record which means it’s the kind of heavy you can rely on. One consequence of my not watching them in however many years, I haven’t gotten to appreciate Fisher’s guitar face. He’s got the best one. It’s as though he’s telling the crowd, “oh gee, these riffs are really heavy I don’t know if I can roll ’em this time,” but then of course he does, with help from Martin and Trubiano. However long it had been, it had been too long. I’ll have more on their new record as we get there — at least I hope; would be some shit if I stopped covering the band after 12 years or some shit — but this was a blast as a herald for that.

—

Ilsa

Rumor had it Ilsa were quite, quite loud. Can confirm. Three guitars playing through full stacks, then bass, then shouts and screams, and drums back there giving the marching orders. I don’t know if Ilsa are the most aggressive band of the day or not — they’re more sad and pissed off at themselves about it, it would seem — but they’re both loudest and nastiest thus far, and their crust beneath their dark hardcore sludge metal will be a fitting transition to Bongzilla. They had the first mosh I’ve seen all day, though I’ll grant I haven’t turned around an awful lot to see either way. They were devastatingly heavy, in any case, and that’s clearly what they were going for. I’ve sort of casually followed their trajectory in the way one gets Relapse press releases, but can’t recall ever seeing them live before. And having seen them now, safe to say that’s something I would remember. Now homework? Could be, but that kind of volume push is hard to capture on a full-length and frankly, I’m tired as crap after standing in the same spot for the last eight hours and I finished my water bottle and can’t leave the front because I’ll lose my spot and so there you go. Ilsa punished that, I guess. Reasonable, somehow, and brutal in kind.

—

Bongzilla

I remember very clearly the last time I saw Bongzilla. Slushy April day in 2016 (review here), and they were on a bill with Kings Destroy, Black Cobra and Lo-Pan, presented by this very site. Good fun. So it’s been a while. In the interim, the Wisconsin band — who, yes, will absolutely trade merch for THC in any number of incarnations, many of while Muleboy listed from the stage — “anybody else do a dab today? you’re freebasing marijuana.” — have released one album in 2021’s Weedsconsin (review here), and their new one, Dab City, is due June 2. It sounds like fucking Bongzilla. And on stage? They sounded like fucking Bongzilla. Dirt-coated, weed-worshipping, slow, heavy nod. They are largely above reproach in concept or execution; were it not for the fact that they helped create stoner sludge, they might be out of the critical sphere entirely. It doesn’t matter. The day came down to the core message — get high, be loud — and certainly I’m not about to fight them on it. Bongzilla are statesmen of this. Ambassadors from planet Delta 9. Even if I had a complaint about seeing them again as they get ready to release a new album — and mind you, I don’t — no way in hell would I say so. Bongzilla need to make one of those bumper stickers in the ‘Virginia is for lovers’ design except it says ‘Bongzilla are for stoners.’ Yes, I just thought of that right now. Goodnight everybody!

—

Thanks to Scott Brenner and whoever was playing Genghis Tron and then Ween’s “Baby Bitch” between the bands. Thanks to the Holy Fingers crew for saying hi. Thanks to Chris and Lew for the crash spot. Thanks to The Patient Mrs., through whom all things are possible.

More pics follow the jump. Thanks for reading.

Read more »

Good one, Grim Reefer Fest. The 2023 edition of the Baltimorean all-dayer is the biggest lineup yet, showing some geographic reach in bringing Bongzilla and Wizard Rifle to proceedings — the former being in Wisconsin and the latter Oregon; one suspects they’ll be announcing a tour together any minute now, and if they do, they make a complementary pair — and rounding out with a sonically diverse cast of locals and regional acts, from natives Haze Mage and Holy Fingers to Borracho and Ilsa from D.C., Sun Voyager heading down from New York, and so on.

I’m gonna go ahead and put this one in my calendar. Seems like a pretty cool way to spend a Saturday. Drive down in the morning, see the show, find a spot to crash, leave Sunday AM after coffee and be home in time for lunch? That’s doable, right? I’ll talk to The Patient Mrs. before I start bugging the fest about it, but yeah, this looks like a good time and I’ve wanted to get down to one of these for a couple years now. In a universe of infinite possibilities, maybe 2023 is my year.

From the PR wire:

Grim Reefer Fest returns to the Legendary Ottobar on Saturday April 29th with our biggest and best lineup to date! Join us for the annual celebration of the high holidays, good vibes, and all your favorite variations of heavy music!

Bongzilla
Ilsa
Borracho
Haze Mage
Wizard Rifle
False Gods
Sun Voyager
Faith in Jane
Holy Fingers
Blightbeast

And as always we will have a food truck parked right outside the venue throughout the duration of the event to take care of all of your munchie needs!

Tickets are $35 in adv and $50 at the door.

Tickets can be purchased here starting 1/13/23 at 10am
https://www.etix.com/ticket/p/6831820
Doors at 2pm – Music starts at 3pm and runs all day and night

Poster by GhostBat.

We will not be live streaming this time around but we do hope to have all of the sets recorded and eventually uploaded to our YouTube Channel (where you can currently see all of our GRF 2022 performers).

https://www.facebook.com/GrimReeferFest
https://www.instagram.com/grimreeferfest/
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC3BL9lkMWbIC2qaqWZ4LH8g
https://www.grimreeferfest.com/

Haze Mage, Live at Grim Reefer Fest 2022

Though begun as an instrumental trio, Baltimore’s Holy Fingers took shape as a four-piece when joined by guitarist/vocalist Tracey Buchanan sometime in 2015/2016. I’d love to be more specific, but to be honest with you I don’t know that much about the band. Dave Cannon, Theron Melchior (who wins the Most Metal Name prize for the week) and Josh Weiss would seem to have been jamming and playing live since at least 2011, if indeed it’s been those three the whole time, and in addition to early practice recordings that have since disappeared from the digital ether in which they once resided, they offered up the self-titled Holy Fingers sans-vocals in 2016. There are still some tapes available. I’m thinking about picking one up on principle.

But sometimes you find a band on the internet. My path to Holy Fingers II, which the band released on vinyl in 2018, was I guess straightforward enough. I follow Dave Heumann of Baltimore’s Arbouretum on Twitter — in addition to periodic music stuff and wry observationalism, he’s got a side gig selling fancy teas of various varieties and it’s interesting — and maybe a month ago or a few weeks or whatever it was, he was at an outdoor show somewhere around. He posted what he called a “scene report” for the gig, which showed families on blankets and chairs, a couple elderly people. I don’t know what the event was, but it was open to the public and it looked like an enjoyable way to spend an afternoon/evening if you enjoy stuff like, you know, outside and sunshine.

And playing over by what kind of looked like a barn was Holy Fingers, and they were tearing it up. Now, this was a cellphone video, shot from some distance away from the band, and I still watched it more than once and determined I needed to find out who was playing. The most natural thing to do was ask. Heumann very kindly informed that they were called Holy Fingers and I was off. Fewer than five minutes later I was digging into Holy Fingers II and kicking myself at that special angle I reserve for “how did I miss this”-style shaming. Needless to say, it’s a familiar bruise.

Holy Fingers II was recorded and mixed with Kevin Bernsten at Developing Nations Recording Studio — Bernsten recently helmed the new Genocide Pact and apparently also builds guitars — and mastered by Pete Lyman at Infrasonic Sound (whose mastering discography includes Sum 41, Bad Brains, Weezer and Dr. Dre, among many, many others). It runs an unassuming 35 minutes and six tracks beginning with the relatively straightforward “The Trees Bowed Deeply and Roared” but offering an immediate sense of breadth upon which the rest of the offering seems only too happy to expand. As much as “Destroying Light” has a bluesy lumber in its intertwining guitar lines, its lyrics are less grounded and add to the post-Grace Slick vibe of the echo behind Buchanan.

Both cuts in the opening duo bring hooks of their own, but the direction Holy Fingers take is quickly headed outward, and “Eternaut” caps side A with duly ethereal presence in the guitar and a more patient, not-quite-moodier-but-not-quite-not landscape. It’s a slow, engrossing build over nearly the first three of the total seven minutes — it’s the longest track on the album — but it’s a journey well worth undertaking for more than just the payoff self-harmonies when they arrive, and one that continues to resonate as side B takes hold. Both “Born to Burn” and “Brittle Wings” hover short of seven minutes, and the fluidity of “Born to Burn” alone makes it a highlight, never mind the melody or airy drift of guitar and the mellow swing bringing just a bit of tension beneath. Enough to let the listener know the fuzzy surge is coming if they’re paying attention, and enough to hypnotize them so they’re not.

Riffier at the outset, “Brittle Wings” feels more declarative in its purpose, but is still able to bring about a forward motion into its own wash, with the vocals cutting through the swirl churning counter-clockwise and moving forward into the textured pastoralia of “Ceremony” itself, which is shorter at 5:20 but willfully broad in its reach and encompassing; weighted psychedelia that seems just to be taking off with the late arrival of a percussive underpinning that soon cuts to silence. Too soon? Maybe. I wouldn’t know from nothing where they might’ve otherwise been headed, but if they wanted to meander for, say, 15 or 20 minutes and extend that jam, after the rest of what they’ve done on Holy Fingers II to that point, my trust has certainly been earned. Maybe next time.

Which brings me to the next thing in the grand litany of information I don’t have about this band — what they’re doing now. Aside from playing that outdoor show that fortunately Heumann filmed a snippet of, and an earlier gig in April, there’s not much to tell from Holy Fingers‘ social media as to what’s been up lately. Of course, even if that info were there, it’s not like they would’ve spent the last 20 months on tour or anything, but if there’s material for a follow-up to this album — a kind of second debut as it is with the four-piece lineup — or any intentions toward recording or getting out now that it’s possible in some minor way, I simply don’t know.

My suspicion, given the fact that the group in some form or other has been around for a decade, is that if they were going to “hit the road,” as it were, it would’ve happened by now somewhere along the line of pre-2020 years. Fine. Further extrapolation tells me that they’re an act who, whatever they want to do, will do it on their own terms. Not every group is willing to pull off a significant lineup/structural revamp after a number of years together, for example, and just as Holy Fingers II finds its own place within heavy psychedelic blues, if they do decide to or have already decided to pursue the project further, it seems reasonable to expect that to happen where and when they see fit.

Fair enough. For today, I’m just glad I got to hear this record. I hope you are too.

Thanks for reading.

—

I was stuck, stuck, stuck on the above, for too long, this morning. Distractions of irrelevant and relevant press releases, putting up other posts, and so on, kept pulling me away. And something about that “familiar bruise” line felt too indulgent on my part. Especially as a standalone sentence. Voice in my head going, “Way to make it about yourself, dick.” It’s there in the spirit of honesty, but I can’t promise I won’t take it out before the post is live. Maybe just move it? I’ll see if I can live with that.

There. I guess that’s better.

All week, I slept late. I don’t think I got up before six once. It was kind of incredible. And with The Pecan in school all five days, I managed to get my shit done as much as I ever do before my brain turns to mush and I can’t work anymore and still have time to shower every day before the bus brought him home. You have to understand, this is amazing to me. If it sounds mundane, it is, but a luxuriousness of lifestyle with which I have not been acquainted in some time. Years.

Can’t say next week will be the same, but I’m glad to take what I got. Special thanks to The Patient Mrs. I woke up at seven-fucking-thirty this morning. Can you imagine? Sure, I missed posting that Weedpecker track on time, but no one seems any worse for the wear.

Next week I think I’m reviewing the Monolord record? Maybe that’s the week after and Blackwater Holylight is next week? One or the other. I’m also doing a FUNERAL premiere on Monday, which in my mind is worth the all-caps I just put it in given that band’s genre-defining legacy. Season of Mist hit me up for that this week and I restructured the whole week around it. I do not expect anyone who reads this site regularly to give a shit — death-doom stuff always seems to fall flat compared to other styles I post about — but hell, it’s important to me and it’s my site, so if I embarrass myself with a miniscule response on social media, at least it’s something I got to do once. Like that time I did a premiere for Slough Feg.

How about Kadavar and Elder, huh? That’ll be interesting.

Next week, I also turn 40 and might go to an indoor show in Connecticut. Curse the Son, Geezer and Kind. It’d be my first indoor gig “back” since the pandemic started and I’d like to be among friends.

On a more staggering note, I’ve been invited to go to Sweden next month and if that country opens its borders to US travelers on Nov. 1, I’m absolutely going to do so. Keeping fingers crossed and all that. The possibility seems unreal to me, and it might turn out to be exactly that.

I wish you a great and safe weekend. Please have fun, watch your head. Hydrate. I’ll be back Monday with that Funeral premiere and a bunch of news I’m already behind on.

Much love. Thanks for reading.

FRM.

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