In cinematic critique, the auteur theory considers a given film’s director as almost the sole visionary behind a project. Think of directors strongly identified with their work — a “Kubrick film,” a “Spielberg film,” etc. The idea is that while filmmaking is a collaborative process, that collaboration is geared toward bringing the director’s vision to life in the finished product, and all perspective is filtered through that vision one way or another. The artist — which in this case the director — isn’t separate from the work.

It’s hard in some ways not to think of Jesu along the same lines. Of course, the music of Justin K. Broadrick‘s more melodic post-Godflesh outfit has always been visually evocative, so I by no means expect I’m the first to relate it in terms of cinema, but in terms of the line where Broadrick ends and Jesu, the band, begins, it’s hard to know, especially when it comes to the self-titled debut album released in late 2004 through Hydra Head Records, Conspiracy Records (2LP) and Daymare Recordings (Japanese 2CD).

Broadrick, now 52, turned 35 the year Jesu released Jesu. At 74 minutes and eight songs, the album is comprised of songs written and recorded by Broadrick himself between 2001 and 2004. Jesu had already tested the waters with earlier ’04’s Heart Ache 40-minute two-songer — considered an EP despite the runtime — and clearly the intention was to break away at least in part from the prior established modus that had been defined through Godflesh, who across several landmark releases had no small part in defining the course of industrial metal in the 1990s.

Godflesh‘s last album, Hymns, was released in 2001, and the band broke up on the cusp of embarking on a European tour — with Fear Factory, as I recall — to support it. I interviewed Broadrick when this record came out and he spoke openly about what was going on at the time for him; he talked about it very much as a nervous breakdown, something personal in the realization that where he was heading was not where he wanted to be. Of course, Godflesh would get back together circa 2011, and go on to release new material — recently compiled as the All Hail the New Flesh box set; clever — but as the last song on Hymns was “Jesu,” one might think Broadrick was picking up where he left off.

In some ways, yes. Programmed beats and other electronic aspects pervade songs like “Sun Day” and “Friends Are Evil,” but the naked emotionality and self-examination of the lyrics in “Tired of Me,” “We All Faulter,” the opener “Your Path to Divinity,” on and on, is something apart even from the deepest Godflesh ever went. And the music, what Broadrick — joined intermittently throughout by drummer Ted Parsons (who still contributes to the band), bassist Diarmuid Dalton and guitarist Paul Neville — does with the forms he helped define, is markedly different, less aggressive, more melancholy, more searching. There’s plenty of weight throughout, and the growls at root in the penultimate “Man/Woman” are fairly telling of how Broadrick had spent his career up to that point, but in addition to Godflesh‘s breakup being a significant event for that era in metal, the advent of Jesu was indeed enough of an aesthetic turn to mark it out as the beginning of a new band.

Jesu, largely, is a slog. There’s some tempo behind “Friends Are Evil,” and at just under seven minutes, “We All Faulter” feels like a ‘hit single’ in comparison to some of what surrounds, but there’s no question that the defining aspect of the record is the way it brings together a post-rock melody with sounds that are as heavy emotionally as they are in tone and impact. It it is a subtle release, with shifts in expressive intent — consider the structural differences between the meandering “Your Path to Divinity” and the more willfully repetitive “Walk on Water,” with its gorgeous, sad procession, or the lumbering and experimental feeling closer “Guardian Angel,” its lyrics down to four simple lines delivered in drawn out, barely-comprehensible fashion, “You found the key to escape/ But I need the same key to run away from me/And you know the need and we see the same things/We know the outside is your true inside.”

What does that mean? I don’t know. What does anything mean? That kind of verbal and aural impressionism — things vague, things opaque, things unknown — is rampant throughout Jesu, and as direct as some of Broadrick‘s past work had been, the obscurity here was no less a part of the purpose than the blend of guitar clarity and distorted rumbling beneath or the droning finish that caps the album, fading away like the course of a passing thought. There’s beauty in Jesu‘s Jesu — a lot of it — but as with much of the work the band would undertake, its exploration comes across as much about the person or at least persona behind it as it does the songwriting itself. It’s rare that crossing such a line results in a finished product so engaging or immersive.

Jesu and Godflesh — as well as Broadrick‘s myriad other works as JK Flesh, etc. — coexist now, of course, and in addition to various other mixes of this record, Broadrick‘s Bandcamp is host to the full slew of outings, including 2020’s Terminus (discussed here), which one only hopes was not prophetically titled. That album, Jesu‘s sixth overall, was the first one in seven years as much of Broadrick‘s attention had been put on the resurgent Godflesh, but as to what his future plans might be for one, the other, or both, I can’t say. The exploration that Jesu began nearly 17 years ago, however, is still going on, and one can hear that across their catalog. Whether Broadrick continues it or leaves it aside for some measure of time or whatever the future brings, this work remains singularly resonant.

I mentioned his age before, and not arbitrarily. To me, Jesu‘s Jesu sounds like someone entering adulthood and looking back maybe on some regrets, some sadness, some choices that could or should have been different, but ultimately reconciling what was with what is. There’s a lot of realization in it, sonically and emotionally, and the sincerity with which it’s presented is unmistakable. Individual. His own. A Broadrick album.

As always, I hope you enjoy.

—

This week was awful until yesterday. I turned 40 this past Tuesday — no doubt another reason I’m thinking of age above — and I’ve never been into birthdays. Ever. It’s not about a new decade. I don’t care. Let it go.

Then The Patient Mrs. bought me a home arcade and that showed up yesterday afternoon and, well, I pretty much melted. I don’t like defining feeling loved through the acquisition of material goods. I don’t need them. I haven’t had a job since 2017. My entire life is a gift, by any metric you want to use. When I talk about writing for this site, I call it “work.” Can you imagine anything so laughable? I have “work” to do posting about Kadavar and Elder. And that’s my life!

Ridiculous.

But I was genuinely touched by the gift and though I feel like there’s going to be an awful lot more screen time in The Pecan’s life as a result, at least maybe it’s something we can do together. He’ll be four on Monday. We’re having a party this weekend, family coming down. I expect and hope the cousins will also enjoy a bit of classic arcade fare.

It was difficult to be grumpy after that. She even put images from Star Trek on the sides. Lower Decks on one side and Deep Space 9 on the other. As if to say, “I know you, fucker!” to my entire being.

No Gimme show this week, gotta put together a playlist for next week. Might do all Type O Negative for Halloween? I don’t know. Anyone think that’s a terrible idea? Yes, I’m asking for permission to do it. Please leave a comment with your thoughts. Please. Anybody.

Next week is full. The Jointhugger album is out next weekend and in fact I had been hoping to put in the request to stream it but the week got full in spite of me and I think I missed my shot. I suck at this, we know that. Alas, I did the EP earlier this year so I’ll hang my hat there, though the record is really good. In any case, next week is front-to-back. Couple full streams, some videos, the whole nine. You know how we do these days.

I hope you have a great and safe weekend. If you want to come to The Pecan’s birthday party on Saturday, it’s from 12-4 and we’ll have a bounce house and snackies. And an arcade, apparently. Bring the kids. PM for address. I’m dead serious. The inside of the house is under construction and most of the party will be outside, so wear a hoodie or some such.

Otherwise, whatever you’re up to, hydrate, be well. Watch your head.

FRM.

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If Khanate were still together today, you’d call them a supergroup. Hell, maybe they were a supergroup 15 years ago when they released their second album, Things Viral, on Southern Lord. Or maybe it’s this record’s sheer extremity that would make them so. Or maybe who gives a shit? Like about anything? Because it’s Khanate, and if there was ever anything that was going to completely level the playing field in terms of showing you how utterly meaningless everything you say and do — or have said or done, or will ever say and do — is, it’s this band. They are sonic nihilism brought to life.

Or death, since it’s hard not to listen to the original four tracks and unmanageable hour-long stretch of Things Viral and not find your mind awash in mental images of decay. With minimliast notes from guitarist Stephen O’Malley (of SunnO))) and many, many others), low-rumble from bassist James Plotkin (as in “mastered by,” which more than half the records your hear this year probably will have been), the scorched poetry of vocalist Alan Dubin (ex-OLD, currently of Gnaw) and accentuating thud of drummer Tim Wyskida (Blind Idiot God), Khanate were like nothing else even in the realm of drone. What was truly horrifying about their sound, what really haunted, was the contradiction in that what sounded so much like chaos in the second half of the 19-minute opener “Commuted” or its fuller-crushing 19-minute follow-up, “Fields,” could invariably not be chaos. Things Viral, which didn’t give away its title line until closer “Too Close Enough to Touch,” was methodical — premeditated. Not only because as the follow-up to Khanate‘s 2001 self-titled debut, the New York four-piece had an idea of where they were headed sound-wise, but even in its own crafting, it was thoughtfully constructed, brought to bear to be as aurally flaying as possible, and the abrasion conjured throughout its four tracks — the shortest of which, the penultimate “Dead” stands at 9:28 — was not a crime of passion. It was pure intent.

Given the bleakness, the immersiveness, the sheer swallow-you effect that Things Viral has even a decade and a half after its initial release, this is utterly staggering to realize. New bands get together every hour on the hour and say, “We’re going to be the heaviest thing in the world.” Most of the time it doesn’t work out. With Khanate, the mission seems to have been to haunt their listeners like some residue of trauma pushed into the subconscious. I think one of the most powerful moments on the album is in the ending of “Dead.” The final guitar ringout happens marked by a crash around the 8:30 mark and the last minute of the song is given to eerie whispering from Dubin and off-time drum hits from Wyskida that make for the most minimal and also the most terrifying moment on Things Viral as amps crackle in the background. The whole album’s use of empty space is something I’ve never heard matched in any form of doom or drone. Khanate were unafraid not only to create tension through spacing out the excruciatingly slow paces of “Commuted,” “Fields,” “Dead” and the abrasive, high-pitched scree of “Too Close Enough to Touch,” but over the course of the 59 minutes, there’s impact from emptiness as much as fullness, and the band proves no less extreme in this manner than they are in any (every) other.

Every bit worthy of hyperbole, Things Viral is the kind of record that might’ve proven more influential if there was any chance whatsoever anyone else could live up to its standard of malevolence and misanthropy. From the grueling hum and noise that starts “Commuted” — where the band just makes you wait for the punishment to begin — to the cacophonous final stretch of “Too Close Enough to Touch,” Khanate seemed to tap into an end point of pushing an idea as far as it could possibly go. It wasn’t about being dark, or being heavy at least in the way one traditionally thinks about either. But it was a conveyance of fear, paranoia, trust-betrayed, self-loathing and thoughtful violence that remains unmatched to this day. Khanate would of course go on to offer a number of other releases, from limited merch-table live outings to the 2005 Capture and Release EP to their third and final full-length, 2009’s Clean Hands Go Foul, and while I’m not about to take anything away from their swansong, which rounded out with the half-hour-long “Every God Damn Thing,” or that prior EP, Things Viral would continue to fester in the mind not only as a representation of the horrors of the age in which it was created — wars just beginning that still continue today; atrocities all around us large, small and bloody — but of the inward rotting we experience as a result of these things without even realizing it.

The version of Things Viral streaming above is Hydra Head‘s 2016 reissue. It has bonus tracks and swaps the running order a bit of the original core four songs, but it’s enough that you’ll get the point, to be sure.

I’d say I hope you enjoy, as is my custom, but that’s not really the idea here. Just absorb it, maybe close your eyes and see where its associations take you.

Good luck.

—

This week was a blur. Up early, pounding out this and that, trying to get as much done as possible while keeping appointments — I’m due at the dentist shortly — and trying to keep my head on tight while still undergoing this eating disorder treatment. Which is bullshit. I feel no healthier than I felt when I was starving myself and eating nothing but protein shakes. Don’t get me wrong, food is delicious — I ate like six oranges yesterday; it was fucking hilarious — but it’s a total waste of my time. My body aches all over. I’ve put on 50 pounds in like a month and much of that is water I’m retaining because who the hell knows why. My feet and legs are so swollen it hurts to walk. Miserable bastard then, miserable bastard now. I’d rather be hungry and dying. Do I mean that? If that’s the situation I was in before, then yes.

Nobody knows what the fuck “healthy” means anyway.

I’ve been overweight my whole life. Shit, I’m overweight now. My whole life. It’s affected my every single day. I feel eyes staring at me, people judging me like I just got back from the Wendy’s drive-thru or like I mainline Dunkin Donuts or some shit. I turn down bands who offer to send me t-shirts because I’m embarrassed to ask for a 2XL. It’s fucking miserable, and it’s been miserable for nearly the entirety of my 36-plus years on this planet. I mean that. Every fucking day. During this process, starving myself as I allegedly was, remaking my body, I was underweight for the first time in my life. Why can I be that? For a while? Why? Why can’t I do that? What if it kills me? Who’s not better off without me in their lives? The Patient Mrs.? The baby? My family? There’s no one around me to whom I’ve ever been anything but a burden. Even now. I don’t work. I don’t contribute. I wake up early and blog about music, shouting into an abyss — and yeah, it’s awfully nice when someone sends a nice comment or a note saying they appreciate that, but even that’s more like, “I found this band, awesome!” And yeah man, that band is awesome. I don’t feel like I helped that process of connection. I just fucking feel empty.

Except for all that fluid I’m retaining. Ha. Seriously, it’s so much that it’s pulling my skin taut on my calves and thighs. My shoes fit me again, so something must be improving, but still. Long way to go, I guess.

Which is what the nutritionist tells me. Long way to go. It takes time. It’s a process. It’s complicated. Go see this other doctor who’s going to draw more blood and agree with me because your doctor doesn’t.

I was better off before.

My sister had bariatric surgery maybe two years ago now. She’s killing it. I should’ve done that. Stupid.

Wow.

Sorry. I guess that’s how you end up closing out a week with Khanate.

But hey, the first spring training games are on today, so it’s baseball time. Hopefully I’m back from the dentist to see it start. And I got to do a track premiere for the new Monster Magnet, which was awesome. So, you know, strikes and gutters. Some you win, some you lose.

Here’s what’s on tap for next week, subject to change as always:

Mon.: Messa review/video premiere; new Bismut video.
Tue.: Final installment of the Nebula interview/stream series, covering Dos EPs.
Wed.: Blackwater Holylight review/track premiere; Dandy Brown video.
Thu.: Sinistro track-by-track.
Fri.: Merlin review.

Jammed as it is but I’m sure more will come along as well, like all of a sudden today there was an announcement for the Psycho Las Vegas 2018 lineup. That’s how these things happen. One can only try to keep up as best as possible.

Have a great and safe weekend. If you need me I’ll be getting a crown put on, then watching baseball and cooking a spaghetti squash to go with pesto and chicken for dinner, because that’s how I do these days, apparently.

Please check out the forum and radio stream. And buy my book. I don’t think there are that many left.

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Cavity, Supercollider (1999)

Probably Cavity‘s most remembered work owing in no small part to a Hydra Head reissue in 2002, Supercollider first appeared three years earlier in 1999 on Man’s Ruin Records, with different artwork but a no less vicious roll, feedback-soaked riffing developed over the course of a tumultuous seven years since the band’s inception in 1992. By the time they got around to Supercollider, third of the four records they’d release before calling it quits after 2001’s On the Lam, bassist Daniel Gorostiaga was the only remaining founding member of the band, but their lineup changes had brought on board players who would and had already helped to shape the style of heavy for which Miami has since become known, a shared lineage with their contemporaries in Floor finding the roster of guitarist/vocalist Anthony Vialon and drummer Henry Wilson (both known for their work in that band and featured in the reunited trio now active) on board for these 10 tracks, along with Gorostiaga and guitarist/vocalist Ryan Weinstein. The stew they’d concoct over the 41 minutes of Supercollider showcased a hook early in its opening title-track but was ultimately more sinister in its purposes on subsequent pieces like “Damaged IV” and “Last of the Final Goodbyes.”

And as much as Cavity‘s impact these years later on Miami heavy stems from the people who were a part of its lineup and their ongoing contributions — Wilson went on to form Dove after Floor, and now also plays in House of Lightning, Vialon is back in Floor, whose guitarist/vocalist Steve Brooks (also Torche) also did a stint in Cavity, as did Holly Hunt drummer Beatriz Monteavaro, former Torche guitarist Juan Montoya, and both guitarist/vocalist Jason Landrian and drummer Rafa Martinez of Black Cobra, among many others — that’s not to understate the actual influence their music had. One can hear the roots of much of what came after in Cavity‘s earlier work, and even bands like Kylesa and Mastodon, who are both from a ways north, in Georgia, owed Cavity a debt in their early days. Supercollider is more heavy rock and less punk than some of what Cavity did, but it still retains an ethic and penchant for meanness, staring down the listener, and its blend has remained its own over the 16 years since its release.

Some form of Cavity, whatever lineup it might be, are due for a reunion — and there have been talks of such for the last several years — but until we get there, a revisit to Supercollider will have to do. Hope you enjoy.

—

This weekend is my grandmother’s 100th birthday. A hundred fucking years. More life than you or I can imagine. I’ll be heading down to Jersey to celebrate with family and then back up on Sunday, so the writing that I might otherwise be doing to get ahead of the game on Monday is pretty much out of the question. She may or may not know who I am when I get there, but you’d best believe I’m gonna be there anyway. Some things you don’t miss.

So look for a new podcast on Monday. We’re due anyway. That and whatever news comes up will have to suffice.

Tuesday, a track premiere from DoctoR DooM, and hopefully a review of some Anathema vinyl if I can find time to write it — those reissues; they’re awesome — and Thursday, a track premiere from boozy rockers Plainride. I’ll also have a Freedom Hawk review sometime next week in addition to the Anathema, but I’m going to start preparing the Quarterly Review this coming week ahead of getting those posts up — 10 reviews a day for five days — the week starting June 27, so if I keep it a little more sparing on actual posts up next week, three or four a day instead of five, or six, that’s why. I’m not just lazy; I’m working on other stuff.

Speaking of, the job is going well, if you’re wondering. It doesn’t look like they want to shitcan me, which is important, and I was able to bring the little dog Dio to the office twice this week, so I mark that a win. Looking like they’re going to send me to San Francisco next month as well to write about a conference on semiconductors that runs from July 14-16, so you know I’ll be parlaying that to a visit to Amoeba Music and hopefully Aquarius Records too, the two of them comprising something of a record-buying Mecca I’ve been fortunate enough to stop through on more than one occasion in my life. Would be cool to find a show to hit as well. Mammatus play on July 9 with Trans Am. Just missed it. Timing is everything.

Alright, it’s just after 6PM and I’m pretty sure I’m the only person still in this office building, so time to get the hell out and go sit in traffic for an indeterminate amount of hours. I hope you have a great and safe weekend, wherever you’re at, and I hope you please take some time to check out the forum and radio stream.

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