Posted in Questionnaire on March 20th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
The Obelisk Questionnaire is a series of open questions intended to give the answerer an opportunity to explore these ideas and stories from their life as deeply as they choose. Answers can be short or long, and that reveals something in itself, but the most important factor is honesty.
Based on the Proust Questionnaire, the goal over time is to show a diverse range of perspectives as those who take part bring their own points of view to answering the same questions. To see all The Obelisk Questionnaire posts, click here.
Thank you for reading and thanks to all who participate.
The Obelisk Questionnaire: Dalton Huskin of Smoke & Sun Years
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How do you define what you do and how did you come to do it?
In its simplest form, I create. Anything I can build, make, paint, or design, I’m in. Building a fantasy world within the confines of the physical reality around us, that’s my whole goal; to play an exaggerated character of myself. I spent a lot of time in my own worlds as a kid, and I don’t think I ever stopped doing that. I think I just have a better ability now to make the world around me seem like my childhood dreams through creating, building, painting, and music. I still haven’t figured out making dragons yet, though.
Describe your first musical memory.
Listening to “These Eyes” by The Guess Who in my mom’s car. Every time I hear it I play air keyboard and push a fake button when that little guitar clank hits at the end of each phrase.
Describe your best musical memory to date.
I was playing in a metalcore band when I was 18-ish at this little coffee shop venue. It’s the middle of the afternoon, so people are just walking around the stores of the strip mall. This kid sticks his face through the gate of where we were playing and he just goes totally wide eyed, and we kind of see each other looking at each other. I like to think that was his first musical memory and he grew up to be Uli Jon Roth or something. He might have just thought we sucked and he knew he never wanted to do that, either way it’s great.
When was a time when a firmly held belief was tested?
Recording the latest Smoke single, I realized that I didn’t have to fight myself if something was just coming easily. I always had this concept that to make something worthwhile, it took hours of over thinking and work, but I had to take a step back and tell myself that simplicity is equally valid.
Where do you feel artistic progression leads?
For me it’s just being able to laugh at yourself and never taking what you did, or do, too seriously. I have developed what I’ll call “Bagger Vance Syndrome”. If you’ve seen the movie The Legend of Bagger Vance you know it’s an absurd plot but still a tear jerker… great actors doing a transcendental film about golf, set in the great depression era south, where this guy teaches life lessons to a World War I vet through the beauty of the game. At first watch, it’s a great underdog story, but when you take a step back it’s just gobbledigook. I always had that fear when it came to my own art… that someone would see it as shallow attempts at saying something profound, or worse, it’s seen as the gobbledigook it truly is. My own personal artistic progression is being able to say that yes, The Legend of Bagger Vance is a truly great heartfelt film, but also a shallow attempt at saying something profound, and gobbledigook. Being able to take a step back from something and laugh at how serious it is has been my great revelation. Make the profound, pompous claims of your art being great and important, and then laugh at how ridiculous it is to attempt to make those claims. You gotta be able to be so far up your own ass that you giggle at all the shit in there.
How do you define success?
My father and I have a running joke about how I would say, “I just want to sit in a field and be, man.” through the clouds of teenage dirt weed smoke. I didn’t realize then that I’m too manic to just sit in a field and be, but I think having the option to turn the ol’ brain off for a day and just be present without worry is my form of success. That, and a Harley pan head chopper, those are rad.
What is something you have seen that you wish you hadn’t?
The Legend of Bagger Vance. I can’t sleep at night. Is he a ghost? An angel? Some sort of astral projection of Peter J. Carrol, come to ramble the hidden knowledge behind Liber Null? Who knows.
Describe something you haven’t created yet that you’d like to create.
I’ve been working on songs with a new project called Sun Years, and I’m really excited about the direction that’s going. Smoke has another concept album I’m working on, so the nights of yelling nonsense in my basement and writing are always something I look forward to, too. I plan on making a lot of music this year. The feeling of staring at the rabbit hole and knowing I’m about to jump makes me happier than a pig in shit.
What do you believe is the most essential function of art?
I’m not sure that there is one. I mean no offense to the question when I say this, but when I’m asked a question like this I want to give some lofty answer, or at least something meaningful, but I’m not sure I’m the person that could do that. This question made me think a lot about what function art serves me. Creating art is just a way for me to escape the fact that I’m going to die, and there is eternal nothingness at the end. You fight to make something meaningful, something that will live on past your death, something that says, “I was here and I mattered! It wasn’t meaningless!”. I put on my music hat and do my little dance, playing a character of myself. I get wrapped up in this fantasy world of being a great artist, and jump down the rabbit hole. Do the bit so long you forget it’s a bit, lose yourself to it entirely and then laugh at the end of it.
Something non-musical that you’re looking forward to?
I’m getting married in October and I’m really looking forward to being at that place, at that time with everyone that I love in my life.
Posted in Whathaveyou on March 3rd, 2023 by JJ Koczan
So it starts out super nasty on guitar like some weirdo Butthole Surfers fuckall rock that still swings, and the bassline hits and it’s like Helmet but heavy and then the vocals are harsh while the guitar pulls Kyuss leads in the background and then they slow down like the stoner rock meme brought to life and remind what everybody liked about sludge rock in the first place: that it could be both. Virginia’s Smoke continue to intrigue as they follow-up their 2022 debut album, Groupthink (review here) with the new single “Scavenger,” the roughly five-point-five minutes of which are not to be fucked with. The Bandcamp page says it’s been there since Feb. 10 but I just got the email that the song had been released, so whatever, if it’s brand new or not, it’s new to me and it’s killer and that’s good enough.
Today is Bandcamp Friday and no fees and blah blah, so the timing is good, but I’m more drawn in by the shift in style from where they were on the album less than a year ago and curious as to what “Scavenger” implies as regards the progression of the band. At best, its turn toward aggressive vocals and harder-edged riffs — coinciding as they do with the bone-picking theme of the lyrics you can read below — means Smoke are even more multifaceted than they showed before and that much stronger as a band for being that much less predictable. At worst it’s a one-off and still a cool heavy tune. In other words, you don’t lose either way by checking it out.
The stream is at the bottom of this post, and all the text below comes from their Bandcamp as well, so, you know, feel free to head that way when you’re done here, if you haven’t already done so:
SMOKE – Scavenger
Scavenger starts as a high-velocity death rattle as vultures pick bones clean, screeching vocals and guitars carry the song, finishing with a slow grave-digging riff. An ode to consumers of carrion everywhere.
lyrics
Hyena walk with a vulture taste Always the aggressor but only agitates A fungus mind preys on the weak Always the victim but inherits the meek
How much should we give? Everything we have How much should we give? A little more than that
Scavenger
A psychic drain while the vampires feed Our bones are gnashing against hyena teeth Appearance over passion, dagger over sword None of the work, but all of the reward
How much should we give? Everything we have How much should we give? A little more than that
Scavenger
Written by: Smoke (2023) Lyrics: Dalton Huskin Art: Dalton Huskin Mix: Ben McLeod Master: Mikey Allred Recorded at Fainting Goat Studios in Bedford, VA
Smoke: Dalton Huskin – Guitar/Vocals Ben Gold – Lead Guitar Alex Thurson – Drums Stephen Tyree – Bass
Posted in Reviews on January 10th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
Oh, hello. I didn’t see you come in. What’s going on? Not much. You? Well, you see, it’s just another 10 records for the Quarterly Review, you know how it goes. Yup, day seven. That’s up to 70 records, and it’ll keep going for the rest of this week. Have I mentioned yet I was thinking about adding an 11th day? What can I say, some cool stuff has come along this last week and a half since I’ve been doing this. Better now than in a couple months, maybe. Anyway, make yourself comfortable. Hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading.
Winter 2023 Quarterly Review #61-70:
Jason Simon, Hindsight 2020
What this sweetly melodic and delicately arranged 2022 collection lacks in marketing — the title Hindsight 2020 is accurate in that that’s when it was mostly recorded, but ‘let’s remember an awful time’ is hardly a way to pitch an audience on a vinyl — but as Jason Simon (also Dead Meadow) languidly meanders through covers of Tom Petty (“Crawling Back to You” becomes ethereal post-rock), Jody Reynolds & Bobbie Gentry, The Gun Club, Jackson C. Frank, Bert Jansch and John Prine, the latter of whom passed away after contracting covid-19, without the lockdown from which this record probably wouldn’t exist as it does. Probably not a coincidence. On banjo for three peppered-in originals starting with a relaxed mood-setting intro, as well as guitar, vocals, Moog, bass, Juno-60, and mandolin throughout, Simon and a few companions dig into these folk roots, making them his own and creating a whole-album flow for what might in less capable hands be a hodgepodge of competing influences. As it stands, by the time the melancholy strum of “October” takes hold, Simon has long since succeeded in creating a vibe that rightly has “Ghosts Gather Now” as its centerpiece, pulling as it does from these spirits to make something of its own. 2020 sucked; nobody’s arguing. But at least in hindsight something beautiful can come out of it.
Virginian trio Smoke cast an eye toward the trailblazing heavy psych of Sungrazer on “Temple” from their early 2022 debut album, guitarist Dalton handling the melodic vocals that will soon enough grow throatier in their passionate delivery, but even more than this, Groupthink sees the band — Dalton, guitarist Ben and drummer Alex; first names only — digging full-on into turn-of-the-century-style nodding heavy, shades of Man’s Ruin-era classics from the likes of Acid King, maybe even some of Sons of Otis‘ bombed-out largesse, showing themselves filtered through a next-generational execution, varied enough so as not to be single-minded in idolatry as “Davidian” picks up energy in its late solo, the 18-minute “One Eyed King” earns its lumbering payoff and lines of floating guitar, “The Supplication of Flame” arrives based around acoustic guitar forward in the mix ahead of the electrics (at least at first) and closer “Telah” basks in a righteous stomp that underscores the point. At 58 minutes, Groupthink isn’t a minor undertaking, but it is one of 2022’s most impressive debut albums and laced with potential for what may develop in their sound. It is stronger in craft than one might initially think, and has to be to hold up all that heft in its fuzz.
Not so much ’70s-style retroism as tapping into a kind of raw, ’90s heavy rock vision — Nebula, Monster Magnet, as well as Peru and greater South America’s own storied history of fuzzmaking — Rifle‘s Repossessed is relatively rough in its production, but as in the best of cases, that becomes a part of its appeal as the Lima-based three-piece of guitarist/bassist/vocalist Alejandro Suni, guitarist Magno Mendoza and drummer Cesar Araujo ride their riffs down the highway and into a fog of tonal buzz, fervent, butt-sized low end and druggy, outsider vibes. “The Thrill is Back” struts coated in road dirt as it is, and that thrill is found likewise in the scorch-psych of “Demon Djinn” and the earlier blowout “Fiend” that follows opener “Seven Thousand Demons” and sets a bluesy lyrical foundation so that six-minute finale “Spirit Rise” seems to offer some sense of realization or, if not that, then at least acceptance of this well-baked way of life. As the band’s first release, this late-2022 seven-song/32-minute offering feels ready to be pressed up on vinyl by some discerning purveyor, if not for the underlying desert rock drive of “Madness” then surely for the swing in “Sonic Rage,” and it’s one of those records that isn’t going to speak to everyone, but is going to hit just right for some others, dug as it is into a niche between what’s come before and its own encapsulation of a red-eyed stoner future.
If there should be any doubt that Indianapolis’ Mother of Graves are schooled in the sound they’re shooting for, let the fact that Dan Swanö (Katatonia, Opeth, on into infinity) mastered the recording/mix by the band’s own Ben Sandman make it clear where their particular angle on melancholic death-doom is coming from in its grim, wintry soul-dance. Where the Shadows Adorn follows 2020’s likewise-dead-on debut, In Somber Dreams (discussed here), but the stately, poised rollout of a song like “Rain” and the subdued sections before “Of Solitude and Stone” enters its last push, has all the hallmarks of forward growth in songwriting as well as in confidence on the part of the band. Front to back, Where the Shadows Adorn is deathly in its consumption, a fresh interpretation of a moment in history when the likes of Katatonia especially but also acts like My Dying Bride and others of the Peaceville ilk were considered on the extreme end of metal despite their sometimes-grueling tempos. The question remains whether this is where Mother of Graves will reside for the duration or if, like their influences, their depressive streak will grow more melodic with age. As it stands, adorned in shadow, their emotional and atmospheric weight is darkly majestic.
This self-titled four-songer is the first release from Helsinki, Finland’s Swarm, and though it’s billed as an EP, its 28 minutes are wrought with a substantial flow and unifying melodic complexity due both to the depth of vocal complementary arrangements between singer Hilja Vedenpää and guitarist Panu Willman, as well as the intertwining of Willman and Einari Toiviainen‘s guitars atop the rolling grooves of Leo Lehtonen‘s bass and Dani Paajanen‘s drumming; the whole band operating together with a sense of purpose that goes beyond the standard ‘riff out and see what happens’ beginning of so many bands. A line of rhythmic notes atop the riff in “Nevermore” around five minutes is emblematic of the flourish the band brings to the release, and one would note the grungier float in “There Again,” and the moodier acoustics of “Frail” and the more full-on duet in the verses of closer “We Should Know” — never mind the pre-fade chug that caps or the consuming heft offsetting those verses — as further distinguishing factors. Self-released in June 2022, Swarm‘s Swarm carries the air of a precursor, and though it’s not known yet to precisely what, the note to keep eyes and ears open is well received. To put it another way, they sound very much like they know what they want to be and to accomplish as a group. If they’re heading into a debut album next, they’re ready to take on the task.
The self-titled-era Alice in Chains-style vocals on Baardvader‘s second LP, Foolish Fires, make them a ready standout from the slew of up and coming European heavy rollers, but the Den Haag trio have a distinct blend of crunch in their tone and atmosphere surrounding that make a song such as “Understand” memorable for more than just the pleading repetitions of its title in the hook. Opener “Pray” sets a hard-hitting fluidity in motion and “Illuminate” answers back as it caps side A with (dat) bass and airy guitar in an open soundscape soon to be filled with a wall o’ fuzz and more dug-in grunge spirit. As they make their way toward the louder, vocally-layered, highlight-solo finish that the 10-minutes “Echoes” provides, there’s some trace of The Machine‘s noisier affinity in their tones on “Blinded Out,” including the solo, and “Prolong Eternity” culminates with intensity leading into the already-noted closer, but “Echoes” has the throatier shouts — like “Illuminate” before it — to back its case as the destination for where they’ve been headed all along, and works to send Foolish Fires out as a triumphant demonstration of Baardvader‘s appeal, which is relatively straightforward considering how much they nod along the way, their sound sharing grunge’s ability to be aggressive without being metal, heavy without being aggressive, and something of their own that still rings familiar. They’re just beginning to realize their potential, and this record is an important step in that process.
Rest easy, you’re in capable hands. And even if you didn’t hear Love Gang‘s 2020 debut, Dead Man’s Game (review here), the fact that the Denver four-piece went down to Austin, Texas, to record with Gian Ortiz of Amplified Heat producing tells you what you need to know about their boogie on Meanstreak. And what you need to know is largely that you want to hear it. As one might expect, ’70s vibes pervade the eight-tracker, which puts the guitars forward and de-emphasizes some of the organ and flute one might’ve encountered on their first LP, saving it for side B’s “Shake This Feelin’,” the six-minute stretchout “Headed Down to Mexico,” and the closing “Fade Away,” where it ties together with the thrust of earlier cuts like the circuitous “Blinded by Fear” (not an At the Gates cover, though that would be fun), or “Deathride” and the title-track, which shove shove shove as the opening pair so “Bad News” can complete the barnburning salvo. Tucked away before the finale is “Same Ol’ Blues,” a harmonica-laced acoustic cut dug out of your cool uncle’s record collection so that some day, if you’re lucky, some shitbird younger relation of yours may come along and find it here in your own record collection, thus perpetuating the cycle of boogie into perpetuity. Humanity should be so lucky.
The first and probably not last Astral Magic release of 2023, We Are Stardust, finds project-spearhead Santtu Laakso — songwriting, synth, bass, vocals, mixing, cover art, etc. — working mostly in solo fashion. Jonathan Segel of Camper Van Beethoven/Øresund Space Collective adds guitar and violin (he also mastered the recording), and Samuli Sailo plays guitar on “Drop It,” but the 11-song/60-minute space rocker bears the hallmarks of Laakso‘s Hawkwindian craft, the songs rife with layers of synth and effects behind the forward vocals, programmed drums behind bolstering the krautrock feel. There’s a mellower jam like “Bottled Up Inside,” which puts the guitar solo where voice(s) might otherwise be, and “Out in the Cold” touches loosely on Pink Floyd without giving over entirely to that impulse or meandering too far from its central progression, letting the swirling “Lost Planet” and “Violet Sky” finish with a return to the kosmiche of the opening title-track and “The Simulacra,” which feels almost like a return to ground after the proto-New Wave-y “They Walk Among Us,” though “ground” should be considered on relative terms there because by most standards, Astral Magic start, end, and remain sonically in the farther far out.
Thank You Lord for Satan, Thank You Lord for Satan
Self-recorded exploratory songcraft is writ large across the Buh Records self-titled debut from Thank You Lord for Satan — the Lima, Peru, two-piece of Paloma La Hoz (ex-Mitad Humana) and Henry Gates (Resplandor) — and the effect throughout the born-during-pandemic-lockdown eight-song offering is a kind of poised intimacy, artsy and performative as La Hoz handles most of but not all the lead vocals with Gates joining in, as on the moody shoegazer “Wet Morning” ahead of the pointedly Badalamenti-esque “Before EQ1.” Opener “A Million Songs Ago” is a rocker, and “Wet Morning” too in at least its including drums, but that’s only a piece of what Thank You Lord for Satan are digging into, as “Isolation” feels duly empty and religious and “Conversations al Amanecer” and “When We Dance” has a kind of electronic-inflected pop-psych at its core, willfully contrasting the folkish “Sad Song” (with Gates‘ lead vocal) and “Devine Destiny,” a side B counterpart to “Isolation” that reveals the hidden structure beneath all this go-wherever-ism, or at very least ends the album on a suitably contemplative note, some electronic snare-ish sound there rising in the mix before being cast off into the ether with the rest of everything.
Consider this less a review of The Corpse Vanishes, which is but a single Dec. 2022 three-songer among a glut of releases — including at least one more recent — from Herndon, Virginia’s Druid Stone available through their Bandcamp. The ethic of the band, as led by guitarist Demeter Capsalis, would seem to be as bootleg as possible. Shows are recorded and presented barebones. Rehearsal room demos like “The Corpse Vanishes” and “Night of the Living Dead” — which jams its way into “What Child is This” — here are as raw as raw gets, and in the 20-minute included jam on Electric Wizard‘s “Mother of Serpents,” which was recorded live on Dec. 2 and issued four days later, the power goes out for about three of the first five minutes and Capsalis, who has already explained that most of the band had other stuff to do and that’s why he’s jamming with two friends for the full set, has to keep it going on stage banter alone. Most bands would never release that kind of thing. I respect the shit out of it. Not just because I dig bootlegs — though I do — but because in this age of infinite everything, why not release everything? Don’t you know the fucking planet’s dying? Why the hell would you keep secrets? Who has time for that? Fuck it. Put it all out there. Absolutely. Whether you dig into The Corpse Vanishes or any other of the slew, you might just find that whatever you listen to afterward seems unnecessarily polished. And maybe it is.
