Natas, Ciudad de Brahman (1999)

I’ve made no attempt to hide my fandom for Los Natas over the years. Their 1996 debut, Delmar, has closed weeks on two separate occasions (see here and here), and stands among my personal favorite records, period. House burning, only time to save the Kyuss or the Natas, I pick the latter every time, and not just because I can re-buy the Kyuss records either. I was fortunate enough to see them live at Roadburn 2010, as much as one could see anything with the room so dark, and between chasing down their rare-cuts offerings like Rutation (review here) and putting their last album, 2009’s Nuevo Orden de la Libertad (review here), among the top of that year’s best — a trend that has continued as guitarist/vocalist Sergio Chotsourian has gone on to release three albums with his new band, Ararat, in the years since — the nerding-out has really only continued. As I check the mail to look for a Sergio Ch. solo record to review, I doubt it will abate anytime soon.

So when I tell you that 1999’s Ciudad de Brahman is a special album, understand I’m speaking as a fan of the band’s work front to back. Progressed from the laid back desert sands of Delmar to something harder-edged but still offering plenty of serenity, the 14-track offering would set up the rawer heavy style that began to show itself from their third record, 2002’s Corsario Negro, through the subsequent 2006 outing El Hombre Montaña and of course on El Nuevo Orden de la Libertad as well, the quiet, jammy explorations having found an outlet in the interim in other releases like Toba Trance I and II and München Sessions, all of which were issued between 2003 and 2005.

Like its predecessor, Ciudad de Brahman was put out in North America by Man’s Ruin Records, and between its instrumental stretches, songs like “Brisa del Desierto,” “Meteoro 2028,” the stomping “Alohawaii” and its eight-minute instrumental/longest track opener “Carl Sagan,” Natas‘ second (also their final before adding the Los) full-length is a rich summary of the varied sound they’d come to hone over their years together, Chotsourian and drummer Walter Broide working with a couple different bassists, including Miguel Fernandez here and Gonzalo “Crudo” Villagra in the band’s final (to-date) incarnation. As always, I hope you enjoy.

—

Took a full day off yesterday, which is something I don’t ordinarily allow myself to do, but there was a lot of travel involved. In the morning, The Patient Mrs., the little dog Dio and I rolled down from Massachusetts to Connecticut to do her family’s Thanksgiving dinner, and last night, from there, down to New Jersey, where we’ll essentially repeat the process today. Back north tomorrow.

It would be fine, but I’m having a flareup in my right ankle — you might recall I fell early this year, but that’s more a symptom than the root cause — that is remarkably painful and has kind of played havoc on the idea of walking, which, you know, one might do on a family holiday occasion, even if it’s just to the kitchen and back. Yesterday was an adventure, I expect today will be likewise. Every day is in one way or another.

I guess that’s my way of noting why I’m closing out the week early today, because basically I’m on my way out the door and over to see my family, with perhaps a quick stop off for a coffee and an ace bandage along the way. Monday, check back for Chron Goblin‘s new video, which I’m sure you’ve already seen but is fun nonetheless, and a full-album stream from We Lost the Sea. Tuesday, the Readers Poll goes up, so I guess it’s the kickoff for list season. Might try to do year’s-best-art in the next week or so. Still have a bunch of reviews waiting as well for Bevar Sea, Kind, Bedroom Rehab Corporation, and so on. I’ll do my best to squeeze in as much as I can when I can.

Thanks for reading, have a great and safe weekend, and please check out the forum and radio stream.

The Obelisk Forum

The Obelisk Radio

Altamont, Civil War Fantasy (1998)

If you don’t know Altamont, a side-project led by Dale Crover of the Melvins with Acid King‘s Joey Osbourne on drums and Dan Southwick (ex-Acid King) on bass, you’d have to be forgiven. It’s been a decade since their last album, 2005’s The Monkee’s Uncle, came out on Ipecac-offshoot AntAcidAudio, and their prior label, Man’s Ruin Records, went out of business in 2001. To the best of my knowledge, their 1997 debut EP, Wanted Dead or Alive, has never been reissued, but their first LP, 1998’s Civil War Fantasy, and their 2001 sophomore outing, Our Darling, were compiled onto a limited box set late in 2014 after being remastered by Crover and Toshi Kasai, and certainly Crover has been plenty busy with the Melvins‘ various incarnations in the last 10 years, also taking part in Shrinebuilder during their run, so I can’t imagine the guy is exactly flush with spare time. Still, to listen to Civil War Fantasy, the project certainly has its merits in showcasing Crover‘s songwriting, and though a weirdo chugger like “Whips” had some Melvins-ness to it, the vibe overall was different enough to warrant distinction. Presented in the then-style of Man’s Ruin with the front cover on the back tray of the jewel case — taking advantage of every inch available for artwork — it’s remained an album dug into its niche worthy of taking on by those who’d either happen upon it or purposefully seek it out either via the Melvins, Acid King or producer (also organist) Billy Anderson, maybe seeing it on a list alongside his other works of that era with Sleep and Neurosis.

However one might find it, Civil War Fantasy proves a worthy find, from the Jimi Hendrix cover “Exy Rider” to the noisy grit of “Black Tooth Powder,” an underlying straightforwardness of form allowing Crover, Osbourne and Southwick the space to work out either an early-Alice Cooper fetish or tap into ZZ Top as they willed, all the while retaining a post-grunge crunch that would continue to evolve one of the staples of heavy rock that remains prevalent to this day. Of its pre-digital age, for sure, but not necessarily dated either purposefully or inadvertently, the album offers an unpretentious take with some loosely experimental flourish that keeps things interesting for the duration. Altamont may have wound up something of a footnote in one of riffery’s most populous family trees — I’m pretty sure “Melvins” is its own plant species in that regard — but for its motoring catchiness and weirdo edge, Altamont‘s Civil War Fantasy is a footnote that begs investigation all the same.

As always, I hope you enjoy.

—

I would say this week was one for the ages, but the truth of it is they all have been since about late May when I started working again. It’s been a rush for time ever since, and either my nights are spent writing or trying to catch up on stuff like email, and even downloading releases of stuff I want to check out, let alone getting to the actual, physical mail, is something that hangs over my head. I’m not saying it’s a hardship — well, I guess I am, but only in terms of not having enough time or energy for it, not in the people-sending-me-stuff part; that part I like quite a bit — but I am saying I’m frickin’ tired. All the time.

Getting sick last week was a bummer as well. It carried over well into Wednesday and even a bit yesterday, but I’m more or less back at full speed — much as I’m ever at “speed” — today, so that’s good. And work is good. I feel like I’m decently settled in. I wish I was about a decade less jaded than I am, but one could apply that to any number of existential facets.

But, I’m going down to Jersey this weekend to see family — what could be more restorative than an additional four hours of weekend road time? — and going out tonight to catch Reign of Zaius in Worcester, so I expect that will be good. Look out for that review on Monday or Tuesday, followed by reviews for Bloodcow, Sons of Huns, and hopefully if there’s time, the Effervescent vinyl from All Them Witches. I also still have Radio Adds to do though, so a lot depends on time and energy, which if I was a betting man, is exactly what I’d bet against me having by the time the end of the week rolls around. Still, one does what one can.

I’m gonna get some Chinese food and then start driving. I hope you have a great and safe weekend. Please check out the forum and radio stream.

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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.

The Obelisk Forum

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Ché, Sounds of Liberation (2000)

By 2000, Brant Bjork was half-a-decade out of Kyuss. In 1997, he’d released his first album as the drummer for Fu Manchu, The Action is Go (he’d also produced their 1994 debut, No One Rides for Free), and in 1999, he released his own solo debut in the form of the landmark Jalamanta, bringing his funked-out, soulful desert rock songwriting front and center with laid back tones and nodding cool that dripped from the platter front to back. When Ché issued 2000’s Sounds of Liberation, Bjork was still with Fu Manchu — his final album with them would be California Crossing in 2001 — and it’s clear part of the drive was to be a bandleader in his own right. Having drummed in Kyuss and Fu Manchu and performed everything on his solo record, Ché was an outfit that could get out on stage and perform in a traditional band sense, and that seemed to be the idea behind it.

Bringing together Bjork in guitar and vocals, a post-Queens of the Stone Age (also ex-Kyuss) Alfredo Hernandez on drums and Unida‘s Dave Dinsmore on bass, Ché was an exciting if short-lived prospect. Man’s Ruin, which also put out Jalamanta the year before, issued Sounds of Liberation, and even 15 years later it sounds like an album with considerable promise. In light of what Brant Bjork and the Low Desert Punk Band — which also includes Dinsmore — were able to accomplish with 2014’s Black Power Flower (review here), Sounds of Liberation seems like a precursor to a similar kind of expression, Bjork‘s songwriting, tone and voice very much at the fore, but well complemented in a fashion that, at least going by the sound of it, seemed sustainable and tour-ready. That didn’t turn out to be the case, but with tracks like the jamming “Pray for Rock” and ultra-swinging “Blue Demon,” Sounds of Liberation stands the test of time. It didn’t prove to be the kind of rock and roll freedom Bjork was looking for, and the album has become kind of a footnote in the history of desert rock, but there’s nothing about the results that didn’t work.

Sounds of Liberation was reissued in 2008 by Bjork‘s Low Desert Punk Recordings and there are still copies around for those who’d find them. Hope you enjoy.

—

Still in Jersey. Going to Brooklyn in a little bit to see Conan, then up to Connecticut immediately thereafter. Plan is to drive back to Massachusetts during the day tomorrow, then up to New Hampshire to see Gozu. Reviews of both of those and the new The Machine album at some point next week, but I start work on Tuesday, so I honestly can’t say when or what that’s going to look like.

I’m a little nervous to start work again, but I think it will be good. I’ll have my own office and a little space to figure things out, so that’s good, and you know I’m going to do as much Obelisk stuff as I’m able all the while, whatever it costs me in mental stability or hours of sleep. If I could make a living doing this site, I would. Nobody’s cut me that check yet, so off to work I go. I’m happy to have a job.

Monday is Memorial Day, and I might review the Conan show, but there probably won’t be much more going on than that — four bands on the bill, so I’m sure that will be plenty — and Tuesday, since it’s my first day at the new office, I’ll have a podcast up and maybe a news story or something but that’s probably it. I said the same thing last week, but I ask you to please bear with me while I get settled. It might take a little time.

I hope you have a great and safe weekend. If you’re in the States, enjoy the extra day off. Be safe and thanks for reading. Please check out the forum and radio stream.

The Obelisk Forum

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Sons of Otis, Spacejumbofudge (1996)

What’s not to like about Sons of Otis? Putting on the Toronto trio’s 1996 debut LP, Spacejumbofudge, is like listening to Monster Magnet at half-speed — an engrossing murk of tone and gurgling heavy psychedelia that feels like it’s swallowing audience and universe alike. The core of the band’s sound has always been slow, lurching riffs and expansive fuzz, the bellowed vocals taking a back seat to the all-consuming low-end. Their nod is primal, and as Spacejumbofudge proves, that’s been the idea the whole time.

Man’s Ruin Records picked up the band for the 1999 release of their second album, Templeball, and did a reissue of Spacejumbofudge with Frank Kozik art and a partially revamped tracklist the next year. When that label folded, Sons of Otis issued their third album, Songs for Worship, via The Music Cartel on Sept. 11, 2001 — timing is everything — and were one of several acts to be picked up by Small Stone, in good company with Acid King, Dozer, Natas and (The Men of) Porn. Their fourth, X, followed in 2005, and 2009’s Exiled (review here) and 2012’s Seismic (review here) affirmed their reign among the most stoned of the stoners, guitarist Ken Baluke‘s branded Oxfuzz effects swirl making an impression wholly distinct from the rising tide of heaviness around them.

Some six albums earlier, it’s maybe not such a shocker that Spacejumbofudge is rawer than the likes of Seismic, but a lot of what would typify Sons of Otis‘ sound over the better part of the next two decades is right there on the first album, even if it’s not as jammed out. Baluke, bassist Frank Sargeant and drummer Ryan Aubin are reportedly no longer with Small Stone, but there’s nothing to necessarily indicate they’re done as a band. While it’s been three years already since Seismic was first issued, I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find Sons of Otis rising again sooner or later with another massive wall of fuzz built up behind them. Here’s hoping, anyway.

—

Now, I don’t believe in fate or the tempting thereof, but last Friday, spiritually exhausted and physically injured, I had the gall to say this: “What happens next? What shitty misadventure awaits? I don’t know and I don’t really care.”

Once again, I don’t believe in tempting fate, but Friday evening I started getting reports that Ed Barnard of Doommantia had died, I put together a tribute to the guy and the reports turned out on Monday to be wrong — I’m glad he’s still alive, and I certainly felt like a jackass for saying otherwise — and in the interim, I got call Friday from my family in New Jersey that my 99-year-old grandmother was in the emergency room, in and out of lucidity and I should probably think of heading down.

It had been less than a week since I was last in New Jersey, and if you’re not from this part of the world, let me explain to you that it’s a minimum four-hour ride from where I live in Massachusetts. A not inconsiderable trip, despite the frequency with which I make it. I’m not 20 years old anymore. I get fucking tired. But it’s my grandmother who, again, is 99, so what am I going to do? Be like, “No, I’m beat and I can barely walk and I’m staying home?” Of course not.

Last Saturday morning, The Patient Mrs. and I hightailed it to Jersey, and I spent two nights at the hospital, Saturday and Sunday overnight, with about two hours of sleep between them while my grandmother, not recognizing me or my sister who also stayed, accused us of stealing from her and redoing her house — it was the hospital room — without her permission. It feels like a complete-enough review of the experience to say it sucked. Monday she went home and has been receiving in-home care since. The Patient Mrs. — who was brilliant and set up said in-home care and is wonderful and whom I’m so lucky to have in my life — and I were at her house, and grandma still didn’t know who I was. “Who do I have in my family that’s an editor and has a beard and hair like yours?” I could only point to myself.

What a shitter.

I slept as hard as I’ve ever slept in my adult life on Monday night, and Tuesday we came back to Massachusetts because The Patient Mrs. was — news to me as of the day before — flying to Austin, Texas, to visit a friend early on Wednesday. Probably better she didn’t tell me, to be honest, because it just would’ve been one more thing to worry about. In a welcome home fitting to my entire experience living in this area, I got a ticket en route to the airport in an empty (apart from the officer and I) speed-trap highway tunnel where the limit dropped to 35 miles an hour. Fucking perfect. I didn’t even answer the cop when he gave me the thing, just rolled up my window and proceeded on to terminal B. She comes back tomorrow, does The Patient Mrs., and I shit you not I haven’t left the house since I got back Wednesday afternoon except to get mail and take out and bring back in the recycling containers. I’m 33 years old. I’d blame the weather, which is shit forever, or the fact that I’m broke, but that’s not even it. I just don’t have anywhere to go. Unless, of course, you count New Jersey.

In Lord of the Rings, in one of the appendices it talks about how Arwen goes into the forest, I think at Cerin Amroth, and just sits there long enough that she becomes a tree. I feel like I’m about to become my couch. Like father, like son, but that’s a whole different story.

Not looking for sympathy on any of this, just trying to tell you what’s up and clear my head. A while ago I asked on Thee Facebooks about longer vs. shorter reviews and some guy said, “Sometimes I feel like I’m reading your diary. Less of that.” Ha.

Hey, seven posts today! Look at that. Have a great weekend. Smiley face.

Forum, Radio.

The Obelisk Forum

The Obelisk Radio

Brant Bjork, Jalamanta (1999)

Yeah, I know I’ve written about this record a lot over the years. Some albums you just keep going back to, and for me, Brant Bjork‘s 1999 solo debut, Jalamanta, is one of those. Released by Man’s Ruin Records, it was the first time the then-Fu Manchu drummer had stepped out to do something on his own, and the vibe he captured on these tracks continues to resonate, songs like “Automatic Fantastic,” “Defender of the Oleander,” “Too Many Chiefs… Not Enough Indians” and of course “Low Desert Punk” becoming staple examples of what desert rock has become, but the way Bjork builds off those sounds, the low-end funk of “Cobra Jab,” the primo rock of “Toot” (on which Mario Lalli makes a guest appearance), and so on, it makes the listening experience that much richer in taking the album on front-to-back. The Man’s Ruin bio for it called it, “12 tracks of ghetto vibe wonder,” which is fair enough, but it’s the individual mash of influences and Bjork‘s willingness to account for them all while making them his own that results in both the vibe and the wonder, ghetto or not.

Jalamanta has been reissued a couple times through Bjork‘s own Duna Records imprint since the dissolution of Man’s Ruin, and rightfully so. It remains a vital piece of his discography, and the one-man jams he sets up on songs like “Sun Brother” and “Let’s Get Chinese Eyes” go far in setting the course for what his songwriting produces to this day. When it originally came out, in Oct. 1999, Bjork was already several years removed from his tenure in Kyuss, though he’d also appeared alongside former Kyuss guitarist Josh Homme on Desert Sessions Vol. 5 and 6, also released by Man’s Ruin. Fu Manchu, whose ranks he’d joined prior to 1997’s The Action is Go, were just months away from putting out King of the Road, and in 2000, Bjork would unite with Alfredo Hernandez, who replaced him in Kyuss and had just finished playing with Queens of the Stone Age, and Unida‘s Dave Dinsmore in the short-lived trio Ché, whose only album, Sounds of Liberation, presaged some of what Bjork‘s songwriting would manifest with some of his backing bands, be it The Bros. on 2007’s Somera Sól or the currently-active Low Desert Punk Band, whose Black Power Flower (review here) was released this year on Napalm Records and in whose lineup Bjork has reunited with Dave Dinsmore.

For me, Jalamanta has always been a summer album, but I hope you’ll indulge the bit of climatic wishful thinking on my part, and please enjoy.

—

Quick week, or maybe I’m just still recovering from Thanksgiving last week/weekend. Either way, we’re starting to wind down the year, so in addition to the usual bout of reviews and such — I think I’m going to go see Kind in Allston next week, and I’ll be at at least one of the two YOB shows in Brooklyn next weekend, if not both — I’ll be starting wrapup coverage, lists and such. Putting up the Readers Poll on Monday was just the start, and huge thanks to everyone who’s submitted a list so far for that, but starting next week we’ll dig deeper into what will probably still just be a fraction of how much I’d actually like to do. I also need to get my own top albums of the year together, which I’ve been putting off though I think I have the top five in place and proper order.

I teased a year-end podcast as well, and I’ll have that coming soon too, though it would have to be 10 hours long to cover all the excellent stuff that came out this year — and I promise you I’m not going to do a 10-hour podcast. I’ll whittle it down as best as I can, and even if it’s not next week, it’ll be up sometime soon. Obviously before the New Year, and likely before Xmas as well.

This week, I not only flaked on posting the Alunah interview, because I suck, but reviewing the Wounded Giant/Goya split as well. I’ll attempt to correct, but the stacks of CDs people have sent in sitting on my desk is starting to weigh pretty heavy on my soul as we get down to the wire on 2014, so other stuff might have to take a backseat for a bit. I’d love to find some way to do a roundup and give some cursory glance at records, but I’m not sure what that looks like or how it would come together in a way that doesn’t destroy all of my available time. It’s not something I’ve ever been able to make function, and I’ve tried. I still try from time to time. Not enough hours in the day for all the rock and roll, and though I work against it, I continue to need at least a little sleep each night.

First World problems, I guess, and there’s been plenty lately to remind me of just how privileged an existence I lead, despite all my miserable-bastard mopery. I hope wherever you’re at, you can feel safe.

Be well, have a great weekend and please check out the forum and radio stream.

The Obelisk Forum

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Acid King, Busse Woods (1999)

In terms of the sheer “fuck yeah!” factor, Acid King‘s Busse Woods is one of the best stoner rock records ever made. A monster of classic riffage, it was the San Francisco trio’s 1999 sophomore outing after 1995′ Zoroaster debut, recorded by Billy Anderson and released by Man’s Ruin Records. Small Stone rightly stepped in and did a reissue in 2004 prior to releasing the band’s third album, III, in 2005, and with cuts like “Carve the Five,” “Electric Machine,” “Silent Circle,” “Drive Fast, Take Chances” and their eerie take on “39 Lashes” from Jesus Chris Superstar, it remains a paragon of all that is riff-led and virtuous and heavy, rife with timeless nod, warm tone and a dropped-out-of-life atmosphere. My biggest surprise in closing out the week with it is that I haven’t already done so.

To mark the 10th anniversary of the album — now over five years ago — I did an interview with guitarist/vocalist Lori S. in which she talked about the Cook County, Illinois, preserve from which the full-length takes its name and its relation to her own growing up:

Thinking back at Busse Woods or Ned Brown Forest Preserve, it’s hard to believe we weren’t all in prison or dead. This place was where bored suburban teenagers hung out ’cause that’s what we did! Most of my memories are hanging out with my high school pal John Cesak. He was the big drug dealer back in the day and we would go there pull in open the trunk, crank Black Sabbath and sell nickel bags! It was like a flea market for drugs, lids, purple microdot, black beauties HELL YEAH! Hanging out, smoking and playin’ Frisbee. Total Dazed and Confused. 

Acid King are set to release a new LP in 2015 through Svart. Also recorded by Billy Anderson, it’ll be their first since III and to say it’s one of my most anticipated releases for next year would probably be short-selling the nerditude with which I’m looking forward to hearing their new songs, some of which they’ve been playing live now for a while. Still, whatever they may have in store, Busse Woods remains an unfuckwithable monument to Sabbath-worship that only gets richer with age.

I hope you enjoy.

—

No lie, part of my motivation in picking Acid King to end the week was because of the righteous manner in which the San Francisco Giants dispatched the Cardinals to advance to the World Series, but Busse Woods is an album I go back to pretty regularly. Plus, I’m cutting out a little early this afternoon, and as Lori explains above, it’s a great one for slacking off. The Patient Mrs. and I have some friends coming from out of town tonight, and tomorrow is Clamfight, Wizard Eye, Faces of Bayon and Wizard Eye in Worcester, so it should be a pretty full weekend. One which, it would seem, I’m eager to get started.

On Monday, I’ll have a review of that show, and Tuesday a writeup for the new John Wilkes Booth record — and if the timing works out, I’ll have that Lowrider interview up sometime in there too — but Tuesday night, I’m headed out to meet up with the Kings Destroy guys. Their tour with Radio Moscow, Bang and Pentagram begins on Thursday in Chicago, and I’ll be along for the entirety of the trip once again. Very much looking forward to getting back out with those guys and seeing places I’ve never seen before, starting with Chicago, as it happens, which to date I’ve only driven through en route elsewhere.

Like this past Spring, I’ll have my camera and my laptop along for the trip, and writeups on the shows and the travel over the next week-plus as we make our way through the 10 shows in the Midwest and the East Coast. More to come.

I hope you have a great and safe weekend and that if you checked out the podcast that just went up, you enjoy that as well. Please check out the forum and radio stream.

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Goatsnake, I (1999)

Essential heavy. Also known as Goatsnake Vol. 1, Vol. 1, Goatsnake I and probably two or three other titles by now, the 1999 debut from Goatsnake, I, remains a classic within heavy rock and roll. The smooth, attitude-laden crooning of Pete Stahl, the Sunn-toned riffs of Greg Anderson, thick roll from Guy Pinhas and wide, huge-sounding cymbals from Greg Rogers all aligned just perfectly to make the album not only one of the best records Man’s Ruin ever put out, but one of the finest releases in the genre, period. From its nonsensical cover art — something Southern Lord‘s reissue would change when pairing I with the subsequent 2000 EP, Dog Days in ’04 — to the hooks of “Slippin’ the Stealth” and “What Love Remains,” it’s an album the influence of which continues to resonate and one that only grows in status with the passing of time.

Goatsnake have been on my mind, with the rumor of new material in the works — pictures posted of the band writing — and their confirmation for the 2015 Maryland Deathfest, the Southwest Terror Fest in October, etc., so paying I a visit doesn’t seem out of line. At the very least, it’s a perfect hot weather album. The band haven’t posted any sort of schedule on a release or anything that I know of, and whatever they put out next will be their first offering since the 2004 EP, Trampled under Hoof, which followed 2000’s second album, Flower of Disease, but I know I’ll be interested to hear what they come up with and how on earth they might sound, given all the years that’ve passed between then and now, Anderson‘s progression with SunnO))), and so on. Time and riffs will tell.

Though they’ve played at this point a handful of shows since first getting semi-reunited in 2010, I’ve yet to see Goatsnake live (I did interview Greg Anderson about the reunion at the time). When it finally happens, they’ll be a big name to cross off the list, and an enduring affection for I is a huge part of why. Hope you enjoy it.

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When I finish this, I’m going to go back upstairs, grab my pillow and a couple packs of gum which I forgot to bring down, and head south to New Jersey for the weekend to see family. I was looking around for a show to hit tomorrow night in New York and didn’t see anything. Would be good to get out. I think I’ve just had residual exhaustion from the move, and really before that, but it’s been a long time. I broke my rule about staying in the house for two days straight this week, which was a bummer, but I figured four hours’ highway time this evening would balance things out — especially if by “balance things out” I mean continue to drain my energy and prevent me from feeling like I’m getting settled into the area that I’ve called home for a year and still have no idea to get around in. Feeling groovy.

Whatever, at least baseball’s back on.

So yeah, Jersey this weekend, then back on Sunday. I thought about hanging out a little longer while I basically kill time waiting for The Patient Mrs. to return from her month-long trip to Greece — she gets back next Saturday — but better to come home. I spend less money here than I do in New Jersey. Or at least it feels that way. If you count buying this townhouse, those statistics probably go right out the window. Would take a hell of a lot of alfredo dinners to catch up to a 30-year mortgage, though I’m sure I’ll try.

Thanks to everybody who shared the Sleep single this afternoon or took the time to read the post with it. I’m not sure I would’ve, so if you didn’t, no worries, but yeah. That was some cool news to get out of the blue, though it effectively ended my day. I was all set to post another review and then it was like, “Why on earth would I ever attempt to follow a new Sleep song with anything and expect anyone to read it?” I had no answer, so I made lunch instead. Win win, really.

On Monday, I’ve got a video premiere from Grifter coming, so look out for that. They picked what I think is one of the most interesting songs on their new album, The Return of the Bearded Brethren (review forthcoming), and made a clip for it that sort of inadvertently emphasizes a lot of what I like about the band. There’s a bit to talk about with it, which will be cool. I’ll also have reviews of Rodeo Drive and Methra, whose tape got the shaft this afternoon when that Sleep track hit, and since it felt so good to hook up my stereo this week, probably some more vinyl as well. I’ve got a few records stacked up waiting for words. It just wouldn’t feel like a week if I wasn’t lagging behind on basically everything.

I hope you have an excellent weekend and that all is well and full of joy and loud, heavy riffs where you are. If you see some longhair jerk in a Volvo on I-95 bobbing his head like a fool and singing along to Parliament records this weekend, yeah, that’s probably me. Feel free to pass on the right or run me off the road or whatever.

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