Posted in Reviews on August 24th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
Between scorched-earth boogie and classic heavy rock, just the tiniest undercurrent of sludge-punk impulse, and South American folk-prog — and that’s just on “Ritual por la Eternidad” — Rito Verdugo‘s second full-length, Kamikaze Boom, lives up to its title when it comes to intensity. Much of the eight-song/34-minute Necio Records long-player finds the Peruvian four-piece bashing away with speed and impressive control, following their four-song 2020 EP, Post-Primatus (review here), and 2018’s Cosmos long-player with a collection that’s no less about breadth than rush when taken in balance.
Songs like the opener “El Despertar,” “Apocalyptus” and the later “Viento Divino” careen around deceptively thick riffing, the middle of them head-spinning in the vein of modern prog metal, but as the title-track departs its sprint in favor of a jazzier buildup, twists and turns with purpose while helping to build the momentum that carries Rito Verdugo from one end of the outing to the other, it is brash in the doing but backed by enough chops in terms of technique to pull it off. They’re the kind of band other bands watch on stage and either hate or admit to being impressed by.
Comprised of guitarists Rodrigo Chávez (also vocals) and Alvaro Gonzales del Valle, bassist Carlos del Castillo and drummer Luis Rodríguez, they aren’t rushed so much in the execution — that is, the album doesn’t sound cheap or unconsidered — but in the tempos of the material itself, they play heavy and they play fast. Particularly coming after the EP, which was made during covid lockdown, it is a full-sounding, linear listening experience. Each song will leave individual bruises, sure, but the album is meant to be taken as a whole, front to back, as presented.
And realizing that underscores the intention behind the entire affair, which in combination with the roughness of some of the fuzz — as “El Despertar” bulls in the china shop of riff rock at the start of the record, it does so with a tonal thickness and character that wouldn’t have been out of place coming from mid-’90s C.O.C. — and while Peru and greater South America generally have a rich history of heavy and underground music scenes, doom, stoner, psych, garage and the like, Rito Verdugo seem to be going too fast to care one way or the other about where they fit stylistically. That suits the songs well too, as “Kamikaze Boom” almost can’t help take some influence from surf in its lead guitar spacing out circa three minutes — just before the break — and noodling in that break with vocals overtop like ‘here’s this peaceful moment isn’t it nice’ with only the drums foretelling the slam back to speed that’s about to take place.
The title-track and others benefit widely from what comes through as a relatively open creative process, not just to weirdo sounds outside the heavy norm — there actually isn’t a lot of experimentalism as regards arrangements; guitars, bass, drums, vocals; there aren’t even keyboards — but to exploring where a given part actually wants to go, as in the galloping verse of “Ataque Shimpu,” with the falsetto vocal from Chávez like his voice is trying to dance on top of the angular progression it’s topping. Fuzzy, hooky, all-go, “Ataque Shimpu” picks up from the still-rousing but slower “Apocalyptus,” which puts the vocals forward in its first half amid dizzying turns that would make The Atomic Bitchwax proud and ends with a crash sample that might be from Contra or something else of the 8-bit era, maybe Atari rather than NES. I don’t know, but that brief split lets “Ataque Shimpu” begin its shuffle with a clear head and chorus push, fading at its conclusion into “Ritual por la Eternidad,” which is the longest inclusion at 5:36, the fifth of eight tracks, and the first time Rito Verdugo genuinely slow down on the record.
Airy notes of guitar strum out beneath an initial layered verse, the nod rising in volume behind as the open verse solidifies into the chorus — in Spanish like the rest but easier to follow when it’s slower — turning back to make a melodic highlight of the second verse before a shout marks the transition into the gallop that takes hold for the remainder of the track. It was not quite half a song, then, that the speed was set aside. It’s not much, but it’s enough to call it dynamic, especially — again — when taking on the album in its entirety. “Viento Divino” breezes in with hints of NWOBHM in its guitar intro that stretches into a nod before sprawling out echoing layers of verse lyrics, bursting, bouncing and pivoting to a degree that must have been overwhelming even in the making since they shift into a quieter midsection before the shout-topped onslaught in the second half leads to the quiet finish, which feels long on a song that’s under four minutes, but is important in what it brings to the atmosphere of Kamikaze Boom, so much emphasis otherwise placed on the explosiveness of the songs.
To wit, the penultimate “Vagabundo” answers “Viento Divino” with gusto and full fuzz, nestling into a comfortable groove that on many albums would still count as fast, and injecting a bit more fun into the proceedings ahead of the bikerism that closes with “Aplastando a las Ratas,” one last barnburner to get the point across that Rito Verdugo really hate that barn. Where “Vagabundo” had shades of cosmic acceleration commonly attributed to an influence from Slift or King Gizzard, the finale makes that charge more terrestrial, building up to its speed-at-night verse riff with classic metal poise and riding that riff headfirst (helmet on; please listen responsibly) into a section of last solo shred that caps with a sudden stop.
Because I guess when you’ve torn ass around for the last half-hour plus, maybe the big rock finish becomes superfluous. Fair enough as Rito Verdugo leave nothing unsaid or wanting by the time they’re done, letting the physicality of spirit of their work stand for itself. Which it does. And then it runs around in circles for a few minutes — purposefully, mind you — because it needs the sensory engagement. They’re not speed rock, that’s a different thing. But speed is a major asset across Kamikaze Boom, and put to riotous use.
Posted in Reviews on December 17th, 2021 by JJ Koczan
Behold, the last day of the Quarterly Review. For a couple weeks, anyhow. I gotta admit, even with the prospect of doing it all again next month looming over my head, this QR has been strikingly easy to put together. Yeah, some of that is because of back-end conveniences in compiling links, images and embeds, prep work done ahead of time, and so on, but more than that it’s because the music is good. And if you know anything about a QR, you know I like to treat myself on the last day. Today is not at all an exception in that regard. Accordingly, I won’t delay, except to say thanks again for reading and following along if you have been. I know my own year-end list won’t be the same for having done this, and I hope the same for you.
Quarterly Review #41-50:
Kanaan, Earthbound
F-U-Z-Z! Putting the jazzy drive they showcased on 2020’s Odense Sessions on hold, Oslo trio Kanaan — guitarist/percussionist Ask Vatn Strøm (guitar, percussion, noise), Ingvald André Vassbø (drums, percussion, Farfisa) and Eskild Myrvoll (bass, synth, Mellotron, some guitar) — get down to the business of riffs and shred on the clearly-purposefully-titled Earthbound, still touching on heavy psychedelic impulses — “Bourdon” is a positive freakout, man — but underscoring that with a thickness of groove and distorted tonality that more than lives up to the name. See also the cruncher “Mudbound,” which, yeah, gets a little airy in its back half but still holds that thud steady all the while. Simultaneously calling back to European instrumental heavy of two decades ago while maintaining their progressive edge, Kanaan strike a rare — which is to stop just shy of saying “unique” — balance that’s so much richer than the common Earthless idol-worship, and yet somehow miraculously free of pretense at the same time. 46 minutes of heavy joy.
Not to be confused with Germany’s The Spacelords, Buffalo, New York’s heavy blues purveyors offer a melody-minded eight songs across the 44 minutes of their third self-released long-player, with the vocals of Ed Grabianowski (also guitar) a distinct focal point backed by Rich Root‘s guitar, bass, drums and production. The two-piece deftly weave between acoustic and electric guitar foundations on songs like “How the Devil Got Into You” and “Breakers,” with a distinctly Led Zeppelin-style flair throughout, the Page/Plant dynamic echoed in the guitar strum as well as the vocals. “Broken Teeth Ritual” pushes through heavier riffing early on, and “All Night Drive” nears eight minutes with a right-on swinging solo jam to follow on the largely unplugged “Crypt Ghost,” and “M-60” nears prog metal in its chug, but the layering of “Starswan” brings a sweet conclusion to the proceedings, which despite the band’s duo configuration sound vibrant in a live sense and organic in their making.
The opening title-track of Altareth‘s debut album, Blood, seems to be positioned as a direct clarion call to fellow Sabbathians — to my East Coast US ears, it reminds of Curse the Son, which should be taken as a compliment to tone and melody — but the Gothenburg five-piece aren’t through “Satan Hole” before offering some samples and weirdo garage-sounding ’60s keyboard/horn surges, and the swirling lead that consumes the finish of “Downward Mobile,” which follows, continues to hint at their developing complexity of approach. Still, their core sound is slow, thick, dark and lumbering, and whether that’s coming through in centerpiece “Eternal Sleep” or the willful drudgery that surrounds the quiet, melodic break in “Moon,” they’re not shy about making the point. Neither should they be. The penultimate “High Priest” offers mournful soloing and the nine-minute closer “Empty” veers into post-Cathedral prog-doom in its volume trades before a solo crescendo finishes out, and the swallowed-by-sentient-molasses vibe is sealed. They’ll continue to grow into themselves, and Blood would seem to indicate that will be fun to hear.
The closing piece of a trilogy and reportedly the final offering from Romanian folk-laced progressive black metallers Negură Bunget following the 2017 death of founding drummer Gabriel “Negru” Mafa, Zău begins with the patient unfolding and resultant sweep of its longest track (immediate points) in “Brad” before the foresty gorgeousness of “Iarba Fiarelor” finds a place between agonized doom and charred bark. Constructed parabolically with its longer songs bookending around the seven-minute centerpiece “Obrazar,” Zău is perhaps best understood in the full context in which it arrives, as the band’s swansong after tragic loss, etc., but it’s also complex and engrossing enough to stand on its own separate from that, and in paying homage to their fallen comrade by completing his last work, Negură Bunget have underscored what made them such a standout in the first place. After the wash of “Tinerețe Fără Bătrânețe,” closer “Toacă Din Cer” rounds out by moving from its shimmering guitar into a muted ceremony of horn and tree-creaking percussion that can only be called an appropriate finish, if in fact it is that for the band.
High Fighter — with guitars howling, screams wailing and growls guttural, drums pounding, bass thick and guitars leading the charge — recorded their Live at WDR Rockpalast set during lockdown, sans audience, at the industrial complex Landschaftspark Duisburg- Nord depicted on the cover of the LP/DL release. It’s a fittingly brutal-looking setting for the Hamburg-based melodic sludge metal aggressors, and in their rawest moments, tracks like “When We Suffer” and “Before I Disappear” throw down with a nastiness that should raise eyebrows for any who’d worship the crustiest of wares. Of course, that’s not the limit of what High Fighter do, and a big part of the band’s aesthetic draws on the offset of melody and extremity, but to listen to the 34-minute set wrap with the outright, dug-in, At the Gates-comparison-worthy rendition of “Shine Equal Dark,” it’s hard not to appreciate just how vicious they can be as a group. This was their last show with founding guitarist Christian “Shi” Pappas, and whatever the future holds, they gave him a fitting sendoff.
This is fucking rad. Long-running Welsh trio Spider Kitten probably don’t give a shit if you check it out or not, but I do. Major Label Debut runs less than half an hour and in that time they remind that there’s more expressive potential to heavy rock than playing to genre, and as cuts like “Maladjusted” reinvent grunge impact and the brooding “Hearts and Mindworms” blend Melvins-born weirdo impulses and naturalize Nine Inch Nailsian lyrical threat, there’s a good sense of doing-whatever-the-hell-they-want that comes through alongside deceptively thoughtful arrangements and melodies. The weight and post-Dirt sneer of “Sandbagged (Whoa, Yeah)” may or may not be parody, but hell if it doesn’t work, and the same applies to the earlier blast-punk of “Self-Care (Makes Me Wanna Die),” both songs in and out in under three minutes. Give it up for a band dwelling on their own wavelength, who’ve been hither and yon and are clearly comfortable following where their impulses lead. This kind of creativity is its own endgame. You either appreciate that or it’s your loss.
Even discounting the global pandemic, it feels like an exceptionally long four years since Stockholm’s Snowy Dunes issued their sophomore album, 2017’s Atlantis (review here). “Let’s Save Dreams,” which is the second cut on Sastrugi, was released as a single in 2019 (posted here), so there’s no question the record’s been in the works for a while, but its purposefully split two sides showcase a sound that’s been worth the wait, from the straightforward classic craft of the leadoff title-track to the dug-in semi-psychedelic swing of 11-minute capper “Helios,” the four-piece jamming on modernized retro impulses after dropping hints of prog and space-psych in “Medicinmannen” (9:14) and pushing melancholy heavy blues into shuffle-shove insistence on side A’s organ-laced closer “Great Divide” with duly Sverige soul. Pushes further out as it goes, takes you with it, reminds you why you liked this band so much in the first place, and sounds completely casual in doing all of it.
A threat of tonal weight and a certain rhythmic intensity coincide with dreamy prog melodies in “The Core as a Whole” and “The Calling,” which together lead the way into the self-titled debut from Barcelona, Spain’s Maragda, and an edge of the technical persists despite the wash of “Hermit,” a current perhaps of grunge and metal that’s given something of a rest in the brightness of “Crystal Passage” still to come — more than an interlude at three minutes, but instrumental just the same — after the sharply solo’ed “Orb of Delusion.” Payoff for the burgeoning intensity of the early going arrives in “Beyond the Ruins,” though closer “The Blue Ceiling” enacts some shred to back its Mellotron-y midsection. There’s a balance that will be found or otherwise resisted as Maragda explore the varied nature of their influences — growth to be undertaken, then — but their progressive structures, storytelling mindset and attention to detail here are more than enough to pique interest and make Maragda a welcome addition to the crowded Spanish underground.
Extra super bonus points for Los Angeles heavy noise rockers Killer Hill on naming a song “Bullshit Mountain,” and more extra for leaving the incidental-sounding feedback in too. Frozen Head follows behind 2019’s About a Goat two-songer with six tracks and 22 minutes that pummels on opener “Trash” and its title-track in a niche thick-toned, hardcore-punk born — the band is members of Helmet and Guzzard, so tick your ‘pedigree’ box — and raw, churning metal raised, “Frozen Head” veering into Slayery thrash and deathly churn before evening out in its chorus, such as it does. Sadly, “Laser Head Removal” is instrumental, but the longer trio that follow in “Bent,” the aforementioned “Bullshit Mountain” and the all-go-until-it-isn’t-then-is-again-then-isn’t-again “Re Entry” bask in further intentional cross-genre fuckery with due irreverence and deceptive precision. It sounds like a show you’d go to thinking you were gonna get your ass beat, but nah, everyone’s cool as it turns out.
Distinguished through the gotta-hear-it bass tone of Frik Et that provides grounding presence alongside Luca “Nash” Nasciuti float-ready guitar and the cymbal wash of Enrico Meloni‘s drums, the Genoa, Italy, instrumental three-piece Ikitan make their first offering through Taxi Driver Records with the two-track cassingle Darvaza y Brincle. The outing’s component inclusions run on either side of seven minutes, and the resultant entirety is under 14, but that’s enough to give an impression of where they’re headed after their initial single-song EP, Twenty-Twenty (review here), showed up late last year, with crunch and heavier post-rock drift meeting in particularly cohesive fashion on “Brincle” even as that B-side feels more exploratory than “Darvaza” prior. With some nascent prog stretch in the soloing, the complete narrative of the band’s style has yet to be told, but the quick, encouraging check-in is appreciated. Until next time.
Posted in Reviews on October 7th, 2020 by JJ Koczan
Day three of the Quarterly Review. Always a landmark. Today we hit the halfway point, but don’t pass it yet since I’ve decided to add the sixth day next Monday. So we’ll get to 30 of the total 60 records, and then be past half through tomorrow. Math was never my strong suit. Come to think of it, I wasn’t much for school all around. Work sucked too.
Anyway, if you haven’t found anything to dig yet — and I hope you have; I think the stuff included has been pretty good so far — you can either go back and look again or keep going. Maybe today’s your day. If not, there’s always tomorrow.
Quarterly Review #21-30:
Hum, Inlet
One has to wonder if, if Hum had it to do over again, they might hold back their first album in 23 years, Inlet, for release sometime when the world isn’t being ravaged by a global pandemic. As it stands, the largesse and melodic wash of the Illinois outfit’s all-growed-up heavy post-rock offers 55 minutes of comfort amid the tumult of the days, and while I won’t profess to having been a fan in the ’90s — their last studio LP was 1997’s Downward is Heavenward, and they sound like they definitely spent some time listening to Pelican since then — the overarching consumption Inlet sets forth in relatively extended tracks like “Desert Rambler” and “The Summoning” and the manner in which the album sets its own backdrop in a floating drone of effects make it an escapist joy. They hold back until closer “Shapeshifter” to go full post-rock, and while there are times at which it can seem unipolar, to listen to the crunching “Step Into You” and “Cloud City” side-by-side unveils more of the scope underlying from the outset of “Waves” onward.
Oslo’s Hymn answer the outright crush and scathe of their 2017 debut, Perish (review here), with a more developed and lethal attack on their four-song/38-minute follow-up, Breach Us. Though they’re the kind of band who make people who’ve never heard Black Cobra wonder how two people can be so heavy — and the record has plenty of that; “Exit Through Fire”‘s sludgeshuggah chugging walks by and waves — it’s the sense of atmosphere that guitarist/bassist/vocalist Ole Rokseth and drummer Markus Støle bring to the proceedings that make them so engrossing. The opening title-track is also the shortest at 6:25, but as Breach Us moves across “Exit Through Fire,” “Crimson” and especially 14-minute closer “Can I Carry You,” it brings forth the sort of ominous dystopian assault that so many tried and failed to harness in the wake of Neurosis‘ Through Silver in Blood. Hymn do that and make it theirs in the process.
Carried across with excruciating grace, Atramentus‘ three-part/44-minute debut album, Stygian, probably belongs in a post-Bell Witch category of extreme, crawling death-doom, but from the script of their logo to the dramatic piano accompanying the lurching riffs, gurgles and choral wails of “Stygian I: From Tumultuous Heavens… (Descended Forth the Ceaseless Darkness)” through the five-minute interlude that is “Stygian II: In Ageless Slumber (As I Dream in the Doleful Embrace of the Howling Black Winds)” and into the 23-minute lurchfest that is “Stygian III: Perennial Voyage (Across the Perpetual Planes of Crying Frost and Steel-Eroding Blizzards)” their ultra-morose procession seems to dig further back for primary inspiration, to acts like Skepticism and even earliest Anathema (at least for that logo), and as guttural and tortured as it is as it devolves toward blackened char in its closer, Stygian‘s stretches of melody provide a contrast that gives some semblance of hope amid all the surrounding despair.
As it clocks in 27 minutes, the inevitable question about Zyclops‘ debut release, Inheritance of Ash, is whether it’s an EP or an LP. For what it’s worth, my bid is for the latter, and to back my case up I’ll cite the flow between each of its four component tracks. The Austin, Texas, post-metallic four-piece save their most virulent chug and deepest tonal weight for the final two cuts, “Wind” and “Ash,” but the stage is well set in “Ghost” and “Rope” as well, and even when one song falls into silence, the next picks up in complementary fashion. Shades of Isis in “Rope,” Swarm of the Lotus in the more intense moments of “Ash,” and an overarching progressive vibe that feels suited to the Pelagic Records oeuvre, one might think of Zyclops as cerebral despite their protestations otherwise, but at the very least, the push and pull at the end of “Wind” and the stretch-out that comes after the churning first half of “Rope” don’t happen by mistake, and a band making these kinds of turns on their first outing isn’t to be ignored. Also, they’re very, very heavy.
It’s all peace and quiet until “Psionic Static” suddenly starts to speed up, and then like the rush into transwarp, Kairon; IRSE!‘s Polysomn finds its bliss by hooking up a cortical node to your left temple and turning your frontal lobe into so much floundering goo, effectively kitchen-sink kraut-ing you into oblivion while gleefully hopping from genre to cosmic genre like they’re being chased by the ghost of space rock past. They’re the ghost of space rock future. While never static, Polysomn does offer some serenity amid all its head-spinning and lobe-melting, be it the hee-hee-now-it’s-trip-hop wash of “An Bat None” or the cinematic vastness that arises in “Altaïr Descends.” Too intelligent to be random noise or just a freakout, the album is nonetheless experimental, and remains committed to that all the way through the shorter “White Flies” and “Polysomn” at the end of the record. You can take it on if you have your EV suit handy, but if you don’t check the intermix ratio, your face is going to blow up. Fair warning. LLAP.
The second 2020 offering from Hurst, Texas’ Slow Draw — the one-man outfit of Mark “Derwooka” Kitchens, also of Stone Machine Electric — the four-song Quiet Joy is obviously consciously named. “Tightropes in Tandem” and closer “Sometimes Experiments Fail” offer a sweet, minimal jazziness, building on the hypnotic backwards psych drone of opener “Unexpected Suspect.” In the two-minute penultimate title-track, Kitchens is barely there, and it is as much an emphasis on the quiet space as that in which the music — a late arriving guitar stands out — might otherwise be taking place. At 18 minutes, it is intended to be a breath taken before reimmersing oneself in the unrelenting chaos that surrounds and swirls, and while it’s short, each piece also has something of its own to offer — even when it’s actively nothing — and Slow Draw brims with purpose across this short release. Sometimes experiments fail, sure. Sometimes they work.
It took all of a week for the married duo of Ana Muhi (vocals, bass) and Sven Missullis (guitars, vocals, drums) to announce Might as their new project following the dissolution of the long-ish-running and far-punkier Deamon’s Child. Might‘s self-titled debut arrives with the significant backing of Exile on Mainstream and earns its place on the label with an atmospheric approach to noise rock that, while it inevitably shares some elements with the preceding band, forays outward into the weight of “Possession” and the acoustic-into-crush “Warlight” and the crush-into-ambience “Flight of Fancy” and the ambience-into-ambience “Mrs. Poise” and so on. From the beginning in “Intoduce Yourself” and the rushing “Pollution of Mind,” it’s clear the recorded-in-quarantine 35-minute/nine-song outing is going to go where it wants to, Muhi and Missullis sharing vocals and urging the listener deeper into doesn’t-quite-sound-like-anything-else post-fuzz heavy rock and sludge. A fun game: try to predict where it’s going, and be wrong.
Following a stint on Metal Blade and self-releasing 2018’s What Was and What Shall Be, West Virginia’s Brimstone Coven issue their second album as a three-piece through Ripple Music, calling to mind a more classic-minded Apostle of Solitude on the finale “Song of Whippoorwill” and finding a balance all the while between keeping their progressions moving forward and establishing a melancholy atmosphere. Some elements feel drawn from the Maryland school of doom — opener the melody and hook of “The Inferno” remind of defunct purveyors Beelzefuzz — but what comes through clearest in these songs is that guitarist/vocalist Corey Roth, bassist/vocalist Andrew D’Cagna and drummer Dave Trik have found their way forward after paring down from a four-piece following 2016’s Black Magic (review here) and the initial steps the last album took. They sound ready for whatever the growth of their craft might bring and execute songs like “When the World is Gone” and the more swinging “Secrets of the Earth” with the utmost class.
Take the brutal industrial doom of Author and Punisher and smash it together — presumably in some kind of stainless-steel semi-automated contraption — with the skin-peeling atmosphere and grueling tension of Khanate and you may begin to understand where All Are to Return are coming from on their debut self-titled EP. How they make a song like four-minute centerpiece “Bare Life” feel so consuming is beyond me, but I think being so utterly demolishing helps. It’s not just about the plodding electronic beat, either. There’s some of that in opener “Untrusted” and certainly “The Lie of Fellow Men” has a lumber to go with its bass rumble and NIN-sounding-hopeful guitar, but it’s the overwhelming sense of everything being tainted and cruel that comes through in the space the only-19-minutes-long release creates. Even as closer “Bellum Omnium” chips away at the last remaining vestiges of color, it casts a coherent vision of not only aesthetic purpose for the duo, but of the terrible, all-gone-wrong future in which we seem at times to live.
I saved this one for last today as a favor to myself. Originally released in 2016, Los Acidos‘ self-titled debut receives a well-deserved second look on vinyl courtesy of Necio Records, and with it comes 40 minutes of full immersion in glorious Argentinian psicodelia, spacious and ’60s-style on “Al Otro Lado” and full of freaky swing on “Blusas” ahead of the almost-shoegaze-until-it-explodes-in-sunshine float of “Perfume Fantasma.” “Paseo” and the penultimate “Espejos” careen with greater intensity, but from the folksy feel that arrives to coincide with the cymbal-crashing roll of “Excentricidad” in its second half to the final boogie payoff in “Empatía de Cristal,” the 10-song outing is a joy waiting to be experienced. You’re experienced, right? Have you ever been? Either way, the important thing is that the voyage that, indeed, begins with “Viaje” is worth your time in melody, in craft, in its arrangements, in presence and in the soul that comes through from front to back. The four-piece had a single out in late 2019, but anytime they want to get to work on a follow-up LP, I’ll be waiting.
Posted in Bootleg Theater on September 22nd, 2020 by JJ Koczan
Limbo is the name of the third full-length from Polish psychedelic wanderers Lastryko, released this past July through Necio Records, and “Limbo,” in various stages, is precisely where side B of the outing ends up. That’s not a statement on the Gdynia four-piece being staid or anything, but “Limbo” is the name of three of the four tracks on the album’s back half, and the final one would seem to pick up from there into a final drifting nothingness, both in how its title is constructed following a count from the songs prior and in terms of its outward melodic drone, vast and empty.
Before Lastryko get there, the three songs on side A of the seven-track/37-minute LP — “C•A,” “Firmament” and “8 kropel” — run a course of dream-jazz and progressive space rock that at times gives itself over wholly to krautrock vibing but also has shades of more modern post-rock in some of its shimmering guitar, say, in the midsection of the opener, or in the key flourish of “Firmament.” As side A builds from its shortest cut to its longest and “8 kropel” tops seven minutes of mostly-instrumental, mellow jamming, the procession seems to draw itself to a finish not so much with a huge climax, but a steady, hypnotic movement.
The first section of “Limbo,” listed as “Limbo•,” is a droning precursor to the concluding “••••” and gives way to “Limbo••” directly, a kick of drums marking the arrival of the 7:42 installment that’s the longest piece on the album. Proggy guitar strum and synthesizer lines are interwoven smoothly and a wash subtly builds up that seems to consume the track in its second half, leaving just the drums behind to transition into “Limbo•••.” This time it’s the guitar returning that marks the change, and an almost surf/island feel in the echoing guitar — in another context, one might liken that airiness to Yawning Man — noodles out across the expanse, the flow crafted sounding organic in its atmosphere in a way that few such thoughtful and obviously considered offerings could hope to.
“Limbo•••” drifts into silence from which “••••” picks up and ends the album peacefully, not void of movement, but ambient and quiet enough to get the point of stillness across anyhow. In some ways, Limbo almost feels like two EPs put together to make one full-length, but hell, it works on a straight-through listen, so I’m not at all inclined to argue. I have the pleasure today of hosting the tripped-out video for “Firmament” which you’ll find below, the visuals doing well to bolster the atmosphere of the song and the vintage-futurism the record conveys.
Recording and other info follow. Please enjoy:
Lastryko, “Firmament” official video premiere
Firmament from the album LIMBO by Lastryko, released by Necio Records. Video by Arturo Baston
Recorded by Szymon Swoboda @Vintage Records Pora?yn Mixed by The Norman Conquest Mastered by John MacBain @JPM Mastering Artwork by Monika Reut Layout and typography by Adam Bejnarowicz @Muzykografika
Posted in Bootleg Theater on September 15th, 2020 by JJ Koczan
Lima, Peru’s El Jefazo released their second album, Simbiosis, digitally in August 2019 and followed that up with an LP edition through Necio Records this May. As release dates go, “May 2020″… well, you were there. You know. Still, the three-piece brought their seven-track/33-minute instrumental riff-pushery to a 12” platter, gorgeously grotesque art and all, and with their new video for the exclamatory “Uranai Baba!” they’re bidding the album a fond farewell as they look to move forward and continue writing the next one. They’ve already released a made-in-quarantine single called “Ojo de Buey” through their Bandcamp that builds on some of the more lysergic aspects of Simbiosis, as heard quickly on opener/longest track (immediate points) “Serpiente,” but with the album itself, what makes it so engaging and effective across its utterly manageable span is the balance of elements, the heavy roll and the spacious space, the B-A-S-S tone from Carlos French that complements the F-U-Z-Z of Bruno Sánchez‘s guitar and the flowing drum work from Renán Monzón that carries smoothly through every change in tonality, effects, or rhythmic structure.
And there are plenty of those changes to be found throughout Simbiosis as El Jefazo finish “Serpiente” with feedback and shift into the more confrontational shove of “El Hedonista.” Of course it’s damn near impossible for an instrumental heavy rock band to write a straightforward riff — a riffer’s riff — and not wind up in comparison to Karma to Burn, and “El Hedonista” hits that mark a bit, as does the swaggering closer “Drone Gato,” and certainly “Uranai Baba!” earns its exclamation point with a bit of that feel as well as its scorching solo finish. But to coincide with this, there’s not only the sense of reach shown in the floating lead at the outset of centerpiece “El Daño Está Hecho,” but also the depth of low end beneath. It’s an upward and downward reach, and El Jefazo cover this swath of ground in a fashion truly worthy of the album’s title, the symbiotic nature of the weight, impact and psychedelic drive — and yes, the fuzz; there’s plenty of it; “El Jefuzzo” comes to mind — all coming together to make something not just greater than the sum of its parts, but something that uses the process of adding those parts together itself as a source of strength.
Shorter cuts like the early “Pulsión de Muerte” or “Poltergeist” later offer a chance for blowout and the band takes full advantage, but as the maybe-sample-topped finale in “Drone Gato” rolls out, it demonstrates El Jefazo aren’t without a sense of patience either, and that their stylistic take is relying much more generally than the gear and pedals they’re using, though even the fullness of the production becomes a tool at their disposal. Converted heads who either did or didn’t catch wind of Simbiosis when the band first put it out should have no trouble getting on board with what the trio are doing in these songs, but whatever familiarity might come through, El Jefazo do well in showcasing not only their chemistry as instrumentalists, which is crucial for a band of their aesthetic, but their sonic personality as well and the various aspects in and out of genre they’re able to encompass within what’s, again, a relatively quick listen. Long or short, as LPs go, I don’t imagine it’s one you’ll regret diving into.
And even with “Ojo de Buey” already out, one looks forward to hearing where El Jefazo go for their third full-length.
But first, the video. You’ll find the premiere below, followed by confirmation of work started on the next record.
Please enjoy:
El Jefazo, “Uranai Baba!” Official Video Premiere
El Jefazo presents their new video: Uranai Baba!
Peruvian stoner rock power trio El Jefazo has released a video for Uranai Baba!, from their second album Simbiosis, which was acclaimed by national and international stoner rock music press during 2019 and 2020.
This trippy video, directed by Rodrigo Loayza, marks the end of the Simbiosis era for the band. They will now focus on composing new songs for their third album.
Simbiosis is available in LP format. If you want a copy, please contact label Necio Records or the band itself.
El Jefazo is: Bruno Sánchez – Guitarra Carlos French – Bajo Renán Monzón – Batería
Last day, you know the drill. It’s been a pleasure, honestly. If every Quarterly Review could feature the quality of material this one has, I’d probably only spend a fraction of the amount of time I do fretting over it. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading and enjoyed the music as much as I have. If you haven’t found something here to sit with and dig into yet, well, today’s 10 more chances to do just that. Maybe something will stick at last.
See you in September.
Quarterly Review #41-50:
Paradise Lost, Obsidian
It is impossible to listen to Obsidian and consider Paradise Lost as anything other than masters of the form. Of course, that they were one of the original pioneers of gothic death-doom helps, but even in the decade-plus since they began to shift back toward a more metallic approach, they have established a standard that is entirely their own. Obsidian collects nine tracks across a palatable 45 minutes, and if the hook of “Fall From Grace” is fan-service on the part of the band, then it is no less righteous for that. In atmosphere and aggression, cuts like “The Devil Embraced” and the galloping “Ghosts” deliver on high expectations coming off 2017’s Medusa (review here), even as side B’s “Ending Days” and “Hope Dies Young” branch into a more melodic focus, not departing from the weight of impact presented earlier, but clearly adjusting the approach, leading to an all the more deathly return on “Ravenghast,” which closes out. Their doom remains second to none; their model remains one to follow.
The narrative thread carried through the six tracks of Vinnum Sabbathi‘s Of Dimensions and Theories is a futuristic sci-fi tale about humanity’s first foray into deep space amid a chaos of environmental collapse and nuclear threat. The real story, however, is the sense of progression the instrumentalist Mexico City outfit bring in following up their debut LP, 2017’s Gravity Works (review here). Tying thematically to the latest Cegvera album — the two bands share personnel — pieces at the outset like “In Search of M-Theory” and “Quantum Determinism” maintain the exploratory vibe of the band’s jammier works in their “HEX” series, but through spoken samples give a human presence and plotline to the alternately atmospheric and lumbering tones. As the record progresses through the airier “An Appraisal” and the feedback-drenched “Beyond Perturbative States,” their dynamic finds realization in “A Superstring Revolution I” and the drum-led “A Superstring Revolution II.” I don’t know about humanity’s prospects as a whole, but Vinnum Sabbathi‘s remain bright.
Composed as a solo outing prior to the founding of Heavy Temple, the Nighthawk solo endeavor (presumably she wasn’t a High Priestess yet), The Sea Legs EP, is plenty self-aware in its title, but for being a raw execution of material written performed entirely on her own, its four tracks also have a pretty significant scope, from the post-QOTSA heavy pop of “Goddamn” leading off through the quick spacegaze of “I’m From Tennessee Woman, All We Do is Honky Tonk,” into the deceptively spacious “I Can Haz” with its far-back toms, dreamy vocal melody and vaguely Middle Eastern-sounding guitar, and ending with the if-Ween‘s-country-album-had-been-weirder finish of “Stay Gold.” Nighthawk has issued a follow-up to The Sea Legs EP in the full-length Goblin/John Carpenter-style synth of The Dimensionaut, but given the range and balance she shows just in this brief 12 minutes, one hopes that indeed her songwriting explorations continue to prove so multifaceted.
Contending for one of the year’s best debut albums, Familiars‘ All in Good Time offers eight songs across 43 minutes that blend organic-feeling grit with more ethereal, landscape-evocative psychedelics. The Ontario three-piece have a few singles to their credit, but the lushness of “Rocky Roost” and the emergent heft of “Barn Burning,” the fleshy boogie of “The Dirty Dog Saloon” and the breadth of “Avro Arrow” speak not just to Familiars‘ ability to capture a largesse that draws their songs together, or the nuance that lets them brings subtle touches of Americana (Canadiana?) early on and echoing desert roll to the fuzzy “The Common Loon,” but also to the songwriting that makes these songs stand out so much as they do and the sense of purpose Familiars bring to All in Good Time as their first long-player. That turns out to be one of the most encouraging aspects of the release, but in that regard there’s plenty of competition from elements like tone, rhythm, melody, craft, performance — so yes, basically all of it.
Mountain Witch‘s fourth album, Extinct Cults, brings the Hamburg-based duo of guitarist René Sitte and drummer/vocalist René Roggmann back after a four-year absence with a collection that straddles the various lines between classic heavy rock, proto-metal, ’70s heavy prog and modern cultism. Their loyalties aren’t necessarily all to the 1968-’74 period, as the chug and gruff vocals of “Back From the Grave” show, but the post Technical Ecstasy sway of the title-track is a fascinating and rarely-captured specificity, and the vocal melodies expressed in layers across the record do much to add personality and depth to the arrangements while the surrounding recording remains essentially raw. No doubt vinyl-minded, Extinct Cults is relatively brief at six songs and 33 minutes, but the Priestly chug of “Man is Wolf to Man” and the engrossing garage doom of closer “The Devil Probably” offer plenty of fodder for those who’d dig in to dig into. It is a sound familiar and individual at once, old and new, and it revels in making cohesion out of such contrasts.
You might find San Francisco trio Disastroid hanging out at the corner of noise and heavy rock, looking disreputable. Their first record for Heavy Psych Sounds is Mortal Fools, and to go with its essential-bloody-essential bass tone and melodic semi-shouted vocals, it brings hints of angularity rounded out by tonal thickness and a smoothness between transitions that extends to the flow from one song to the next. While for sure a collection of individual pieces, Mortal Fools does move through its 43 minutes with remarkable ease, the sure hand of the three-piece guides you through the otherwise willfully tumultuous course, brash in the guitar and bass and drums but immersive in the overarching groove. They seem to save a particular melodic highlight for the verses of closer “Space Rodent,” but really, whether it’s the lumbering “Hopeless” or the sharper-toothed push of “Bilge,” the highlight is what Disastroid accomplish over the course of the record as a whole. Plus that friggin’ bass sound.
I don’t know when this was first released, but the 2020 edition seems to be a remaster, and whenever it first came out, I’m pleased to have the chance to check it out now. Toronto duo Stonegrass brings together Matthew “Doc” Dunn and Jay Anderson, both of a markedly psyched-out pedigree, to dig into experimentalist acid-psych that pushes boundaries stylistic and national, tapping Afrobeat vibes with closer “Drive On” and the earlier 13-minute go-go-go jam “Tea” while “The Highway” feels like a lost psychedelic disco-funk 45, “The Cape” drones like it’s waiting for someone to start reading poetry over-top, and mellow hand-percussion and Turkish psych on centerpiece “Frozen Dunes.” The whole thing, which runs a manageable 39 minutes, is as cool as the day is long, and comes across like a gift to those of expanded mind or who are willing to join those ranks. I don’t know if it’s new or old. I don’t know if it’s a one-off or an ongoing project. I barely know if it’s actually out. But hot damn it’s rad, and if you can catch it, you should.
Norwegian half-instrumental trio Jointhugger have already captured the attention of both Interstellar Smoke Records and Ozium Records with their four-song debut long-player, I Am No One, and as the follow-up to their 2019 Daemo, it leaves little question why. The more volume, the merrier, when it comes to the rolling, nodding, undulations of riff the band conjure, as each member seems geared toward bringing as much weight to bear as much as possible. I’m serious. Even the hi-hat is heavy, never mind the guitar or bass or the cave-echoing vocals of the title-track. “Domen” slips into some shuffle — if you can call something that dense-sounding a shuffle — and underscores its solo with an entire bog’s worth of low end, and though closer “Nightfright” is the only inclusion that actually tops 10 minutes, it communicates an intensity of crush that is nothing if not consistent with what’s come before. There are flashes of letup here and there, but it’s impact at the core of Jointhugger‘s approach, and they offer plenty of it. Don’t be surprised when the CD and LP sell through, and don’t be surprised if they get re-pressed later.
Stepping out both in terms of style and substance from his position as guitarist in atmospheric doomers Messa, Little Albert — aka Alberto Piccolo — pronounces himself “swamp king” in the opening lines of his debut solo release of the same name, and the mellow ambiance and psychedelic flourish of tone in “Bridge of Sighs” and “Mean Old Woman” and the aptly-titled “Blues Asteroid” offer an individualized blend of psychedelic blues that seems to delight in tipping the balance back and forth from one to the other while likewise taking the songs through full band arrangements and more intimate wanderings. Some of the songs have a tendency to roll outward and not return, as does “Mary Claire” or “Mean Old Woman,” but “Outside Woman Blues” and the closer “Hard Time Killing Floor Blues” hold tighter to the ground than some of what surrounds, so again, there’s a balance. Plus, as mellow as Swamp King is in its overarching affect, it’s neither difficult nor anything but a pleasure to follow along where Piccolo leads. If that’s off the psych-blues deep end, so be it. Only issue I take with him being king of the swamp is that the album’s domain hardly seems so limited.
Beautiful, patient and pastoral psychedelia fleshes out across the three tracks of Parahelio‘s debut full-length, Surge Evelia, Surge. Issued on vinyl through Necio Records, the three-song offering reportedly pays homage to a mining town in the band’s native Peru, but it does so with a breadth that seems to cover so much between heavy post-rock and psych that it’s difficult not to imagine places decidedly more ethereal. Beginning with its title-track (12:33) and moving into the swells and recessions of “Gestos y Distancia,” the album builds to an encompassing payoff for side A before unveiling “Ha’Adam,” a 23-minute side-consuming rollout that encompasses not only soundscaping, but a richly human feel in its later take, solidifying around a drum march and a heavy build of guitar that shouldn’t sound strange to fans of Pelican or Russian Circles yet manages somehow to transcend the hypnotic in favor of the dynamic, the immersive, and again, the beautiful. What follows is desolation and aftermath, and that’s how the record ends, but even there, the textures and the spirit of the release remain central. I always do myself a favor with the last release of any Quarterly Review, and this is no exception.
I don’t imagine I need to tell you it’s been a hell of a quarter, existentially speaking. It’s like the world decided to play ’52 card pickup’ but with tragedy. Still, music marches on, and so the Quarterly Review marches on. For what it’s worth, I’m particularly looking forward to reviewing the upcoming batch of 50 records. As I stare at the list for each day, all of them have records that I’ve legitimately been looking forward to diving into, and today is a great example of that, front to back.
Will I still feel the same way on Friday? Maybe, maybe not. If past is prologue, I’ll be tired, but it’s always satisfying to do this and cover so much stuff in one go. Accordingly, let’s not delay any further. I hope you enjoy the week’s worth of writeups.
Quarterly Review #1-10:
Sergio Ch., From Skulls Born Beyond
Intertwining by sharing a few songs with the debut album from his trio Soldati, Doom Nacional (review here), the latest solo endeavor from former Los Natas/Ararat frontman Sergio Ch. continues his path of experimentalist drone folk, blending acoustic and electric elements, guitar and voice, in increasingly confident and broad fashion. The heart of a piece like “Sombra Keda” near the middle of the album is still the strum of the acoustic guitar, but the arrangement of electric and effects/synth surrounding, as well as the vocal echo, give a sense of space to the entirety of From Skulls Born Beyond that demonstrates to the listener just how much range Sergio Ch.‘s work has come to encompass. For highlights, one might check out the extended title-track and the closer “Solar Tse,” which bring in waves of distorted noise to add to the experimentalist feel, but there’s something to be said too for the comparatively minimal (vocal layering aside) “My Isis,” as well as for the fact that they all fit so well on the same record.
The follow-up to DOOL‘s 2017 debut, Here Now There Then (review here), does no less than to see the Netherlands-based outfit led by singer Ryanne van Dorst answer the potential of that album while pushing forward the particular vision of Dutch heavy progressive rock that emerged in the wake of The Devil’s Blood, acknowledging that past — Farida Lemouchi (now of Molassess) stops by for a guest spot — while presenting an immersive and richly arranged 54-minute sprawl of highly individualized craft. Issued through Prophecy Productions, it brings cuts like the memorable opener “Sulphur and Starlight” and the dynamic “A Glass Forest” as well as the classic metal chug of “Be Your Sins” and the reaches of its title-cut and acoustic-inclusive finale “Dust and Shadow.” DOOL are a band brazen enough to directly refuse genre, and it is to their benefit and the audience’s that they pull off doing so with such bravado and quality of output. For however long they go, they will not stop progressing. You can hear it.
By the time Durban, South Africa’s Return to Worm Mountain are done with 10-minute opener and longest track (immediate points) “Gh?l” from their second album, Therianthropy, the multi-instrumentalist duo of Duncan Park (vocal, guitar, bass, banjo, jaw harp) and Cam Lofstrand (vocals, drums, synth, guitar, bass, percussion) have gone from High on Fire-meets-Entombed crunch to psychedelic Americana to bare-essential acoustic guitar, and unsurprisingly, the scope doesn’t stop there. “Mothman’s Lament” is folksy sweetness and it leads right into the semi-industrial grind of “Mongolian Death Worm” before “Olgoi-Khorkoi” sludge-lumbers into Echoplex oblivion — or at very least the unrepentantly pretty plucked strings of “Tatzelwurm.” The title refers to a human ability to become an animal — think werewolf — and if that’s a metaphor for the controlled chaos Return to Worm Mountain are letting loose here, one can hardly argue it doesn’t fit. Too strange to be anything but progressive, Therianthropy‘s avant garde feel will alienate as many as it delights, and that’s surely the point of the entire endeavor.
Primo weedian stoner sludge doom of precisely the proportion-of-riff one would expect from Polish bashers Dopelord, which is to say plenty huge and plenty grooving. “The Witching Hour Bell” sets the tone on Sign of the Devil, which is the fourth full-length from the Warsaw-based four-piece. They lumber, they plod, they crash, and yes, yes, yes, they riff, putting it all on the line with “Hail Satan” with synth flourish at the end before “Heathen” and the ultimately-more-aggro “Doom Bastards” reinforce the mission statement. You might know what you’re getting going into it, but that doesn’t make the delivery any less satisfying as Dopelord plod into “World Beneath Us” like a cross between Electric Wizard and Slomatics and of course stick-click in on a quick four-count for the 94-second punk blaster “Headless Decapitator” to cap the 36-minute vinyl-ready run. How could they not? Sure, Sign of the Devil preaches to the choir, but hell’s bells it makes one happy to have joined the choir in the first place.
Numbered instrumental progressions comprise this third and self-titled offering from Peruvian trio Ancestro (issued through Necio Records and Forbidden Place Records), and the effect of the album being arranged in such a fashion is that it plays through as one long piece, the cascading volume changes of “II” feeding back into the outset count-in of the speedier “III” and so on. Each piece of the whole has its own intention, and it seems plain enough that the band composed the sections individually, but they’ve been placed so as to highlight the full-album flow, and as Ancestro move from “IV” into “V” and “VI,” with songs getting longer as they go en route to that engrossing and proggy 13-minute closer, their success draws from their ability to harness the precision and maybe even a little of the aggression of heavy metal and incorporate it as part of an execution both thoughtful and no less able to be patient when called for by a given piece. Hard-hitting psychedelia is tough to pull off, but Ancestro‘s Ancestro is no less spacious than terrestrial.
In 2016, Lithuanian two-piece Hellhookah made it no challenge whatsoever to get into the traditionalist doom of their debut album, Endless Serpents (review here), and the seven songs of The Curse make for a welcome follow-up, with an uptick in production value and the fullness of the mix and a decided affinity for underground ’80s metal in cuts like “Supremacy” and “Dreams and Passions” to coincide with the Dio-era-Sabbath vibes of centerpiece “Flashes” and the nodding finisher “Greed and Power,” which follows and contrasts “Dreams and Passions” in a manner that feels multi-tiered in its purpose. Departing from some of the Vitus-ness of the first full-length, The Curse adopts a more complex tack across its 38 minutes, but its heart and its loyalties are still of doom, by doom, and for the doomed, and that suits them just fine. Crucially, their lack of pretense carries over, and their love of all things doomed translates into every riff and every stretch on offer. If you’d ask more than that of them, well, why?
Bluesy in opener “Demons,” grunge-tinged in “Lily” and fuzz-folk-into-’70s-soul-rock on “How Can I Love You,” Daisychain‘s self-titled debut EP wants little for ambition from the start, but the Chicago-based four-piece bring a confidence to their dually-vocalized approach that unites the material across whatever stylistic lines it treads, be it in the harmonies of the midtempo rocker “Are You Satisfied” or the righteously languid “Fake Flowers,” which follows. With six songs and 21 minutes, the self-released outing is but a quick glimpse at what Daisychain might have in store going forward, but the potential is writ large from the classic feel of “Demons” to the barroom spirit of closer “The Wrong Thing,” which reminds that rock and roll doesn’t have to sacrifice efficiency in order to make a statement of its own force. There’s plenty of attitude to be found in these songs, but beneath that — or maybe alongside it — there’s a sense of an emergent songwriting process that is only going to continue to flourish. What they do with the momentum they build here will be interesting to see/hear, but more than that, they’re developing a perspective and persona of their own, and that speaks to a longer term ideal. To put another way, they don’t sound like they’re half-assing it.
Capping with a slide-tinged take on the traditional “Parchman Farm” (see also: Blue Cheer, Cactus, etc.), Ohio’s The Burning Brain Band‘s self-titled debut casts a wide net in terms of influences, centering the penultimate “The Dreamer” around 12-string acoustic guitar on an eight-minute run that’s neither hurried nor staid, but all the more surprising after the electronica-minded “Interlude (Still Running),” which, at four minutes is of greater substance than one might expect of an interlude just as the seven-and-a-half-minute warm-up “Launch Sequence” is considerably broader than one generally considers an intro to an album. There isn’t necessarily a foundational basis from which the material emanates — though “Brain Food” is an effective desert-ish rocker, it moves into the decidedly proggier “Bolero/Floating Away” — but “Launch Sequence” is immersive and the four-piece bring a performance cohesion and a clarity of mindset to the proceedings of this debut that may not unite the songs, but carries the listener through with a sure hand just the same. Who ever said everything on a record had to sound alike? For sure not The Burning Brain Band, who translate the mania of their moniker into effective sonic variety.
Count Slump in a freakout psych renaissance, all punk-out-the-airlock and ’90s-noise thisandthat. Delivered through Feel It Records, the Richmond, Virginia, outfit’s debut, Flashbacks From Black Dust Country indeed touches ground every now and again, as on “Desire Death Drifter,” but even there, the vocals are so soaked wet with echo that I’m pretty sure they fucked up my speakers, and as much as “Tension Trance” tries, it almost can’t help but be acid grunge. In an age of nihilism, Slump aren’t so much unbridled as they are a reminder of the artistry behind the slacker lean, and in the thrust of “(Do The) Sonic Sprawl” and the far-out twist of “Throbbing Reverberation,” they affirm that only those with expanded minds will survive to see the new age and all the many spectral horrors it might unfurl. Can it be a coincidence that the album starts “No Utopia?” Hardly. I’m not ready to call these cats prophets, but they’ve got their collective ear to the ground and their boogie is molten-core accordingly. Tell two friends and tell them to tell two friends.
It’s a ripper, inciting Larry David-style “prettay good” nods and all that sort of approval whatnot. If you want to think of Canyon as Philly’s answer to Memphis’ Dirty Streets, go ahead — and yes, by that I mean they’re dirtier. EP III boasts just three tracks in “No Home,” “Tent Preacher” and “Mountain Haze,” but with it the classic-style trio backs up the power they showed on 2018’s Mk II (review here), tapping ’70s blues rock swagger for the first two tracks and then blowing it out in a dreamy Zeppelin/Rainbow jam that’s trippy and righteous and right on and just plain right. Maybe even right-handed, I don’t know. What I do know is that these guys should’ve been picked up by some duly salivating label like last week already and they should be putting together a full-length on the quick. They’ve followed-up EP III with a stonerly take on The Beatles‘ “Day Tripper,” and that’s fun, but really, it’s time for this band to make an album.
More computer bullshit this morning. I lost about 45 minutes because my graphics driver and Windows 10 apparently hate each other and before I could disable the former, the machine decided the best it could do for me was to load a blank screen. Hard to find the Pelican record on my desktop when I can’t see my desktop. The Patient Mrs. woke up while I was trying to fix it and suggested HDMIing it to the tv. When I did that, it didn’t project as was hoped, but the display came on — because go figure — and I was able to shut off the driver, the only real advantage of which is it lets me use the night light feature so it’s easier on my eyes. That’s nice, but I’d rather have the laptop function. Not really working on a level of “give me soft red light or give me death!” at this point. I may yet get there in my life.
Today’s the last day of this beast, wrapping up the last of the 60 reviews, and I’m already in the hole for the better part of an hour thanks to this technical issue, the second of the week. Been an adventure, this one. Let’s close it out.
Quarterly Review #51-60:
Pelican, Nighttime Stories
Split into two LPs each with its own three-minute mood-setter — those being “WST” and “It Stared at Me,” respectively — Pelican‘s Nighttime Stories (on Southern Lord) carries the foreboding sensibility of its title into an aggressive push throughout the album, which deals from the outset with the pain of loss. The lead single “Midnight and Mescaline” represents this well in directly following “WST,” with shades of more extreme sounds in the sharp-turning guitar interplay and tense drums, but it carries through the blastbeats of “Abyssal Plain” and the bombastic crashes of presumed side B closer “Cold Hope” as well, which flow via a last tonal wash toward the melancholy “It Stared at Me” and the even-more-aggro title-track, the consuming “Arteries of Blacktop” and the eight-minute “Full Moon, Black Water,” which offers a build of maddening chug — a Pelican hallmark — before resolving in melodic serenity, moving, perhaps, forward with and through its grief. It’s been six years since Pelican‘s last LP, Forever Becoming (review here), and they’ve responded to that time differential with the hardest-hitting record they’ve ever done.
Though the peaceful beginning of 13-minute opener and longest track (immediate points) “The Heavy Seed,” for which the five-song album is named, reminds of Swan Valley Heights‘ Munich compatriots in Colour Haze, the ultimate impression the band make on their Fuzzorama Records debut and second album overall behind a 2016 self-titled (review here) is more varied in its execution, with cuts like “Vaporizer Woman” and the centerpiece “Take a Swim in God’s Washing Machine” manifesting ebbs and flows and rolling out a fuzzy largesse to lead into dream-toned ethereality and layered vocals that immediately call to mind Elephant Tree. There’s a propensity for jamming, but they’re not a jam band, and seem always to have a direction in mind. That’s true even on the three-minute instrumental “My First Knife Fight,” which unfurls around a nod riff and simple drum progression to bridge into closer “Teeth and Waves,” a bookend to The Heavy Seed‘s title-track that revives that initial grace and uses it as a stepping stone for the crunch to come. It’s a balance that works and should be well received.
Released in the wee hours of 2019, Mark Deutrom‘s The Blue Bird marks the first new solo release from the prolific Austin-based songwriter/producer/multi-instrumentalist through Season of Mist, and it’s a 50-minute run of genre-spanning outsider art, bringing ’70s folk vibes to the weepy guitar echoes of “Radiant Gravity” right before “O Ye of Little Faith” dooms out for six of its seven minutes and “Our Revels Now Are Ended” basks in 77 seconds of experimentalist winding guitar. It goes like that. Vocals are intermittent enough to not necessarily be expected, but not entirely absent through the midsection of “Hell is a City,” “Somnambulist” and “Maximum Hemingway,” and if there’s traditionalism at play anywhere, it might be in “They Have Won” and “The Happiness Machine,” which, toward the back end of the album, bring a sax-laden melancholy vibe and a straightforward heavy rock feel, respectively, ahead of the closer “Nothing out There,” which ties them together, somehow accounting for the 1:34 “On Fathers Day” as well in its sweetness. Don’t go into The Blue Bird asking it to make sense on any level other than its own and you should be fine. It’s not a minor undertaking at 50 minutes, and not without its indulgences, but even the briefest of pieces helps develop the character of the whole, which of course is essential to any good story.
Austin bringers of hard-boogie Greenbeard reportedly issued the three-song Onward, Pillager as a precursor to their next full-length — even the name hints toward it being something of a stopgap — but its tracks stand well on their own, whether it’s the keyboard-laced “Contact High II,” which is presumably a sequel to another track on the forthcoming record, or the chunkier roll of “WCCQ” and the catchy finisher “Kill to Love Yourself,” with its overlaid guitar solo adding to a dramatic ending. It hasn’t been that long since 2017’s Lödarödböl (review here), but clearly these guys are committed to moving forward in neo-stoner rock fashion, and their emergence as songwriters is highlighted particularly throughout “WCCQ” and “Kill to Love Yourself,” while “Contact High II” is more of an intro or a would-be interlude on the full-length. It may only be pieces of a larger, to-be-revealed picture, but Onward, Pillager shows three different sides of what Greenbeard have on offer, and the promise of more to come is one that will hopefully be kept sooner rather than later.
Each of the three songs on Mount Soma‘s densely-weighted, live-recorded self-released Nirodha EP makes some mention of suffering in its lyrics, and indeed, that seems to be the theme drawing together “Dark Sun Destroyer” (7:40), “Emerge the Wolf” (5:50) and “Resurfacing” (9:14): a quest for transcendence perhaps in part due to the volume of the music and the act itself of creating it. Whatever gets them there, the trajectory of Nirodha is such that by the time they hit into the YOB-style galloping toward the end of “Resurfacing,” the gruff shouts of “rebirth!” feel more celebratory than ambitious. Based in Dublin, the four-piece bring a fair sense of space to their otherwise crush-minded approach, and though the EP is rough — it is their second short release following 2016’s Origins — they seem to have found a way to tie together outer and inner cosmos with an earthbound sense of gravity and heft, and with the more intense shove of “Emerge the Wolf” between the two longer tracks, they prove themselves capable of bringing a noisy charge amid all that roar and crash. They did the first EP live as well. I wonder if they’d do the same for a full-length.
One might get lost in the unmanageable 64-minute wash of Nibiru‘s fifth full-length (first for Ritual Productions), Salbrox, but the opaque nature of the proceedings is part of the point. The Italian ritualists bring forth a chaotic depth of noise and harsh semi-spoken rasps of vocals reportedly in the Enochian language, and from 14-minute opener “EHNB” — also the longest track (immediate points) — through the morass that follows in “Exarp,” “Hcoma,” “Nanta” and so on, the album is a willful slog that challenges the listener on nearly every level. This is par for the course for Nibiru, whose last outing was 2017’s Qaal Babalon (review here), and they seem to revel in the slow-churning gruel of their distortion, turning from it only to break to minimalism in the second half of the album with “Abalpt” and “Bitom” before 13-minute closer “Rziorn” storms in like a tsunami of spiritually desolate plunge. It is vicious and difficult to hear, and again, that is exactly what it’s intended to be.
The gift of Cable was to take typically raw Northeastern disaffection and channel it into a noise rock that wasn’t quite as post-this-or-that as Isis, but still had a cerebral edge that more primitive fare lacked. They were methodical, and 10 years after their last record, the Hartford, Connecticut, outfit return with the nine-song/30-minute Take the Stairs to Hell (on Translation Loss), which brings them back into the modern sphere with a sound that is no less relevant than it was bouncing between This Dark Reign, Hydra Head and Translation Loss between 2001 and 2004. They were underrated then and may continue to be now, but the combination of melody and bite in “Black Medicine” and the gutty crunch of “Eyes Rolled Back,” the post-Southern heavy of the title-track and the lumbering pummel of “Rivers of Old” before it remind of how much of a standout Cable was in the past, reinforcing that not only were they ahead of their time then, but that they still have plenty to offer going forward. They may continue to be underrated as they always were, but their return is significant and welcome.
Originally released in 2003, the self-titled debut from Lima, Peru’s Reino Ermitaño was a beacon and landmark in Latin American doom, with a sound derived from the genre’s traditions — Sabbath, Trouble, etc. — and melded with not only Spanish-language lyrics, but elements of South American folk and stylizations. Reissued on vinyl some 16 years later, it maintains its power through the outside-time level of its craft, sliding into that unplaceable realm of doom that could be from any point from about 1985 onward, while the melodies in the guitar of Henry Guevara and the vocals of Tania Duarte hold sway over the central groove of bassist Marcos Coifman and drummer Julio “Ñaka” Almeida. Those who were turned onto the band at the time will likely know they’ve released five LPs to-date, with the latest one from 2014, but the Necio Records version marks the first time the debut has been pressed to vinyl, and so is of extra interest apart from the standard putting-it-out-there-again reissue. Collectors and a new generation of doomers alike would be well advised on an educational level, and of course the appeal of the album itself far exceeds that.
Though one hails from Helsinki, Finland, and the other from Adelaide, Australia, Cardinals Folly and Lucifer’s Fall could hardly be better suited to share the six-song Cruz Del Sur split LP that they do, which checks in at 35 minutes of trad doom riffing and dirtier fare. The former is provided by Cardinals Folly, who bring a Reverend Bizarre-style stateliness to “Spiritual North” and “Walvater Proclaimed!” before betraying their extreme metal roots on “Sworn Through Odin’s and Satan’s Blood,” while the Oz contingent throw down Saint Vitus-esque punk-born fuckall through “Die Witch Die,” the crawling “Call of the Wild” and the particularly brash and speedier “The Gates of Hell.” The uniting thread of course is homage to doom itself, but each band brings enough of their own take to complement each other without either contradicting or making one or the other of them feel redundant, and rather, the split works out to be a rampaging, deeply-drunk, pagan-feeling celebration of what doom is and how it has been internalized by each of these groups. Doom over the world? Yeah, something like that.
Temple of the Fuzz Witch, Temple of the Fuzz Witch
A strong current of Electric Wizard runs through the self-titled debut full-length from Detroit’s Temple of the Fuzz Witch (on Seeing Red Records), but even to that, the outfit led by guitarist/vocalist Noah Bruner bring a nascent measure of individuality, droning into and through “Death Hails” after opening with “Bathsheba” and ahead of unveiling a harmonized vocal on “The Glowing of Satan” that suits the low end distortion surprisingly well. They continue to offer surprises throughout, whether it’s the spaciousness of centerpiece “329” and “Infidel,” which follows, or the offsetting of minimalism and crush on “The Fuzz Witch” and the creeper noise in the ending of “Servants of the Sun,” and though there are certainly familiar elements at play, Temple of the Fuzz Witch come across with an intent to take what’s been done before and make it theirs. In that regard, they would seem to be on the right track, and in their 41 minutes, they find footing in a murky aesthetic and are able to convey a sense of songwriting without sounding heavy-handed. There’s nothing else I’d ask of their first album.
