Posted in Whathaveyou on March 8th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
Look. I’ve made my feelings known about Windhand on multiple occasions. I think they’re massively undercredited as an influential act, and I think they’re one of the best American doom bands of their generation. That generation, by the way, is really only coming to prominence in the last three or four years, while Windhand, meanwhile, celebrate their 15th anniversary in 2023. Their 2012 self-titled debut (review here; discussed here) isn’t their best album or their most developed in terms of sound, but it was crucial moment, and I don’t think riff-worshiping, massive-low-end-consuming doom exists as it does today — and god damn does it ever exist today — without it.
We could sit here all day and talk about why Windhand are underrated while other acts reap hyperbolic praise for essentially sounding like Windhand — certainly gender-base discrimination is part of it; also their records are over an hour long in a time when attention spans assuredly aren’t — but I’d rather pop on the Jack Endino remaster of Windhand‘s Windhand, maybe check out the included rehearsal demos, and go back to what was the start of the band at least so far as I knew of them.
If you’re keeping up, you might note that this 2LP reissue arrives on April 21, which is the same day Windhand vocalist Dorthia Cottrell will release her new solo album, Death Folk Country (info here). Preorders, Arik Roper‘s cover art, and other details for everybody, courtesy of the PR wire:
WINDHAND SHARE DELUXE REISSUE OF SELF-TITLED DEBUT ALBUM
Richmond’s WINDHAND announce the deluxe reissue of their Self-Titled, debut album! Featuring 5 previously unreleased bonus tracks, including rare practice space demos and alternate mixes, the 2023 reissue of Windhand is remastered by Jack Endino, and features new artwork by Arik Roper.
Windhand (Deluxe Edition) is out April 21 on 2xLP/CD on Relapse Records. Pre-Order athttps://bit.ly/windhand-st
Posted in Whathaveyou on March 1st, 2023 by JJ Koczan
Hey, if Dorthia Cottrell is going to be a brooding part-goth next-generation take on heavy Americana folk, I am — in the parlance of 2019 — here for it. The Windhand vocalist released her eponymous debut solo album in 2015 and will follow it with Death Folk Country via Relapse Records on April 21. A video for the immersive, organ-and-cymbal-wash=backed, many-layered “Family Annihilator” is streaming now at the bottom of this post, and yeah, the PR wire’s a little late since the song’s been out a couple days now and I’m a little late since the PR wire sent the stuff yesterday, but like you and everybody else, I’m doing my best here to keep up. Maybe I wanted to wait until I actually had a few minutes to actually listen to some music before I wrote about it. Crazy I know in this go-go-go universe of infinite consumption and immediate gratification. If nothing else, “Family Annihilator” is a good occasion to slow your ass down for about seven of those otherwise vaporized minutes.
And special kudos for the line “Glory is no pedestal I’ll put my foot upon.” That’s not the kind of thing people talk about when they say “real America,” but it should be.
From the PR wire:
DORTHIA COTTRELL (WINDHAND) ANNOUNCES NEW SOLO ALBUM DEATH FOLK COUNTRY OUT APRIL 21
Dorthia Cottrell envisions her music as both a document of love and a reconciliation with death. On her new album, Death Folk Country, Cottrell wards off death through creation – the most distilled form of love. The spirit of love passed on through her words will be the ultimate reward for earthly suffering. Cottrell’s enigmatic presence guides listeners down a path of introspection – Death Folk Country’s massive scope touches upon tales of love, loss, and so much more.
Cottrell was raised in rural King George, Virginia, a town with less than 5,000 inhabitants. Forests and tall-grass fields stretched before her. Beauty and boredom soared. That vague melancholy and memory of the American South is smudged all over Cottrell’s music. Cottrell grew up a goth, an outcast in a small town – a time and place she revisits throughout Death Folk Country.
“This album to me is about painting a picture of a place where my heart lives,” Cottrell explains. The title Death Folk Country is partly me describing a genre that fits the sound – but it’s also meant to be taken as a Naming, a coronation of the world inside me. Death Folk Country is the music and also the land where the music takes place, and the two have always been inextricable from each other.”
The album’s lead single “Family Annihilator” directly speaks to the unease and tension of Cottrell’s surroundings. “Porch lights keep the demons at bay,” she sings over crashing cymbals and a field recording of birds. “I had never played it before, I kind of brought it out of the attic,” Cottrell says of the song. Despite being over a decade old, “Family Annihilator” spoke to the moment she was in. With the threat of another four years of conservative offices in power, Cottrell thought of family back in the South who would be voting, and remembered something her grandfather, a farmer, had told her years ago: “If a crop is diseased, you have to burn the whole crop.” “‘Family Annihilator’ is a result of me wondering if the whole field must burn today, to save the flowers of tomorrow,” Cottrell says.
Death Folk Country Track Listing:
01 – Death Is The Punishment For Love 02 – Harvester 03 – Black Canyon 04 – Family Annihilator 05 – Effigy At The Gate Of Ur 06 – Midnight Boy 07 – Hell In My Water 08 – Take Up Serpents 09 – For Alicia 10 – Eat What I Kill 11 – Death Is Reward For Love
Posted in Reviews on January 5th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
Here’s mud in yer eye. How are you feeling so far into this Quarterly Review? The year? How are things generally? How’s your mom doing? Everybody good? Hope so. Odd as it is to think, I find music sounds better when you’re not distracted by everything else going to shit around you, so I hope you don’t currently find yourself in that situation.
Today’s 10 records are a bit of this, bit of that, bit of here, but of there, but I’ll note that we start and end in Greece, which wasn’t on purpose or anything but a fun happenstantial byproduct of slating things randomly. What can I say? There’s a lot of Greek heavy out there and the human brain forms patterns whether we want it to or not. Plenty of geographic diversity between, so let’s get to it, hmm?
Winter 2023 Quarterly Review #31-40:
The Temple, Of Solitude Triumphant
Though they trace their beginnings back to the mid-aughts, Of Solitude Triumphant (on the venerable I Hate Records) is only the second full-length from Thessaloniki doom metallers The Temple. With chanting vocals, perpetuated misery and oldschool-style traditionalism metered by modern production’s tonal density, the melodic reach of the band is as striking as profundity of their rhythmic drag, the righteousness of their craft being in how they’re able to take a riff, slog it out across five, seven, 10 minutes in the case of post-intro opener “The Foundations” and manage to be neither boring nor a drag themselves. There’s a bit of relative tempo kick in “A White Flame for the Fear of Death” and the tremolo guitar (kudos to the half-time drums behind; fucking a) at the outset of closer “The Lord of Light” speaks to some influence from more extreme metals, but The Temple are steady in their purpose, and that nine-minute finale riff-marches to its own death accordingly. Party-doom it isn’t, and neither is it trying to be. In mood and the ambience born out of the vocals as much as the instruments behind, The Temple‘s doom is for the doomly doomed among the doomed. I’ll rarely add extra letters to it, but I have to give credit where it’s due: This is dooom. Maybe even doooom. Take heed.
Gothenburg heavy rockers Dead Man’s Dirt, with members of Bozeman Simplex, Bones of Freedom, Coaster of Souls and a host of others, offer their 2023 self-titled debut through Ozium Records in full-on 2LP fashion. It’s 13 songs, 75 minutes long. Not a minor undertaking. Those who stick with it are rewarded by nuances like the guitar solo atop the languid sway of “The Brew,” as well as the raucous start-stop riffing in “Icarus (Too Close to the Sun),” the catchy “Highway Driver” and the bassy looseness of vibe in the penultimate “River,” which heads toward eight minutes while subsequent endpoint “Asteroid” tops nine. It is to the band’s credit that they have both the material and the variety to pull off a record this packed and keep the songs united in their barroom-rocking spirit, though some attention spans just aren’t going to be up to the task in a single sitting. But that’s fine. If the last couple years have taught the human species anything, it’s that you never know what’s around the next corner, and if you’re going to go for it — whatever “it” is — go all-in, because it could evaporate the next day. Whether it’s the shuffle of “Queen of the Wood” or the raw, in-room sound of “Lost at Sea,” Dead Man’s Dirt deserve credit for leaving nothing behind.
Big rolling riffs, lurching grooves, melodies strongly enough delivered to cut through the tonal morass surrounding — there’s plenty to dig for the converted on Witchfinder‘s Forgotten Mansion. The Clermont-Ferrand, France, stoner doomers follow earlier-2022’s Endless Garden EP (review here) and 2019’s Hazy Rites (review here) full-length with their third album and first since joining forces with keyboardist Kevyn Raecke, who aligns in the malevolent-but-rocking wall of sound with guitarist Stanislas Franczak, bassist Clément Mostefai (also vocals) and drummer Thomas Dupuy. Primarily, they are very, very heavy, and that is very much the apparent foremost concern — not arguing with it — but as the five-song/36-minute long-player rolls through “Marijauna” and on through the Raecke-forward Type O Negative-ity of “Lucid Forest,” there’s more to their approach than it might at first appear. Yes, the lumber is mighty. But the space is also broad, and the slow-swinging groove is always in danger of collapsing without ever doing so. And somehow there’s heavy metal in it as well. It’s almost a deeper dive than they want you to think. I like that about it.
There’s some whiff of Conan‘s riffing in “Acompáñame Cuando Muero,” but on the whole, Mexico City sludge metallers Fumata are more about scathe than crush on the six tracks of their sophomore full-length, Días Aciagos (on LSDR Records). With ambient moments spread through the 35-minute beastwork and a bleak atmosphere put in place by eight-minute opener and longest track (immediate points) “Orgullo y Egoísmo,” with its loosely post-metallic march and raw, open sound, the four-piece of Javier Alejandre, Maximo Mateo, Leonardo Cardoso and Juan Tamayo are agonized and chaotic-sounding, but not haphazard in their delivery as they cross genre lines to work in some black metal extremity periodically, mine a bit of death-doom in “Anhelo,” foster the vicious culmination of the bookending seven-minute title-track, and so on. Tempo is likewise malleable, as “Seremos Olvidados” and that title-track show, as well as the blasting finish of “Orgullo y Egoísmo,” and only the penultimate “No Engendro” (also the shortest song at 4:15) really stays in one place for its duration, though as that place is in an unnamed region between atmosludge, doom and avant black metal, I’m not sure it counts. As exciting to hear as it is miserable in substance, Días Aciagos plunges where few dare to tread and bathes in its own pessimism.
Sumerlands‘ second album and Relapse debut, Dreamkiller finds Magic Circle‘s Brendan Radigan stepping in for original vocalist Phil Swanson (now in Solemn Lament), alongside Eternal Champion‘s Arthur Rizk, John Powers (both guitar), and Brad Raub (bass), and drummer Justin DeTore (also Solemn Lament, Dream Unending, several dozen others) for a traditional metal tour de force, reimagining New Wave of British Heavy Metal riffing with warmer tonality and an obviously schooled take on that moment at the end of the ’70s when metal emerged from heavy rock and punk and became its own thing. “Force of a Storm” careens Dio-style after the mid-tempo Scorpions-style start-stoppery of “Edge of the Knife,” and though I kept hoping the fadeout of closer “Death to Mercy” would come back up, as there’s about 30 seconds of silence at the finish, no such luck. There are theatrical touches to “Night Ride” — what, you didn’t think there’d be a song about the night? come on. — and “Heavens Above,” but that’s part of the character of the style Sumerlands are playing toward, and to their credit, they make it their own with vitality and what might emerge as a stately presence. I don’t know if it’s “true” or not and I don’t really give a shit. It’s a burner and it’s made with love. Everything else is gatekeeping nonsense.
Shadows is the first full-length from Genoa, Italy’s Expiatoria — also stylized with a capital-‘a’: ExpiatoriA — and its Nov. 2022 release arrives some 35 years after the band’s first demo. The band originally called it quits in 1996, and there were reunion EPs along the way in 2010 and 2018, but the six songs and 45 minutes here represent something that no doubt even the band at times thought wouldn’t ever happen. The occasion is given due ceremony in the songs, which, in addition to being laden with guest appearances by members of Death SS, Il Segno del Comando, La Janera, and so on, boasts a sweeping sound drawing from the drama of gothic metal — loooking at you, church-organ-into-piano-outro in “Ombra (Tenebra Parte II),” low-register vocals in “The Wrong Side of Love” and flute-and-guitar interlude “The Asylum of the Damned” — traditional metal riffing and, particularly in “7 Chairs and a Portrait,” a Candlemassian bell-tolling doom. These elements come together with cohesion and fluidity, the five-piece working as veterans almost in spite of a relative lack of studio experience. If Shadows was their 17th, 12th, or even fifth album, one might expect some of its transitions to be smoothed out to a greater degree, but as it is, who’s gonna argue with a group finally putting out their debut LP after three and a half decades? Jerks, that’s who.
Setting originals alongside vibe-enhancing covers of Blaze Foley and Commander Cody, Portland’s Tobias Berblinger (also of Roselit Bone) first issued The Luckiest Hippie Alive in 2018 and it arrives on vinyl through Ten Dollar Recording Co., shimmering in its ’70s ramble-country twang, vibrant with duets and acoustic balladeering. Berblinger‘s nostalgic take reminds of a time when country music could be viable and about more than active white supremacy and/or misappropriated hip-hop, and boozers like “My Boots Have Been Drinking” and the Hank Williams via Townes Van Zandt “Medicine Water” and “Heartaches, Hard Times, Hard Drinking”, and smokers like the title-track and “Stems and Seeds (Again)” reinforce the atmosphere of country on the other side of the culture war. Its choruses are telegraphed and ready to be committed to memory, and its understated sonic presence and the wistfulness of the two-minute “Crawl Back to You” — the backing vocals of Mariya May, Marisa Laurelle and Annie Perkins aren’t to be understated throughout, including in that short piece, along with Mo Douglas‘ various instrumental contributions — add a sweetness and humility that are no less essential to Americana than the pedal steel throughout.
Based in Norrköping, Sweden, the three-piece Grandier turn expectation on its head quickly with their debut album, The Scorn and Grace of Crows, starting opener/longest track (immediate points) “Sin World” with a sludgy, grit-coated lumber only to break after a minute in to a melodic verse. The ol’ switcheroo? Kind of, but in that moment and song, and indeed the rest of what follows on this first outing for Majestic Mountain, the band — guitarist Patrik Lidfors, bassist/many-layered-vocalist Lars Carlberg, (maybe, unless they’re programmed; then maybe programming) drummer Hampus Landin — carve their niche from out of a block of sonic largesse and melodic reach. Carlberg‘s voice is emotive over the open-feeling space of “Viper Soul” and sharing the mix with the more forward guitars of “Soma Goat,” and while in theory, there’s an edge of doomed melancholy to the 44-minute procession, the heft in “The Crows Will Following Us Down” is as much directed toward impact as mood. They really are melodic sludge metal, which is a hell of a thing to piece together on your first record as fluidly as they do here. “Smoke on the Bog” leans more into the Sabbathian roll with megafuzz tonality behind, and “Moth to the Flames” is faster, more brash, and a kind of dark heavy rock that, three albums from now, might be prog or might be ’90s lumber. Could go either way, especially with “My Church of Let it All Go” answering back with its own quizzical course. Will be very interested to hear where their next release takes them, since they’re onto something and, to their credit, it’s not immediately apparent what.
Doomers will nod approvingly as Ottawa’s Subsun cap “Proliferation” by shifting into a Candlemassian creeper of a lead line, but that kind of doomly traditionalism is only one tool in their varied arsenal. Guitarist/vocalist/synthesist Jean-Michel Fortin, bassist/vocalist Simon Chartrand-Paquette and drummer Jérémy Blais go to that post-Edling well (of souls) again, but their work across their 2022 debut LP, Parasite, is more direct, more rock-based and at times more aggressive on the whole. Recorded at Apartment 2 by Topon Das (Fuck the Facts), the seven-songer grows punkish in the verse of “Mutation” and drops thrashy hints at the outset of “Fusion,” while closer “Mutualism” slams harder like noise rock and punches its bassline directly at the listener. Begun with the nodding lurch of “Parasitism” — which would seem as well to be at the thematic heart of the album in terms of lyrics and the descriptive approach thereof — the movement of one song to the next has its underlying ties in the vocals and overarching semi-metal tonality, but isn’t shy about messing with those either, as on the lands-even-harder “Evolution” or the thuds at the outset of “Adaptation,” the relative straightforwardness of the structures allowing the band to draw together different styles into a single, effective, individualized sound.
The acoustic guitar of opener “Kata Vathos” transitions smoothly into the arrival-of-the-electrics on “Krifto,” as Athens’ Bazooka launch the first of the post-punk struts on Kapou Allou, their fourth full-length. Mediterranean folk and pop are factors throughout — as heard in the vocal melody of the title-track or the danceable “Pano Apo Ti Gi” — while closer “Veloudino Kako” reimagines Ween via Greece, “Proedriki Froura” traps early punk in a jar to see it light up, and “Dikia Mou Alithia” brings together edgy, loosely-proggy heavy rock in a standout near the album’s center. Wherever they go — yes, even on “Jazzooka” — Bazooka seem to have a plan in mind, some vision of where they want to end up, and Kapou Allou is accordingly gleeful in its purposed weirdoism. At 41 minutes, it’s neither too long nor too short, and vocalist/guitarist/synthesist Xanthos Papanikolaou, guitarist/backing vocalist Vassilis Tzelepis, bassist Aris Rammos and drummer/backing vocalist John Vulgaris cast themselves less as tricksters than simply a band working outside the expected confines of genre. In any language — as it happens, Greek — their material is expansive stylistically but tight in performance, and that tension adds to the delight of hearing something so gleefully its own.
Posted in Reviews on November 21st, 2022 by JJ Koczan
The standout line, “You can live but you can’t stay here,” from opening track and rightly-chosen lead single “Misfortune Teller” is analogous for what’s at root in the storytelling of 16‘s Into Dust. It is a cleverly worded threat of death, laid out from the point of view of the rentier class to the tenant class (“you can live” means “I will let you live because I have the power and choice to not”), specifically someone being evicted from their home with no place else to go. Into Dust, released in continuing accord with Relapse Records, follows the long-running Los Angeles/San Diego sludge metallers’ 2020 outing, Dream Squasher (review here), and brings them deeper into the realities of this wretched, surreal and not-yet-half-over decade.
While it’s not necessarily a concept album in terms of ‘Main Character goes to place and does a thing’ plotlines, the lyrics and guitar, bass, drums and, in the case of closer “Born on a Barstool,” sax and electric piano, are united by this perspective in a way that feels more focused perhaps than 16‘s social commentary has been in the past. And whether it’s the living-through-it “Dead Eyes” and “Null and Eternal Void,” or “The Floor Wins,” which if it is using vertigo as a metaphor is well justified in so doing and, if not, is the first sludge tune I’ve ever heard to inadvertently tackle the crisis of prescription drug costs, or the debt in “Never Paid Back,” the sexual violence in “Dirt in Your Mouth,” or sheer hopelessness in “Born on a Bar Stool,” there is no shortage of storytelling happening across the album’s 12 tracks and 44 minutes, with vocalist/guitarist Bobby Ferry chugging out trademark post-hardcore/metal largesse as a suitably crushing, downtrodden backdrop.
Lead guitarist Alex Shuster doubles as producer for the second time, with engineering by Jeff Forrest — who has worked with the band at least in a recording capacity if not also mixing since their 1993 debut, Curves That Kick (discussed here) — and the combination of the two results in a dynamic that allows for the punkish rush of side B leadoff “Lane Splitter” and hooks like that of the earlier “Ash in the Hourglass,” which feel particularly bold in the layering of Ferry‘s clean and harsh vocals and yet don’t come across as overblown. The tracks are by and large short, sharp and pummeling, but with the reach-down-into-this-abyss bass work of Barney Firks and the song-first drumming of Dion Thurman — who thuds out behind the knuckledragger riff of “Dead Eyes” and turns around to groove in the hook of “Scrape the Rocks” with perfect (and that’s not a word I use lightly; he nails it) tempo and positioning, not trying to take over the chorus, but an active participant in it bolstering the entirety — as unified as the dynamic may be around anger, there is nonetheless a dynamic being laid out.
It is one that has developed over the course of the years since 16 relaunched with 2009’s Bridges to Burn, but as their ninth long-player, Into Dust marks a pivotal transition for 16 in being the first album they’ve done with Ferry on lead vocals, the band having parted ways with founding frontman Cris Jerue since Dream Squasher was released. That’s not an insignificant change, but Ferry has contributed vocals intermittently throughout the band’s tenure and seems well at home at the head of the charge here, be it the spit-laced initial snarls of “Misfortune Teller” or the barking shouts that top the veer-into-country-rock-strum that makes the penultimate “Dressed Up to Get Messed Up” even sleazier, or the cleaner singing that makes “Never Paid Back” and “Dirt in Your Mouth” complement each other so well.
“Misfortune Teller,” “Dead Eyes” and “Ash in the Hourglass” lay out an initial salvo as laced with brutalist angles as with memorable choruses — the latter also has a highlight solo from Shuster — and are somewhat separated from the rest of the album by the atmospheric interlude “The Deep,” which is only 1:29, but a first in the band’s 31-year history and notable for that as well as the hypnotic effect ahead of the slam-chug of “Scrape the Rocks,” which follows, backing its clean-sung verse with some of Into Dust‘s hardest hitting fare. “Null and Eternal Void” is more uptempo, but still miserable, and “The Floor Wins” is both a high point for the album as a whole and a manifestation of the band Crowbar have been working toward being since Kirk Windstein found out Jamey from Hatebreed was a fan.
“The Floor Wins” caps side A with hook and hammer, riding its chorus unto final stomps with deceptive poise that makes low times into high art while also setting up the immediate, intense sprint that is “Lane Splitter.” As “Never Paid Back” and “Dirt in Your Mouth” roll out their companioning nod, the former a little slower, the latter a little more disgusted, momentum is on 16‘s side, and “Dressed Up to Get Messed Up” and “Born on a Barstool” also seem to be paired together for their relative branching out from the band’s root style. “Dressed Up to Get Messed Up” brings together lines like, “I wanna call you baby/I wanna make you sing,” with fervent self-loathing, and that flash of twang in its second half is a welcome bit of fuckall stuck late at the record, a surprise shift perhaps intended in part to hint that there’s still more ground to cover, which “Born on a Barstool” does quickly in its spoken word intro, as a brooding Ferry is backed by the aforementioned electric piano (by Peter Kovach) and sax (Gabriel Sundy) before the song itself takes hold in suitably explosive fashion.
The closer is no less pivotal than the opener to understanding who 16 are at this point. More than three decades on from their start, they are willing to experiment — that’s not to say “screw with” — their sound in new ways in a way not every band would be by their ninth album, and with backing vocals by Elisa Gonzales, “Born on a Barstool” serves as a culmination of the hopelessness(es) and miseries conveyed throughout Into Dust, turning the destructiveness of being even emotionally let alone literally beat down by simply trying to get through one’s day, support one’s family, exist under capitalism into — what else? — a depressive drinking song. The sax returns to bookend before the last growl and crash that end the song/record, and the experiment feels like more than a novelty for the sense of place in an urban setting that comes through. This is the American city and an American experience of giving up. If “Scrape the Rocks” was an existential running aground, “Born on a Barstool” is the ship actually sinking.
One would be hard-pressed to find a more realistic ending to Into Dust, or one that summarizes so much about 16 while emphasizing their commitment to expand their own sound and take on sludge metal. They remain defined by shove and bludgeon, but have evolved into a different and farther-reaching band than they were. I don’t know if that’s middle age settling in — some awfully moshy vibes here for that to be the case — or just boredom at play or what, but it works for them, and the cohesion that results in their songwriting makes them a stronger outfit on the whole. It’s not chaos and it’s not meant to be. Into Dust is poignant and caustic, melodic and harsh, but most of all it is a showcase of who 16 are right now and the rare ability shown in their craft to convey defeat without actually sounding beaten.
Posted in Whathaveyou on November 10th, 2022 by JJ Koczan
I’m all about -(16)- being on Relapse, all about them continuing to put out killer records like the upcoming Into Dust, all about them going on tour. And you know someone behind the scenes also gives a shit about the release because not only are the long-running Los Angeles sludge metallers getting out to support the record on the West Coast, which is fair enough — I’m gonna hold onto the hope they come east to play Desertfest New York in 2023, while acknowledging that hope is based, like most, on absolutely nothing — but they’ve now put out three videos before the record is even out. That just doesn’t happen for something that isn’t a priority somewhere along the line. Someone, be it band, label, management, mysterious benefactor, is invested.
Economics, at least on the micro level with implications for the broader system, would seem to be relevant to the album itself as well, and fair enough, but the bottom line is this band doesn’t owe anyone anything, and they deserve whatever push they get. I’m sure there are those who swear by their ’90s-era offerings, but for me, they’ve been doing their best work over the last decade, and Into Dust keeps that momentum alive for sure.
So yeah, blah blah good band. Okay. Videos at the bottom of the post, info from the PR wire:
In advance of the release of Into Dust, -(16)- will embark on US headlining tour set to kick off this weekend. Support will be provided by Doc Hammer. See all confirmed dates below.
-(16)- w/ Doc Hammer: 11/12/2022 Tower Bar – San Diego, CA 11/13/2022 Knucklehead Hollywood – Los Angeles, CA 11/14/2022 Transplants Brewing – Palmdale, CA 11/15/2022 The Fulton – Fresno, CA 11/16/2022 Ivy Room – Oakland, CA 11/17/2022 Café Colonial – Sacramento, CA 11/18/2022 The High Water Mark – Portland, OR 11/19/2022 The Bar House – Seattle, WA 11/20/2022 Mootsy’s – Spokane, WA 11/22/2022 Shredder – Boise, ID 11/23/2022 Aces High Saloon – Salt Lake City, UT 11/25/2022 The Hive – Flagstaff, AZ 11/26/2022 The Den – Prescott, NV
From the frantic opening of “Misfortune Teller” to the undeniable pounding and swagger of “Scrape The Rocks,” Into Dust lives up to its name, as -(16)- beats the listener into submission through the lowest of ends and the sour, palpable malaise prevalent throughout the album’s dozen tracks.
“There’s a story arc in the lyrics that start with an eviction notice served amid the ruins of Hurricane Irma in the Florida Keys, to running aground metaphorically and drowning in midlife, bearing witness to the modern suffering of hunger and poverty on the Mexico California border,” Ferry says. The negativity persists on tracks aptly titled “Null And Eternal Void,” and the dizzying, pill-induced, “The Floor Wins.” Elsewhere, “Born On A Bar Stool” sends the listener off with a sobering album closer; ending on a foggy and rainy jazz-tinged San Francisco night, with an anti-drinking drinking song, proclaiming, “Raise your glass all things pass.”
-(16)-: Bobby Ferry – guitar, vocals Alex Shuster – lead guitar Barney Firks – bass Dion Thurman – drums
Posted in Whathaveyou on October 21st, 2022 by JJ Koczan
Catching their breath for a moment coming off tours in July and September into earlier this month, The Obsessed will be back on the road starting Nov. 2 at Space Ballroom in Hamden, CT — nice spot to see a show — and running to and through a slot at the Snowblind Festival in Atlanta, Georgia, before finishing in York, PA, on the 17th. There’s one show still TBA, but honestly, even if nothing gets locked up for it at this point, after two solid weeks of playing every night, no one could accuse the band of not having earned a night off, especially when that involves travel from Static Age Records in Asheville (also a cool spot; I was there one time in 2009), North Carolina, to Pennsylvania for the next show. That’s a bit over eight hours by car or van, without stops. Breaking it into two days, it could almost be pleasant.
There’s apparently also a Wino documentary coming out and you can see the trailer for that at the bottom of this post, along with a live set from Long Beach, CA, in September, when The Obsessed were touring around their gig at Monolith on the Mesa in New Mexico. They get around.
To wit:
THE OBSESSED – November Tour
Our next tour is only a few weeks away! Shows in Florida, New Hampshire, New York, North Carolina and Pennsylvania have just been added. Super last minute so help us spread the word and we’ll see you all on the road!
11.2.22 Hamden, CT Space Ballroom 11.3.22 Providence, RI Alchemy 11.4.22 Worcester, MA Ralph’s Rock Diner 11.5.22 Portland, ME Geno’s Rock Club 11.6.22 Brooklyn, NY Sovereign 11.7.22 Manchester, NH Shaskeen Pub 11.8.22 Amityville, NY Amityville Music Hall 11.9.22 Columbus, OH Ace of Cups with MOTHERSHIP 11.10.22 Charlotte, NC The Milestone Club 11.11.22 Huntsville, AL Shagnasty’s Grubbery and Pour House with PENTAGRAM 11.12.22 Atlanta, GA Snowblind Festival 11.13.22 Tampa, FL at Brass Mug 11.14.22 Jacksonville, FL Archetype 11.15.22 Asheville, NC at Static Age Records 11.16.22 TBA 11.17.22 York, PA at The Kennel at West York Inn
We’re on a mission to hit up the whole country. See you all out on the Tombstone Highway!
Poster by Bill Kole.
THE OBSESSED are: Chris Angleberger (Tranquilizer): bass Jason Taylor (Sierra, Witches of God): guitar Brian Costantino: drums Wino: guitar and vocals
Posted in Whathaveyou on September 28th, 2022 by JJ Koczan
Let’s be honest with each other. Some bands have missed a step since coming back from the pandemic. I’m not saying they’ve lost it entirely or that that particular, indefinable ‘it’ can never be regained, but there’s rockers out there across various subgenres who just aren’t quite what they were in the Before Times.
I’m really glad -(16)- aren’t one of them. Their new video for the track “Misfortune Teller” bears a signature groove and aggressive push, and as one of 12 inclusions on their forthcoming album, Into Dust, it bodes well. And hey, -(16)- have been around for 30 years, so even if they had faltered a bit after 2020’s Dream Squasher (review here), you’d understand, but I’ll tell you, that’s not what I’m hearing here. Nov. 18, then? Alright. Nov. 18. Preorders are up if that’s your thing. I haven’t yet mastered the art, but sometimes Relapse sells t-shirt bundles, so, you know…
From the PR wire:
-(16)- : California Sludge Veterans To Release New Album, Into Dust, November 18th Via Relapse Records; New Song “Misfortune Teller” Now Playing + Fall US Headlining Dates Announced
California sludge veterans -(16)- return with their heaviest and most devastating record to date, Into Dust! The new album, a collection of cautionary tales of survival and redemption, is set to an amalgamation of sludge, punk, metal, hardcore, and stoner riffs that could only be built through thirty years of commitment to their dark sonic craft, which -(16)- continues to improve upon.
Guitarist/vocalist Bobby Ferry comments, “For the past two years, we have been careening down the highway of life, stuck in the idle lane, heading towards oblivion. However, this detour endowed us with ample inspiration to continue screaming headlong into the abyss, grinding out Into Dust in the process.”
Into Dust is out November 18th on CD, LP, and digital formats.
Into Dust Track Listing: 1. Misfortune Teller 2. Dead Eyes 3. Ash In The Hourglass 4. The Deep 5. Scrape The Rocks 6. Null And Eternal Void 7. The Floor Wins 8. Lane Splitter 9. Never Paid Back 10. Dirt In Your Mouth 11. Dressed Up To Get Messed Up 12. Born On A Barstool
In conjunction with the release of Into Dust, -(16)- has announced a US headlining tour this November. Main support will be provided by Doc Hammer. See all confirmed dates below.
-(16)- w/ Doc Hammer: 11/12/2022 Tower Bar – San Diego, CA 11/13/2022 Knucklehead Hollywood – Los Angeles, CA 11/14/2022 Transplants Brewing – Palmdale, CA 11/15/2022 TBA – Fresno, CA 11/16/2022 Ivy Room – Oakland, CA 11/17/2022 Café Colonial – Sacramento, CA 11/18/2022 The High Water Mark – Portland, OR 11/19/2022 The Bar House – Seattle, WA 11/20/2022 Mootsy’s – Spokane, WA 11/22/2022 Shredder – Boise, ID 11/23/2022 Aces High Saloon – Salt Lake City, UT 11/25/2022 Recycled Propaganda – Las Vegas, NV 11/26/2022 The Den – Prescott, NV
From the frantic opening of “Misfortune Teller” to the undeniable pounding and swagger of “Scrape The Rocks,” Into Dust lives up to its name, as -(16)- beats the listener into submission through the lowest of ends and the sour, palpable malaise prevalent throughout the album’s dozen tracks.
“There’s a story arc in the lyrics that start with an eviction notice served amid the ruins of Hurricane Irma in the Florida Keys, to running aground metaphorically and drowning in midlife, bearing witness to the modern suffering of hunger and poverty on the Mexico California border,” Ferry says. The negativity persists on tracks aptly titled “Null And Eternal Void,” and the dizzying, pill-induced, “The Floor Wins.” Elsewhere, “Born On A Bar Stool” sends the listener off with a sobering album closer; ending on a foggy and rainy jazz-tinged San Francisco night, with an anti-drinking drinking song, proclaiming, “Raise your glass all things pass.”
-(16)-: Bobby Ferry – guitar, vocals Alex Shuster – lead guitar Barney Firks – bass Dion Thurman – drums
Posted in Reviews on September 26th, 2022 by JJ Koczan
Welcome back to the Fall 2022 Quarterly Review. It’s not quite the same as the Mountain of Madness, but there are definitely days where it feels like they’re pretty closely related. Just the same, we, you and I, persist through like digging a tunnel sans dynamite, and I hope you had a great and safe weekend (also sans dynamite) and that you find something in this batch of releases that you truly enjoy. Not really much point to the thing otherwise, I guess, though it does tend to clear some folders off the desktop. Like, 100 of them in this case. That in itself isn’t nothing.
Time’s a wastin’. Let’s roll.
Quarterly Review #51-60:
Boris, Heavy Rocks
One can’t help but wonder if Boris aren’t making some kind of comment on the franchise-ification of what sometimes feels like every damn thing by releasing a third Heavy Rocks album, as though perhaps it’s become their brand label for this particular kind of raucousness, much as their logo in capital letters or lowercase used to let you know what kind of noise you were getting. Either way, in 10 tracks and 41 minutes that mostly leave scorch marks when they’re done — they space out a bit on “Question 1” but elsewhere in the song pull from black metal and layer in lead guitar triumph — and along the way give plenty more thick toned, sometimes-sax-inclusive on-brand chicanery to dive into. “She is Burning,” “Cramper” and “My Name is Blank” are rippers before the willfully noisy relative slowdown “Blah Blah Blah,” and Japanese heavy institution are at their most Melvinsian with the experiment “Nosferatou,” ahead of the party metal “Ruins” and semi-industrial blowout “Ghostly Imagination,” the would-be-airy-were-it-not-crushing “Chained” and the concluding “(Not) Last Song,” which feeds the central query above in asking if there’s another sequel coming, piano, feedback, and finally, vocals ending what’s been colloquially dubbed Heavy Rocks (2022) with an end-credits scene like something truly Marvelized. Could be worse if that’s the way it’s going. People tend to treat each Boris album as a landmark. I’m not sure this one is, but sometimes that’s part of what happens with sequels too.
Along with the depth of tone and general breadth of the mix, one of the aspects most enjoyable about Mother Bear‘s debut album, Zamonian Occultism, is how it seems to refuse to commit to one side or the other. They call themselves doom and maybe they are in movements here like the title-track, but the mostly-instrumental six-track/41-minute long-player — which opens and closes with lyrics and has “Sultan Abu” in the middle for a kind of human-voice trailmarker along the way — draws more from heavy psychedelia and languid groove on “Anagrom Ataf,” and if “Blue Bears and Silver Spliffs” isn’t stoner riffed, nothing ever has been. At the same time, the penultimate title-track slows way down, pulls the curtains closed, and offers a more massive nod, and the 10-minute closer “The Wizaaard” (just when you thought there were no more ways to spell it) answers that sense of foreboding in its own declining groove and echo-laced verses, but puts the fuzz at the forefront of the mix, letting the listener decide ultimately where they’re at. Tell you where I am at least: On board. Guitarist/vocalist Jonas Wenz, bassist Kevin Krenczer and drummer Florian Grass lock in hypnotic groove early and use it to tie together almost everything they do here, and while they’re obviously schooled in the styles they’re touching on, they present with an individual intent and leave room to grow. Will look forward to more.
After being kicked out of black metallers Absu for coming out as trans, Melissa Moore founded Sonja in Philadelphia with Grzesiek Czapla on drums and Ben Brand on bass, digging into a ‘true metal’ aesthetic with ferocity enough that Loud Arriver is probably the best thing they could’ve called their first record. Issued through Cruz Del Sur — so you know their ’80s-ism is class — the 37-minute eight-tracker vibes nighttime and draws on Moore‘s experience thematically, or so the narrative has it (I haven’t seen a lyric sheet), with energetic shove in “Nylon Nights” and “Daughter of the Morning Star,” growing duly melancholy in “Wanting Me Dead” before finding its victorious moment in the closing title-track. Cuts like “Pink Fog,” “Fuck, Then Die” and opener “When the Candle Burns Low…” feel specifically born of a blend of 1979-ish NWOBHM, but there’s a current of rock and roll here as well in the penultimate “Moans From the Chapel,” a sub-three-minute shove that’s classic in theme as much as riff and the most concise but by no means the only epic here. Hard not to read in catharsis on the part of Moore given how the band reportedly came about, but Loud Arriver serves notice one way or the other of a significant presence in the underground’s new heavy metal surge. Sonja have no time to waste. There are asses to kick.
Seven-minute opener ends in a War of the Worlds-style radio announcement of an alien invasion underway after the initial fuzzed rollout of the song fades, and between that and the subsequent interlude “Funeral March,” Reverend Mother‘s intent on Damned Blessing seems to be to throw off expectation. The Brooklynite outfit led by guitarist/vocalist/songwriter Jackie Green (also violin) find even footing on rockers like “Locomotive” or the driving-until-it-hits-that-slowdown-wall-and-hey-cool-layering “Reverend Mother,” and the strings on the instrumental “L.V.B.,” which boasts a cello guest spot by High Priestess Nighthawk of Heavy Temple, who also returns on the closing Britney Spears cover “Toxic,” a riffed-up bent that demonstrates once again the universal applicability of pop as Reverend Mother tuck it away after the eight-minute “The Masochist Tie,” a sneering roll and chugger that finds the trio of Green, bassist Matt Cincotta and drummer Gabe Katz wholly dug into heavy rock tropes while nonetheless sounding refreshing in their craft. That song and “Shame” before it encapsulate the veer-into-doom-ness of Reverend Mother‘s hard-deliver’d fuzz, but Damned Blessing comes across like the beginning of a new exploration of style as only a next-generation-up take can and heralds change to come. I would not expect their second record to sound the same, but it will be one to watch for. So is this.
The pedigree here is notable as Umbilicus features founding Cannibal Corpse drummer Paul Mazurkiewicz and guitarist/engineer Taylor Nordberg (also visuals), who’s played with Deicide, The Absence and a host of others, but with the soar-prone vocals of Brian Stephenson out front and the warm tonality of bassist Vernon Blake, Umbilicus‘ 10-song/45-minute first full-length, Path of 1000 Suns is a willful deep-dive into modernly-produced-and-presented ’70s-style heavy rock. Largely straightforward in structure, there’s room for proto-metallurgy on “Gates of Neptune” after the swinging “Umbilicus,” and the later melodic highlight “My Own Tide” throws a pure stoner riff into its second half, while the concluding “Gathering at the Kuiper Belt” hints at more progressive underpinnings, it still struts and the swing there is no less defining than in the solo section of “Stump Sponge” back on side A. Hooks abound, and I suppose in some of the drum fills, if you know what you’re listening for, you can hear shades of more extreme aural ideologies, but the prevailing spirit is born of an obvious love of classic heavy rock and roll, and Umbilicus play it with due heart and swagger. Not revolutionary, and actively not trying to be, but definitely the good time it promises.
Not as frenetic as some out there of a similar technically-proficient ilk, Lawrence, Kansas, double-guitar instrumental four-piece After Nations feel as much jazz on “Féin” or “Cae” as they do progressive metal, djent, experimental, or any other tag with which one might want to saddle the resoundingly complex Buddhism-based concept album, The Endless Mountain — the Bandcamp page for which features something of a recommended reading list as well as background on the themes reportedly being explored in the material — which is fluid in composition and finds each of its seven more substantial inclusions accompanied by a transitional interlude that might be a drone, near-silence, a foreboding line of keys, whathaveyou. The later “Širdis” — penultimate to the suitably enlightened “Jūra,” if one doesn’t count the interlude between (not saying you shouldn’t) — is more of a direct linear build, but the 40-minute entirety of The Endless Mountain feels like a steep cerebral climb. Not everyone is going to be up for making it, frankly, but in “}}}” and its punctuationally-named companions there’s some respite from the head-spinning turns that surround, and that furthers both the dynamic at play overall and the accessibility of the songs. Whatever else it might be, it’s immaculately produced and every single second, from “Mons” and “Aon” to “))” and “(),” feels purposeful.
With the over-the-top Danzig-ian vocals coming through high in the mix, the drums sounding intentionally blown out and the fuzz of bass and guitar arriving in tidal riffs, Denmark’s Holy Dragon for sure seem to be shooting for memorability on their second album, Mordjylland. “Hell and Gold” pulls back somewhat from the in-your-face immediacy of opener “Bong” — and yet it’s faster; go figure — and the especially brash “War” is likewise timely and dug in. Centerpiece “Nightwatch” feels especially yarling with its more open riff and far-back echoing drums — those drums are heavy in tone in a way most are not, and it is appreciated — and gives over to the Judas Priestly riff of “Dunder,” which sounds like it’s being swallowed by the bass even as the concluding solo slices through. They cap with “Egypt” in classic-metal, minor-key-sounds-Middle-Eastern fashion, but they’re never far from the burly heft with which they started, and even the mellower finish of “Travel to Kill” feels drawn from it. The album’s title is a play on ‘Nordjylland’ — the region of Denmark where they’re from — and if they’re saying it’s dead, then their efforts to shake it back to life are palpable in these seven songs, even if the end front-to-back result of the album is going to be hit or miss with most listeners. Still, they are markedly individual, and the fact that you could pick them out of the crowd of Europe’s e’er-packed heavy underground is admirable in itself.
Lincoln, Nebraska, trio Trillion Ton Beryllium Ships are right there. Right on the edge. You can hear it in the way “Beg Your Pardon” unfolds its lumbering tonality, riff-riding vocals and fervency of groove at the outset of their second album, Consensus Trance. They’re figuring it out. And they’re working quickly. Their first record, 2021’s TTBS, and the subsequent Rosalee EP (review here) were strong signals of intention on the part of guitarist/vocalist Jeremy Warner, bassist Karlin Warner and drummer Justin Kamal, and there is realization to be had throughout Consensus Trance in the noisy lead of “Mystical Consumer,” the quiet instrumental “Distalgia for Infinity” and the mostly-huge-chugged 11-minute highlight “Weeping Beast” to which it leads. But they’re also still developing their craft, as opener “Beg Your Pardon” demonstrates amid one of the record’s most vibrant hooks, and exploring spaciousness like that in the back half of the penultimate “Silo,” and the sense that emerges from that kind of reach and the YOB-ish ending of capper “I.H.” is that there’s more story to be told as to what Trillion Ton Beryllium Ships have to offer in style and substance. So much the better since Consensus Trance has such superlative heft at its foundation.
Kind of funny to think of Menticide as a debut LP from Deer Creek, who’ve been around for 20 years — one fondly recalls their mid-aughts splits with Church of Misery and Raw Radar War — but one might consider that emblematic of the punk underpinning the sludgy heavy roll of “(It Had Neither Fins Nor Wings) Nor Did it Writhe,” along with the attitude of fuckall that joins hands with resoundingly dense tonality to create the atmosphere of the five originals and the cover medley closer “The Working Man is a Dead Pig,” which draws on Rush, Bauhaus and Black Sabbath classics as a sort of partially explanatory appendix to the tracks preceding. Of those, the impression left is duly craterous, and Deer Creek, with Paul Vismara‘s mostly-clean vocals riding a succession of his own monolithic riffs, a bit of march thrown into “The Utter Absence of Hope” amid the breath of tone from his and Conan Hultgren‘s guitars and Stephanie Hopper‘s bass atop the drumming of Marc Brooks. One is somewhat curious as to what drives a band after two full-length-less decades to make a definitive first album — at least beyond “hey a lot of things have changed in the last couple years” anyhow — but the results here are inarguable in their weight and the spaces they create and fill, with disaffection and onward and outward-looking angst as much as volume. That is to say, as much as Menticide nods, it’s more unsettling the more attention you actually pay to what’s going on. But if you wanted to space out instead, I doubt they’d hold it any more against you than was going to happen anyway. Band who owes nothing to anyone overdelivers. There.
Following the mid-’90s C.O.C. tone and semi-Electric Wizard shouts of “Black Lotus Trance,” “Detroit Demons” calls out Stooges references while burl-riffing around Pantera‘s “I’m Broken,” and “Loose” manifests sleaze to coincide with the exploitation of the Never Sleep at Night EP’s cover art. All of this results in zero-doubt assurance that the Brazilian trio have their bona fides in place when it comes to dudely riffs and an at least partially metal approach; stylistically-speaking, it’s like metal dudes got too drunk to remember what they were angry at and decided to have a party instead. I don’t have much encouraging to say at this juncture about the use of vintage porn as a likely cheap cover option, but no one seems to give a shit about moving past that kind of misogyny, and I guess as regards gender-based discrimination and playing to the male gaze and so on, it’s small stakes. I bet they get signed off the EP anyway, so what’s the point? The point I guess is that the broad universe of those who’d build altars to riffs, Riffcoven are at very least up front with what they’re about and who their target audience is.
