When I proposed to 12 Eyes guitarist/vocalist Ryan Lynch the interview that follows, I pitched it to him as an exit interview, like human resources does when you leave a corporate job, to find out how your experience was working there. I wanted to know how 12 Eyes, now that they were leaving it, felt about the scene in their native NYC. With Lynch in the city proper and drummer Joe Wood (also of long-running sludge rockers Borgo Pass) and bassist Joe Rega out on Long Island, their perspective on Manhattan and beyond was bound to be worth investigation.

Sure enough, I was right. Lynch, whose relocation to New Mexico has put the band on hiatus if not actually broken it up, took the time to reflect on some of 12 Eyes‘ glories and follies. Having seen them more than several times myself and been lucky enough to consider each member of the band a friend, I can attest that the good-time vibe to which he alludes on behalf of himself, Wood and Rega is true and was always a big part of what made a 12 Eyes show so unique. No irony, no bullshit, no posturing, just a bizarre positivity cloaked in doomed-out riffs and blood-curdling cackles. They were like Bongzilla if Bongzilla drank three cases of Red Bull and started making up songs as they went along.

Their MySpace page still in tact and their current status unknown — which is somehow fitting their laid back, see-what-happens ways — The Obelisk proudly presents this interview with one of New York‘s few quality bands. Q&A is, as always, after the jump. Enjoy.

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On their only EP to date, Eibon (Aesthetic Death), the Paris four-piece of the same name craft a brutally sludge-filled sound that runs utterly contradictory to every Francophiliac impression I?ve ever had of their home city. Because they play sludge and because vocalist Georges Balafas is a phlegmy screamer whose voice is well-suited to the lumbering riffs of guitarist Max Hedin, someone is bound to compare them to Eyehategod, but the two tracks included here, ?Asleep and Threatening? and ?Staring at the Abyss,? are far more atmospheric and not nearly as raw-sounding. There?s more happening here than Bower-powered riffs and Southern-fried nihilism.

Each of the two songs is over 10 minutes long, and Eibon gives a credible showing of diversity within the doom/sludge realm. Hedin, bassist St?phane Rivi?re and drummer Jerome Lachaud all used to be in Horrors of the Black Museum, and Balafas? past in Drowning shows through in some of his deeper growls, despite his generally keeping things in a mid-register rasp that comes off like a differently applied version of Darkest Hour?s John Henry?s indecipherability. By that I mean I don?t have a god damn clue what he?s saying, but it sounds like it?s hurting him an awful lot to say it.

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If this is the kind of hateful madness that being in a suckfest band like Five Pointe O inspires, then maybe those one-time Roadrunner Records commerce rock non-priorities served a purpose after all. Bassist Sean Pavey leaves his common denominator past behind him with his new four-piece, Blackbeard, making up for lost time with nasty sludge and sandpaper-grade audio abrasion on the inevitable self-released EP, That’s Why They Call it Dying…, and though I’m not one for ending titles with ellipses, two minutes into opener “Breath of Life/Life’s End” and any and all punctuational grievances are moot. All that’s left is heavy.

You’ll note the part above where it says “sludge.” The thing about that is sludge is, by and large, pretty predictable when it comes to metallic subgenres. It’s usually slow, thick, underproduced and topped off with visceral screams. On that level, these Joliet, Illinois, locals don’t disappoint. That’s Why They Call it Dying… varies the pace of its attack, but the attack is still basically in line with expectation. Doesn’t take away from the immediacy of the songs or the effectiveness of the slowed-down mosh riffs of “Kidney Stoned” or “The Peasant Song,” the latter of which shows a Pantera influence not only in Robert Hughes‘ throat-stinging vocals, but also in the riffs of guitarist John Foster and the alternate time kept by drummer Dan Snodgrass. For his part, Pavey is appropriately rumbling throughout, coming to the surface to introduce a masterful Sleep riff on “The Reckoning” before diving back under the surface of the song to make room for the guitar.

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It’s been said before, and not just by me, that stoner rock is what happens when punk kids grow up. If that case isn’t yet proven, I humbly submit York, PA/Baltimore, MD sludge rockers Swamp Vulture, whose two-song SP (when was the last time you saw those initials for a release?), Hunter-Gatherer has just seen digital release via upstart label, Eleventh Key. The trio of bassist/vocalist Toddst, guitarist Sean and drummer Chris — you know they’re young because they don’t have last names yet — offer densely packed, mid-paced Sleep-style Gretsch and Gibson grooves with some angrier doom flourishes, by and large keeping their sound stripped down and staying away from too much ambiance or atmospheric chicanery.

If Hunter-Gatherer was a DIY cassingle — which, I admit, is how I’ve been thinking of it — side one would be devoted entirely to the title track, which wastes no time with flashy intros, instead starting with the main verse riff and pounding it into the ground. Sean‘s tone is not overly fuzzed, but thick nonetheless and Toddst‘s bass does much to beef up the Swamp Vulture approach. There are a few pace changes, well done, and a requisite slow, heavy-as-balls part, but “Hunter-Gatherer” mostly shows that if nothing else, these dudes have their influences in line: Sleep, Goatsnake, Melvins.

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While the thought of another Down tour saddens me because it means we’re that much less likely to see a new Crowbar or (gawd forbid) C.O.C. album anytime soon, I’m glad long-running North Carolina dirtball sludgers Weedeater are going to get the exposure of a major corporate tour. Should be pretty funny to see how the dudes in the denim BLS vests react when Dixie Dave starts puking all over the stage. Not to mention what’ll happen if some gets on Danava‘s $400 shoes. Yeah, they should fit in just fine. Here’s the PR wire news and the dates:

That is right, sound the alarms: North Carolina‘s sludge pillagers Weedeater have been confirmed as support for a full-on North American Down tour! The lineup changes throughout the routing; The Canadian dates feature secondary support from Voivod, while the bulk of the American dates feature The Melvins. Other opening support for the tour will be Danava for the first half and Evil Army for the latter half of the dates.

Weedeater will play several shows in North Carolina and Tennessee on the way to the opening and after the closing of the tour, and will headline sporadically in chunks throughout the main tour. And of course they will do what they do best: sonically reduce every venue they enter to a resin-coated heap of rubble.

Weedeater live:

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Fact: if Sollubi are at war with it, I’m on their side. Even if it’s an intangible concept. I’d advise anyone who didn’t want to get their skull crushed under the force of high-grade disaffected sludge to align his or herself accordingly, because the Pennsylvania/Ohio four-piece belch a 50+ minute, three song hatefest on their full-length debut, At War with Decency (Choking Hazard Records). Stark, drugged and clearly suffering some level of emotional trauma, Sollubi craft songs that, while long, retain their root anger, rather than lose their edge by making some lame attempt at being epic. Combined Eyehategod and Yob? Maybe, if the latter were less cosmic and the former much, much slower.

More than a darkened atmosphere, that on At War with Decency is dirty. Dirty and tired, and the music is an exhausted collapse after some epic relationship-killing argument. Emotionally unfulfilled. Pissed the fuck off. You hear it right away with guitarist Griff‘s frantic work on “In Violation,” which opens the record and is both the fastest and shortest track at 4:34. If “sludge” hadn’t been chosen to describe this kind of music, I’d cast my vote for “grime.” It sounds like there’s a film on my speakers, like grease-covered windows.

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Sludgy Richmond newcomers Rube made an immediate impression with their self-released EP Angry at the Missus (reviewed here). With just five tracks, the unhinged four-piece made a definitive debut, popping pills of?Eyehategod and Acid Bath but cutting them with a hunger and drive only possible among the unsigned. One of the glories of this technological golden age we’re living in is that bands of this caliber can afford to make a recording and have it not sound like shit. Guitarist Adam Kravitz, vocalist Ryan Kent, drummer Pat Caine and bassist Big John have done precisely that. The anger carries through, the budget not so much.

Full of Southern aggression and Jim Beam, Rube display an early mastering of a sound it’s taken other bands years to come to grips with and/or tame. As such, I was curious to find out the back story of the band, how they came about and what their plans are going forward. Fortunately, Kravitz and Kent were available to illuminate. Interview is after the jump. Enjoy.

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As promised the other day, I do have a feature on the badass sludginess that is Balboa MI (not to be confused with the other Balboa, on Translation Loss). Unlike every other feature to this point, however, this one’s on video. I filmed this out back of the Northern Lights Lounge in Detroit with drummer Cletus, guitarists RayRay Nelson and Justin Collard, bassist John Cates and vocalist Jarrad Collard. I also have some live footage I might put up as soon as I find a video editing program that doesn’t blow monkey ass.

In the meantime, be sure to check them out on the MySpace, and as always, enjoy.