Posted in Bootleg Theater on September 4th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
Mallorca-based heavy rockers Queen Marsa are set to release their debut album, I Am the Land, on Sept. 15 through Spain’s own Discos Macarras and also-Mallorca imprint Metalway Records. The video premiering below for the title-track presents the first single taken from the record, which follows the double-guitar/standalone-vocal five-piece’s 2020 self-titled EP with eight songs across a tight but groovy 33 minutes that pull from a swath of influences within the heavy sphere. Crisply produced, I Am the Land necessarily gives up some of the warmth of the EP, but in trade, the record brings a largesse of sound and clarity of intention beyond what one might generally expect from a first full-length, opener “Gaugamela” — a shorter piece at 2:51 that bookends with the finale “Outlaw on the Run” (3:30) as the only two cuts not between four and five minutes long — setting a heavy ’90s backdrop against which much of the proceedings take place. It’s got big tone from guitarists Xavi Cárceles and Jaume Rado, big swing and push from bassist Toni Coronado and drummer Juan Bonet, and the first of, well, about eight big choruses that show off the malleable and melodic but nonetheless belted-out vocals of Manuel Pintos.
It is not a style you would call humble, but it certainly is righteous, and Queen Marsa wield it fluidly and build palpable momentum as they course through “Gaugamela” and “Made for Lovers,” the latter expanding a bit on the metallic undercurrent of the leadoff while also hinting toward C.O.C. in its later chug and Dozer in the way it seems to burst, clean and vibrant, into its riffier instrumental hook. Between the two guitars and Pintos‘ ’70s-via-’90s vocal style, a Trouble comparison feels inevitable, and the chorus of “The Trick is You Don’t Mind” sees that manifest and complements with a fittingly shred-intensive solo to get the point across. The penultimate “The Truth (You Don’t Want to Know)” soon enough echoes that trad-metal/semi-doomed vibe with a darker mood to go with the inherent threat of the title, but stops for a second ahead of a particularly fervent solo finish in a way that touches on psychedelic without losing the firm sense of structure found across the album’s entire span.
With “I Am the Land” bringing together shades of Soundgarden as well as the aforementioned C.O.C. and Trouble — I also can’t help but feel like Pintos going topless in the video is an Iggy Pop reference — and even a little Blind Melon in its chorus, the title-track offers more than fair representation of the LP whose name it shares, and emphasizes Queen Marsa‘s ability as presented here to shift from one aspect of their sound to another. A hard and heavy rock band putting a bluesier spin on a song as Queen Marsa do with side B’s “Treat Me Like You Do,” or that momentary psych divergence in “The Truth (You Don’t Want to Know),” isn’t unheard of, and the fivesome don’t sound like they’re trying to claim they invented anything so much as to explore the process of craft, develop along their own path, and reach out to as many ears as they might catch with their mostly uptempo, deeply energetic take. The ultra-’90s “Stop Dry,” which picks up after “I Am the Land” careens to its finish, is a declarative stomper. This is who this band wants to be.
And so it’s who they are. When they get down to “Outlaw on the Run,” they’re accordingly ready to go. The verse arrives soon enough to focus the immediate tension of the motor riff of the intro, layered-in note-pulls and all on the guitar, and rolls into the chorus with no need for pretense or aural trickery. Some peppered-in doubling of vocals adds to the atmosphere, and they end it sharp and purposeful after a tempo-kick under the solo. Queen Marsa don’t need nearly the entire half-hour-plus to announce themselves as songwriters, but their argument is stronger for the variety that side B brings to the all-go foundation on which I Am the Land is constructed. It’s a rocker, by rockers, for rockers. Yeah, as a debut it’s a sign of the potential in what Queen Marsa are doing, avenues to grow, all that, but to think only of the future is missing the present, and the fact is the band have everything they need right in this material. Whatever they do next (or don’t), this is a strong opening statement.
Phew, right? Yeah, it’s a burner, but you’re up for it. I believe in you and I believe in the power of good rock and roll. The video for “I Am the Land” premieres below, followed by more from the PR wire. Queen Marsa play release shows Sept. 17 at the Fira Del Disc Mallorca and Oct. 6 at Es Gremi. More info, of course, can be chased down on socials, which are linked at the bottom.
Please enjoy:
Queen Marsa, “I Am the Land” video premiere
QUEEN MARSA – I am the land (Official video) First single from our album “I am the land”, out on September 15, 2023.
VIDEO CREDITS – Direction: Andres Quintana – Direction of photography: Andrés Quintana. – Camera operator: Pilar Alcalde – Assistant director: Marta Lladó – Editing: Mad Hernández – Production: Patricia De La Mata – Drone images: Eduardo Dengra
2023 – LP – “I am the land”.
RECORDED, MIXED & MASTERED by Miguel Ángel Riutort (MEGA) at Psychosomatic Studios. Edited and released by Discos Macarras Records and Metalway. Artwork by Toni Coronado. Released at September with the videoclips “I am the land” (Andrés Quintana) and “Outlaw on the run” (Sara Álvarez).
Track list: 1. Gaugamela 2. Made for lovers 3. The trick is you don´t mind 4. I am the land 5. Stop dry 6. Treat me like you do 7. The truth you don´t want to know 8. Outlaw on the run
THE BAND: Manuel Pintos: Vocals Jaume Rado: Guitar Xavi Cárceles: Guitar Toni Coronado: Bass Juan Bonet: Drums
The Silver Linings will release their debut album, Pink Fish, Oct. 11 through Spinda Records. The Andalusian, Málaga-based five-piece were reportedly four until about a fortnight ahead of recording their May 2023 debut EP, TSL, and that nugget of information conveyed by the PR wire below is actually a fitting analog for the kind of music they make. Running seven songs and a thoroughly manageable 37 minutes — the first single is centerpiece “Patient M”; the video for it premieres below — it encompasses decades of psychedelic influence and is informed by the surrounding creativity in its regional underground such that it goes where it wants. With the Stones-tambourine-meet-mellow-lysergic-ooze-strum of opener “Cosmic Excursions,” which breaks in its second half to a shimmering guitar lead that would bring a smile to the face of Jose “Poti” Moreno, hand percussion backing the sun-coated jam before a sample of Ronald Reagan talking about aliens starts the surf-y garage rocker “A Pleasant Trip to the Unknown.”
Lead guitar, the solo that takes hold after about a minute into “A Pleasant Trip to the Unknown” particularly, is Beatlesian in how the guitar sings, so of course The Silver Linings use it as a preface to a heavy psych swirl-and-swing fuzz shuffle because why not. Coated in wah, the lead guitar returns, but it’s more about the build in progress toward the finish of the song than carrying a melody, which is fine. The early message is that The Silver Linings aren’t looking to do just one thing, and the rest of Pink Fish bears that out. The title-track follows and is immersive in its cymbal wash, effects and so on until the tambourine enters with a grounding effect gentler than just going right to drums, a declarative Colour Haze progression in the rhythm guitar and bass, and a suitable coinciding flow.
So what happens at the halfway point? Stop and go. “Pink Fish” treats the listener to a next-stage-deployment of the rocket launch that “A Pleasant Trip to the Unknown” began, a vague spoken sample leading to a ghostly verse, a kind of serene acid boogiegaze — it’s like it’s moving, but it thinks it’s cool if you just wanna relax; all good — and the aforementioned “Patient M” ends side A with a Hawkwindian answer to the outbound direction of Pink Fish thus far. It’s a big universe out there. Are we going? We’re going.
That sax, along with a classic clarity in the guitar tone — lead lines all over, bright like surf or space, but not playing toward vintageism in the recording — works to tie “Patient M” together and seems to give The Silver Linings permission to dwell in the parts more. There’s an intro, verse, chorus, bridge, solo, even a mini-jam at the end, but when you’re listening it’s less about the structure of the thing than the overarching affect that draws from so many different sides to become as impressively cohesive as it is. Plus, it swings, capping a movement across the four tracks of Pink Fish‘s first half, each of which took less than five minutes to add to the scope of the record.
Side B’s three component pieces, “Heart Full of Gold,” “In the Fleeting Hand of Time” and the closer “Lifeforce,” are all over that mark, with “Heart Full of Gold” the longest at 6:18 beginning with a wistful echo of harmonica soon joined by standalone guitar, not necessarily Western and not blues (which is fine, mind you), but hypnotic in an up-and-down course as it shifts into an open-spaced, kick-anchored stretchout that picks up some All Them Witches vibes as it unfolds. With the tambourine and the drawling vocal, that impression is stronger, but in its payoff, “Heart Full of Gold” returns to Andalusian psych-prog that much richer for the route it took to get there and by the time it’s done I’m ready to give up on trying to guess where The Silver Linings are going to head next, at least in an acid psych context. So much the better.
“In the Fleeting Hand of Time” doesn’t answer the ending of “Heart Full of Gold” with a blowout, but starts with the full band easing into a fluid, sax-inclusive jam across the first of its five-plus minutes, the guitar and sax smoothly making way for the verse shortly thereafter. The vocals are light in a way that answers the song prior, the bassline particularly sweet as the song transitions into a light push of boogie that builds to a crescendo and gets noisy again in the comedown as it might onstage, the guitar and sax not wanting to let go quite yet, drums up for it.
A bit of feedback that on many records would be ignored stands out at the end, emphasizing how much of Pink Fish‘s atmosphere has been focused on soothing. A quick stop lets the shimmering guitar, shaker, tambourine, and so on, begin “Lifeforce,” and the finale soon enough is dug into tom-led okay-now-you-need-to-get-up Iberian folk-informed funk psych, where it stays. The tension rests in the guitar and bass, which are purposefully sharp-cornered in starts and stops and twists, though the semi-spoken verse assures terrestrial presence.
They steer “Lifeforce” to the album’s somewhat understated, not-a-blowout conclusion, seeming to be satisfied as they look back at how far they’ve ranged and the spontaneity they’ve captured in their sound, turning at just the right moment to work against expectation toward expanse and set themselves up with a swath of avenues for potential forward growth. I wouldn’t be surprised if they took all of them.
Preorder links and the noted PR wire background follow the “Patient M” video below.
Formed in Malaga (Spain) in 2021, The Silver Linings’ music can be understood as a return to the origins, to those years of early psychedelia, when UFOs were still travelling through deep space and tales of tin-can robots, with their typical mechanical movements, filled our imaginations.
Jose (bass), Cati (guitar) y Javi (vocal, guitar) began their psychedelic acid trip together with Chechu (drums), but only a few months later Lolo replaced him and the band started working on their first songs. Their influences range comes from 20th century Sci-fi, the literary work of Moorcock, the illustrations of Moebius, the cinema of Tarkovski, the works of Jodorowski and beat poetry, as well as Andalusian natural landscapes such as the Torcal rocks, Gorafe desert, Bolonia dunes and the Strait of Gibraltar.
Taking their musical style and the fact that they’re based in the south of Spain into account, they can be included in the New Wave Of Andalusian Psychedelia, together with bands such as Atavismo, Híbrido, Lunavieja, Medicina, Santo Rostro, Mía Turbia, Gu Vo or DMBK, although their sound -closer to acid-psych-space-kraut rock- makes us think of Causa Sui, Hawkwind or even Can.
In May 2023, two weeks before recording their debut EP ‘TSL’ at Hollers Analog Studio (Málaga), Marta joined the band on saxophone. Just a few days after the digital release, the band was signed up by the indie record label Spinda Records (Moura, Fin del Mundo, Moundrag…), going into the studio once again to record additional music to re-launch everything as their first full-length album ‘Pink Fish’ in October 2023.
‘Pink Fish’ track-list: 1. Cosmic excursions 2. A pleasant trip to the unknown 3. Pink fish 4. Patient M 5. Heart full of gold 6. In the fleeting hand of time 7. Lifeforce
Formats: ● Digital ● 150x 140g Black Vinyl ● 150x 140g Clear Orange Vinyl
The Silver Linings: Javi – guitar/vocals Cati – guitar Jose – bass Lolo – drums Marta – sax
Insistent jazzjabs of snare, twisty ’90s guitar and bouncing bass lead the way into the opening title-track of Plastic Woods‘ 2021 album, Dragonfruit. Released through Spinda Records, Gato Encerrado Records, Discos Macarras, The Braves Records and Violence in the Veins, it was offered as the Andalusian three-piece’s second full-length behind 2019’s Icarus, solidifying and consciously aligning around a sound aware of its home region’s penchant for blending classic progressive rock and heavy psychedelia, but not beholden to it, working in elements of punk, doom, boogie rock, Spanish folk and flamenco guitar and vocals, a sound rife with quirk but remarkably sure of itself, and able to pivot from fleet-stepping prog to crusher riffing at will. And that’s just the first two minutes.
Guitarist/vocalist Jesús de la Torre Sánchez — also the transverse flute on 10-minute closer “Sulayr” — bassist Antonio Pérez Muriel, who holds together jams like “The Calling” and “Dreamland” with class and flash, and drummer/percussionist Javier Rubio Arrabal, whose fluidity of play allows many of the shifts between styles to be done with apparent ease, are joined by a range of guests throughout. “Dragonfruit” itself has violin from Irene Veredas, as does relatively brief acoustic piece “Storm,” while Miguel Ángel Robles Urquiza adds trumpet and Carlos Mesa García plays sax on “Dreamland,” and by then — that’s track three — the band have already run through the Mellotron-laced prog of “The Calling,” with its laid back verse and sunny, folkish chorus, lighter ’90s swing and lush midsection stopping post-flute on its bassline at four minutes in, beginning the jam that will solidify across the next two minutes, with horns, and synth, and manipulated drums, into speedier guitar that resolves in a boogieing finish. A slide whistle of feedback gives over to the standalone vocal at the beginning of “Dreamland.”
With additional flamenco guitar, palmas and jaleos from Antonio Campos del Pino and piano/synth from Isaac Pascual Godoy, Dragonfruit comes across as even more complex and with the way “The Calling” engages funk behind its vocal melody like Blind Melon and Porcupine Tree finding common ground in Iberian folk and flute. At their speediest, in the title-track or the penultimate “Close to the Void,” which returns to the opener’s dirtied-up tonality and rhythmic urgency, Plastic Woods can be dizzying, but it’s important to remember that the breadth in terms of arrangements and aesthetic here means they’re rarely doing the same thing twice on an LP that runs six songs and 32 minutes.
The violin-laced ’70s folk-rock of “Storm” is a departure from “Dreamland” prior, with that song’s foray into Beatles stomp and Primus bounce, trumpet and sax, and noodly stretchout. And “Storm” gives over to “Close to the Void,” which is a shoving rager until it hits its big stoner rock slowdown into one of the best riffs Graveyard forgot to write on their second album, while “Sulayr” puts the flute up front early and builds into a flamenco verse, saving its heavier riffing for after the midpoint of its 10:17, though even that is less of a payoff than was “Close to the Void,” but having already done that thing, Plastic Woods resolve “Sulayr” in funky horns and a jazzy comedown, falling to silence to let an acoustic flamenco guitar kick in and begin the instrumental procession that will lead the band through the end of the record.
Drums, flute, bass, eventually join, but it’s still the acoustic guitar at the center of that last divergence, and it’s telling that Plastic Woods end with that longer and broader cut rather than something ‘just’ raucous and loud, showing ambition in a way that leads one to believe they’re cognizant of the styles they’re twisting together into one thing, and the changeable nature of that formula. From “Close to the Void” toying with doom to “Dragonfruit” panning the flourish lead lines of its verse, to the pairing of voice and violin on “Storm,” Dragonfruit accomplishes a sense of scope without giving up the songs beneath the arrangements or making the arrangements themselves the point of the thing. That is, “Dragonfruit” would still be a song without the horns. They enhance it, but their being there is clearly not the only reason the song was written, and whoever else is involved in a given track, the core trio shine through the production and mix from Jesús Gómez Moreno and Guillermo Ruiz Ravira at Green Cross Studio in Málaga (Mario G. Alberni at Kadifornia Mastering mastered).
In the vocals of Sánchez, Muriel‘s creativity and fun in the low end, and Arrabal‘s ready-for-it drumming, Plastic Woods seem to overflow with forward potential, whether that manifests in riffier or more folk-informed fare or — most likely — finds some space within and between the two, playing up the differences sometimes and at other points drawing lines from one to the other to find commonalities, much as they do here. I won’t try to predict where their music will go, though I wouldn’t be surprised if they had more keyboard next time out, but the confidence and boldness with which they so energetically present Dragonfruit speaks to a desire to progress, to grow as a band, and to continue to carve out their place in the ever-busy Spanish underground.
I was fortunate enough to see Plastic Woods play the pre-show at SonicBlast Fest (review here) last week. I knew nothing about them going into that experience and was a bit blown away as the set unfolded and the band were able to pull off the kinds of changes one hears them making throughout Dragonfruit, including bringing out the additional flamenco guitar twice during what was still only like 40 minutes but was an evening’s worth of getting-schooled. Young band, killer sound, will to grow and just enough weird in what they do to make it really unpredictable — you can pretty much sign me up for that anytime.
No clue if Plastic Woods are working on new material or another record or what, but I knew I wanted to write about this one after seeing them. Some things are worth talking about.
Thanks as always for reading. Hope you enjoy.
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This week is it for The Pecan and camp. There’s like two-plus weeks left before school starts, but we figured a couple weeks of actual break at the end wouldn’t be the worst. Today’s the last day of the last camp. Made it through the fucking summer. It was touch and go there for a minute, as I think you know.
The Patient Mrs. has lined up a few ‘fun week’ activities next week. Day trips and so on. I’m going to do my best to write as much as I can — same as always — but I’m also not going to miss summer with my five year old because I’m never going to have another, and even when she’s six next year, that’s a big difference. Who knows what she’ll be like by then?
But this week was bug camp and bug camp was two hours a day, so having a bit of a time crunch was what it was. I did my best. I think I forgot to put a post up one day and another day had four, but whatever. I feel like the one thing this site isn’t hurting for is content.
Mostly in addition to camp, which is at the arboretum, which is always nice and about 10 minutes away, this week was about comedown from being away last weekend. SonicBlast was a hoot. Great people, lovely time, I saw Greenleaf and Dozer again. I saw Acid King play “Mind’s Eye,” Ruff Majik do “Hillbilly Fight Song,” on and on. But tiring too. You come home tired, then there’s all the back-home stuff to do. By Monday afternoon I was pretty frazzled. Leftover adrenaline.
But I got there, I guess is what matters. And I’ll note that right now, this week, I’m not at my lowest of lows, and that seems worth appreciating. Wow, it’s almost like I benefitted somehow from blowing my brains out with music and being told my work is important for four days. No kidding. The insight around here never stops.
Have a great and safe weekend. Don’t forget to hydrate, sunblock. Watch your head. All that stuff.
Posted in Questionnaire on June 14th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
The Obelisk Questionnaire is a series of open questions intended to give the answerer an opportunity to explore these ideas and stories from their life as deeply as they choose. Answers can be short or long, and that reveals something in itself, but the most important factor is honesty.
Based on the Proust Questionnaire, the goal over time is to show a diverse range of perspectives as those who take part bring their own points of view to answering the same questions. To see all The Obelisk Questionnaire posts, click here.
Thank you for reading and thanks to all who participate.
The Obelisk Questionnaire: Oscar Chamorro (vocals/guitar), Pepo Villena (drums), Ramón Viña (bass) from Electric Monolith
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How do you define what you do and how did you come to do it?
Oscar Chamorro: I like to think I create worlds. The hard way I guess. Lots of trial, and error.
Ramón Viña: I work as a musicologist, DJ, and I also have a role in this band. Simply because of my love/obsession with music since I was very young, and this is what led me to where I am.
Pepo Villena: A self taught drummer doing his best and I would say thanks to my mom’s patience during my young (and rebel) days I’ve been able to become who I’m right now.
Describe your first musical memory.
OC: Ta, Da, Da, Ta, Taaaaaa. The main motif of Steven Spielberg’s “Close encounters of the third kind”. I believe it was the first film I saw in the big screen, and I was pretty young, so I have a strong attachment to this movie.
RV: The Beatles. My parents used to listen to them all the time, so they are the O.S.T. of my life.
PV: Singing basque christmas carols dressed in typical basque clothes in my neighbourhood, going door to door to earn some money with my friends as a really young kid.
Describe your best musical memory to date.
OC: That’s a hard one, as there are so many… But I can mention a special one. The first time I heard “Come Together” by The Beatles under the influence of LSD. I’ve heard that band plenty of times since I was a kid, but I never listened to them like that once.
RV: Nirvana’s show in 1994 at Barcelona, and all that came during that era, music-wise.
PV: As a performer I would say any of the gigs we’ve played at the disappeared and missed Rocksound, the greatest venue Barcelona ever had. And as an audience there are lots of great memories to choose just one, maybe my first big festival as a kid. Warped Tour on 98 with Bad Religion and The Specials amongst other great bands from that time like C.I.V., Lagwagon or Ignite. Yes, I was a teenage punk rocker!
When was a time when a firmly held belief was tested?
OC: Last time I broke off with someone.
RV: When I grow up, I realize everything I’ve been told was a lie.
PV: I was member of the workers council of my company and I’m a member of an anarchist workers union and recently had to quit the job because of the pressures and false allegations from other union members playing in favor of the company and getting rid of all the uncomfortable people on the workers council to do whatever they want with the coworkers.
Where do you feel artistic progression leads?
OC: To me it leads to a never ending road where I find myself chasing unreachable carrots all over, and over…
RV: It leads to experimentation, and trying new things. Always.
PV: To always keep discovering new ways of expression and boundaries to reach.
How do you define success?
OC: Being able to achieve whatever you want to?
RV: When you do the things you really want to do.
PV: Doing what you love the most for the living and not having to work for anyone but yourself.
What is something you have seen that you wish you hadn’t?
OC: You don’t want to know. Trust me ;)
RV: So many things. I rather not talk about them. hahaha
PV: People with lots of ego turning into others for stupid things or being rude because of their supposed “social status” or whatever. Hateful.
Describe something you haven’t created yet that you’d like to create.
OC: A full OST.
RV: A business related to musicology or show promoter.
PV: A nice and profitable venue in Barcelona for gigs and rehearsal rooms for all musician friends in our scene.
What do you believe is the most essential function of art?
OC: To move people by touching their hearts, and minds. I think it is all about feelings at the end.
RV: Make you feel things, and inspire you.
PV: To transmit feelings, experiences or ideas to the audience/viewers/readers/etc. and connect in a way that anything else can.
Something non-musical that you’re looking forward to?
OC: A full feature film or a TV series. Cinema is another love of mine. I’ve been poking there for years, too many perhaps, but it all ended in disaster ;) I have nice memories though. Some part inside me stills looking forward to it. Who knows?
RV: I always loved cinema, although I doubt I end up doing any of that. Mi world. and my job, both are related to music.
PV: Have my own farm or at least a little piece of land to grow things there.
Madrid-based four-piece Loma Baja encompass a complex psychedelia throughout their debut album, Piscinas Verticales, which is set to release this week through the significant label consortium of Spinda Records, Lay Bare Recordings, Clostridium Records and Echodelick Records. To wit, amid the hypnotic post-psych rollout of opening track “V70,” guitars all bendy around the central march, vocals present and melodic but still obscure, some element of Pixies in there somewhere, an ambulance drives by periodically. It happens four or five times as the malleable mix demonstrates early the sort of experimental tinge to the band’s songcraft.
But as with much of what follows, the interplay of that drone (synth? sample?) and the guitar solo isn’t just about the group — guitarist/synthesist/vocalist/sampler Jorge García (Adrift, Gentemayor and formerly El Páramo), guitarist Victor Teixeira, bassist/keyboardist/vocalist Pacomoto (G.A.S. Drummers) and drummer Raúl Lorenzo (who also works with Toundra) — being able to make a sound, but also what they do with that in terms of songwriting. Shades of shoegaze-era Sonic Youth are cast under the sample and before the emergent cymbal wash of “La Emboscada,” the bass thick underneath the various noises and guitar lines going in and out as the low end and drums guide the procession into a melodic bridge and back through where it came from, that original sample continuing, like a news reading or an airport announcement, vague for being in another language that maybe you know and maybe you don’t.
One in each channel, García and Teixeira seem to be having a conversation on guitar early in “Canción de Manuel” that reminds a bit of the most out-there Fatso Jetson ever gets, but is tinted atmospherically darker and is more progressive in its presentation, but it’s Lorenzo moving to toms that signals the shift into classic prog stateliness, like something out of a sci-fi soundtrack transposed onto a space rock arrangement, severe with the synth lines and thud after that transition, working into and through a build as the keyboard melody holds, vocals or a sample echoing over the final moments as you realize the payoff isn’t coming and the song stops, letting the longer “Crónica Negra” (7:08) take its time waking up with feedback as the end of side A, mirrored later by the 10-minute “Hierros Viejos” in a show of structure that’s further evidence for a masterplan at work behind the material as opposed to it being a hodgepodge of ideas rather than songs.
It is not that. The brooding unfurl of “Crónica Negra” is mellower and feels like it’s raining outside, but there’s threat of breakout in the lightly-slogging lead guitar, synth in the left channel winding through frequency manipulation before a quick stop brings the next stage, with the drums louder and more forward, the guitar and keys swelling to a wash of fuzz, voices singing out — maybe a sample, maybe Pacomoto and García; hopefully they wrote down somewhere what they did — and a convergence around a dramatic-feeling crescendo that drops at 6:22 to the bassline, guitar skronk and repeat swells either of synth or manipulated feedback, probably both.
It’s not gonna get less weird in the vertical pools. Side B, which features a corresponding four pieces, starts with “Invocación,” which meanders before landing after about a minute in a Melvinsian repetitive nod that’s rich in tone and all the more righteous when the left-side guitar spaces out and the drums open up in the second half. All of a sudden, Loma Baja are instrumental heavy post-rock — except there might be vocals; ha — but dug into a purposeful melodic riff like those in the second halves of “La Emboscada” or “Canción de Manuel,” toying with cinematic grandiosity but never losing their ultimate direction, ending again with a return to the central march.
What was the album’s lead single, “Boda Final / Velorio” is more indie rock at the start, and the as-yet-most-definitely-vocalized inclusion on the record — hence single — but holds to the intention toward breadth in the material that surrounds, the keys in the left channel and the lead guitar in the right again working to surround the listener as the vocals reinforce notions of otherplanetary classic prog before the jabbing kinda-waltz resumes, makes a riffy turn, then rights itself to finish, shifting immediately into the underlying buzz and quiet interplay of guitars in the intro of the penultimate “Hierros Viejos,” making the bed for a robot-voice verse that will stay for the song’s four-minute duration, threatening heft and volume while, like “Canción de Manuel” before it, making a point of defying expectation and giving over to the drone at the end, the ambient stage set for “AAAAA” to cap.
And “AAAAA” is itself the awaited riffout. At 10 minutes long, it is a substantial portion of Piscinas Verticales, and its echoing vocals remind a bit of Ufomammut‘s earlier kosmic heavy, but the line of guitar introduced at the outset holds through the volume surge and comes back that much stronger for it. It is a solid one, two, three, four, count, and made to be repetitive, but the progression morphs subtly as time goes on, the next verse leading to another chorus-ish push carrying through the midpoint before the keys take a solo and the guitars seem to melt to feedback. Vocals — not a focal point for most of the record — announce the arrival at the next stage of the march, the volume seeming to get deeper as well as louder and noisier.
By the time they’re in the seventh minute, “AAAAA” has been stripped to a wall of feedback and noise, rumble beneath and scorch above, and somewhere in there the drums turned backwards but are largely gone as Loma Baja let that moment evolve, play out, and die on its own terms. They make a point of noting that Piscinas Verticales was recorded live. Fair enough, but it must have been a hell of a mixing process, though one can’t argue with the results as each consecutive part, track, side, feels rife with purpose even when that purpose is counterintuitive to the expectation of heavy rock/psych/prog songwriting. Those, in fact, are some of the record’s highlight stretches — it’s not every band willing to challenge the listener on their first long-player.
To coincide with that challenge that the material offers, Loma Baja accomplish a feat of world-building across Piscinas Verticales such that the context of the songs becomes their own regardless of names dropped above or other influences at work. Pieces like “Crónica Negra,” “Boda Final / Velorio” and “Hierros Viejos” working toward divergent ends at different angles from the same foundation. In this way, Loma Baja convey breadth while keeping their tones and melodic reach consistent, so that the album comes through as a complete statement that deserves to be heard.
So here we are. I’m excited to host the premiere of Piscinas Verticales on the player below. You’ll find it followed by the album particulars courtesy of Spinda Records via the PR wire, the video for “Boda Final / Velorio” and the many links from which the album can be ordered.
Please enjoy:
Loma Baja, Piscinas Verticales album premiere
Produced by Rafa Camisón and Loma Baja. Recorded in a live session at Metropol Studios (Madrid, Spain) by Rafa Camisón, with the assistance of Arturo Rebollo, between 27th and 29th July 2022. Mixed by Rafa Camisón at Estudio Setentaynueve (Jerez, Spain). Mastered by Víctor García at Ultramarinos Mastering (Sant Feliu de Guíxols, Spain). Artwork by Bol Estudio (Jorge García). Idea album title by Diana Calabaza Cósmica.
The album is coming out on 26th May 2023 through the collaboration between indie labels Spinda Records (SP), Lay Bare Recordings (NL), Clostridium Records (GE) and Echodelick Records (US). Album pre-order available at label sites from 21st April.
200x STANDARD BLACK VINYL 200x ELECTRIC BLUE VINYL DIGITAL / STREAMING
1. V70 2. La Emboscada 3. Canción de Manuel 4. Crónica Negra 5. Invocación 6. Boda Final / Velorio 7. Hierros Viejos
Didn’t we just do this? Yeah, kind of. It’s been a weird season, but I knew last month when I launched the Spring 2023 Quarterly Review that it needed to be more than two full weeks and given the timing of everything else slated around then and now, this is what worked to make it happen. For what it’s worth, I have QRs scheduled for July and early October, subject to change, of course.
The bottom line either way is it’s another batch of 50 reviews this week and then that’s a wrap for Spring. It’s a constant barrage of music these days anyhow, and I’m forever behind on everything, but I hope at least you can find something here you dig, whether previously familiar or not. We go.
Quarterly Review #1-10:
HIGH LEAF, Vision Quest
An awaited debut from this Philadelphia heavy rock scene outfit, HIGH LEAF‘s Vision Quest makes its home among heavy tropes (also some minute cultural appropriation in the title) with unabashed glee and deceptively sharp songwriting. Certainly opener “Green Rider” is perfectly willing to beat you over the head with its chorus — and rightly so, you have it coming — but the spacious title-track that follows stretches over eight minutes and seamlessly works through drift and heavy psych impulses to get to the post-grunge roll that makes its increasingly aggro presence known past six minutes in, and that’s by no means the final bit of sludge to be had as the later “Hard to Find” leans toward nastiness only to be offset by the funky outset of “Painted Desert,” having pushed deeper from the Kyussery of “Dead Eye” and a swagger in “Subversive” worthy of comparison to Earthride. This lineup of the band has already split (there’s a new one, no worries), and how that reboot will affect HIGH LEAF going forward obviously remains to be seen, but this is a ‘serving notice’-type debut, doubling down on that in closing duo “March to the Grave” and “The Rot,” and the eight songs and 38 minutes commune with groove and riffs like they’ve been speaking the language the whole time. There’s definitely a vision at work. Let’s see where the quest takes them.
Fucking hell I wish this was what the future sounded like. It rocks. It’s interesting. It’s driven to be its own thing despite traceable roots. It’s got edge but it’s not hackneyed. It’s the tomorrow we were promised when industrial rock and metal became a thing in the 1990s and that corporate alt-everything and pop-punk usurped. I knew I wanted to write about it now, because it’s coming out now, but I’ll tell you honestly, I’ve barely scratched the surface of JAAW‘s Svart-issued debut, Supercluster — recorded at Bear Bites Horse in London by Wayne Adams, who’s also in the band alongside Andy Cairns of Therapy?, Mugstar‘s Jason Stoll and Adam Betts (of Squarepusher and others) — and this is the kind of album that’s going to be years in revealing itself. How about this? Sometime in 2028, if this site is still here, I’ll follow-up and let you know what I’ve found digging into the sinister groove of “Rot” or the shout-kraut rumble and noise of “Bring Home the Motherlode, Barry,” “The Dead Drop” going from minimalism to full heavy New Wave wash in five minutes’ time, and so on, but for right now, let it serve as the cannonball to be lobbed at anyone who says there aren’t any acts out there doing new things or pushing different styles forward, because hell’s bells, that’s the only place this goes even as it also seems to go everywhere at the same time, unto closing out with a Björk cover “Army of Me” as imagined by Ministry doing ’90s drum ‘n’ bass. Some things are just bigger than the year of their release, and I look forward to living with this record.
The Bridesmaid, Come on People Now, Smile on Your Brother
From the opening drone-and-toy-chime-forward over industrial black metal of “Leytonstone: Eat Your Landlord” through the sample-fed machine sludge-turned-psych experimentalism that gives way to a shimmering haze of jazz metal in “Cleveland: And the Rain Came Down” and the can’t-fool-me-by-now acoustic strum at the start of “Summerland: A Long, Maintenance-Free Life” that runs a current of cello under its aural collage and low-end lumber early only to bask in news-and-drone departure with percussion later on the way to what post-hardcore could still someday be, the name of the EP is Come on People Now, Smile on Your Brother and The Bridesmaid deliver the proceedings in a manner more suited to Kurt Cobain‘s fuckall rasp of that line rather than the Youngbloods original. So it’s probably the latter. In any case, the UK solo-plus-friends outfit helmed and steered by JJ Saddington are an aural barrage, and while the temptation is to think of the three-song/21-minute offering as a blender on liquefy, the truth is the material is more thought out, more considerately mixed, and more engaging, than that kind of spastic randomness implies. If you can keep up with the changes, the adventure of listening is well worth the ankles sprained in its twists, but you should go into it knowing that the challenge is part of the appeal.
If the hard push and tonal burl of comparatively straight-ahead opener “The Last Witch” aren’t convincing, stick around through “Celestial Bird Spirit” and “Impermanence” on the rest of side A before you resolve one way or the other as regards Milana‘s debut album, Milvus. The Mallorca-based four-piece are for sure in conversation with fest-ready modern European heavy rock, and that’s the thread that weaves throughout the album, but in the 11-minute “Impermanance,” they build on the more temperate rollout of “Celestial Bird Spirit” and find an intriguing blend of atmosphere and dense fuzz, more moody than psychedelic, but smart to hold back its weightiest tonality for the rolling end. Appropriately enough, “Lucid Reality” brings them back to ground at the start of side B, but still has an atmospheric effect in its verse, with vocal layering over open-spaced guitar and an alt-rock pickup as they move toward the chorus, and Howling Wolf gives a class-conscious definition of the blues, in the long intro of “Gray City Lights,” setting a difficult standard for the rest of the song to match, but the organ helps. And all seems well and fine for “Whispering Wind” to wrap up mirroring the rocker “The Last Witch” at the start until the song breaks, the harmony starts, and then the growls and massive fuzz start in the last minute and it turns out they were metal all along. Go figure. There’s growing to do, but there’s more happening on Milvus than one listen will tell you, and that in itself is a good sign.
Swedish upstart four-piece New Mexican Doom Cult offer a distinctly Monolordian weep of lead guitar on “Seven Spirits,” but even that is filtered through the band’s own take, and that’s true of their first full-length, Necropolis more generally, as the Gävle outfit now comprised of guitarist/vocalist/principal songwriter Nils Ahnland, guitarist Johan Klyven Kvastegård, bassist Emil Alstermark and drummer Jonathan Ekvall present seven songs and 48 minutes of dug-in rockers, distortion keyed to its fuzziest degree as Ahnland hints vocally on “Underground” toward a root in darker and more metallic fare ahead of the chugging build that rounds out the eight-minute centerpiece title-track and the make-doom-swing ethic being followed in closer “Worship the Sun.” “Vortex” is a highlight for the melody as much as the double-dose of nodfuzz guitar work, and opener “Architect” sets an atmospheric course but assures that the sense of movement is never really gone, something that’s a benefit even to the righteous Sabbath blowout verse in the penultimate “Archangel.” Much of what they’re doing will be familiar to experienced heads, but not unwelcome for that.
Capable double-guitar heavy rock pervades the 43-minute Gentle Beast by the Swiss five-piece of the same name. Mixed by Jeff Henson of Duel and issued through Sixteentimes Music, the eight-song run is defined by knowing itself as stoner rock, and that remains true as “Super Sapiens” departs into its post-midsection jam, eventually returning to the chorus, which is almost unfortunately hooky. “Greedy Man” is almost purely Kyuss in its constructed pairing of protest and riff, but the “Caterpillar” shows a different side of the band’s character in its smooth volume shifts, winding leads and understated finish, leading into the sharper-edged outset of closer “Toxic Times.” In the forward thrust of “Joint Venture,” the opener “Asteroid Miner” with its gruff presentation, and the speedier swing of “Headcage” reinforcing the vocal reference to Samsara Blues Experiment in the leadoff, Gentle Beast tick all the boxes they need to tick for this debut long-player some four years after the band’s initial 7″ single, setting up multiple avenues of possible and hopeful progression while proving dexterous songwriters in the now. Won’t change your life, but isn’t trying to convince you it will, either.
Denver four-piece Bloodsports — also stylized all-lowercase: bloodsports — give a heavygaze impression with “Sky Mall” at the launch of their self-titled debut EP that the subsequent “Crimp” gleefully pulls the rug right from under with a solo section like All Them Witches grew up listening to The Cure after its Weezery verse, and the proceedings only gets grungier from there with the low-key Nirvana brooding of “Sustain” (also issued in 2022 as a standalone single) and its larger-scale, scorch-topped distorted finish and the shaker-inclusive indie ritual that is “Carnival” until it explodes into a blowout ending like the release of tension everyone always wanted but never actually got from Violent Femmes. Some noisy skronk guitar finishes over the hungover fuzz, which is emblematic of the way the entire release — only 11 minutes long, mind you — derives its character from the negative space, from its smaller moments of nuance, as well as from its fuller-sounding stretches. They’re young and they sound it, but there’s a sonic ideal being chased through the material and Bloodsports may yet carve their aural persona from that chase. As it is, the emotive aspects on display in “Sustain” and the volatility shown in the roll of “Sky Mall” make in plain that this project has places it wants to go and areas to explore, and one hopes Bloodsports continue to bring their ideas together with such fluidity.
Recorded seemingly almost entirely live on audio and video, vibrancy would seem to be the underpinning that draws Night Fishing‘s Live Bait together, if fishing isn’t. The Denver four-piece are a relatively new formation, with guitarists Graham Zander (also Green Druid) and Zach Amster (Abrams), bassist Justin Sanderson (Muscle Beach) and drummer Gordon Koch (Call of the Void) all coming together from their sundry other projects to explore a space between the kosmiche, heavy rock and semi-improv jamming. The turns and fills and crashes that round out the second of three cuts, “No Services,” for example, feel off-the-cuff, but throughout most of “Alone With My Thoughts” and at least in the initial Slift-like shuffle at the start of “Slapback Twister,” there’s a plan at work. At 25 minutes, they’re only about a song shy of making Live Bait a full-length — though another track might mess up the shortest-to-longest and alphabetical ordering Live Bait has now, which are fun — but the instrumentalist exploration is suited to the nascent feel of the outfit, and while I don’t think Night Fishing is anybody’s only band here, if they can build on the sense of purpose they give to the jangly rhythm and airy solo of “Slapback Twister” and the right-on push of “Alone With My Thoughts,” they can make their records as long or as short as they want and they’re still bound to catch ears.
Following last year’s self-titled debut EP, Indianapolis solo-project Wizard Tattoo cuts itself open and bleeds DIY on the seven songs and 40 minutes of the self-recorded, self-released Fables of the Damned, beginning with distinct moments of departure in opener “Wizard Van” and “The Black Mountain Pass,” the latter of which returns to its gutted-out chorus with maestro Bram the Bard (who also did the cover) cutting through the tonescape of his own creation to underscore the structure at work. There are stories to be told in “The Vengeful Thulsa Dan” and the folkish “Any Which Way but Tuned,” which brings together acoustics and chanting like a gamer version of Wovenhand, deep-mixed tom thud peppered throughout while the chimes are more forward, while the seven-minute “The Ghost of Doctor Beast” picks up with the slowest and most doomed of the included rollouts, “God Damn This Wizard Tattoo” ups the tempo with a catchy chorus, a little bit of mania in the hi-hat under the guitar solo, and hints dropped in the bassline of the grunge aspects soon to be highlighted in instrumental closer “Abendrote.” The sense of character is bigger than the production, and that balance is something that will need to be ironed out over time, but the dug-in curio aspects of Fables of the Damned make it engaging, whatever it may or may not lead toward.
I’ll never claim to be anything more than a dilettante when it comes to noise rock, and I’ll tell you outright that Kansas City’s Nerver are new to me as of this Brothers in Christ split with Oklahoma City’s Chat Pile, but both acts are coming from a strong Midwestern tradition of post-industrial (talking economy not genre) disaffection and building on momentum from strong 2022 releases, those being Nerver‘s even-the-CD-sold-out (aha! but not from the label! got it!) sophomore full-length CASH and Chat Pile‘s much-lauded debut, God’s Country (review here), and the scream-topped bombast of the one and volatile emotive antipoetry of the other make fitting companions across the included four songs, as Nerver‘s “Kicks in the Sky” underscores its jabs with deep low rumble as a bed for the harshly delivered verse and “The Nerve” shoves itself faceward in faster and less angular fashion, consuming like Chicago post-metal but pissed off like Midwestern hardcore while Chat Pile build through “King” en route to the panicked slaughter of “Cut,” which is sure enough to trigger fight-or-flight in your brain before its sub-five-minute run is up. Neither arrives at this point without hype behind them, both would seem to have earned it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go put on that Nerver album and play a bit of catchup.
Posted in Questionnaire on April 26th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
The Obelisk Questionnaire is a series of open questions intended to give the answerer an opportunity to explore these ideas and stories from their life as deeply as they choose. Answers can be short or long, and that reveals something in itself, but the most important factor is honesty.
Based on the Proust Questionnaire, the goal over time is to show a diverse range of perspectives as those who take part bring their own points of view to answering the same questions. To see all The Obelisk Questionnaire posts, click here.
Thank you for reading and thanks to all who participate.
The Obelisk Questionnaire: Joan Francesc “Fiar” Monguió of Foscor
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How do you define what you do and how did you come to do it?
At my studying years of career, I remember having a conversation with a renewed poet who was explaining to the class the sort of emotional dialogue poetry allowed him to develop. Like an exercise which words were tools for defining the immaterial… I remember asking him why he couldn’t see a way higher tool and resource music than poetry, considering that the immaterial perhaps shouldn’t be defined with words, limited in meaning and scope, because responses to a way higher level of comprehension??
I remember sharing some thoughts with him about that, and how conventions and language must serve humans to define what they don’t know. From that point, I understood why I always felt that music was the path I needed to live…something special having way more to do with an untouchable emotional point of view, than a simple tool for catching a moment.
Music speaks to your guts, heart and more essential emotions, despite someone would call them perverted by the society and education we all have had… Music should only speak to that level of human consciousness, the immaterial one, and allow each of the ones you shared it too, feel it from their very unique nature.
So, Emotional Music is what I like to think I do… or face.
Describe your first musical memory.
As a kid, being at my grandparents’ living room, playing with my hands being an orchestra director. My grandfather was a classical music lover, and probably under three years, I have images of his wall furniture from where he played those vinyls and show me something I’ve always called, intensity.
Call it trauma…or whatever, but there already was a sort of seed that many years after made a spark of love for music shine. Being part of a moment of greatness, something I wasn’t able to explain and understand at that so early age, but once I started seriously to play in bands, came with strength to me.
Describe your best musical memory to date.
Interesting…and so difficult to answer though. I honestly don’t give much importance to the past in terms of nostalgia. I have always felt a sort of exciting expectation for what’s yet to come, and having this feeling every day or often, because my sight is onwards and not backwards, means the world to me.
Said that, I guess that this difficulty might come from the different way I live and approach myself to the music experience. As a creator or consumer should mark a difference regarding picking a best memory, and why not the personal moment on each parcel or the Live one perhaps should too. I know…you are just asking me for one best musical memory, but honestly, I cannot set only one when it refers to music.
I think it was “Within The Depths of Silence and Phormations”, in 1995, during a trip to the Basque Country trees one of the most intense experiences with music I’ve ever had…Ok, there was some help of substances that helped to merge us with Nature and ourselves…but this memory still gives goosebumps. There would be a couple of unique moments when listening to a couple of Norwegian Black Metal albumsin a way more lonely way, back in the days, which like nails…are deep inside and would accompany this top.
In terms of Live experience, it’s so difficult to beat the emotion once lived after a memorable concert from your own band. In my case, the best memory might be set during and after the presentation gig of our 2017’s album “Les Irreals Visions” in our hometown with a sold out venue… I’m not lying if I call it one of the best musical memories, because of the spontaneous moment and thrilling development of actions during the time it lasted…and it might be considered like that closure act for a soooo long process, which made that moment even more special and unique.
When was a time when a firmly held belief was tested?
More than a belief I should say a way to face things… If I might set how much being involved in band changed a really shy guy like me from 20’s on… after probably 15 years believing I was doing things right in terms of living, moving and developing my band, a big disappointment moment after releasing our 4th album helped me out to because a new profile of person and definitely grow in a much more productive and efficient way.
Let’s say that our relationship with our label and booking agent at that time suddenly ended after them feeling disappointed on the kind of band they thought we were and they truly found. They were kind enough for explaining the lack of attitude and qualities despite the creative one. I remember feeling so bad at that time, like defeated… and of course it meant big issues in the band’s core.
After that, and a really thoughtful period, I remember jumping to an “empty pool” trying to prove myself that I was much better than what the mirror those guys put me in front showed me. It was like a challenge in terms of changing 360º the manners I used to have…probably improve and polish many I already had but didn’t used right…and learn in a really short time what even in more than 15 years I was not capable to realize. I’ll be always grateful for such experience and bad moment for everything that changed on me and allowed me later to live.
I might write many names who are worth mentioning, but I feel this is about ideas, not stories in itself… Anybody in need to know when I’m talking about, simply look for the band we were before and after 2015.
Where do you feel artistic progression leads?
And artist shall take care of many sources and resources in order to be able to express his ideas and what comes from heart. From the skills and tools he need, to the inspirational seas where feel drowned in ecstasy… progression should lead to be able to express yourself more and better every time you need it.
I’m thinking on progression linked to your own personal development, what I feel should be natural and healthy in terms of creating and expressing something coherent with yourself. Perhaps this personal development is not necessary leading to communicate and connect much better with people, but at least should allow you to feel as much control as possible of your speech and the process and result of what you need to express.
More often, than someone might think, when all of this occurs, progression in terms of music language appears from nowhere…and it is so thrilling.
How do you define success?
Feeling renovated enthusiasm and motivation for the main things you are led by.
Let’s put an example in terms of music… I might mention an album not reaching or receiving the attention and response you would had expected. I am talking about the passion that moves you on to need expressing yourself with music. All the process lived from the first conception act to the very last effort put into layout, lyrics or promotional visuals cannot be dragged because it doesn’t get “results”.
Maximum, it should make you reconsider your way of expressing if what you want is results, but never get down the passion running through your veins. Same thing goes for values which too often and put to test.
What is something you have seen that you wish you hadn’t?
The coldness on people that shows no empathy with the others… I’ve seen and see that every day in too much life circumstances, and really hurts and makes me feel fed up of the society I live in. You are probably asking me for a music related topic, but even in this small artistic bubble, this is something I wish I would not see anymore.
Describe something you haven’t created yet that you’d like to create.
An album with no schedule nor money limitations… Let’s say this in a way more positive way: I would love to create an album or even a way more complex creation, gathering as many artistic disciplines as possible, worked from a total feeling of freedom in terms of time and resources. Looks like there’s always a sort of presence pushing behind when recording music, that would be lovely to make disappear…of course it has to do with the fact that we always have had to deal with such moments among many other life matters and obligations, and probably it may affect to the result.
Every new recording gives me the impression that we are way more efficient, productive and capable to manage everything better than before; but even then, there’s job times to deal with, money limits we cannot afford, etc… That’s the dream I have.
What do you believe is the most essential function of art?
With no doubt it’s a communicative one…
You might fill that with all the aesthetical theory and philosophy, but in the end art is the main tool we humans have to connect with the immaterial world. There’s no need to define what’s immaterial, but I’m pretty sure each one of your readers may have a very own idea of how defining the immaterial from a social, cultural, religious or simply emotional point of view, something we cannot explain but we need to express. And even more… share, because the act of communication, although being based on a dialogue with ourselves, always translates previous moments into something new…so, knowledge, to keep living.
Something non-musical that you’re looking forward to?
My son is 2 years and 8 months old, and beyond the challenging moment that paternity means for someone who lives music the way I live, I’m very much looking forward seeing my son develop himself the way he feels. I would love him to be able to express himself in any artistic discipline…but way more important, I would love to see him growing moved by a healthy passion, and surrounded by life aspects that he feels good with.
Posted in Reviews on April 14th, 2023 by JJ Koczan
If you work in an office, or you ever have, or you’ve ever spoken to someone who has or does or whatever — which is everybody, is what I’m saying — then you’ll probably have a good idea of why I cringe at saying “happy Friday” as though the end of a workweek’s slog is a holiday even with the next week peering just over the horizon beyond the next 48 hours of not-your-boss time. Nonetheless, we’re at the end of this week, hitting 50 records covered in this Quarterly Review, and while I’ll spend a decent portion of the upcoming weekend working on wrapping it up on Monday and Tuesday, I’m grateful for the ability to breathe a bit in doing that more than I have throughout this week.
I’ll say as much in closing out the week as well, but thanks for reading. As always, I hope you enjoy.
Quarterly Review #41-50:
Black Helium, UM
It’s just too cool for the planet. Earth needs to step up its game if it wants to be able handle what London’s Black Helium are dishing out across their five-song third record, UM, from the sprawl and heavy hippie rock of “Another Heaven” to the utter doom that rises to prominence in that 12-minute-ish cut and the oblivion-bound boogie, blowout, and bonfire that is 15:47 closer “The Keys to Red Skeleton’s House (Open the Door)” on the other end, never mind the u-shaped kosmiche march of “I Saw God,” the shorter, stranger, organ-led centerpiece “Dungeon Head” or the motorik “Summer of Hair” that’s so teeth-grindingly tense by the time it’s done you can feel it in your toes. These are but glimpses of the substance that comprises the 45-minute out-there-out-there-out-there stretch of UM, which by the way is also a party? And you’re invited? I think? Yeah, you can go, but the rest of these fools gotta get right if they want to hang with the likes of “I Saw God,” because Black Helium do it weird for the weirdos and the planet might be round but that duddn’t mean it’s not also square. Good thing Black Helium remembered to bring the launch codes. Fire it up. We’re outta here and off to better, trippier, meltier places. Fortunately they’re able to steer the ship as well as set its controls to the heart of the sun.
A demo recording of a single, 29-minute track that’s slated to appear on Seismic‘s debut full-length based around the works of H.G. Wells sometime later this year — yeah, it’s safe to say there’s a bit of context that goes along with understanding where the Philadelphia instrumentalist trio/live-foursome are coming from on “The Time Machine.” Nonetheless, the reach of the song itself — which moves from its hypnotic beginning at about five minutes in to a solo-topped stretch that then gives over to thud-thud-thud pounding heft before embarking on an adventure 30,000 leagues under the drone, only to rise and riff again, doom. the. fuck. on., and recede to minimalist meditation before resolving in mystique-bent distortion and lumber — is significant, and more than enough to stand on its own considering that in this apparently-demo version, its sound is grippingly full. As to what else might be in store for the above-mentioned LP or when it might land, I have no idea and won’t speculate — I’m just going by what they say about it — but I know enough at this point in my life to understand that when a band comes along and hits you with a half-hour sledgehammering to the frontal cortex as a sign of things to come, it’s going to be worth keeping track of what they do next. If you haven’t heard “The Time Machine” yet, consider this a heads up to their heads up.
Something of an awaited first long-player from Chicago’s These Beasts, who crush the Sanford Parker-produced Cares, Wills, Wants with modern edge and fluidity moving between heavier rock and sludge metal, the three-piece of guitarist/vocalist Chris Roo, bassist/vocalist Todd Fabian and drummer Keith Anderson scratching a similar itch in intensity and aggression as did L.A. sludgecore pummelers -(16)- late last year, but with their own shimmer in the guitar on “Nervous Fingers,” post-Baroness melody in “Cocaine Footprints,” and tonal heft worthy of Floor on the likes of “Blind Eyes” and the more purely caustic noise rock of “Ten Dollars and Zero Effort.” “Code Name” dizzies at the outset, while “Trap Door” closes and tops out at over seven minutes, perhaps taking its title from the moment when, as it enters its final minute, the bottom drops out and the listener is eaten alive. Beautifully destructive, it’s also somehow what I wish post-hardcore had been in the 2000s, ripping and gnarling on “Southpaw” while still having space among the righteously maddening, Neurot-tribal percussion work to welcome former Pelican guitarist Dallas Thomas for a guest spot. Next wave of artsy Chicago heavy noise? Sign me up. And I don’t know if that’s Roo or Fabian with the harsh scream, but it’s a good one. You can hear the mucus trying to save the throat from itself. Vocal cords, right down the trap door.
Comprised of Cucho Segura on guitar and vocals, Sara Gdm on bass and drummer Rafa Pacheco, Ajeeb are the first band from the Canary Islands to be written about here, and their second album — issued through no fewer than 10 record labels, some of which are linked below — is the 11-song/42-minute Refractions, reminding in heavy fashion that the roots of grunge were in noisy punk all along. There’s some kick behind songs like “Far Enough” and “Mold,” and the later “Stuck for Decades” reminds of grainy festival videos where moshing was just people running into each other — whereas on “Mustard Surfing” someone might get punched in the head — but the listening experience goes deeper the further in you get, with side B offering a more dug-in take with the even-more-grunge “Slow-Vakia” building on “Oh Well” two songs earlier and leading into the low-end shovefest “Stuck for Decades,” which you think is going to let you breathe and then doesn’t, the noisier “Double Somersault” and closer/longest song “Tail Chasing” (5:13) taking the blink-and-it’s-over quiet part in “Amnesia” and building it out over a dynamic finish. The more you listen, the more you’re gonna hear, of course, but on the most basic level, the adaptable nature of their sound results in a markedly individual take. It’s the kind of thing 10 labels might want to release.
One might be tempted to think of Porto-based funeral doomers OAK as a side-project for guitarist/vocalist Guilherme Henriques, bassist Lucas Ferrand and drummer Pedro Soares, the first two of whom play currently and the latter formerly of also-on-Season–of–Mist extreme metallers Gaerea, but that does nothing to take away from the substance of the single-song full-length Disintegrate, which plies its heft in emotionality, ambience and tone alike. Throughout 44 minutes, the three-piece run an album’s worth of a gamut in terms of tempo, volume, ebbs and flows, staying grim all the while but allowing for the existence of beauty in that darkness, no less at some of the most willfully grueling moments. The rise and fall around 20 minutes in, going from double-kick-infused metallurgy to minimal standalone guitar and rebuilding toward death-growl-topped nod some six minutes later, is worth the price of admission alone, but the tortured ending, with flourish either of lead guitar or keys behind the shouted layers before moving into tremolo payoff and the quieter contemplation that post-scripts, shouldn’t be missed either. Like any offering of such extremity, Disintegrate won’t be for everyone, but it makes even the air you breathe feel heavier as it draws you into the melancholic shade it casts.
“Are we cursed?” “Is this living?” “Are we dying?” These are the questions asked after the on-rhythm sampled orgasmic moaning abates on the slow-undulating title-track of Ultra Void‘s Mother of Doom. Billed as an EP, the five-songer skirts the line of full-length consideration at 31 minutes — all the more for its molten flow as punctuated by the programmed drums — and finds the Brooklynite outfit revamped as a solo-project for Jihef Garnero, who moves from that leadoff to let the big riff do most of the talking in the stoned-metal “Sic Mundus Creatus Est” and the raw self-jam of the nine-minute “Måntår,” which holds back its vocals for later and is duly hypnotic for it. Shorter and more rocking, “Squares & Circles” maintains the weirdo vibe just the same, and at just three and a half minutes, “Special K” closes out in similar fashion with perhaps more swing in the rhythm. With those last two songs offsetting the down-the-life-drain spirit of the first three, Mother of Doom seems experimental in its construction — Garnero feeling his way into this new incarnation of the band and perhaps also recording and mixing himself in this context — but the disillusion comes through as organic, and whether we’re living or dying (spoiler: dying), that gives these songs the decisive “ugh” with which they seem to view the world around them.
Italian trio Aktopasa — also stylized as Akṭōpasa, if you’re in a fancy mood — seem to revel in the breakout moments on their second long-player and Argonauta label debut, Journey to the Pink Planet, as heard in the crescendo nod and boogie, respectively, of post-intro opener “Calima” (10:27) and closer “Foreign Lane” (10:45), the album’s two longest tracks and purposefully-placed bookends around the other songs. Elsewhere, the Venice-based almost-entirely-instrumentalists drift early in “It’s Not the Reason” — which actually features the record’s only vocals near its own end, contributed by Mattia Filippetto — and tick boxes around the tenets of heavy psychedelic microgenre, from the post-Colour Haze floating intimacy at the start of “Agarthi” to the fuzzy and fluid jam that branches out from it and the subsequent “Sirdarja” with its tabla and either sitar or guitar-as-sitar outset and warm-toned, semi-improv-sounding jazzier conclusion. From “Alif” (the intro) into “Calima” and “Lunar Eclipse,” the intent is to hypnotize and carry the listener through, and Aktopasa do so effectively, giving the chemistry between guitarist Lorenzo Barutta, bassist Silvio Tozzato and drummer Marco Sebastiano Alessi a suitably natural showcase and finding peace in the process, at least sonically-speaking, that’s then fleshed out over the remainder. A record to breathe with.
There’s heavy metal somewhere factored into the sound of Philadelphia’s Troll Teeth, but where it resides changes. The band — who here work as a four-piece for the first time — unveil their Underground Vol. 1 EP with four songs, and each one has a different take. In “Cher Ami,” the question is what would’ve happened if Queens of the Stone Age were in the NWOBHM. In “Expired,” it’s whether or not the howling of the two guitars will actually melt the chug that offsets it. It doesn’t, but it comes close to overwhelming in the process. On “Broken Toy” it’s can something be desert rock because of the drums alone, and in the six-minute closer “Garden of Pillars” it’s Alice in Chains with a (more) doomly reimagining and greater melodic reach in vocals as compared to the other three songs, but filled out with a metallic shred that I guess is a luxury of having two guitars on a record when you haven’t done so before. Blink and you’ll miss its 17-minute runtime, but Troll Teeth have four LPs out through Electric Talon, including 2022’s Hanged, Drawn, & Quartered, so there’s plenty more to dig into should you be so inclined. Still, if the idea behind Underground Vol. 1 was to scope out whether the band works as constructed here, the concept is proven. Yes, it works. Now go write more songs.
Lead track “Jukai” hasn’t exploded yet before Finis Hominis‘ Sordidum Est EP has unveiled the caustic nature of its bite in scathing feedback, and what ensues from there gives little letup in the oppressive, extreme sludge brutality, which makes even the minute-long “Cavum Nigrum” sample-topped drone interlude claustrophobic, never mind the assault that takes place — fast first, then slow, then crying, then slow, then dead — on nine-minute capper “Lorem Ipsum.” The bass hum that begins centerpiece “Improportionatus” is a thread throughout that 7:58 piece, the foundation on which the rest of the song resides, the indecipherable-even-if-they-were-in-English growls and throat-tearing shouts perfectly suited to the heft of the nastiness surrounding. “Jukai” has some swing in the middle but hearing it is still like trying to inhale concrete, and “Sinne Floribus” is even meaner and rawer, the Brazilian trio resolving in a devastating and noise-caked, visceral regardless of pace or crash, united in its alienated feel and aural punishment. And it’s their first EP! Jesus. Unless they’re actually as unhinged as they at times sound — possible, but difficult — I wouldn’t at all expect it to be their last. A band like this doesn’t happen unless the people behind it feel like it needs to, and most likely it does.
With its title maybe referring to the communion among players and the music they’re making in the moment of its own heavy psych jams, Losing Time Finding Space is the second studio full-length from Belfast instrumentalist unit Space Shepherds. The improvised-sounding troupe seem to have a lineup no less fluid than the material they unfurl, but the keyboard in “Ending the Beginning (Pt. 1)” gives a cinematic ambience to the midsection, and the fact that they even included an intro and interlude — both under two minutes long — next to tracks the shortest of which is 12:57 shows a sense of humor and personality to go along with all that out-there cosmic exploratory seeking. Together comprising a title-track, “Losing Time…” (17:34) and “…Finding Space” (13:27) are unsurprisingly an album unto themselves, and being split like “Ending the Beginning” speaks perhaps of a 2LP edition to come, or at very least is emblematic of the mindset with which they’re approaching their work. That is to say, as they move forward with these kinds of mellow-lysergic jams, they’re not unmindful either of the listener’s involvement in the experience or the prospect of realizing them in the physical as well as digital realms. For now, an hour’s worth of longform psychedelic immersion will do nicely, thank you very much.
aforementioned C.O.C. and Trouble — I also can’t help but feel like Pintos going topless in the video is an Iggy Pop reference — and even a little Blind Melon in its chorus, the title-track offers more than fair representation of the LP whose name it shares, and emphasizes Queen Marsa‘s ability as presented here to shift from one aspect of their sound to another. A hard and heavy rock band putting a bluesier spin on a song as Queen Marsa do with side B’s “Treat Me Like You Do,” or that momentary psych divergence in “The Truth (You Don’t Want to Know),” isn’t unheard of, and the fivesome don’t sound like they’re trying to claim they invented anything so much as to explore the process of craft, develop along their own path, and reach out to as many ears as they might catch with their mostly uptempo, deeply energetic take. The ultra-’90s “Stop Dry,” which picks up after “I Am the Land” careens to its finish, is a declarative stomper. This is who this band wants to be.
