Posted in audiObelisk on August 27th, 2025 by JJ Koczan
Sydney heavy shovers Iron Blanket release their new single “Void of Shapes” tomorrow through Copper Feast Records. It’s the first new studio sounds from the five-piece since their 2024 debut, Astral Wanderer, and while it’s true it hasn’t been all that long since the record came out, the band are clearly beginning to move forward.
And fair enough for the urgency they bring with “Void of Shapes.” At 2:45, it’s shorter than anything on the record that preceded and it immediately sets itself to swinging with an ethereal edge in the guitar. Astral Wanderer wasn’t without its psychedelic aspects either, but here, the guitars stay spaced out even in the shred that emerges in the first minute before they’ve even dug into a verse, and the five-piece follow the echoing chop of the song’s central riff through a hook that’s more bashing-away than careening, but still a blast as it goes. That pretty clearly is the idea.
But for being called “Void of Shapes,” it’s worth emphasizing that there is both a structure and a plan at work in terms of the sound. That they’re pushing themselves to try new things is a positive sign, not the least because it came out cool, but of course part of the appeal of Astral Wanderer (streaming below) is the range of the material between doom, stoner riffing, psych and proto-metal. They wouldn’t be the first to refine a focus as they went forward, and if they want to push into heavy psych as more of a stylistic priority, they’re off to a righteous start, but I’m not willing to bet that their next outing will be exclusively one thing or another.
Keep your head up, is what I’m saying. I don’t know the timing on the sophomore LP, or if that’s even where they’re headed, as opposed to a feeling-things-out EP — certainly possible for a band such as this exploring new ground — so for today, my suggestion is going to be to set grander considerations aside, and bang your head cosmic to this one, as it’s perfect for the occasion, even as a potential herald of broader reaching to come. Que sera sera in doom?
You’ll find the track on the player below. As always, I hope you enjoy. If you need a reason for optimism today about anything, this might help:
If Iron Blanket’s debut album Astral Wanderer (Doom Charts, April – voted #5) could be described as “weed and beer” then the new material they’re working on is “Coke and Mushrooms.”
Since the release of their first album, Iron Blanket have completed 2 tours of Australia, the most notable being the the 2025 Australian tour with Swedish heavyweights Greenleaf. Since, Iron Blanket have been quietly writing the follow-up to Astral Wanderer.
The first taste is here: “Void of Shapes” recorded by Ryan Miller at Foxhouse studios.
Void of shapes captures the raw energy of Iron Blanket’s live show in this 3 minute room rattler, with lyrical themes of falling into an eternal psychosis and musically blending their signature sound of psych and proto-doom riffage with fast paced high energy rock. Void Of Shapes will be released on the 28th of August 2025
Iron Blanket is: Mark Lonsdale – Guitar Nick Matthews – Drums Tom Withford – Guitar Charles Eggleston – Bass Johann Ingemar – Vocals
Posted in Whathaveyou on July 24th, 2025 by JJ Koczan
I don’t have an exact runtime for Robot God‘s new, self-released 13-song compilation, Time Capsule Chronicles, but it’s somewhere in the neighborhood of 120 minutes by my rough count, and whether you’re checking out the band for the first time or celebrating your own groundfloorism in having followed them since they were born or whatever, it should be plenty. And it’s right there for digging in. This isn’t a ‘coming soon’-type release announcement so much as ‘this thing already exists,’ and if what I understand about modern attention spans is true, maybe more of this kind of thing should be happening.
Part of this is a fan-piece, but there’s an educational aspect too. I don’t have all those Robot God records, though I’ve dabbled in reviewing their stuff before, so maybe this is a chance for me to learn something about their progression. And maybe, in another universe, I’ll actually have two hours to sit and dig in. As it stands, at least I got to listen while I posted this before I got swept up by whatever the next thing is/was/will be.
The band sent the following down the PR wire:
After years of requests and anticipation, Robot God proudly presents our first-ever CD compilation, Time Capsule Chronicles – OUT NOW on CD, Bandcamp, and all major streaming platforms.
Spanning 13 tracks across our last five releases (over 2hrs), Time Capsule Chronicles captures the full breadth of Robot God’s journey, from thunderous psych doom to expansive otherworldly grooves.
Tracklist includes: Peyote Sunrise, Unified Field, Volcano Bleeds, Boogie Man, Subconscious Awakening, and more. This release is a compilation for CD made up of songs from Silver Buddha Dreaming/ Valleys of Primordia/ Worlds Collide/ Portal Within and Subconscious Awakening.
Day three marks the halfway point of this Quarterly Review, unless I decide to sneak in an extra day next Monday. We’ll see on that, but things are moving pretty well so far, so I might just be content to take the win and start slating the next one. Always a choice to be made there.
I hope you’ve found something that hits you thus far, and if not, check the below, because there’s a pretty wide variety of styles under the ‘heavy underground’ umbrella here. Hope one or a few or everything clicks.
We proceed.
Quarterly Review #21-30:
Randall Huth, Torched and Coasting
Though he’s probably best known at this point for playing bass in Pissed Jeans for the last 17 years, Pennsylvania’s Randall Huth once-upon-the-aughts played guitar and handled vocals in still-missed pastoral heavy rockers Pearls and Brass, and the new solo EP under his own name will likely be more than enough to trigger nostalgia in remembering that. Torched and Coasting is somewhere between an EP and a follow-up to Huth‘s 2007 solo album as Randall of Nazareth on Drag City, and the self-released tape is clear in its intention, conveying sketches like the finger-plucked movements of “Emptied/Rarified” and “Bursting Smile” and 15-minute closer plunge “Torched and Coasting,” which tube-screams late so stick with it, alongside the drone-meets-zither “The Blind Whale,” and more terrestrial, guitar-and-vocals pieces like opener “Lost in Your Eyes” and the penultimate “Beats Dying,” which — you guessed it — is about getting old. Huth‘s echoing and soft delivery, wit in the lyrics and humble acoustic presentation make that a highlight, but this years-in-the-making offering walks more than a single expressive path. More songs, whatever ‘songs’ means, please. Thanks.
North Carolinian four-piece HolyRoller make their label-debut on Ripple Music with the eight-song Rat King, which puts modern heavy in a blender such that an early piece like “Crunch Riff Supreme” finds its place in sludge rock and heralds screamy things to come but by the time they’ve gotten to “Buried Alone” at the presumed outset of side B, the flow has more in common with Pallbearer than Weedeater or Sleep, who are another key underlying influence. But the emphasis there should be on ‘underlying’ as HolyRoller step beyond the bands that inspired them in fostering progressive songwriting throughout these 35 minutes, with a richly flexible sound — “Heave Ho” sounds like slower Howling Giant, “Forbidden Things” like Spaceslug — and a push into the ether in “Radiating Sacred Light” before they round out with the Clutch-y bounce of “Drift Into the Sun” to highlight the individuality in where they take their approach. The organic production helps it feel like they’re really digging in, but also they are.
Worried ‘Bout Madame is the third long-player from Polish heavy post-rock/psych-gaze outfit Black Mynah, and it would seem to be the first since founding vocalist, bassist and baritone guitarist Joanna Kucharska assembled a full-band lineup around herself and drummer Paweł Rucki, who also appeared on 2020’s II. Vocalist/synthesist Aleksandra Joryn and guitarist Marcin Lawendowski join the stylistically subversive proceedings here, with the garage jangle of “Colleen” at the outset pushed into the frenetic shuffle and hard distortion of “Damaged Goods” ahead of the sweet post-punk verse of “Float,” which has its own grungey volatility. The tonal weight thrown around in closer “Looking at You, Kid,” — not to mention the vocal layering — isn’t unprecedented on the album that comes before it, but “Blue Moon” is more about catching up with the insistence of its snare drum and “The Rite” has its own thing going too with the quieter creeper swing and satisfying wash that pays it off. It won’t be for everybody, but who the hell ever wanted to be?
Last heard from with their before-times 2019 split LP with Un, English death-doom churners Coltsblood make a welcome return with the four-song Obscured Into Nebulous Dusk, their third album overall, first for Translation Loss Records and first in eight years. The years have not been wasted in the sound of bassist/vocalist John McNulty (also keys), guitarist Jemma McNulty and drummer Jay Plested, who foster a ‘beauty in darkness’ sensibility on opener/longest track (immediate points) “Until the Eidolon Falls” before the outright slaughter of “Waning of the Wolf Moon” pushes death metal tempo off a cliff of feedback and raw scathe. “Transcending the Immortal Gateway” makes its presence felt with the mournful lead line topping its later reaches, and “Obscured into Nebulous Dusk” bids farewell in a not-dissimilar fashion, but the particularly agonized vocals prior are a distinguishing feature. Time would seem to have done little to dull the band’s overarching extremity, and so much the better for that.
The two-years-later follow-up to Indianapolis doom rockers Void King‘s 2023 long-player, The Hidden Hymnal (review here), the seven-song The Hidden Hymnal: Chapter II indeed seems to dig into its own kind of storytelling. The proceedings make for a rousing flow, with the two longest tracks, “The Birth of All Things” (8:49) and “A Union of Expired Souls” (9:34) paired at the outset for a duly epic opening statement. I don’t know if they’re a vinyl side on their own or not, but their separation from the rest of the LP is underscored by the remaining three tracks being sandwiched by a “Prologue” and “Epilogue,” so that the burly progressive metal and heavy rock of “Attrition,” “Convalescence” and “Expiration” feel like their own mini-album on the second side. If this wraps up the The Hidden Hymnal cycle for Void King, then the structural nuance here is fair enough, but the real story of the record is the progression of the band itself, which is ongoing.
Harnessing stoner metal largesse, doomed thematics and an aggro posture for the delivery that adds to the gnashing feel of the material overall, Bifter‘s debut album, First Impressions of Hell, is a torrential, ferocious offering that hits you on multiple levels before you even realize what’s happened. Interludes, the album intro “Enter Hell” and “Lover’s Quarrel,” the sample in “Mercy” and the post-script “Time to Kill” after “Ball of Burning Snakes” and the seven-minute “Belly of the Beast” give an atmospheric feel, but part of what makes “Doom Shroom” and “March of the Imp” so effective is their directness, so First Impressions of Hell, among the impressions made, can count face-punch in its number. The foundation is metal, but the affect is a party, and however weighted the material gets throughout the 36 minutes of its 12 tracks, Bifter are consistently able to convey a feeling of movement and forward momentum along with all their destructive intent.
Write off Poland’s Fish Basket at your own peril. Yeah, they’ve got the cartoonish art and the silly vibe and the sense of rampant chicanery of sound and nonsense, but check out the proggy push of “Robots” on Fish Basket and His Second Album and the way they suddenly pull the plug on the whole thing and drop to deep-breathing, or the shouts worked into opener “NA-HU-HA-NE” and the birdsong in the psych-drifting “Farewells and Returns,” gorgeous as it is before it looses a bit of crush and winds up in classic heavy psych to end. These and myriad other moments throughout — the folkish strum of “Imaginarium” from some unknown tradition, maybe the band’s own, brought to the head of a linear build with a comedown to finish — work on the Frank Zappa model of progressive rock, which is to say that while shenanigans abound, the trio have the technical chops to back up everything they’re doing, and whether it’s the fuzzblaster of “Cardboard Racer” or the sub-nine-minute meander of “Stray in Chill,” Fish Basket carry the listener from one end of the album to another with deceptive ease. Warning: it might be genius.
Calgary-based trio Woodhawk — guitarist/vocalist Turner Midzain, bassist/vocalist Mike Badmington and drummer Kevin Nelson — offer a sharply-constructed, professional-grade nine songs across the 53 minutes of their third full-length, the encouragingly-titled Love Finds a Way. The organ adds a classic feel to “Strangers Ever After” early in the going, and the fullness and clarity of the surrounding production only increases the trust in the band’s songwriting, which isn’t without aesthetic ambitions despite the straightforward tack, cuts like “Truth Be Told,” “White Crosses” and the dares-to-shimmy-in-the-middle title-track have as solid an underpinning of groove as one could ever reasonably ask. The melody over top in the vocals and guitar shines through accordingly. They’re plenty dug-in, of course, and any record that’s going to push past the 50-minute mark in 2025 better have some perspective to offer, but Woodhawk do. I don’t know if it’ll be enough to save the world, but at least somebody out there is putting love out front with their riffage, duly engaging as that is.
Pathways is a single-song, just-under-14-minute EP from Milwaukee’s Liminal Spirit, the darkly progressive apparent-solo-project of Jerry Hauppa, who embodies a number of characters in the narrative throughout. Presented on a quick turnaround from the band’s late-2024 self-titled debut LP, the one-tracker nonetheless reaffirms the ambitions of the album before it, while also reinforcing the idea of Liminal Spirit as a still-growing, still-discovering-its-sound outfit. The vocals here, intended to embody multiple archetypal characters like The Patriarch, The Child, The Artisan, The Elder and The Apprentice, come through a vocoder-type treatment, and so where multiple points of view might otherwise be fleshed out and conveyed, the voice remains singular. This is the tradeoff for the intimacy of solo creativity, but one gets the sense from “Pathways” and the self-titled that Liminal Spirit is just beginning to explore the stylistic territory the band will ultimately cover.
To follow their 2023 self-titled debut EP (on Addicted Label), Moscow-based doom rocker four-piece Clarity Vision present “Deep Ocean” (or, in Cyrillic:
“Глубокий океан”), a six-minute standalone single that soon makes its way via cymbal-wash from its beginning waves and quiet guitar into a procession of stately classic doom metal, big on swing and bigger on impact. The kind of riff that would make Leif Edling smile. Galina Shpakovskaya‘s voice is suited to the movement of the riffs, floating over with melodic echo but keeping a mystique that reminds of mid-period The Wounded Kings, when all was dark and mystery. Guitarist Alexey Roslyakov, bassist Alexey Roslyakov and drummer Mikhail Markelov hold the march steady for the duration, and although I’ve never come close to knowing even the slightest bit of Russian, Clarity Vision remind that we all speak the same language when it comes to being completely and utterly doomed.
It begins with the fuzz, and if you’re not reading that in your head in some kind of Morgan Freeman-esque deity-reminiscent voice, go back and read it again. It begins with the fuzz. ‘It,’ in this case, is Being Here, the front-to-back eight-song sophomore full-length from Sydney heavy psychedelic rockers Turtle Skull. It is a breakthrough in songwriting and production, carrying a warmth in that leadoff fuzz that begins the opening title-track that permeates even down through the need-to-keep-these-server-boxes-chilled highlight “It Starts With Me,” wherein the A.I. singularity takes on consciousness and destroys its gods accordingly, or the softer-delivered “Modern Mess” and “Moon and Tide” at the finish.
And tone isn’t relegated to Dean McLeod‘s guitar. Drummer Charlie Gradon‘s crash cymbal has a richer sound than some entire records. Julian Frese‘s bass is the backdrop against which Being Here‘s lush ending plays out, and Ally Gradon‘s keys/synth add to the shimmering “Into the Sun,” which in terms of lyrical philosophizing offers “Gotta get out of your head and into the sun” for your forehead-tattooing pleasure. “Into the Sun” is third on the 42-minute long-player, and by the time it arrives, the quality of its hook should be little surprise after “Being Here” and “Apathy.” The former reckons with “the moment’s isolation of being here” and the latter implores, “I want you to live it right now,” with harmony-laced arrangements from McLeod, Ally and Charlie, and over time the album further reveals its ability to tackle dark subjects without sounding bogged down by them.
To wit, “Bourgeoisie” channels Marx to skewer the comfort class, and the snare-driven march of “It Starts With Me” is like a patriotic song for the software that comes to understand, “I am what you see your life through/I could very well be the end of you,” as it moves into the chorus. “Heavy as Hell,” another highlight on an album with eight of them, bounces under its titular confession, “Heavy as hell/The stories I tell/To only myself/Heavy as hell.” Simple rhymes, executed with thoughtful melodies and a sense of wanting to communicate to the audience without talking or dumbing itself down in any way. The openness of the lyrics is relevant both for its rarity — it’s easier to write songs about monsters, and I’m not knocking that — and for the sincerity that resonates from the songs. It’s not flinching from the moment in which it lives, as “Apathy” and “It Starts With Me” examine digital culture, but “Into the Sun” and the sweetness of melody in “Modern Mess” and “Moon and Tide” remain ready fodder for escapism.
The songs’ll be stuck in your head one way or the other, so you might as well go where they take you. And in terms of band-figuring-out-who-they-are, the fact that Charlie Gradon mixed and had a hand in the recording in addition to that of Julian Abbott at Nowave Studio — Gradon and Dean McLeod are listed as producers; Michael Lynch mastered — speaks to a sense of intention behind the depth of tone and the too-active-to-be-shoegaze mellowness pervading even the most active of the material, be it the twisting “Apathy” or the shouts following the chorus of “Bourgeoisie,” with the keyboard sounding an alarm behind a fervent push.
It tells you that not only are Turtle Skull thinking about the songs they’re writing — and while not overworked, this material has been meticulously ironed-out and arranged — but about how they’re presenting them to the listener. That the recording carries such a live feel is also likely no coincidence, but the priority seems to have been in balancing that with giving the material its best representation in the studio.
Fair enough and pretty standard practice but for the exceptional results. A calm swing and snare-snap punctuate the intro to “Modern Mess,” languid and flowing in an immediate departure from “Heavy as Hell” just before. The tempo stays geared for flow, and the arrival of the vocals — the lines, “Healing a broken heart/Playing our own cruel part…” — leads the way into a purposefully entrancing immersion for the remaining 15 minutes of the LP as “Modern Mess” (6:54) and “Moon and Tide” (8:46) are the two longest songs and very much a distinct movement unto themselves. The chorus of “Modern Mess” is lush and memorable, suited to the wistful evocations of the organ line, a kind of longing hanging there in the open space of the guitar and the echo treatment on all of it as Turtle Skull put their interpretation of mellow psychedelia forth as a place for their audience to dwell.
More active in the drums, “Moon and Tide” is also more willing to ride out parts and devolves to a noisy end for the album that seems to answer back to the fuzz that begins “Being Here,” and it does this while confessing its love for, well, everybody, and “choosing to move with all of the love I have inside,” which for a record that’s been chasing serenity no less than its sundry aspirations of songwriting, is a satisfying conclusion in keeping with the heavy-hippie point of view of the lyrics generally. Between this showcase of perspective and the high level of craft throughout that makes these tracks so gosh darn listenable, Turtle Skull have answered and surpassed the promise of their 2020 debut, Monoliths (review here), and hopefully set themselves on a course of development that will continue over releases subsequent to this.
The short version is that Being Here is a creative blossoming for Turtle Skull, and from start to end is one of the best records I’ve heard in 2025. It’s the first of those two that’s more important, obviously. The way the band carry these melodies, find balance between the moodier aspects of living through one of the dumbest eras of recorded history and the hopeful manifestations that could lead to a better world, way, whathaveyou. It’s not just about wanting to “get out of your head and into the sun,” but about how Turtle Skull make that song into the sunshine itself, and the way the music from that first fuzz onward comes to feel like the greatest hopes of the lyrics realized.
Posted in Whathaveyou on March 5th, 2025 by JJ Koczan
I wanna crawl inside the bright melody of Turtle Skull‘s “Apathy” and just wait for this Northern Hemisphere winter to end. The Australian four-piece sound ready for export on the early singles from their upcoming third (I think?) full-length, Being Here, and if the title puts you in a time and place — here — that’s the idea. The record was tracked mostly live and follows 2020’s Monoliths (review here), which was a gem from which they seem to have nonetheless stepped forward in composition and style. “Apathy” has a little Dead Meadow to it, but “Into the Sun” is wetter psych, with a touch of garage rock that gives some push to its six-minute course. “Heavy as Hell,” which was issued as a standalone single in Feb. 2024, fits the bill, and is no less in the harmonies throughout than its organ-laed second-half culmination.
It sounds like the record’s gonna fucking rule, and so here’s a ton of PR wire information about it, the preorder links, the likewise-rad cover art and the Bandcamp player at the bottom as always.
Dig into this and I don’t think you’ll regret it:
Neo-Psych/ Doom Rockers TURTLE SKULL Announce New Album Being Here. New Single Into The Sun Streaming.
Art As Catharsis and Copper Feast Records are proud to announce Turtle Skull’s upcoming record, Being Here, a lush and gritty exploration of neo-psych with indie and alt-pop sensibility, out May 23, 2025.
With Being Here, Turtle Skull have evolved. A new lineup. A fresh approach. A leap forward. While the album builds on the sonic foundations of 2020’s Monoliths, it’s a different beast. Still hefty and considered but more immediate. Made for the moment. A record that values gut instinct over perfection.
Tracked live at NoWave in Mullumbimby, with a paired-back approach to studio tweaking, Being Here captures that ‘lightning in a bottle’ energy that happens when a band fully locks in. New member Ally Gradon’s synths inject fresh energy, swirling around meaty riffs and driving rhythms. It’s expansive yet raw, drawing from the likes of Black Moth Super Rainbow, Idles and Cause Sui with a nod to the cinematic sprawl of Spiritualized and The Flaming Lips. A heavy, heady blend of melody and atmosphere.
The new single from the release, Into the Sun, exemplifies this new ethos, centering poignant musings amid a shimmering wash of synth and surging guitar.
“Into the Sun was a collection of riffs I had from years ago that Ally had always favoured”, tells drummer Charlie Gradon. “We brought it to the group and it quickly fleshed itself out. The lyrics came after a particularly rowdy yet fulfilling wedding that some of us went to. It’s about being stuck and needing to be with your people. The day to day mundane vs the hyper connected and profound, and how both are equally important.
“Being Here was much more about good songs that we had freshly written being captured live in the moment” says Gradon. “No click, no excessive layering, no studio trickery. The only thing that wasn’t captured live was the vocals. Choosing to self-produce and mix the album gave us the chance to preserve our initial vision, even if it nearly did kill me.”
The album puts a spotlight on songwriting, covering weighty subject matter, from the life-force drain of social media to the relentless march of time. But it does so with a call to stay connected, empathetic and grounded. In this way, Being Here isn’t just an album title. It’s a philosophy. A mantra. A demand to be fully present, to embrace the chaos, the beauty, the weight of it all.
No strangers to sold-out headline shows across Sydney and Melbourne, Turtle Skull have a reputation for epic live performances. They’ve graced festival stages at Camp A Low Hum (NZ), The Gumball (NSW), Vivid (NSW) and Ninchfest (VIC)and supported the likes of Frankie and the Witch Fingers (USA), Earthless (USA) and Stonefield.
With Being Here set for release, the band is gearing up for another wave of touring, kicking off with a 7 March show at the Bergy Bandroom in Melbourne as part of the Brunswick Music Festival ahead of rumoured festival appearances later in the year. Keep your eyes peeled for gig announcements and make sure to catch one of Australia’s most electrifying live acts.
Turtle Skull’s new record, Being Here, is out on Art As Catharsis (AUS/NZ) and Copper Feast Records (UK/EU) on 23 May 2025.
All songs written by Turtle Skull Lyrics by Charlie Gradon and Dean McLeod
Recorded by Julian Abbott at Nowave Studio and Charlie Gradon at his Crabbes Creek studio Mixed by Charlie Gradon Mastered by Michael Lynch Produced by Charlie Gradon and Dean McLeod
Artwork by Graham Yarrington Graphic Design by Jim Grimwade
Turtle Skull is: Julian Frese – Bass guitar Ally Gradon – Vocals, synths Charlie Gradon – Vocals, drums Dean McLeod – Vocals, guitars
Sydney, Australia, sludge rock bruisers Amammoth will release their second album, Distant Skies and the Ocean Flies, on March 21, in continued cooperation with Electric Valley Records. Guess what? They’re heavy.
I know, with a name like Amammoth, somehow that’s not at all shocking even though with the ‘a’- prefix, there’s a suggestion of anti-mammoth. Like, in protest of the mammoth. Fuck this mammoth! I shall be the opposite! An amammoth!, and so on. (And yeah, I know I said as much when I reviewed The Fire Above in 2021.) But no, in fact Amammoth have way more in common in terms of sonic largesse with a mammoth than an amammoth, which isn’t a thing that ever existed so far as I know but if it did would surely cower beneath the grunt, roll and flourish of “Among Us” (video premiering below), the nine-minute post-intro opener and longest track on Distant Skies and the Ocean Flies. Drawing its expanse from sludge and doom and maybe even a little death metal in there somewhere of the European strain, pushing into psychedelia with organ and keys later on so that while Scott Fisher is gutting out vocals Kirk Windstein-style, what accompanies is trippier riffing (plus a bit of triangle, I think? maybe keyboard-triangle?) than one might necessarily expect. But that’s what one gets for having expectations in the first place. Gotta let that go. Zen and crushing riffs.
So there they are, Fisher, bassist Warwick Poulton (making his first appearance) and drummer Scott Wilson, hammering away at your cortex after setting an atmos-sludge course in the aptly-titled “Intro” like someone put an organ behind Souls at Zero, but “Among Us” isn’t post-metallic in its lumber necessarily, and its riffing leans more to Sleep than Neurosis, if we want to keep the comparisons to Jason Roeder bands. There’s something oldschool about the largely unipolar vocals — it’s gruff shouts and such, as noted, not screams for the most part, but not entirely “clean” singing either — like in the early ’90s when you could just get away with barking for an entire record; for what it’s worth, in the 40 minutes and eight songs of Distant Skies and the Ocean Flies, there’s enough variation in what Amammoth do around their central purpose in largesse that nothing feels like it’s missing.
“Among Us” caps with repetitions of “Walk among us” and a few homeward slams to make the point before they rumble to the finish, “Chosen” picking up almost immediately with its own muted crashes on the way to reveling in its combination of swinging drums and slogging riffs; the shift from what would be the closer on a lot of records (and is here the opener but for “Intro”) into the more-than-three-minutes-shorter track that follows letting Amammoth cast an open impression and then strip it down for a more direct attack.
To wit, “Chosen,” “So High So Numb” and the pointedly primordial “Sink or Swim” are positioned to feel comparatively immediate regardless of their actual tempos, and Amammoth bask in the lumbering reaches their tonal worship lets them conjure. And “Sink or Swim” coming through as so much of an epitome in this regard means “Satellite,” which follows, is a well-timed change.
Amid more Crowbar-esque seething and declarative steamrolling, the organ returns — joining the fray in a brazenly classic-heavy-rock manner that I can’t help but feel like would make Oppu from Amorphis/Octoploid smile in this context — and deftly calls back to “Among Us” before hitting its culmination and giving over to the penultimate “Ashes Remain,” which might be the rawest and angriest of the eight inclusions, and which serves as the whole-album crescendo accordingly before the thud-backed drone and noisemaking of “Interstitial” reinforce the atmospheric depth for three minutes on the band’s way out.
For a record that’s so much about throwing elbows, some of them at your larynx (heads up on that), the movement across Distant Skies and the Ocean Flies is remarkably easy. I guess the degree of that will be somewhat subject to one’s own tolerance for harder-edged fare, rough vocals, and so on, but Amammoth are perhaps not as monolithic in their approach as they would have you believe. In that case, “Among Us” represents the totality of Distant Skies and the Ocean Flies well, summarizing a lot of what the tracks that follow have on offer without giving away everything at the album’s outset.
The video has a flashing lights warning, and it comes up more later in the clip but they’re not kidding. More info follows from the PR wire below.
Please enjoy:
Amammoth, “Among Us” video premiere
Amammoth on “Among Us”:
Our second single “Among Us” is a B-grade psychedelic, sci-fi adventure, kind of like ET on acid.
Sydney’s sludgiest stoner outfit Amammoth’s trippy sonic sensibilities and intellectually vitriolic lyrical approach blur the boundaries between sedation and stimulation, simultaneously submerging listeners into the distorted depths of the human experience while lifting them up with a distinctly groovy vibe and clean vocal style that shines through both in the studio and on stage. Following the release of their debut EP and their first full-length album, as well as a host of electrically frenzied live shows, Amammoth’s momentum is at an all-time high as they prepare for their biggest year yet, with a second full-length album set for release with Electric Valley Records, to be officially announced in due time, much to the delight of their diverse and growing global fanbase.
Tracklisting: 1. Intro 2. Among Us 3. Chosen 4. So High So Numb 5. Sink or Swim 6. Satellite 7. Ashes Remain 8. Interstitial
Amammoth are: Scott Fisher : vocals/guitar Warwick Poulton : bass Scott Wilson : drums
Amammoth, Distant Skies and the Ocean Flies (2025)
Posted in Whathaveyou on November 7th, 2024 by JJ Koczan
Look, it’s been a rough couple days where I’m at. I know that doesn’t have jack shit to do with Iron Blanket, who are from Australia and who put out their Astral Wanderer LP earlier this year on Copper Feast and Sound Effect Records, and who are from Australia. I know. Unrelated. But man, everything just feels like a drag. Existing got heavier, and not in a good way.
So I’m not saying don’t watch Iron Blanket‘s ‘Live at Red Belly Records’ live session. At all. I’m saying stop whatever else you’re doing and immerse in it. Don’t just watch it. Maybe put some headphones on, turn the volume up and really let go for a while. I don’t know where you are or your situation, but if you actually make it through all 25 minutes with some kind of mental escape, isn’t that automatically a win? Just a couple minutes of being someplace else in your head?
The video has four songs, three of which were on Astral Wanderer and the concluding “Jam Sandwich,” which, yes, has plenty of jam. Maybe it’s what you need today and maybe it isn’t. I don’t know. But sitting here doing this feels stupid and listening to music doesn’t, so I’m gonna put on some tunes and try to check out for a while.
Peace:
Sydney powerhouse IRON BLANKET slithered their way up into the into Redbelly studios after their Album release after ‘That’ night at the Northern in Byron Bay.
Here’s: Mystic Goddess 00:45 Visions of the End 05:20 Kookaburra Nightmare 11:11 Jam sandwich 20:25
Filmed: 47 Studio Edited: 47 Studio / Red Belly Records Recorded: Red Belly Records Mixed + Mastered: Iron Blanket
Iron Blanket is: Mark Lonsdale – Guitar Nick Matthews – Drums Tom Withford – Guitar Charles Eggleston – Bass Johann Ingemar – Vocals
Posted in Reviews on October 11th, 2024 by JJ Koczan
I got a note from the contact form a bit ago in my email, which happens enough that it’s not really news, except that it wasn’t addressed to me. That happens sometimes too. A band has a form letter they send out with info — it’s not the most personal touch, but has a purpose and doesn’t preclude following-up individually — or just wants to say the same thing to however many outlets. Fair game. This was specifically addressed to somebody else. And it kind of ends with the band saying to send a donation link, like, “Wink wink we donate and you post our stuff.”
Well shit. You mean I coulda been making fat stacks off these stoner bands all the while? Living in my dream house with C.O.C. on the outdoor speakers just by exploiting a couple acts trying to get their riffs heard? Well I’ll be damned. Yeah man, here’s my donation link. Daddy needs a new pair of orthopedic flip-flops. I’ma never pay taxes again.
Life, sometimes.
Quarterly Review #41-50:
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Alunah, Fever Dream
The seventh full-length from UK outfit Alunah, Fever Dream, will be immediately noteworthy for being the band’s last (though one never knows) with vocalist Siân Greenaway fronting the band, presiding over an era of transition when they had to find a new identity for themselves. Fever Dream is the third Alunah LP with Greenaway, and its nine songs show plainly how far the band has come in the six-plus years of her tenure. “Never Too Late” kicks off with both feet at the intersection of heavy rock and classic metal, with a hook besides, and “Trickster of Time” follows up with boogie and flute, because you’re special and deserve nice things. The four-piece as they are here — Greenaway on vocals (and flute), guitarist Matt Noble, bassist Dan Burchmore and founding drummer Jake Mason — are able to bring some drama in “Fever Dream,” to imagine lone-guitar metal Thin Lizzy in the solo of the swaggering “Hazy Jane,” go from pastoral to crushing in “Celestial” and touch on prog in “The Odyssey.” The finale “I’ve Paid the Price” tips into piano grandiosity, but by the time they get there, it feels earned. A worthy culmination for this version of this band.
Swiss heavy post-hardcore unit Coilguns‘ fourth LP and the first in five years, though they’ve had EPs and splits in that time, Odd Love offers 11 songs across an adventurous 48 minutes, alternately raw or lush, hitting hard with a slamming impact or careening or twisting around, mathy and angular. In “Generic Skincare,” it’s both and a jet-engine riff to boot. Atmosphere comes to the fore on “Caravel,” the early going of “Featherweight” and the later “The Wind to Wash the Pain,” but even the most straight-ahead moments of charge have some richer context around them, whether that’s the monstrous tension and release of capper “Bunker Vaults” or, well, the monstrous tension and release of “Black Chyme” earlier on. It’s not the kind of thing I always reach for, but Coilguns make post-hardcore disaffection sound like a good time, with intensity and spaciousness interwoven in their style and a vicious streak that comes out on the regular. Four records deep, the band know what they’re about but are still exploring.
Subconscious Awakening is Robot God‘s second album of 2024 and works in a similar two-sides/four-songs structure as the preceding Portal Within, released this past Spring, where each half of the record is subdivided into one longer and shorter song. It feels even more purposeful on Subconscious Awakening since both “Mandatory Remedy” and “Sonic Crucifixion” both hover around eight and a half minutes while side A opens with the 13-minute “Blind Serpent” and side B with the 11-minute title-track. Rife with textured effects, some samples, and thoughtful melodic vocals, Subconscious Awakening of course shares some similarity of purpose with Portal Within, which was also recorded at the same time, but a song like “Sonic Crucifixion” creates its own sprawl, and the outward movement between that closer and the title-track before it underscores the progressivism at work in the band’s sound amid tonal heft and complex, sometimes linear structures. Takes some concentration to wield that kind of groove.
Especially for an experimentalist, drone-based act who relies on audience theater-of-the-mind as a necessary component of appreciating its output, Pittsburgh solo outfit Fuzznaut — aka guitarist Emilio Rizzo — makes narrative a part of what the band does. Earlier this year, Fuzznaut‘s “Space Rock” single reaped wide praise for its cosmic aspects. “Wind Doula” specifically cites Neil Young‘s soundtrack for the film Dead Man as an influence, and thus brings four minutes more closely tied to empty spread of prairie, perhaps with some filtering being done through Earth‘s own take on the style as heard in 2005’s seminal Hex: Or Printing in the Infernal Method. One has to wonder if, had Rizzo issued “Wind Doula” with a picture of an astronaut floating free on its cover, it would be the cosmic microwave background present in the track instead of stark wind across the Great Plains, but there’s much more to Fuzznaut than self-awareness and the power of suggestion. Chalk up another aesthetic tryout that works.
Trad metal enthusiasts will delight at the specificity of the moment in the history of the style Void Moon interpret on their fourth album, Dreams Inside the Sun. It’s not that they’re pretending outright that it’s 1986, like the Swedish two-piece of guitarist/bassist Peter Svensson and drummer/vocalist Marcus Rosenqvist are wearing hightops and trying to convince you they’re Candlemass, but that era is present in the songwriting and production throughout Dreams Inside the Sun, even if the sound of the record is less directly anachronistic and their metallurgical underpinnings aren’t limited to doom between slowed down thrash riffs, power-metal-style vocalizing and the consuming Iommic nod of “East of the Sun” meeting with a Solitude Aeturnus-style chug, all the more righteous for being brought in to serve the song rather than to simply demonstrate craft. That is to say, the relative barn-burner “Broken Skies” and the all-in eight-minute closer “The Wolf (At the End of the World,” which has some folk in its verse as well, use a purposefully familiar foundation as a starting point for the band to carve their own niche, and it very much works.
Best known for slinging his six-string alongside brother Kyle Juett in Texas rockers Mothership, Kelley Juett‘s debut solo offering, Wandering West pulls far away from that classic power trio in intention while still keeping Juett‘s primary instrument as the focus. Some loops and layering don’t quite bring Wandering West the same kind of experimental feel as, say, Blackwolfgoat or a similar guitarist-gonna-guitar exploratory project, but they sit well nonetheless alongside the fluid noodling of Juett‘s drumless self-jams. He backs his own solo in centerpiece “Breezin’,” and the subsequent “Electric Dreamland” seems to use the empty space as much as the notes being cast out into it to create its sense of ambience, so if part of what Juett is doing on Wandering West is beginning the process of figuring out who he is as a solo artist, he’s someone who can turn a seven-minute meander like “Lonely One” (playing off Mos Generator?) into a bluesy contemplation of evolving reach, the guitar perfectly content to talk to itself if there’s nobody else around. Time may show it to be formative, but let the future worry about the future. There’s a lot to dig into, here and now.
With vocalists Kristian Eivind Espedal (Gaahls Wyrd, Trelldom, ex-Gorgoroth, etc.) and Lindy-Fay Hella (Wardruna, solo, etc.), guitarist Ronny “Valgard” Stavestrand (Trelldom) and drummer/bassist/keyboardist/producer Iver Sandøy (Enslaved, Relentless Agression, etc.), who also helmed (most of) the recording and mixed and mastered, Whispering Void easily could have fallen into the trap of being no more than the sum of its pedigree. Instead, the seven songs on debut album At the Sound of the Heart harness aspects of Norwegian folk for a rock sound that’s dark enough for the lower semi-growls in the eponymous “Whispering Void” to feel like they’re playing toward a gothic sentiment that’s not out of character when there’s so much melancholy around generally. Mid-period Anathema feel like a reference point for “Lauvvind” and the surging “We Are Here” later on, and by that I mean the album is intricately textured and absolutely gorgeous and you’ll be lucky if you take this as your cue to hear it.
You know how sometimes in a workplace where there’s a Boss With Personality™, there might be a novelty sign or a desk tchotchke that says, “The beatings will continue until morale improves?” Like, haha, in addition to wage theft you might get smacked if you get uppity about, say, wage theft? Fine. Orme sound like what happens when morale doesn’t improve. The 24-minute single-song No Serpents, No Saviours EP comes a little more than a year after the band’s two-song/double-vinyl self-titled debut (review here) and finds them likewise at home in longform songwriting. There are elements of death-doom, but Orme are sludgier in their presentation, and so wind up able to be morose and filthy in kind, moving from the opening crush through a quiet stretch after six minutes in that builds into persistent thuds before dropping out again, a sample helping mark the transitions between movements, and a succession of massive lumbering parts trading off leading into a final march that feels as tall as it is wide. I like that, in a time where the trend is so geared toward lush melody, Orme are unrepentantly nasty.
Budapest instrumentalist duo Azutmaga make their full-length debut with the aptly-titled Offering, compiling nine single-word-title pieces that reside stylistically somewhere between sludge metal and doom. Self-recorded by guitarist Patrik Veréb (who also mixed and mastered at Terem Studio) and self-released by Veréb and drummer Martin Várszegi, it’s a relatively stripped-down procession, but not lacking breadth as the longer “Aura” builds up to its full roll or the minute-long “Orca” provides an acoustic break ahead of the languid big-swing semi-psychedelia of “Mirror,” informed by Eastern European folk melodies but ready to depart into less terrestrial spheres. It should come as no surprise that “Portal” follows. Offering might at first give something of a monolithic impression as “Purge” calls to mind Earth‘s steady drone rock, but Azutmaga have a whole other level of volume to unfurl. Just so happens their dynamic goes from loud to louder.
After trickling out singles for over a year, including the title-track of the album and, in 2022, an early version of the instrumental “The Freaks Come Out at Night” that may or may not have been from before vocalist Virginie D. joined the band, the hashtag-named #chaleurhumaine delights in shirking heavy rock conventions, whether it’s the French-language lyrics or divergences into punk and harder fare, but nothing here — regardless of one’s linguistic background — is so challenging as to be inaccessible. Catchy songs are catchy, whether that’s “Fada Fighters” or “La Diable au Corps,” which dares a bit of harmonica along with its full-toned blues rock riffing. Likewise, nowhere the album goes feels beyond the band’s reach, and while “La Ligne” doesn’t sound especially daring as it plays up the brighter pop in its verse and shove of a chorus, well made songs never have any trouble finding welcome. I’m not sure why it’s a hashtag, but #chaleurhumaine feels complete and engaging, at once familiar and nothing so much as itself.
