Posted in Whathaveyou on July 22nd, 2024 by JJ Koczan
Okay, so I’ll readily admit that this isn’t so much a release announcement as it is information I swiped from Sun Blood Stories‘ Bandcamp page — no audio yet, hence the video at the bottom, which cuts the visual feed but resumes it a short while later — but the point stands that what seems to be coming is a new studio full-length from the Portland-via-Boise transplant heavy-psych/experimentalist-indie outfit, and it will be their first since 2019’s Haunt Yourself (review here), as well as their first since the aforementioned relocation. I have no further details than what’s below, but if you remember the band from the Before Times, I hope you’re as stoked to find out what they’ve been up to as I am.
And if not, well, okay. Maybe take a look at that clip, which was filmed at a radio station and captures the band’s noise-infused, immersive and emotionally-fueled live set. It’s 24 minutes, and that’s not a little ask out of your day, I know, but once you start it, it’s easy to keep going, and that’s kind of been the tale of Sun Blood Stories all along. If you’re adventurous enough to take them on in the first place, the rewards for doing so are manifold.
Here’s that info:
SBS is still here after 12 years. We are fueled by paranoia & hope, wonder & rage, & we do what we do like it’s the last time we’ll do it because one day, it will be.
Over the years the band has taken on many forms. We are now in the sixth chapter of the Sun Blood story.
Tracklisting: 1. All You’ve Got Is Time 2. Fossil Family 3. Blood Memory 4. Secret Cathedral 5. Falling In Feelings 6. Brand New Ghost Town 7. Tear You Apart 8. No One’s Blessed 9. Echoes All Lost 10. Lost In Red
Releases October 4, 2024.
Mixed and Mastered by Z.V. House at Rabbit Brush Audio Engineered by Ben Kirby Produced by Sun Blood Stories Artwork by Kirsten Furlong
Sun Blood Stories: Vocals, Slide Guitar – Amber Pollard Vocals, Guitar, Slide Guitar, Bass, Keys, Percussion – Ben Kirby Bass, Guitar – Nik Kososik Drums, Percussion – Wade Ronsse Tape Effects – Matt Stone Vocal Sample – Anna Wiley
Posted in Whathaveyou on July 15th, 2024 by JJ Koczan
Based in Asheville, North Carolina, Angelica and The Crooked Path is a newcomer four-piece who’ve made an initial showing in two separately released singles, “Lily” and “Creatures of Spring.” They call it “bloom metal,” and fair enough — what? I should argue? — and what that translates to in terms of the tracks is a heavy, lush and psychedelic atmosphere, able to dig into the crunchier-style riff of “Lily” or find a folkish pulse in “Creatures of Spring.” They call the latter their “more eclectic” work, which makes sense as it seems to have a broader stylistic reach and more open feel generally, but putting the two songs next to each other is where you really get a fuller picture of the potential here.
So that’s what I did. You’ll find both “Lily” and “Creatures of Spring” below. Both were posted in June. For what it’s worth, I heard “Lily” first. I won’t tell you what order to listen to them in, but if you start “Creatures of Spring,” take my advice and stick with it. I’d take an album of this immediately if such a thing existed. Since not, I’ll just look forward to more from them.
From the PR wire:
Newcomers Angelica & The Crooked Path Introduce Bloom Metal with Two Singles
Hailing from the foothills of Southern Appalachia, Angelica & The Crooked Path defines their style as “bloom metal,” combining elements of shimmering sludge and dream-pop. Carving out their own niche, their aesthetic blurs the edges of the amp-worshiping riff genres, hypnagogic and alluring. The Asheville, NC-based quartet has marked their arrival with two singles: “Lily” and “Creatures of Spring.” The latter draws inspiration from the myth of Elizabeth Bathory and includes a quote from the 1992 black fantasy comedy Death Becomes Her.
States Angelica & The Crooked Path: “We made our debut late this spring with two singles. The first, ‘Lily,’ aims to demonstrate our contrasting heaviness and sense of melody by fusing lumbering sludge riffs with celestial female vocals and a chorus with a hook. The second, ‘Creatures of Spring,’ is our more adventurous offering, showing an eclectic range of influence from genres such as post-rock, choral music, and jazz.”
Both songs are mastered by Ryan Williams and produced, engineered, and mixed by Dave Kaminsky at Studio Wormwood (www.studiowormwood.com).
Angelica & The Crooked Path is: Esmé – vocals Gerri – bass Nicholas – drums Ursula – guitar
Thinning the Herd in a social media post not so long ago referred to their style as “lawnmower metal.” It was a joke, but clearly the New York band is enjoying the upstate life and all the richness not-the-city has to offer as they inch toward the release of their new album, Cull, sometime this year. “Sarcophagus Dust” is the follow-up single to “Trampled by Deer” (video posted here), which was posted in February, and if it’s a case of the band putting out songs as they’re finished, building the full-length as they go, well, they’d hardly be the first. It’s 2024. What the hell even is an album, anyway?
They’ve teased a few other songs from Cull to come as well — the third single is apparently called “Harley Davidson”; I haven’t heard it yet — but the snarl and swagger of “Sarcophagus Dust” speak for themselves, with a professed lack of sleep and the roll of Gavin Spielman‘s riff punctuated by Rob Sefcik‘s crash, lo fi in the production but clear enough to get their point across to be sure. It doesn’t sound like a lawnmower, but it does layer in a noisy lead to coincide with the downer bounce of its finish before fading out. There’s no pretense, no proggy indulgences to be made, nothing overly showy about it except maybe in the soloing where it should be, and its attitude is less about itself than the song but still heavy in mood. It’ll make sense when you hear it, and “Sarcophagus Dust” makes a solid teaser for the record as well since it’s under four minutes long.
I haven’t seen an exact release date for Cull yet, but that’s life, and I honestly don’t think Thinning the Herd need to or even really should be working to anyone’s schedule other than their own. Whenever it arrives, Cull will be the band’s first album in more than a decade, in addition to the first with the Spielman/Sefcik configuration, and as both of the to-date songs they’ve dropped from it hint, it’s gonna be a rocker. So much the better.
Enjoy:
Thinning the Herd, “Sarcophagus Dust” video premiere
“Sarcophagus Dust is the second single off the upcoming album “Cull” by New York’s own Thinning the Herd. TTH’s brand of heavy blues is often described as Doom, Sludge or Grunge and are often compared to Black Sabbath. TTH’s style incorporates elements of early NY/HC, traditional Blues and Stoner Rock.
Stay tuned for the next single entitles “Harley-Davidson” out at the end of June, marking the third single off of the antic aped album “Cull.
Video by Bert Crosby
Thinning the Herd are: Gavin Spielman on Guitar and Vocals. Rob Sefcik – Drums
Thinning the Herd, “Trampled by Deer” official video
M-E-L-L-O-W, and that’s not a complaint. The apparent pull of the Great Magnet spoken of by Hunter S. Thompson whose whims Gronsveld, the Netherlands-based guitarist/vocalist Sander Haagmans has been following for the last 12 or so years would seem to have been drawing the former bassist of Sungrazer toward turning his solo-project into a full band. Live at Bankastudios, Maastricht, 22-12-2023 isn’t the first The Whims of the Great Magnet offering with a full lineup, but the 59-minute set recorded by Edis Pajazetovic at — wait for it — Bankastudios, in Maastricht, NL, and mixed/mastered by Arthur von Berg does comprise the first live release they’ve done, and it feels purposeful in its psychedelic soothsaying in a way that could indicate a new direction for the project which, true to its moniker, has up to this point seemed to resist set parameters of style around Haagmans‘ songcraft.
Or maybe part of that is wishful thinking as the gracefully jammed, flowing takes on the title-track of 2021’s Share My Sun EP and the 2023 single “Same New” (review here) present extended interpretations around the root structures and memorable melodies. Those pieces, which on Live at Bankastudios (if you’ll pardon the truncated title) run 14 and nearly 18 minutes, respectively, are also the only two songs included that were previously released, which also speaks to composition happening, perhaps also in a group context. While it’s ultimately pointless to speculate whether this incarnation of The Whims of the Great Magnet will embark on one or more studio releases with this configuration — mathematically speaking, they either will or won’t — the exploratory aspect of their work here and the reads-as-declarative chemistry of their performance highlights potential for what they might accomplish should the pursuit continue.
But that’s getting ahead of Live at Bankastudios itself. Beginning with the nine-minute raga-type warmup jam “Das Schwarze Munster,” a thread of improvisation seems to wind through the proceedings. Obviously there are structured parts, both in the two longer cuts already noted and the casually rolling fuzzer “Reborn” that precedes the open-spaced finale “Frog.” but with that bookending excursion into the unknown-till-they-get-there, the three-minute instru-shuffle of “A New Bro Rider” and the cosmic-leaning feel added to the middle of “Share My Sun” by means of keys/synth, everything comes across as being either built from an improv foundation or actually improvised. It is loose. Not so much in terms of the band being sloppy, but in the utter lack of pretense of the execution and the seeming willingness to let the songs unfold as they will, The Whims of the Great Magnet indeed feel ready to let themselves be drawn in whatever direction the material itself might want to take.
The lineup around Haagmans is well suited to that task of letting go. The already-mentioned von Berg handles the synth as well as guitar and vocals, and Jonathan Frederix drums. On bass/vocals is David Eering — also the founding guitarist/vocalist of The Machine — and his pairing with Haagmans feels significant in a way that undercuts some of the intentionally-low-key presentation of the album, though more conceptually than in the actual listening experience. That is, a collaboration between Eering and Haagmans is a big deal if you recall 12-14 years ago when, in The Machine and Sungrazer, they were at the vanguard of a new generation of jam-based heavy psychedelia.
In terms of hearing Live at Bankastudios, it feels much less like an ‘event’ on that level. Given that it it was recorded live, even live-in-studio, it is inherently more concerned with its present than its pedigree, and appropriately so. The chemistry between them — Haagmans also did a few shows with The Machine when they were between bassists, so the two are well familiar with each other — becomes part of the full-band persona with Frederix and von Berg‘s likewise noteworthy contributions.
Nuances like the maybe-backwards loops of low end after seven minutes into “Das Schwarze Munster” and the voice-push in the later choruses of “Same New” enrich the spaciousness overarching throughout, and the grunge-informed languid roll of “Reborn” should offer a thrill to those listeners who hold Sungrazer‘s output dear even as it branches off from that to chase its own ends. Positioned between “Share My Sun” and “Same New,” “A New Bro Rider” has an inevitable grounding effect, following a single bouncing progression for about three minutes without the need for much else around that until it comes apart near its end and the drums snap into the start of “Same New,” fluid and pastoral, clear in sound and what the instruments are doing and all the more you’re-in-the-room with the Dutch spoken between some of the songs. Above all other concerns, Live at Bankastudios feels committed to organically representing this version of The Whims of the Great Magnet has to offer an audience/listenership.
And that too might be part of why it feels so much like a showcase of potential between the in-moment immersion, abiding sweetness of melody and mostly relaxed grooves; because part of what resonates from Live at Bankastudios is the sense of a beginning. That runs counter to the fact that Haagmans has been putting out songs under the banner of The Whims of the Great Magnet since 2012, but it’s true nonetheless, and crucially, it’s not just about his bringing Eering into the mix, or von Berg or Frederix. It’s about what the four of them conjure as a unit. Live at Bankastudios is almost humble in how it highlights the character of this version of The Whims of the Great Magnet, and of course there’s no guarantee they’ll ever do anything more together — all the more reason to put this out, frankly — but even the fleeting nature of an outing like this that happened while it was happening and then was over and (sooner or later) everyone went home feels like a story only starting to be told.
One hopes it turns out to be precisely that, if it needs to be said, but in case the Great Magnet pulls Haagmans in another direction, the ephemeral nature of Live at Bankastudios makes it all the more a special moment to have captured in the first place. The lesson — which becomes to let the future be what it will and focus on now — is not lost, even if that does prove to be something of a challenge.
The Whims of the Great Magnet, Live at Bankastudios, Maastricht, 22-12-2023 (2024)
Posted in Questionnaire on June 10th, 2024 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: Andre Dumont of Dead Harrison
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How do you define what you do and how did you come to do it?
The best way I can think of this , in every aspect of what it is we do from day to day or project to project…we are catalysts. Whether it was seeing a friend just playing an instrument really well, or seeing a fantastic piece of art that someone else captured in magnificent beauty. They were catalysts to us. A passion that was there to be shared, and it creates another moment that becomes the inspiration for someone else. Hell, even if it was someone having a nice car that they worked on. Another person comes by and starts asking questions about why things do the things they do. Now you passed on another skill or piece of knowledge to help the next race car driver to find his passion. In the grand scheme of things, it’s what some of us are. Even if my band sucks to so many people out there, there is always the other end of the spectrum. Those who get inspired by what they hear, or see, or witness. So to define what it is I think I do/ we do as a band, it’s to be part of the creation of something new. It’s not just in the music, it’s who you are as people. Interact, little by little we all morph a little more into something bigger than all of us. The universe just keeps on swirling us around in its big old celestial body. You know how the saying goes…”as above, so below”. Yeah, that’s us humans colliding with other humans in the vastness of people and matter. We smash together and BAM! Worlds are created. Really, this is a whole philosophical rabbit hole, but that’s us. How this came to be in the very beginning, was a friend who was in a band called Splatter Cats. I saw them jam once, then I felt the call to play drums. Man, that was so cool watching them light up a garage party a few weeks later. That was the start of where that drive came from. I just always hope that we can do that for someone else. To create that feeling.
Describe your first musical memory.
We had an organ at home when I was a kid. I loved listening to music. Liked the way it made me feel. So I would just mess around. Pretty much always by ear. I could never really grasp the writing of music. Just like I still have to look at the keyboard when typing. So sad. You’d think it’d be easy by now. Nope. Oh well. It did however land me some accordion lessons and a little more grasp on making dynamics. Accordions can be creepy if you want them to be. I suppose that would be in the vein of that first musical experience. Then we get sidetracked and go elsewhere, but then we come back when another experience hits us. Each memory is on its own timeline. New ideas are gathered and put into new creations.
Describe your best musical memory to date.
Tough one. I have a few.. The most recent though, that’s the real stuff that hits you as a musician. After these past few years, music venues have been shutting down or just using musicians to get people in the door. Kind of a bad music memory for most of us. Until recently, we started curating shows in our rehearsal space. I’ve been lucky to have a big room in an old mill building. Well, people have been missing a good scene. musicians have been missing out on playing their most killer sets. I decided it was time to do shows, but do them with the quality that I would like at a venue. That connection to other musicians and lovers of music has created such an awesome memory as of late. If we reach just a few years back as a band, it was doing a little mini tour. Stepping outside of our little box as a band. That traveling inspired this, another place where we can share music to more people. It’s those memories that give us those best musical experiences. Always strive to create the next great one. Sometimes, they don’t come around for a while. Never give up. Even if you’re out playing some little bar in a basement rock club in Baltimore Maryland, and some peeps tell you to reach out to a group called “Feed the Scene”. Find out they house travelling bands and give them beds to sleep on after being in tents or a van for a week. A shower. Great musical memory. Community. That’s what is needed again. Make more memories!!!
When was a time when a firmly held belief was tested?
I think a lot of us gave up on firmly held beliefs a long time ago. If there’s one thing that has the possibility of making things suck, it’s forcing beliefs on people. Like playing guitar, I like it loud. Crank that amp up and feel it. Love that, firmly believed that was the thing to do. Then you play a place where someone cares about how you sound. They’re like”turn your amp down”, and you’re like nah…why? Why should I do the crazy sound persons thing. Then they throw it into the monitor nice and loud, then it doesn’t blast into the microphones on stage, then there’s no feedback from trying to crank the lead vocals. There’s times and there’s places where beliefs come and go, or they change into new understandings of how things work. Oh, we can be stubborn ones. Time changes us. What beliefs do we have that are just constructs? I have a firm belief that it’s my purpose to play music. I’ve almost thrown in the towel. Tested, feeling it was never going to do anything. Well, that belief has kept me going anyways. If that’s a belief worth having, then it’s a good thing. I believe there’s a lot of good in the world. That belief is tested every day.
Where do you feel artistic progression leads?
Maybe it leads to craftsmanship. It also leads to new experiences. I feel that as you progress as an artist, you play with new tools, or new mediums. Usually it’s some kind of connectedness to a feeling brought about by new experiences. Watching how the world, or people around us move to the new and the old. Artistic progression is also lead by watching this and wanting to create more, but better on the next round. It’s a continuous vicious cycle the we love to be pushed by. I would love to say it leads to great things. Just don’t let it be led by ego. Some ego is good, but too much is bad. Be patient, never stop learning. It leads to passion. It leads to the heart. In the end, you are led to the darkness, but your story lives another life. It leads to passing stories and legend.
How do you define success?
Being able to accomplish a task that you have undertaken. I feel that we, as a band, have been quite successful. Maybe not in the big grand picture of the regular music world, but we’ve definitely made a lot of people some really great memories. I think that’s a big success. Maybe one day we’ll sell a million cd’s or downloads or something. That doesn’t mean we didn’t succeed as a band if we didn’t. What is a success is we’re all still here as a band, creating new hopes and new songs. That is our success. We still all work regular jobs. It is a goal that music can one day be that job we love and are passionate about…..and able to still live in this friggin expensive world.
What is something you have seen that you wish you hadn’t?
Probably a Hurdy Gurdy. Because now I want one.
Describe something you haven’t created yet that you’d like to create.
A comic book. There’s actually a really cool storyline that goes with the band. It’s all about creating a character, a group of characters per say, that are kinda secret alien guardians. There’s a whole zombie thing too, but I can’t give away details. Bad guys, good guys, secret guys….and gals of course. A comic…yes…that’s what I’d like to create. I suck at drawing humans though.
What do you believe is the most essential function of art?
Movement. It’s a flow. Whether it’s visual, where the eye moves around taking in the information. Or, it’s notes and rhythms put together to move the body. They all lead to feeling a certain way. Feeling oneness with what you’re partaking in. A very essential function. Also, this is another important piece. Interpretation. Each person can have their own interpretation of how the art may bring about certain memories, or relate lyrics to a story of their own. Great art has an openness. It’s also expression. It’s a way for an artist to show the world what they see or feel. It can be fun. It can be sad. It can be beautiful, or it can be grating. Purpose, also another function. Last but not least, connection. All these things keep us progressing. Becoming better and inspiring the next new vision.
Something non-musical that you’re looking forward to?
Taking another road trip. Travelling is such a great thing to do. Interacting with new people. Seeing new and crazy things. When? Always the question. For now, it’ll be going up to the Holiday barbeque and being with a bunch of family and friends. Keeping the good times real. Most of us were blessed with spawn. Some of our spawn have also spawned. So, looking forward to seeing and being with our most important humans. They are our friends. They are our family, they are the ones that keep us striving to keep moving forward. Plus it’s mountains, sun (hopefully), and a few brewskies. Definitely a good time to look forward to. And maybe a trip to Dracula’s Castle someday….
This is it. This one’s for all the marbles. Well, actually there are no marbles involved, but if you remember way back like two weeks ago when this started out, I told you the tale of a hubristic 40-something dickweed blogger who thought he could review 100 albums in 10 days, and assuming I make it through the below without having an aneurysm — because, hey, you never know — today I get to live that particular fairy tale.
Lamp of the Universe Meets Dr. Space, Enters Your Somas
Who’s ready to get blasted out the airlock? New Zealand solo-outfit Lamp of the Universe, aka multi-instrumentalist Craig Williamson (also Dead Shrine, ex-Datura, etc.), and Portugal-residing synth master Dr. Space, aka Scott Heller of Øresund Space Collective, Black Moon Circle, and so on, come together to remind us all we’re nothing more than semi-sentient cosmic dust. Enters Your Somas is comprised of two extended pieces, “Enters Your Somas” (18:39) and “Infiltrates Your Mind” (19:07), and both resonate space/soul frequencies while each finds its own path. The title-track is more languid on average, where “Infiltrates Your Mind” reroutes auxiliary power to the percussive thrusters in its first half before drifting into drone communion and hearing a voice — vague, but definitely human speech — before surging back to its course via Williamson‘s drums, which play a large role in giving the material its shape. But with synthy sweeps from Heller, Mellotron and guitar coming and going, and a steady groove across both inclusions, Lamp of the Universe Meets Dr. Space offer galactic adventure limited only by where your imagination puts you while you listen.
Richmond, Virginia’s Inter Arma had no small task before them in following 2019’s Sulphur English (review here), but from the tech-death boops and bops and twists of New Heaven‘s leadoff title-track through the gothic textures of “Gardens in the Dark,” self-aware without satire, slow-flowing and dramatic, this fifth full-length finds them continuing to expand their creative reach, and at this point, whatever genre you might want to cast them in, they stand out. To wit, the blackdeath onslaught of “Violet Seizures” that’s also space rock, backed in that by the subsequent “Desolation’s Harp” with its classically grandiose solo, or the post-doom lumber of “Concrete Cliffs” that calls out its expanse after the seven-minute drum-playthrough-fodder extremity of “The Children the Bombs Overlooked,” or the mournful march of “Endless Grey” and the acoustic-led Nick Cavey epilogue “Forest Service Road Blues.” Few bands embrace a full spectrum of metallic sounds without coming across as either disjointed or like they’re just mashing styles together for the hell of it. Inter Arma bleed purpose in every turn, and as they inch closer to their 20th year as a band, they are masters unto themselves of this form they’ve created.
The opening “Chimera” puts Chasing Shadows quickly into a ritualized mindset, all the more as Warsaw meditative doomers Sunnata lace it and a decent portion of their 11-track/62-minute fifth album with an arrangement of vocals from guitarists Szymon Ewertowski and Adrian Gadomski and bassist/synthesist Michal Dobrzanski as drummer/percussionist Robert Ruszczyk punctuates on snare as they head toward a culmination. Individual pieces have their own purposes, whether it’s the momentary float of “Torn” or the post-Alice in Chains harmonies offset by Twin Peaks-y creep in “Saviours Raft,” or the way “Hunger” gradually moves from light to dark with rolling immersion, or the dancier feel with which “Like Cogs in a Wheel” gives an instrumental finish. It’s not a minor undertaking and it’s not meant to be one, but mood and atmosphere do a lot of work in uniting the songs, and the low-in-the-mouth vocal melodies become a part of that as the record unfolds. Their range has never felt broader, but there’s a plot being followed as well, an idea behind each turn in “Wishbone” and the sprawl is justified by the dug-in worldmaking taking place across the whole-LP progression, darkly psychedelic and engrossing as it is.
Among the most vital classic elements of The Sonic Dawn‘s style is their ability to take spacious ideas and encapsulate them with a pop efficiency that doesn’t feel dumbed down. That is to say, they’re not capitulating to fickle attention spans with short songs so much as they’re able to get in, say what they want to say with a given track, and get out. Phantom is their fifth album, and while the title may allude to a certain ghostliness coinciding with the melancholy vibe overarching through the bulk of its component material, the Copenhagen-based trio are mature enough at this stage to know what they’re about. And while Phantom has its urgent stretches in the early going of “Iron Bird” or the rousing “Think it Over,” the handclap-laced “Pan AM,” and the solo-topped apex of “Micro Cosmos in a Drop,” most of what they’re about here harnesses a mellower atmosphere. It doesn’t need to hurry, baby. Isn’t there enough rush in life with all these “21st Century Blues?” With no lack of movement throughout, some of The Sonic Dawn‘s finest stretches here are in low-key interpretations of funk (“Dreams of Change,” “Think it Over,” “Transatlantique,” etc.) or prog-boogie (“Scorpio,” “Nothing Can Live Here” before the noisier crescendo) drawn together by organ, subdued, thoughtful vocal melodies and craft to suit the organic production. This isn’t the first The Sonic Dawn LP to benefit from the band knowing who they are as a group, but golly it sure is stronger for that.
It’s not until the hook of second cut “Ohm Ripper” hits that Rifflord let go of the tension built up through the opening semi-title-track “Serpent Power,” which in its thickened thrashy charge feels like a specific callout to High on Fire but as I understand it is just about doing hard drugs. Fair enough. The South Dakota-based five-piece of bassist/vocalist Wyatt Bronc Bartlett, guitarists Samuel Hayes and Dustin Vano, keyboardist Tory Jean Stoddard and drummer Douglas Jennings Barrett will echo that intensity later in “Church Keys” and “Tumbleweed,” but that’s still only one place the 38-minute eight-track LP goes, and whether it’s the vocals calling out through the largesse and breadth of “Blessed Life” or the ensuing crush that follows in “LM308,” the addled Alice in Chains swagger in the lumber of “Grim Creeper” or the righteously catchy bombast of “Hoof,” they reach further than they ever have in terms of sound and remain coherent despite the inherently chaotic nature of their purported theme, the sheer heft of the tonality wielded and the fact that 39 Serpent Power has apparently been waiting some number of years to see release. Worth the wait? Shit, I’m surprised the album didn’t put itself out, it sounds so ready to go.
At the core of Mothman and the Thunderbirds is multi-instrumentalist and songwriter Alex Parkinson, and on the band’s second album, Portal Hopper, he’s not completely on his own — Egor Lappo programmed the drums, mixed, and plays a guitar solo on “Fractals,” Joe Sobieski guests on vocals for a couple tracks, Sam Parkinson donates a pair of solos to the cause — but it’s still very much his telling of the charmingly meandering sci-fi/fantasy plot taking place across the 12 included progressive metal mini-epics, which he presents with an energy and clarity of purpose that for sure graduated from Devin Townsend‘s school of making a song with 40 layers sound immediate but pulls as well from psychedelia and pop-punk vocals for an all the more emphatic scope. This backdrop lets “Fractals” get funky or “Escape From Flatwoods” hold its metallic chicanery with its soaring melody while “Squonk Kingdom” is duly over-the-top in its second-half chase soon enough fleshed out by “So Long (Portal Hopper)” ahead of the lightly-plucked finale “Attic.” The specificity of influence throughout Portal Hopper can be striking as clean/harsh vocals blend, etc., but given the narrative and the relative brevity of the songs complementing the whims explored within them, there’s no lack of character in the album’s oft-careening 38-minute course.
Given its pro-shop nature in production and performance, the ability of The Lunar Effect to grasp a heavy blues sound as part of what they do while avoiding either the trap of hyper-dudely navelgazing or cultural appropriation — no minor feat — and the fluidity of one piece into the next across the 40-minute LP’s two sides, I’m a little surprised not to have been sick of the band’s second album, Sounds of Green and Blue before I put it on. Maybe since it’s on Svart everyone just assumed it’s Finnish experimentalist drone? Maybe everybody’s burnt out on a seemingly endless stream of bands from London’s underground? I don’t know, but by the time The Lunar Effect make their way to the piano-laden centerpiece “Middle of the End” — expanding on the unhurried mood of “In Grey,” preceding the heavy blues return of “Pulling Daisies” at the start of side B that mirrors album opener “Ocean Queen” and explodes into a roll that feels like it was made to be the best thing you play at your DJ night — that confusion is a defining aspect of the listening experience. “Fear Before the Fall” picks on Beethoven, for crying out loud. High class and low groove. Believe me, I know there’s a lot of good stuff out already in 2024, but what the hell more could you want? Where is everybody?
Even if I were generally inclined to do so — read: I’m not — it would be hard to begrudge Portland heavy rock institution Danava wanting to do a live record after their 2023’s Nothing But Nothing (review here) found them in such raucous form. But the aptly-titled Live is more than just a post-studio-LP check-in to remind you they kick ass on stage, as side A’s space, classic, boogie, heavy rocking “Introduction/Spinning Temple” and “Maudie Shook” were recorded in 2008, while the four cuts on side B — “Shoot Straight with a Crooked Gun,” “Nothing but Nothing,” “Longdance,” “Let the Good Times Kill” and “Last Goodbye” — came from the European tour undertaken in Fall 2023 to support Nothing But Nothing. Is the underlying message that Danava are still rad 15 years later? Maybe. That certainly comes through by the time the solo in “Shoot Straight with a Crooked Gun” hits, but that also feels like reading too much into it. Maybe it’s just about representing different sides of who Danava are, and if so, fine. Then or now, psych or proto-thrashing, they lay waste.
A free three-songer from Varese, Italy’s Moonlit, Be Not Afraid welcomes the listener to “Death to the World” with (presumably sampled) chanting before unfurling a loose, somewhat morose-feeling nighttime-desert psych sway before “Fort Rachiffe” howls tonally across its own four minutes in more heavy post-rock style, still languid in tempo but encompassing in its wash and the amp-hum-and-percussion blend on the shorter “Le Conseguenze Della Libertà” (1:57) gives yet another look, albeit briefly. In about 11 minutes, Moonlit — whose last studio offering was 2021’s So Bless Us Now (review here) — never quite occupy the same space twice, and despite the compact presentation, the range from mid-period-QOTSA-gone-shoegaze (plus chanting! don’t forget the chanting!) to the hypnotic Isis-doing-space-push that follows with the closer as a but-wait-there’s-more/not-just-an-afterthought epilogue is palpable. I don’t know when or how Be Not Afraid was recorded, whether it’s portentous of anything other than itself or what, but there’s a lot happening under its surface, and while you can’t beat the price, don’t be surprised if you end up throwing a couple bucks Moonlit‘s way anyhow.
Much of Northern Lights is instrumental, but whether or not Leo Scheben is barking out the endtimes storyline of “Darkhammer” — stylized all-caps in the tracklisting — or “Night Terrors,” or just digging into a 24-second progression of lo-fi riffing of “Paranoid Isolation” and the Casio-type beats that back his guitar there and across the project’s 16-track latest offering, the reminder Doom Lab give is that the need to create takes many forms. From the winding scales of “Locrian’s Run” to “Twisted Logic” with its plotted solo lines, pieces are often just that — pieces of what might otherwise be a fleshed-out song — and Doom Lab‘s experimentalism feels paramount in terms of aural priorities. Impulse in excelsis. It might be for the best that the back-to-back pair “Nice ‘n’ Curvy” and “Let ’em Bounce” are both instrumental, but as madcap as Scheben is, he’s able to bring Northern Lights to a close with resonant homage in its title-track, and cuts like “Too Much Sauce on New Year’s Eve” and “Dark Matter” are emblematic of his open-minded approach overall, working in different styles sometimes united most by their rawness and uncompromising persona. This is number 100 of 100 records covered in this Quarterly Review, and nothing included up to now sounds like Doom Lab. A total win for radical individualism.
Good morning and heavy riffs. Today is day 7 of the Quarterly Review. It’s already been a lot, but there are still 30 more releases to cover over the next three days, so I assure you at some point I’ll have that nervous breakdown that’s been ticking away in the back of my brain. A blast as always, which I mean both sincerely and sarcastically, somehow.
But when we’re done, 100 releases will have been covered, and I get a medal sent to me whenever that happens from the UN’s Stoner Rock Commission on Such Things, so I’ll look forward to that. In the meantime, we’re off.
Quarterly Review #61-70:
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Ufomammut, Hidden
Italian cosmic doomers Ufomammut celebrate their 25th anniversary in 2024, and as they always have, they do so by looking and moving forward. Hidden is the 10th LP in their catalog, the second to feature drummer Levre — who made his debut on 2022’s Fenice (review here) alongside bassist/vocalist Urlo and guitarist Poia (both also keyboards) — and it was preceded by last year’s Crookhead EP (review here), the 10-minute title-track of which is repurposed as the opener here. A singular, signature blend of heft and synth-based atmospherics, Ufomammut roll fluidly through the six-tracker check-in, and follow on from Fenice in sounding refreshed while digging into their core stylistic purposes. “Spidher” brings extra tonal crush around its open verse, and “Mausoleum” has plenty of that as well but is less condensed and hypnotic in its atmospheric midsection, Ufomammut paying attention to details while basking in an overarching largesse. The penultimate “Leeched” was the lead single for good reason, and the four-minute “Soulost” closes with a particularly psychedelic exploration of texture and drone with the drums keeping it moving. 25 years later and there’s still new things to discover. I hear the universe is like that.
Considering some of the places Dana Schechter has taken Insect Ark over the project’s to-date duration, most of Raw Blood Singing might at times feel daringly straightforward, but that’s hardly a detriment to the material itself. Songs like “The Hands” bring together rhythmic tension and melodic breadth, as soundscapes of drone, low end chug and the drumming of Tim Wyskida (also Khanate, Blind Idiot God) cast a morose, encompassing atmospheric vision. And rest assured, while “The Frozen Lake” lumbers through its seven minutes of depressive post-sludge — shades of The Book of Knots at their heaviest, but still darker — and “Psychological Jackal” grows likewise harsher and horrific, the experimentalist urge continues to resonate; the difference is it’s being set to serve the purposes of the songs themselves in “Youth Body Swayed” or “Cleaven Hearted,” which slogs like death-doom with a strum cutting through to replace vocals, whereas the outro “Ascension” highlights the noise on its own. It is a bleak, consuming course presented over Raw Blood Singing‘s 45 minutes, but there’s solace in the catharsis as well.
Laced through with harmonica and organic vibes, Netherlands-based five-piece Heath make their full-length debut with the four extended tracks of Isaak’s Marble, reveling in duly expansive jams keyed for vibrancy and a live sound. They are somewhat the band-between as regards microgenres, with a style that can be traced on the opening title-cut to heavy ’70s funk-boogie-via-prog-rock, and the harmonica plays a role there before spacing out with echo over top of the psychedelia beginning of “Wondrous Wetlands.” The wetlands in question, incidentally, might just be the guitar tone, but that haze clears a bit as the band saunters into a light shuffle jam before the harder-hitting build into a crescendo that sounds unhinged but is in fact quite under control as it turns back to a softshoe-ready groove with organ, keys, harmonica, guitar all twisting around with the bass and drums. Sitar and vocal harmonies give the shorter-at-six-minutes “Strawberry Girl” a ’60s psych-pop sunshine, but the undercurrent is consistent with the two songs before as Heath highlight the shroomier side of their pastoralism, ahead of side B capper “Valley of the Sun” transitioning out of that momentary soundscape with clear-eyed guitar and flute leading to an angular progression grounded by snare and a guitar solo after the verse that leads the shift into the final build. They’re not done, of course, as they bring it all to a rousing end and some leftover noise; subdued in the actual-departing, but still resonant in momentum and potential. These guys might just be onto something.
The Cosmic Dead, releasing through Heavy Psych Sounds, count Infinite Peaks as their ninth LP since 2011. I’ll take them at their word since between live offerings, splits, collections and whatnot, it’s hard sometimes to know what’s an album. Similarly, when immersed in the 23-minute cosmic sprawl of “Navigator #9,” it can become difficult to understand where you stop and the universe around you begins. Rising quickly to a steady, organ-inclusive roll, the Glaswegian instrumental psilocybinists conjure depth like few of their jam-prone ilk and remain entrancing as “Navigator #9” shifts into its more languid, less-consuming middle movement ahead of the resurgent finish. Over on side B, “Space Mountain” (20:02) is a bit more drastic in the ends it swaps between — a little noisier and faster up front, followed by a zazzy-jazzy push with fiddle and effects giving over to start-stop bass and due urgency in the drums complemented by fuzz like they just got in a room and this happened before the skronky apex and unearthly comedown resolve in a final stretch of drone. Ninth record or 15th, whatever. Their mastery of interstellar heavy exploration is palpable regardless of time, place or circumstance. Infinite Peaks glimpses at that dimensional makeup.
Perhaps telegraphing some of their second long-player’s darker intentions in the cover art and the title Nyctophilia — a condition whereby you’re happier and more comfortable in darkness — if not the choice of Max Norman (Ozzy Osbourne, Death Angel, etc.) to produce, San Francisco’s The Watchers are nonetheless a heavy rock and roll band. What’s shifted in relation to their 2018 debut, Black Abyss (review here), is the angle of approach they take in getting there. What hasn’t changed is the strength of songwriting at their foundation or the hitting-all-their-marks professionalism of their execution, whether it’s Tim Narducci bringing a classic reach to the vocals of “Garden Tomb” or the precise muting in his and Jeremy Von Epp‘s guitars and Chris Lombardo‘s bass on “Haunt You When I’m Dead” and Nick Benigno‘s declarative kickdrum stomping through the shred of “They Have No God.” The material lands harder without giving up its capital-‘h’ Heavy, which is an accomplishment in itself, but The Watchers set a high standard last time out and Nyctophilia lives up to that while pursuing its own semi-divergent ends.
Leipzig’s Juke Cove follow a progressive course across eight songs and 44 minutes of Tempest, between nodding riffs of marked density and varying degrees of immediacy, whether it’s the might-just-turn-around-on-you “Hypnosis” early on or the shove with which the duly brief penultimate piece “Burst” takes off after the weighted crash of and ending stoner-rock janga-janga riff of “Glow” and precedes the also-massive “Xanadu” in the closing position, capping with a fuzzy solo because why not. From opener “The Path” into the bombast of “Hypnosis” and the look-what-we-can-make-riffs-do “Wait,” the three-piece of guitarist/vocalist Mateusz Pietrzela, bassist/vocalist Dima Ogorodnov and drummer Maxim Balobin mine aural individualism from familiar-enough genre elements, shaping material of character that benefits from the scope wrought in tone and production. Much to its credit, Tempest feels unforced in speaking to various sides of its persona, and no matter where a given song might go — the watery finish of “Wait” or the space-blues drift that emerges out of psych-leaning noise rock on “Confined,” for example — Juke Cove steer with care and heart alike and are all the more able to bring their audience with them as a result. Very cool, and no, I’m not calling them pricks when I say that.
A little more than a year out from their impressive self-titled debut LP (review here), Philly three-piece Laurel Canyon — guitarist/bassist/vocalist Nicholas Gillespie, guitarist/vocalist Serg Cereja, drummer Dylan DePice — offer the East Side three-songer to follow-up on the weighted proto-grunge vibes therein. “East Side” itself, at two and a half minutes, is a little more punk in that as it aligns for a forward push in the chorus between its swaggering verses, while “Garden of Eden” is more directly Nirvana-schooled in making its well-crafted melody sound like something that just tumbled out of somebody’s mouth, pure happenstance, and “Untitled” gets more aggressive in its second half, topping a momentary slowdown/nod with shouts before they let it fall apart at the end. This procession takes place in under 10 minutes and by the time you feel like you’ve got a handle on it, they’re done, which is probably how it should be. East Side isn’t Laurel Canyon‘s first short release, and they’re clearly comfortable in the format, bolstering the in-your-face-itude of their style with a get-in-and-get-out ethic correspondingly righteous in its rawness.
If you hadn’t yet come around to thinking of Poland among Europe’s prime underground hotspots, Tet offer their four-song/45-minute self-titled debut for your (re-)consideration. With its lyrics and titles in Polish, Tet draws on the modern heavy prog influence of Elder in some of the 12-minute opener/longest track (immediate points), “Srebro i antracyt,” but neither that nor “Dom w cieniu gruszy,” which follows, stays entirely in one place for the duration, and the lush melody that coincides with the unfolding of “Wiosna” is Tet‘s own in more than just language; that is to say, there’s more to distinguish them from their influences than the syllabic. Each inclusion adds complexity to the story their songs are telling, and as closer “Włóczykije” gradually moves from its dronescape by bringing in the drums unveiling the instrumentalist build already underway, Tet carve a niche for themselves in one of the continent’s most crowded scenes. I wonder if they’ve opened for Weedpecker. They could. Or Belzebong, for that matter. Either way, it will be worth looking out for how they expand on these ideas next time around.
Aidan Baker, Everything is Like Always Until it is Not
Aidan Baker, also of Nadja, aligns the eight pieces of what I think is still his newest outing — oh wait, nope; this came out in Feb. and in March he had an hour-long drone two-songer out; go figure/glad I checked — to represent the truism of the title Everything is Like Always Until it is Not, and arranges the tracks so that the earlier post-shoegaze in “Everything” or “Like” can be a preface for the more directly drone-based “It” “Is” later on. And yes, there are two songs called “Is.” Does it matter? Definitely not while Baker‘s evocations are actually being heard. Free-jazz drums — not generally known for a grounding effect — do some work in terms of giving all the float that surrounds them a terrestrial aspect, but if you know Baker‘s work either through his solo stuff, Nadja or sundry other collaborations, I probably don’t need to tell you that the 47 minutes of Everything is Like Always Until it is Not fall into the “not like always” category as a defining feature, whether it’s “Until” manifesting tonal heft in waves of static cut through by tom-to-snare-to-cymbal splashes or “Not” seeming unwilling to give itself over to its own flow. I imagine a certain restlessness is how Aidan Baker‘s music happens in the first place. You get smaller encapsulations of that here, if not more traditional accessibility.
Based in the arguable capitol of the Doom Capitol region — Frederick, Maryland — the three-piece Trap Ratt arrive in superbly raw style with the four-song/33-minute Tribus Rattus Mortuus, the last of which, aptly-titled “IV,” features Tim Otis (High Noon Kahuna, Admiral Browning, etc.), who also mixed and mastered, guesting on noise while Charlie Chaplin’s soliloquy from 1940’s The Dictator takes the place of the tortured barebones shouts that accompany the plod of 13-minute opener/longest track (immediate points) “The Sacred Skunk,” seemingly whenever they feel like it. That includes the chugging part before the feedback gets caustic near the song’s end, by the way. “Thieving From the Grieving” — which may or may not have been made up on the spot — repurposes Stooges-style riffing as the foundation for its own decay into noise, and if from anything I’ve said so far about the album you might expect “Take the Gun” to not be accordingly harsh, Trap Ratt have a word and eight minutes of disaffected exploration they’d like to share with you. It’s not every record you could say benefits aesthetically from being recorded live in the band’s rehearsal space, but yes, Tribus Rattus Mortuus most definitely does.
By the time today is through — come hell or high water! — we will be at the halfway point of this two-week Quarterly Review. It hasn’t been difficult so far, though there are ups and downs always and I don’t think I’m giving away secrets when I tell you that in listening to 50 records some are going to be better than others.
Truth is that even outside the 100 LPs, EPs, etc., I have slated, there’s still a ton more. Even in something so massive, there’s an element of picking and choosing what goes in. Curation is the nice word for it, though it’s not quite that creatif in my head. Either way, I hope you’ve found something that connects this week. If not yet, then today. If not today, then maybe next week. As I’m prone to say on Fridays, we’re back at it on Monday.
Quarterly Review #41-50:
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Pallbearer, Mind Burns Alive
While I won’t take away from the rawer energy and longing put into their earlier work, maturity suits Pallbearer. The Little Rock, Arkansas, four-piece of vocalist/guitarist Brett Campbell, guitarist/backing vocalist Devin Holt, bassist/synthesist/backing vocalist Joseph D. Rowland and drummer Mark Lierly have passed their 15th anniversary between 2020’s Forgotten Days (review here) and the self-recorded six tracks of Mind Burns Alive, and they sound poised harnessing new breadth and melodic clarity. They’ve talked about the album being stripped down, and maybe that’s true to some degree in the engrossing-anyhow opener “When the Light Fades,” but there’s still room for sax on the 10-minute “Endless Place,” and the quieter stretches of the penultimate “Daybreak” highlight harmonized vocals before the bass-weighted riff sweeps in after the three-minute mark. Campbell has never sounded stronger or more confident as a singer, and he’s able to carry the likewise subdued intro to “Signals” with apparent sincerity and style alike. The title-track flashes brighter hopes in its later guitar solo leads, but they hold both their most wistful drift and their most crushing plod for closer “With Disease,” because five records and countless tours (with more to come) later, Pallbearer very clearly know what the fuck they’re doing. I hope having their own studio leads to further exploration from here.
With its six pieces arranged so that side A works from its longest track to its shortest and side B mirrors by going shortest to longest, Denver‘s BleakHeart seem to prioritize immersion on their second full-length, Silver Pulse, as “All Hearts Desire” unfolds fluidly across nearly eight minutes, swelling to an initial lumbering roll that evaporates as they move into the more spacious verse and build back up around the vocals of Kiki GaNun (also synth) and Kelly Schilling (also bass, keys and more synth). Emotional resonance plays at least as much of a role throughout as the tonal weight intermittently wrought by JP Damron and Mark Chronister‘s guitars, and with Joshua Quinones on drums giving structure and movement to the meditations of “Where I’m Disease” before leaving the subsequent “Let Go” to its progression through piano, drone and a sit-in from a string quartet that leads directly into “Weeping Willow,” the spaces feel big and open but never let the listener get any more lost in them than is intended. This is the first LP from the five-piece incarnation of BleakHeart, which came together in 2022, and the balance of lushness and intensity as “Weeping Willow” hits its culmination and recedes into the subdued outset of “Falling Softly” and the doomed payoff that follows bodes well, but don’t take that as undercutting what’s already being accomplished here.
Austria’s Pryne — also stylized all-caps: PRYNE — threaten to derail their first album before it’s even really started with the angular midsection breakdown of “Can-‘Ka No Rey,” but that the opener holds its course and even brings that mosher riff back at the end is indicative of the boldness with which they bring together the progressive ends of metal and heavy rock throughout the 10-song/46-minute offering, soaring in the solo ahead of the slowdown in “Ramification,” giving the audience 49 seconds to catch its breath after that initial salvo with “Hollow Sea” before “Abordan” resumes the varied onslaught with due punch, shove and twist, building tension in the verse and releasing in the melodic chorus in a way that feels informed by turn-of-the-century metal but seeming to nod at Type O Negative in the first half bridge of “Cymboshia” and refusing flat-out to do any one thing for too long. Plotted and complex even as “The Terrible End of the Yogi” slams out its crescendo before the Baronessy verse of “Plaguebearer” moves toward a stately gang shout and squibbly guitar tremolo, they roll out “Enola” as a more straight-ahead realignment before the drone interlude “Shapeless Forms” bursts into the double-kick-underscored thrash of closer “Elder Things,” riding its massive groove to an expectedly driving end. You never quite know what’s coming next within the songs, but the overarching sense of movement becomes a uniting factor that serves the material well regardless of the aggression level in any given stretch.
Backed by looped percussive ticks and pops and the cello-esque melody of the gudok, Toronto experimental singer-songwriter Avi C. Engel is poised as they ask in the lyrics of “Breadcrumb Dance,” “How many gods used to run this place/Threw up their hands, went into real estate” near the center of the seven-song Too Many Souls LP. Never let it be said there wasn’t room for humor in melancholy. Engel isn’t new to exploring folkish intimacy in various contexts, and Too Many Souls feels all the more personal even in “Wooly Mammoth” or second cut “Ladybird, What’s Wrong?” which gets underway on its casual semi-ramble with the line, “One by one I watch them piss into the sun,” for the grounded perspective at root. An ongoing thread of introspection and Engel‘s voice at the center draw the songs together as these stories are told in metaphor — birds return in the album’s second half with “The Oven Bird’s Song” but there’s enough heart poured in that it doesn’t need to be leaned into as a theme — and before it moves into its dreamstate drone still with the acoustic guitar beneath, “Without Any Eyes” brings through its own kind of apex in Engel‘s layered delivery. Topped with a part-backmasked take on the traditional “Wayfaring Stranger” that’s unfortunately left as an instrumental, Too Many Souls finds Engel continuing their journey of craft with its own songs as companions for each other and the artist behind them.
The 13-minute single “Ultrawest” follows behind Aktopasa‘s late-2022 Argonauta Records debut, Journey to the Pink Planet (review here), and was reportedly composed to feature in a documentary of the same name about the reshaping of post-industrial towns in Colorado. It is duly spacious in its slow, linear, instrumentalist progression. The Venice, Italy, three-piece of guitarist Lorenzo Barutta, bassist Silvio Tozzato and drummer Marco Sebastiano Alessi are fluid as they maintain the spirit of the jam that likely birthed the song’s floating atmospherics, but there’s a plan at work as well as they bring the piece to fruition, with Alessi subtly growing more urgent around 10 minutes in to mark the shift into an ending that never quite bursts out and isn’t trying to, but feels like resolution just the same. A quick, hypnotic showcase of the heavy psychedelic promise the debut held, “Ultrawest” makes it easy to look forward to whatever might come next for them.
Right onto the list of 2024’s best debuts goes Guenna‘s Peak of Jin’Arrah, specifically for the nuance and range the young Swedish foursome bring to their center in heavy progressive fuzz riffing. One might look at a title like “Bongsai” or “Weedwacker” (video premiered here) and imagine played-to-genre stoner fare, but Guenna‘s take is more ambitious, as emphasized in the flute brought to “Bongsai” at the outset and the proclivity toward three-part harmonies that’s unveiled more in the nine-minute “Dimension X,” which follows. The folk influence toward which that flute hints comes forward on the mostly-acoustic closer “Guenna’s Lullaby,” which takes hold after the skronk-accompanied, full-bore push that caps “Wizery,” but by that point the context for such shifts has been smoothly laid out as being part of an encompassing and thoughtful songwriting process that in less capable hands would leave “Ordric Major” disjointed and likely overly aggressive. Even as they make room for the guest lead vocals of Elin Pålsson on “Dark Descent,” Guenna walk these balances smoothly and confidently, and if you don’t believe there’s a generational shift happening right now — at this very moment — in Scandinavia, Peak of Jin’Arrah stands ready to convince you otherwise. There’s a lot of work between here and there, but Guenna hold the potential to be a significant voice in that next-gen emergence.
The interplay of stoner-metal tonal density and languid vocal melody in “I Thought I Would Not” sets an atmospheric mood for Slow Green Thing on their fourth LP, Wetterwarte / Waltherstrasse, which the Dresden-based four-piece seem to have recorded in two sessions between 2020 and 2022. That span of time might account for some of the scope between the songs as “Thousand Deaths” holds out a hand into the void staring back at it and the subsequent “Whispering Voices” answers the proggy wash and fuzzed soloing of “Tombstones in My Eyes” with roll and meditative float alike, but I honestly don’t know what was recorded when and there’s no real lack of cohesion within the aural mists being conjured or the heft residing within it, so take that as you will. It’s perhaps less of a challenge to put temporal considerations aside since Slow Green Thing seem so at home in the flow that plays out across Wetterwarte / Waltherstrasse‘s six songs and 44 minutes, remaining in control despite veering into more aggressive passages and basing so much of what they do on entrancing and otherworldly vibe. And while the general superficialities of thickened tones and soundscaping, ‘gaze-type singing and nod will be familiar, the use made of them by Slow Green Thing offers a richer and deeper experience revealed and affirmed on repeat listens.
Don’t expect a lot of trickery in Ten Ton Slug‘s awaited first full-length record, Colossal Oppressor, which delivers its metallic sludge pummel with due transparency of purpose. That is to say, the Galway, Ireland, trio aren’t fucking around. Enough so that Bolt Thrower‘s Karl Willetts shows up on a couple of songs. Varied but largely growled or screamed vocals answer the furious chug and thud of “Balor,” and while “Ghosts of the Ooze” later on answers back to the brief acoustic parts bookending opener “The Ooze” ahead of “Mallacht an tSloda” arriving like a sledgehammer only to unfold its darkened thrash and nine-plus-minute closer “Mogore the Unkind” making good on its initial threat with the mosh-ready riffing in its second half, there’s no pretense in those or any of the other turns Colossal Oppressor makes, and there doesn’t need to be when the songs are so refreshingly crushing. These guys have been around for over a decade already, so it’s not a surprise necessarily to find them so committed to this punishing mission, but the cathartic bloodletting resonates regardless. Not for everyone, very much for some on the more extreme end of heavy.
Don’t let the outward Beatles-bouncing pop-psych friendly-acid traditionalism of “Goodbye Suzy” lull you into thinking San Francisco psych rockers Magic Fig‘s self-titled debut is solely concerned with vintage aesthetics. While accessible even in the organ-and-synth prog flourish of “PS1” — the keyboards alone seeming to span generations — and the more foreboding current of low end under the shuffle and soft vocals of “Obliteration,” the six-song/28-minute LP is no less effective in the rising cosmic expanse that builds into “Labyrinth” than the circa-’67 orange-sun lysergic folk-rock that rolls out from there — that darker edge comes back around, briefly, in a stop around the two-minute mark; it’s hard to know which side is imagining the other, but “Labyrinth” is no less fun for that — and “Distant Dream,” which follows, is duly transcendent and fluid. Given additional character via the Mellotron and birdsong-inclusive meditation that ends it and the album as a whole, “Departure” nonetheless feels intentional in its subtly synthy acoustic-and-voice folkish strum, and its intricacy highlights a reach one hopes Magic Fig will continue to nurture.
If you followed along with Dortmund, Germany’s Scorched Oak on their 2020 debut, Withering Earth (review here), as that album dug into classic heavy rock as a means of longer-form explorations, some of what they present in the 39 minutes of Perception might make more sense. There was plenty of dynamic then too in terms of shifts in rhythm and atmosphere, and certainly second-LP pieces like “Mirrors” and “Relief” come at least in part from a similar foundation — I’d say the same of the crescendo verse of “Oracle” near the finish — but the reportedly-recorded-live newer offering finds the band making a striking delve into harder and more metallic impacts on the whole. An interplay of gruff — gurgling, almost — and soulful melodic vocals is laid out as opener/longest track (immediate points) “Delusion” resolves the brooding toms of its verse with post-metal surges. Perhaps it’s obvious enough that it doesn’t need to be said, but Scorched Oak aren’t residing in a single feel or progression throughout, and the intensity and urgency of “Reflection” land with a directness that the closing “Oracle” complements in its outward spread. The element of surprise makes Perception feel somewhat like a second debut, but that they pull off such an impression is in itself a noteworthy achievement, never mind how much less predictable it makes them or the significant magnitude of these songs.
