We were pretty into Vom's Primitive Arts record from a while back, which we described as a "depressive, atmospheric, super distorted sort of gothic cold wave", and who we likened to groups like Soror Dolorosa, Sixx, Factums and Cold Cave, but whose particular version of sound was a much more raw and primitive beast, sort of crusty and filthy, from the production to the actual instrument sounds, even the atmosphere, it was as if a metal band or a noise band or somehow both, decided to make a gloom pop record, and failed spectacularly, and came up with something way meaner, weirder and more amazing.
This brand new split teams Vom up with another group of sonically like minded Scots with the awesome name Gummy Stumps, each group taking a whole lp side. Vom offer up more of the same, their sound driving and darkly post punky, the guitars thick and jagged, the bass fuzzed out and super distorted, the drums almost like some weird strain of motorik krautpunk, the vocals an effects drenched bellow, the group locking into long stretches of buzzing, snarling, minor key hypnorock, that sound like a goth rock Circle, pounding away relentlessly, the guitars unfurling slippery slithery melodies, over churning riffage and gloomy gothic bombast. But it's an epic, so the band sort of cobble together a songsuite, equal parts crash and burn, drift and smolder, shimmer and creep, the sound managing to be surprisingly lush while retaining its raw power. At one point haunting soundtracky synths drift in and transform the sound completely, before the band works its way up into another psychedelic cold wave gloom punk blowout. These guys are so fucking good, it's a crime they're not more well known.
With a name like Gummy Stumps, these guys had our hopes pretty high, and while they're not as grim or gloriously noisy, they're definitely a good match, their sound more of a Messthetics sort of post punk, all jagged angular guitar crunch, frenetic rhythms, and dueling call and response vocals. But again, like Vom's side, there's lots of space to fill, so the band stretch way out, slipping from murky psychedelic shimmer, to something that sounds like way more punk Arab Strap, to blown out drum heavy noise rock crunch, to surprisingly catchy punk pop and right back again to the angular post punkiness that started it all off.
Housed in super swank silk screened covers, with printed insert, cool lyrics booklet, and we're guessing it's pretty dang limited too...
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Many of you probably remember a strange release from a group called Throne Of Blood, that we reviewed years ago. Beyond the music, the packaging was ridiculous and amazing, a rubberized dvd style case, with evil looking faces and vines and flowers and a unicorn, complete with a glass eye, all molded into the cover, Evil Dead Necronomicon style. At the time we thought no bad could live up to that crazy packaging, but somehow Throne Of Blood did. A furious grinding noise metal juggernaut with wild splattery drumming and shrieked vocals, short sharp bursts of fuzzy, fucked up lo-fi Melt-Banana like noiserock math metal which KILLED. And then to seal the the deal, the second half of the record was just the first half in reverse, which transformed the sound into a tripped out metallic psychedelia. We had often wondered what happened to ToB. And now we now what happened to at least one of them, they ended up in this warped, twisted outfit, a duo called Vvltvre, whose sound we had seen described as sludge/doom, and while much of this is, some of it is way more fucked up and far out, in fact, most of it is. Just check out the opening title track, which spends its first few minutes unfurling some sort of creepy ritual, all tinkling chimes, distant drum pound, weird breathing, seriously demonic vocalizing, the sound growing increasingly more agitated, louder and more caustic, the drums becoming more tribal, the vox weirdly processed, resulting in something that sounds like a way more damaged and demented and blackened version of No Neck / Sunburned Hand / Avarus, until about 7 minutes in, the song explodes into a churning blackbuzz dirge, the black buzz provided by what sounds like an insanely distorted bass, while the tribal drums pound away underneath, think The Body crossed with Blue Sabbath Black Cheer, a sort of blacknoise doom, or a noise rock sludge, when the band lock into these dense looped rhythms, it almost sounds like a Lightning Bolt 45 spinning at 16 rpm. The opening track gradually begins to revert to the opening, like some sort of doom sludge palindrome, the sound getting more abstract, the rhythms more spare, a death march pound, over rumbling crumbling low end, laced with some cool tripped out backwards effects.
The B side follows a similar pattern, beginning with some ritualistic ambience, chanted vox, soft focus chordal shimmer, barely there percussion, then the drums come in, and it remains hauntingly tribal, like some ancient sonic ritual, and then eventually, the track again splinters into some seriously harsh heaviness, reminding us a bit of Monarch for sure, but with a definite Whitehouse vibe, the sort of droned out buzz beneath near hysterically shrieked vox, which again eventually erupt into some pounding noise rock dirgedoom mathiness. The third side mixes things up by foregoing the heaviness completely, and instead offering up a sprawling rhythmscape, all abstract drum pound, gurgling low end, subtly employed effects, lots of dark drones and washed out thrum, a gorgeous bit of meditative abstract ambient doom minimalism, which gives way to the closer, the 15 minute D side, which is all bass drone for the first 6 minutes, super minimal and hushed, before the drums creep in, beneath clouds of cymbal shimmer, the bass growing more distorted, the final few minutes, a strange lurching, stuttering feedback drenched, super dynamic slo-mo math doom that ends WAY too soon.
WAY recommended for fans of Blue Sabbath Black Cheer, Khanate, Moss, Bunkur, Gnaw Their Tongues, Monarch, Wicked King Wicker, Wolf Eyes, Otesanek, Habsyll, Human Quena Orchestra and other purveyors of slow, low sonic sickness.
Fantastically packaged in a deluxe gatefold sleeve, with some super striking artwork, while inside lurks a gorgeous handmade 32 page booklet, hand painted and glitter-ed, LIMITED TO 500 COPIES.
Even though these dudes are a local band, few of us had heard of them. However, all it took was a brief glance at the back cover, revealing a song called "Beast Toker," and we were pretty much sold. We carried their last ep, a self-released cd-r, but that one is long gone, and now Walken take things to the next logical place with an actual cd, one that is sure to win them support from anyone digging fellow local sludgelords like Kowloon Walled City, Black Cobra, and pretty much all of the East Bay. The band stands along the border of punk and metal, with one foot on each side, but luckily things never seem like some self-conscious hybrid. Best of all, Walken shred things up in expert fashion with all kinds of cool pinch harmonics and uber metal elements while the songs chug along with catchy riffs, super tight drumming, and lots of cool gang vocals. At times, there seems to be a fairly pronounced NWOBHM vibe, but maybe that's just us (probably not though). Things often end up sounding like a more grooving Converge with vocals at times reminiscent of legendary Swedes Refused, or perhaps a more punked out Nachtmystium. Sound good? You bet it does. And if this album is any indication of this band's unholy talents, we can only imagine how much they must KILL it live. Another welcome release from San Francisco's ever fertile heavy underground. Fuck yeah.
The Walking Corpses are yet another Teenage Panzerkorps side-project, this time the core sonix axis of snarled Teutonic vocals from Bunker Wolf with the detoured punk of Boy True (aka Jason Honea), is augmented by two other characters in the form of Ratbag and John Murphy (who may or may not be the same person who has freelanced in SPK, Current 93, Death In June, Whitehouse, Dumb & The Ugly, etc.). It's a scabrous noise affair with a tenuous hold on what may pass for a song, with piano notes dragged for miles through fields of tape hiss and distortion and sped up into a 90 second track, snapping to another 'song' whose sole arrangement is a tortured drum machine, and then there's Bunker Wolf - a monumental presence in Teenage Panzerkorps, who reprises that role here in The Walking Corpses. But on one track, Honea takes on the vocal duties with lush languid harmonies like those he brought to The Knit Separates and even back to his punk days in Social Unrest. It's a super quick 10 minute set from The Walking Corpses, but it's pretty wonderfully fucked up.
Well, "Columbodia, Missouri's" own Warhammer posse showed up not too long ago here at aQ enroute to all corners of the country and they stopped in long enough to rock the asses of the San Francisco scene in a wickedly intimate "bus show" (AQ pal and former A Minor Forest-er has a huge mobile venue, IN A BUS, with a stage, a solar powered generator and an engine that runs on vegetable oil!) and to hand us off a a big pile of their new self-released second cd entitled An Ethereal Oracle.
By the looks and sounds of it, the title holds true to the old adage "what you see is what you get". That is if you can figure out what an ethereal oracle is -musically- speaking.
While the mind-melting debut Uber Om was more of a big loud thud upside your melon, An Ethereal Oracle is more like some forbidden fruit. That something or someone, you've been warned about, you know it's dangerous, potentially deadly, but you just can't resist. It's the temptation of the darkside, the dangerous, you know you're in for it, you know you're done for, you just can't ever be sure when. Or how!
The record starts off with a long scary radio broadcast track, you know, like one of those Emergency Broadcast System things warning you about "the big storm approaching", and just when you start feeling REALLY nervous, you start to get dizzy, everything becomes blurry, your head is spinning, your ears are ringing, you feel flush, you start to sweat, goosebumps, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end, you try to resist, fight it off, but it's too much, you are completely under its spell.
You let the jagged guitar lines, birds chirping in the distance, strange what-the-fuck acoustic folk fuckery, drugged out laid-back droned-out blissful warmness and full on red-line space jam experimental shredding pummelry drag you into the darkness. Before you know it, you're bruised and bloody, naked and tied up with broken guitar strings, ears ringing and bleeding, you have strange WH48K images burned into your flesh, laying atop a pile of bloodstained broken drumsticks, surrounded by a Stonehenge like circle of towering totem like amps, in front of which stand the mysterious members of Warhammer, smiling wickedly as they prepare to do it all over again.
And that's only the first half of the cd!
Limited to 500 intricately illustrated/hand printed/hand assembled copies, and we only have about 30 left of the ones we got.
So act fast...
A few months ago, Andee received a cd-r in the mail. In a spray painted DVD case, with a photo of Patrick Swayze inside. Hmmm. The band was called Warhammer 48K (the name of a sci-fi miniatures wargame as Allan would later inform us) and the record was KILLER. So killer in fact that Andee had already begun trying to figure out a way to put it out, and Jason (having heard it from Andee) was even considering starting his own label to put it out. Well, before either of those things could happen, the band already had gotten a friend's label to press them up and suddenly showed up in our store with a box of cds. Well, for a record to have that much of an effect on Andee and Jason, you can just imagine what a serious slab of kick ass rock this must be. Falling somewhere between the indie mathy metallic crush of bands like Unwound, Lync, the Narrows, and Karp and the post rock sludge metal of bands like Conifer, Baroness, and Tides, but with their own unique sense of dynamics and some strange and strangely original riffs. From loping minor key slowcore, to super dense complex dual guitar riffing, to pounding full on metal, to lurching sludge rock, to noisy indie mathrock, to massive squalls of downtuned riffing and squealing feedback, this is heavy and epic, catchy and weird, noisy and freaked out, super dynamic and totally original.
The pride (or is it "the scourge"?) of Columbia, MO, the slippery spazzy sludgy spacy (post)rock combo known as Warhammer 48k return with this crazy 3" cd-r limited to 666 copies. Knife Hits picks up where they left off on their recent full length, Uber Om, which was a massive hit 'round here; packing all the nooks and crannies with a big smear of gooey dripping chaos. Pounding rhythms and thick sludgy guitars, a sort of indie rock but dipped in heavy metal and rolled in jagged shards of punk rock and then splashed in the face with a bracing cup of icy cold POP. Heavy but not metal, catchy but not poppy, sludgy but not 'sludge'. The bastard offspring of all the 'rock's, post, math, space, indie and of course HARD!
This (literally) compact disc comes nestled in a 3" petri dish, the top half has a transparent sticker that makes it look like a little piece of stained glass, the bottom half is layered in colored wax drippings, over some abstract artwork that makes it look kind of creepy and smeary - but perfect for the music (barely) contained within!
Denver's hip hop punk rock retards the Warlock Pinchers, who flourished in the late '80s/early '90s, are either the stupidest band ever, or the most genius, probably the former, although we think it's some impossible/improbable mix of the two. You may have heard their classic anthem "Morrissey Rides A Cockhorse", a heady, hooky dose of borderline homophobic Smiths bashing, but like all of their jams, it's all in good (stupid) fun.
Their proper albums are chuck full of big dumb beats, crunchy metal riffs, big dumb rapping, and irresistable choruses, they're one of those bands who practically everyone we know LOVES, which makes way less sense once you hear them.
Bomb The Franklin Mint is tough to recommend to anyone but diehard fans, as it's a collection of early recordings, demos and practice sessions. That's not to say that this doesn't rule, it does, but it rules in a way that maybe only WP fans can really understand. Imagine very early Beastie Boys, but way more simplistic, the beats totally primitive, the guitar playing rudimentary, and the lyrics, alternatingly ridiculous, over the top, offensive and/or funny as fuck. And on these early jams, all that stuff is even more magnified, the sound even more raw and lo-fi and capital D dumb, but so fun and funny and infectious and fuck it, AWESOME.
We'd probably recommend tracking down Deadly Kun Fu Action / Pinch A Loaf and Circusized Peanuts first, the proper records do in fact rule, big time, fucked up and funny and funky, but listening to this, even the demos and practice sessions sound pretty bad ass, but then we LOOOOOVE the Warlock Pinchers, so we're not exactly objective. So fans, buy this, you definitely want it, especially for the old stuff, the first tape, most of which we'd never heard, for the rest of you, give it a try, check out the sound samples, prepare yourself for some awesomely inane over the top lo-fi goofiness, and you never know, you just might end up as weirdly obsessed as we are... [Only one sound sample, per the band's request]
Even being the sort of person who knows almost nothing about drugs, I do know the usual preferred delivery method for pot is inhalation, not ingestion (to the lungs, not the stomach). Not that you can't cook it up in a brownie, but the guys in Weedeater sound like they just shovel handfuls of weed straight into their gaping jaws, like some sort of drug crazed harvesting machine, or like a stoner rock engineer dumping coal into the engine of a locomotive, which makes sense, as it's obvious these guys need enough weed to power the relentless, downtuned, full bore stoner metal crush found on God Luck And Good Speed.
A relative stoner rock institution, Dixie Dave and company have been spewing their filthy, crusty, blown out, drug rock for going on 10+ years now, and before that Dixie fronted the equally heavy and even crustier Buzzov-en, so this man knows his way around a stoney riff and a druggy groove, and this shit sounds just as good now as it did a decade ago, and I don't even smoke pot. So I can only imagine how amazing this must sound high�
But even NOT high, Weedeater destroy! Like some impossible crossbreeding experiment gone hellishly wrong, one part Eyehategod, one part Sleep, one part Corrosion Of Conformity, one part Bongzilla, guitars tuned so low the strings drag along the ground, amps stacked so high, they need a ladder to crank those knobs to 11. The vocals a harsh demonic mewl, almost more black metal than stoner metal, the drums simple but massive.
Recorded mostly by Steve Albini, except for one track by CoC's Mike Dean, and that track is the weirdest of the bunch, just bass, banjo and baritone crooning, a creepy stoner country ballad, which somehow sounds right at home amidst the crushing low slung heaviness surrounding it on all sides.
Plus song titles like "Wizard Fight", "Weedmonkey" and they even cover Skynyrd's "Gimme Back My Bullets"!
Packaged in a cool mini gatefold lp-style sleeve, the art embossed and printed in gold metallic ink, with a little hymnal inside with all the lyrics, just like a mini stoner bible.
We had been hearing about this band for ages, and our mail order customer Greg just happens to play guitar in the band and was kind enough to send us cd-r's in the past so we were super psyched to finally get their first actual official cd release, and we were equally psyched when we realized what an absolute monster of a record it was!
Ultra dense, super heavy and relentless Dazzling Killmen / Meshuggah / Voi Vod style tech-post-rock/metal weirdness. Complex and convoluted song structures assembled from jagged metal riffs, crazy drumming and weird atonal guitar freak outs, all woven together into a completely kick ass, impossibly labrynthine metallic math rock headfuck. Occasionally, the action lets up, allowing glimpses into some alien musical world behind the curtain, made up of almost mosh-worthy half time breakdowns, shouted stop start stutters, pretty melodic interludes, blasts of ADD Melt Banana-ish chaos and shimmery droned out space rock. But always returning to Wetnurse's brainmelting, spinecracking metallic calculus core. And then there's the vocals. Bizarre and beautiful (sort of), veering from grunted death metal howls to gutteral Pantera-ish hardcore shouts to shrieked almost-goofy demon-like warbles, usually in the same song! Woah. Definitely heavy enough and weird enough to be a new favorite! Guest vocals by Mike Olenader (ex-BURNT BY THE SUN), and recorded by the legendary MARTIN BISI!
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Local fastcore/bandana rock/metalcore/hardcore/straight edge/crossover. Or something. Devon (of local metal/toyshop Howling Bull and of the late All You Can Eat), Max (drummer of Spazz, Plutocracy and more), Craig (formerly of Your Mother and All You Can Eat), and Robert (of Fuckface and Artimus Pyle), got together, drew X's on their hands, donned their bandanas, and set pits a spinning all over the world. This local 'super group' plays a wicked strain of eighties bandana thrash/ metal-hardcore crossover that is fast and furious and kicks total ass. Complete with positive lyrics, extensive and heartfelt explanations of said positive lyrics, and tons of photos of all the band members leaping and stage diving. Hard to tell how tongue in cheek this all is, but regardless, you may have to pull out that old bandana, X your hands and GET IN THE PIT!
We make a LOT of things "highlights" on our list, you've doubtless noticed. So, what if we separated out a special section of MEGA-highlights? We're not gonna, but if we did, this would definitely be one of this list's MEGA-highlights, indeed. Our pal Brian from WFMU turned us on to this band a while back. So we were stoked to finally see a (vinyl-only) reissue now! Why so excited? 'Cause this oddly named band from Toledo, Ohio made one of the odder, yet enjoyable heavy metal rarities we've ever heard, this their only album, originally released in 1980. Well, it's nominally "heavy metal", though at times it's a bit like Devo doing heavy metal, with geeky sci-fi new wave inflections (as on "Sector 387"). At other times, it sounds more '60s and psychedelic, in fact psychedelic enough to get a review in that Acid Archives tome we just listed. Really White Boy and The Average Rat Band ought to appeal to anyone into the stranger side of late '70s hard rock, post-punk, proto-metal, poverty grind.
It all begins with a shimmering synth "Prelude", then... "Neon Warriors"! A tumble of drums, followed by a rapidfire, flash-rockin', fuzzed out riff onslaught, kinda like a low-budget Judas Priest. Oh yeah, that's the other thing, there's an ass-ton of FUZZ on here. Probably that's how they wound up in Acid Archives. "Maybe I'm A Fool" sounds more like Motorhead... sorta... then "The Prophet Song" harks back to Hendrix... and they even do a weird, broken down acoustic blues jam instrumental called "Blue Moon" before the record's over. Both rockin', and bizarre enough, to make both the AQ and WFMU warped hit parade for sure. Heck, they were basically making NWOFHM music (a la Steel Mammoth and Krypt Axeripper) long before those Finns came up with the idea. Or, imagine early Manilla Road meets George Brigman, maybe... Also probably for fans of Zolar-X, Todd Tamanend Clark, and the Happy Dragon-Band, amongst other eccentrics. Though this IS more metal than those. Closest perhaps to the likes of Dwarr, not that there's much like Dwarr.
This reissue on Roach is limited to 400 copies, by the way.
Ha, what a (intentionally misspelled?) title! The songs are short and sweet and sound like they were recorded with a boombox covered with a towel in their practice space after smoking more than a few bongloads. What's not to love about that? Garagey-punk a la Black Flag should not sound heavily produced or overdubby, it should be raw and fucked up and a little loose. It's obvious that these guys don't take themselves very seriously (see: "Can't Find My Weed"), and therein lies the charm (think: a less skilled but more stoned Turbonegro). The title track totally rips off Elton John's "Saturday" in the most glorious way for about ten seconds. "Funny Disguises" and "Fuck Up a Fascist (I'm Down)" have maybe the only actual guitar shredding on the whole record and half the time it's so buried underneath layers of midrange skrawnk that you might stop banging your head to notice, but then again you might not.
Bands like White Fang really make us wanna be young again, really young, with their carefree attitude, snarky and scrappy aesthetic and all out blasts of fucked up fun! The opening track on Whatever sounds a bit like today's lo-fi garage burners covering Bad Brains, and throughout the record we also hear wonderful hints of the really raw and noisy early years of Pavement or what it might sound like if Wavves covered a song off the first Neutral Milk Hotel record, especially on the songs where WF rock some distorted trumpet.
Freewheeling, eclectic and on the verge of falling apart, White Fang really are all over the place, but in ways that make perfect sense to our warped ears. They have some of the awesome charm of those damaged early SST records by folks like Saccharine Trust and the Meat Puppets (their first record!) as well as modern day kindred sonic spirits like Eat Skull or Silver Daggers. These kids have wisely tapped into the more twisted and cracked side of punk and garage rock, we're sure they would be so rad live at some out of control house party or warehouse show. The record comes on really nice thick vinyl with a coupon for a digital download as well as a cool little zine filled with photos, flyers, and drawings.
This is at least record number 3 or 4 from White Mice, but somehow, we've never reviewed anything by these drugged out noise makers before now. Not sure how that happened exactly but these guys are long overdue for some aQ love...
Lots of bands, especially if they're sort of spacey and druggy get compared to the Butthole Surfers, who pretty much defined spaced out drug rock, but no one truly embodies the same sort of fucked up frenzied sonic chaos like White Mice, who sound a bit like Lightning Bolt crossed with Shit And Shine, which if we do the math correctly does basically add up to the Butthole Surfers, or at least some way heavier, way noisier modern day equivalent.
Take album opener "Passsthefissst" one part, pounded on over and over and over, wild relentless tribal drumming, throbbing buzzy bass, and distorted to oblivion guitars, locked into an endless loop, hypnotic and mesmerizing and mantra like but also totally blown out and filthy and noisy and heavy, with some sinister demonic vocalizations over the top. You can almost imagine how insane this shit must be live, nothing but strobe lights, the band a blinking blur, the crowd a writhing mass of bodies, an endless lysergic freak out free for all.
And that's pretty much how the White Mice roll, every song is another effects drenched low slung damaged psychedelic sludge jam, sometimes frantic and super intense, other times slowed down and all Brainbombs-y, but always totally in the red and blown out and trippy and freaked out. Makes sense that these guys are from Providence Rhode Island, home of Lightning Bolt and Landed and Pink And Brown (R.I.P) and all of those like minded costumed noiserockers, pretty sure they're part of the same crew too, the best part about them being from RI, is that there's a good chance they play live with big ol' tails and fucked up furry mice heads, which is pretty much the only way you could make this stuff any better.
Everyone into Wooden Shjips, Moon Duo, Spacemen 3, Loop, A Place To Bury Strangers, Swervedriver, Black Angels, The Heads, White Hills, Lumerians, Mugstar, Monster Magnet, Serena-Maneesh, Telescopes and similarly drugged out, psychedelic hypnorock, best make some space in your music collection for this, the latest addition to your blissed out space-psych drug rock section (what? doesn't everyone have one of those?), the debut from Welsh space rockers White Noise Sound, who pretty much sound exactly like a heavier, modernized Spacemen 3, all it'll take is a couple minutes of record opener "August", with its motorik drum machine, sung/spoken vox, looped psych guitar mesmer, and then when the band kicks in proper, heavy guitars and propulsive drumming, explosive and hypnotic and if you're anything like us, which we're guessing you probably are, you're done for, just let yourself be pulled under, and dragged along through thick billowing clouds of psychedelic effects, of gloriously bleary drugged out churn and chug, surprising female harmony vocals, wild squalls of psychedelic leads, buzzing sitars, whirring synths, heck there's even some glockenspiel! To be honest it took us a while to get further into the record, as we found ourselves playing that first jam over and over and over.
But it's worth the effort, the whole record is gorgeously lysergic, slipping from propulsive drone rockers like the opener, to tripped out blissy drifts like the follow up "It Is There For You", with its tinkling chimes, clouds of cymbal shimmer, skeletal guitar strum, and motorik pulse, spaced out and spacious. But even those mellow ones build to serious freak outs, the guitars exploding in shards of prismatic shimmer, coruscating sheets of feedback drenched melody, Hawkwinded heart of the sun jams that could (and should) go on forever and ever. In fact, the record for all its explosive moments, definitely spends more time in hazy, druggy, dreamy bliss out mode, letting the synths and sitars weave gloriously gauzy expanses of weightless sonic shimmer and softly pulsing kosmische drift, which only makes the heavier parts that much more dramatic and kick ass.
It's been a while since we've heard from Aussie heavies Whitehorse, but they've returned on this split with East Bay grinders Negative Standards, Whitehorse's contribution to the split a sidelong sprawl of downtuned miserablism, a song that takes WH's usual knuckle dragging tarpit doom sludge, and adds some insectoid black buzz, the swirling fast picked guitar weaving a strange backdrop to the band's monstrous lumber, bellowed vokills and caveman drum crush, the song droning and tranced out, devolving into a killer stretch of power electronics midway through, a field of garbled static and solid state feedback, before lurching back into action, slipping right back into an epic sonic trudge, that like past jams, sounds a bit like a more abject, slo-mo Godspeed, before returning to that opening black metal riff to finish things off.
We had never heard, or even heard of Negative Standards before, even though they hail from across the Bay, but they definitely make a good match for Whitehorse, their sound not doomy as much as crusty and grindy, opening with an extended intro of blackened ambience, and swirling FX, before launching into some fierce D-beat pound, lurching from crusty churn, to furious fastcore grind and back again, the vocals a seriously sick demonic rasp, the sound relentless, until the doomy midsong breakdown, the song slipping easily into slo-mo, downtuned creep, all knuckle dragging pound that evolves into some near Neurosis level epicry, before exploding into one final salvo of blasting, grinding fury. Things finish off with a short sharp burst of crusty grind, beginning with a brief blast of static/feedback power electronics, before exploding into some frenzied metallic crush, the relentless blasting crust, peppered with a few seconds of seriously spaced out doom midway through.
Killer artwork from Sutekh Hexen's Kevin Gan Yuen! But no download, sadly.
We first discovered French electro-grind-metal-psych-whatthefuck duo Whourkr a year or two back when we got their debut record, Naat, which totally blew us away, it sounded like a malfunctioning metal record and a freaked out techno record, all scrambled up together, tangled up and spit out, a skittering, skipping, looped, grinding chunk of electronic metal weirdness. The vocals would howl, but then get processed and looped and would become something else altogether, the drums and guitars were so gnarled and stretched and twisted up, that the band could explode into flurries of rapidfire mathematical grind, way faster and more complex and convoluted than any human could possible play. It was a total headfuck. Like the fastest freakiest grind, made even faster and freakier, but with a little techno thrown in for good measure. Remember the Drum>MachineGun compilation, of insane drum machine driven grind? Whourkr makes that stuff sound so so tame in comparison.
We tried and tried to track down copies for the store, but never had any luck, and then we heard that Crucial Blast would be releasing the NEW Whourkr, so we waited and waited, and now it's finally here, and it's totally different than the first one (or at least how we remember the first one), way poppier and more melodic, like the band are now actually composing songs instead of throwing all the sounds in a blender to see what comes out (not that we don't dig that too!), it's way poppier, catchier, but still totally and utterly freaked out and glitchy and fucked up beyond belief.
Chugging guitars and shrieked vox are chopped and spliced into a hyperspeed deathmetal Melt Banana, all the sounds constantly shifting, the tempo changing, the rhythms colliding and hiccuping, occasionally coalescing into full on grooves, other times splintering into bursts of electronic freakouts, and there are serious hooks happening too, it doesn't seem possible that music like this could be listenable, let alone catchy, but it is. Big time. We'll be the first to admit, that the other Whourkr record was difficult listening, brutal and to many ears annoying, and yeah, the same might be said for Concrete as well, but the band are so much better now, in terms of composition and songwriting, that once you're immersed in their fucked up and freaked out soundworld, it becomes surprisingly easy to acclimate to the rapidly and constantly shifting sounds and rhythms, in order to enjoy the songs themselves. Plus the vocals seem to play a much larger role, not just howls and shrieks, there are plenty of clean vox, soaring almost operatic, low AND high, wrapped around frenzied riffing, wound up into spiralling psychedelic freakouts, or like the instruments, chopped into crazed stutterscapes.
Take the track "Santo", with its deep crooned vox and acoustic guitars, sounding almost like Circle, the electronic effects very subtle at first, before the track lurches into full on doom, the voices and guitars just slightly glitched, eventually giving way to gorgeous delicate piano, only to be obliterated by the next track "Skovsnails", a little burst of drums, and a crazy clipped main riff, it almost sounds like some insane DJ remixing Orthrelm, the song stutters and lurches and hiccups, totally frenetic and relentless. The record dips its toes into all sorts of weird sounds, loping moody electronic downtempo, albeit a little fractured, head spinning hyper grind, shot through with unlikely pop hooks, glitched out death metal, soaring slow building post rocky drama, and more Melt Banana-esque grind pop, but nothing here sounds thrown together, or hodge podge, this is a baffling collection of sounds, but one that is meticulously composed, performed and recorded, and for those in the market for something truly demented, insane, extreme and heavy, not to mention out-there, and pretty much entirely unlike anything you've ever heard before, be next to impossibly to top Whourkr. Definite contender for metal record of the year, even though calling it a metal record is selling it WAY short. Regardless, absolutely recommended.
And, for a limited time (next couple of weeks, until February 2nd 2010), we'll be selling this for a special $2 discount off the regular price, which would normally be $13.98.
We dug the first ep from SF transplants Wildlife, who just so happened to feature our very own Matt in mailorder on guitar and vocals. A blown out tripped out heavy as fuck space rock psychedelic freakout of the highest order. Since then, not only have the band changed their name, to the much weirder and somehow more appropriate Wildildlife but also honed their sound into something somehow more blown out, more tripped out, heavier, weirder, but more importantly, WAY catchier. Hooks and melodies that most bands would kill for, but Wildildlife play it like it's no big thing, burying that stuff under avalanches of processed guitars, throbbing howling bass pedals, metallic Iron Maiden like riffing, insane chaotic drumming, and a fierce white hot wall of sound.
We were pretty much sold from the first track. Beginning with some simple Adam Ant drumming, tribal and pounding, before the glistening reverbed Big Country guitars come in, all swathed in delay and drifting over the tangled rhythmic chaos below. The guitars build into a serious chordal frenzy, and then a strange haunting, and very eighties sounding hook, and that's when the vocals come in. Distorted but melodic, a dangerously catchy hook, that somehow reminds us of Gaye Bykers On Acid. Druggy and tripped out, with a cool guitar/vocal "la� lalalalalaaaaaaa" refrain that sticks in your head FOREVER. Wildildlife are usually described as Butthole Surfers meets Black Sabbath, which while flattering, and maybe to a certain extent accurate, hardly do justice to Wildildlife's cracked pop flecked noise rock heaviness.
Yeah, they're heavy, but there's no massive doom riffing or downtuned metallic pummel, and they are definitely trippy, but not in the same way as the Buttholes.
Take the second track, beginning with a wicked tangle of distorted guitar, when the drums kick in, and the band locks into an angular almost new wave melody, and those vocals return, sort of raspy and crooned, echoed by either a high wavery guitar or a falsetto vocal, and they repeat, mantra like, mesmerizing and hypnotic, relentless and seriously tripped out. The drums a constant rhythmic lock beneath the strange poppiness of the vocals and the guitar, before the whole thing splinters into a Hawkwind free rock noise jam, all super effected vocals, total drum mayhem, and thick washes of crumbling guitars and throbbing buzzing bass, eventually petering out into a gorgeous metallic slowcore dirge, everything still wrapped in thick layers of reverb and delay, a gorgeous mournful doomic sonic deathmarch. While some may hear the Buttholes, we're hearing stuff like the God Bullies, the Cows, Lubricated Goat for sure and still plenty of Gaye Bykers, although all even more souped up and super charged.
The two halves of the record are separated by the longest track, the 18+ minute "Magic Jordan", which begins as a washed out post rock dirge, all shimmery strummed guitars, echoey Jim Morrison vocals, and a simple stripped down rhythm, Eventually, the band erupts into a massive roiling bout of slow heaviness, that sounds like a way more psychedelic Harvey Milk, with killer angular riffs surfacing amidst the endless black sonic swirl, eventually giving way to 10 minutes of tripped out free folkiness, all warped backwards guitars, abstract percussion, fluttering melodies, haunting disembodied vocals, all sorts of random creaks and chimes and whir and hiss. Which is quickly followed by what is easily the catchiest track on the record. The relatively brief seven minute long "Feed", with its abstract delayed guitar harmonic feedback intro, giving way to probably the most Buttholes sounding bit on the record, a tense and intense bit of furious drumming, and throbbing bass beneath little flurries of metallic guitar leads, doused in FX and sent swirling over the abyss, while the vocals croon from WAY down in the mix, finishing off with a cool thick chunk of melancholy riffage, massive low end throbs playing out a gorgeous melody beneath the squiggly guitar chaos above.
The disc finishes off with a massive sonic one two punch, two fourteen minute tracks, the first, a super abstract slow motion noise doom lurch, with anguished vocals, sung from the bottom of a well, the guitars and drums offering up jagged little stabs, before locking into a relentless Swans like crush, nearly suffocating the vocals, until the band again lock into an impossible blissed out drone, where the guitar and bass mesh into a nearly M83 sounding wash of fuzzed out psychdrone, before reverting to full on glacial plod until the end.
While the final track, begins with a thick bit of bassy buzz, weaving a hard to define slow motion melody, the buzzing rich and thick and rife with overtones, metallic, electric and lush all at once, eventually joined by a downtuned guitar mirroring that same slow motion melody, eventually joined by dramatic almost gothic vocals, the drums dropping in like brass knuckled fists to the sternum, the band again almost slipping into some intense Swans like doom, before the riffing slips away leaving nearly six minutes of soaring guitar noise, and cymbal sizzle, eventually building to a super dramatic major key coda, all soaring chords and falsetto crooning, like some sort of alien metallic "Star Spangled Banner" (again reminding us a bit of Harvey Milk), before drifting off into a meandering morning after guitar bass post rock fade out.
Way recommended. Noisy and heavy and poppy and psychedelic and fucked up and catchy in a way few bands can pull of. And the one time we caught them live, we were hanging in a hammock, above the stage, IN A BUS, getting rammed repeatedly by the headstock of the guitar as the two axemen dueled wildly in the outrageous confines of the space below. Barring that sort of intimate and surprisingly painful interaction with Wildildlife, this record will definitely serve as an ideal introduction to their damaged and druggy fucked up metallic noise rock space pop, at least until you too can be battered and bruised by these guys in the flesh!
Recorded by Aaron from Mammatus, released on the always awesome Crucial Blast, and in some seriously amazing packaging, a super fancy mini gatefold sleeve, thick and full color, with an intense bejeweled turquoise skull on the cover, a fucked up masked dirt faced hatchet flag duel photo inside, as well as a full color booklet with liner notes and a bunch more freaky blurry creepy masked wild(ild)life photos...
As a teaser for their upcoming Jennifer Herrema (Royal Trux, RTX) produced full length, psychedelic metallic noise poppers Wildildlife team up with their sludge pop doom noise pals in Flood for a killer two song onslaught.
Wildildlife just keep getting better, their sound getting poppier and poppier, but somehow managing to not get less heavy or any less weird or psychedelic. Their track here explodes right out of the gate with some mathy drum pound and some tangled guitar harmonies, sounding almost like some sort of Iron Maiden / Butthole Surfers hybrid, the sound woozy and distorted and druggy, the vocals processed and all tripped out, hooks galore, but all buried under Wildildlife's blown out glammy noise pop chaos. Swaths of crumbling sound and swirls of spacey effects get wrapped around looped samples, and wild streaks of pop flecked psychedelia, churning, and rhythmic and heavy, and noisy and crazy catchy to boot.
Flood counter with some low slung slithery post rock lope, which gains momentum and finally explodes into a seriously stonery doomy sludge, the brooding minimalism giving way to some epic, majestic hypno doom crush, but with plenty of groove, the sound at one point locking into a long stretch of repetitive and hypnotic chug and churn, sounding like a downtuned doom metal Circle, pounding away beneath bellowed vox and majestic melodies. So good.
Limited to 500 copies, we managed to get a bunch of the colored vinyl. Each one is hand numbered, and comes with a download coupon.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Hey kids, want something to look at and read while you listen to your records by Black Dice, Melvins, Lightning Bolt, Godspeed You Black Emperor, The Locust, Rocket From The Crypt, KK Null, Drive Like Jehu, The Rapture, Erase Errata, Jesus Lizard, Fugazi, Nation Of Ulysses, Acid Mother's Temple, Phantom Surfers, Man Is The Bastard, Slant 6, Karp, Zeni Geva, Unwound, Boredoms, Three Mile Pilot, Orthrelm, Animal Collective, Men's Recovery Project, Crash Worship, Avey Tare & Panda Bear, Damo Suzuki, Get Hustle, Black Heart Procession, Rovo, Pixeltan, Antioch Arrow, Lowercase, Fucking Champs, Punishment, Cows, Shudder To Think, Hot Snakes, Clikitat Ikatowi, Truman's Water, The Contortions, Heroin, Young Ginns, Oxes, Tight Bros From Way Back When, Thrones, Jawbox, OOIOO, Arab On Radar, US Maple, Melt Banana, Shellac, !!!, Universal Order Of Armageddon, The VSS, Don Caballero, Quintron, Rachel's, Magma and... Iggy Pop? Well, you might want to check out this cool soft cover book (12"w x 8"h, 150 pages). It's jam-packed with color and black & white photography by Jeff Winterberg. The bulk of them are live rock and candid shots taken between 1991 and 2003, and the subjects run the music gamut. On an initial quick flip-through we spotted all of those mentioned above. Whew! Jeff Winterberg went to a lot of shows! And guess what? The price is listed at $25.00, but we've got 'em for 17.98. Neat!
Now available (again) on vinyl, one of the best records EVER, from one of the greatest, most intense, brooding and rocking post punk band of all time.
For those who are new to the Wipers, these guys were one of those bands that never got all that popular, but were definitely a band's band, the kind of group that gets namechecked by everybody, and thus influenced everybody, but still remained way below the radar.
Formed in 1978, the Wipers spent their career toiling away in obscurity, seemingly adverse to recognition or popularity, even turning down the opening slot on several Nirvana tours, worried that it would seem too opportunistic. And Cobain was probably the Wipers' biggest supporter, even covering a bunch of their songs. In fact, lots of people who hear the original versions of "D-7" or any of the Wipers' tunes Nirvana usually covered, think it must be some punk band covering Nirvana, instead of the other way around. And the more Wipers you hear, the more you realize Cobain did more than just cover their songs, his songwriting style and melodic flair is definitely heavily indebted to the Wipers. Some of the more brooding less rocking Wipers songs sound just like Nirvana tracks that could have been. Minor key mope rock that sort of builds and builds, not necessarily getting louder and faster (although sometimes they did) but getting more and more intense, threatening to explode, the kind of genuine angst and fury that can NOT be faked and imbues music with that sort of emotional charge that turns good music into great music. Cobain had it. So did Greg Sage. And Is This Real? proves it. Big time. One of those record where EVERY track feels like a hit. Like a classic. "D-7", the title track, "Tragedy"... all dark and driving, murky and moody, rough and totally rocking. But at the same time impossibly catchy and poppy. Big time pop. Hooks all over the place. But of course wrapped in all sorts of minor key murk, and fuzzy distorted heartbreak. One of the best bands, and best records, you may have never heard. Until now!
At this point, the saga of Greg Sage and the Wipers is so much a part of the American rock canon that it hardly needs restating: maverick, hermetic genius shuns the mainstream; makes a holy trinity of blown out garage punk; leaves an indelible influence on every young turk with a guitars and chip on his/her shoulder over the next two+ decades. Similarly, the story behind Youth Of America itself is equally well known. After being pressured by their label into a professional studio to re-record their debut, Is This Real, prior to its release, Sage and Co. opted to record Youth of America entirely on their own in Sage's home studio. The result is a sprawling work of guitar sturm und drang layered over wiry pre/post/peri-punkitude that references everything from Neu!-style space riffage, to vintage '80s new wave skitter, to the best possible blissed-out-fuzz-soaked psych. There are faint touches of Joy Division and The Buzzcocks lurking in the shadows of this record, what you'll be struck by more than Sage's influences is the degree to which this record (perhaps moreso than any other in the Wipers' catalog) has influenced others; it's hard to imagine bands like Husker Du, Dinosaur Jr, Sonic Youth, Nirvana, or Hot Snakes (to name but a few) existing without the groundwork laid down on the first three Wipers LPs.
It's a shame that the backstory behind The Wipers is perhaps more oft-heard than the band's records, but this wicked nice deluxe LP reissue provides a great chance to rectify that. You get heavy 180g vinyl and a version free of the terrible gradeschool-quality goth/ghoul painting that has inexplicably graced the covers of previous reissues. If your exposure to the Wipers is limited to watching The River's Edge or hearing them name-checked ad infinitum by Kurt Cobain, then pick this up immediately and discover exactly why Youth Of America is a seminal work by one of the most important and influential bands in the American punk canon.
Now over 30 years old, this British art-punk trio has released their 47th recording, whether that be a single, a concert document, a compilation, or a full-length album. Yup, this one is a full album, but something is missing on it. And we aren't simply referencing the absence of guitarist Bruce Gilbert from the band. Wire - now the trio of Colin Newman, Graham Lewis, and Robert Gotobed - have sought to sound a lot like Wire, but their mimesis of themselves is not for the classic sound of Pink Flag or 154 but rather the quasi-angular, plasticine collage-rock of the late '80s which did produce a handful of legitimately great singles: "A Head," "Kidney Bingos," and "Drill" being the most noteworthy. Lyrically, Wire are just as punk-smart as ever, twisting the banal vernacular of daily life into something slightly sinister and misanthropic; but where Graham Lewis had previously penned some fine basslines in the past to augment the drone-plus-chime of Colin Newman's guitar, many of the songs aspire to a punchy pogo-pop, but Lewis lets us down with some less than imaginative riffs. For a man whose work in Dome and in collaboration with John Duncan have produced some ecstatic experiments with sound, this is a bit of a head-scratcher. To be fair, Object 47 is an entirely different beast than the extremes found on many Wire related releases; but this could have been a whole lot better.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
The European label Who Can You Trust? brings us two new tapes in their series of limited live cassette-only releases by some of our favorite heavy/psych bands, that began with the instantly-out-of-print White Hills live at WFMU tape last year. One from San Francisco's very own Dzjenghis Khan, and one by Massachusetts heavy lords Witch featuring Dinosaur Jr.'s J Mascis on drums.
The cassette from Witch was recorded live at Holland's celebrated Roadburn Festival, in 2008 - and in our experience, bands tend to be at their best at Roadburn! Their set features nine songs over two sides, songs drawn from both of Witch's albums, five from their especially stoner/Sabbathy styled self-titled debut and four from their somewhat more punked out sophomore effort Paralyzed. So a bunch of our Witch favorites are on here, including "Rip Van Winkle", "Seer", and the crucial "Changing", which Allan here considers to be the best heavy hypnotic doom stoner song of the century so far. In fact, he'd probably be happy with a tape that just repeated them playing it over and over and over, it's so good, not that Witch's other songs aren't killer too. But that one, wow, it's got a riff to rival "Satori Part II" by the Flower Travellin' Band, man. Anyway, the only people who are gonna be fast enough on the trigger to nab one of these tapes are already Witch fans, and already know all that...
Being live, of course the sound on this tape is somewhat raw, compared to the studio recordings, but it's good, better than a bootleg for sure. Witch sound particularly Melvins-y here!
Purple cassette, with sexy witch cover art on the J-card by the band's bassist, Dave Sweetapple. Super limited (200 copies only!), and we only have a few...
Witch's self-titled debut from 2006 was one of our absolute favorite "stoner/doom" metal releases of that year (or any year sez Allan!). An unlikely "supergroup" combo consisting in part of members of folk-pysch collective Feathers, with famed alt-rock guitar god J. Mascis of Dinosaur Jr. on drums (not guitar!), Witch exceeded all expectations with their slow and Sabbathy, heavier than thou, utterly righteous psychedelic doom mastery. OMG, oh my Iommi, the riffs!!
Perhaps aware that they couldn't really outdo (or outdoom?) themselves riff-wise, the debut being such a tough act to follow in that department, the Witchy ones have smartly decided to accentuate some other aspects of their sound on their sophomore slab. So while the first Witch had held hints of SST styled '80s punkishness, our first impression of Paralyzed is that it's definitely much more punked out than its illustrious predecessor. Perhaps Mascis, who used to keep time in hardcore/grind band Deep Wound way back when, wanted more of a workout on the drums. It's quite chaotically energetic and uptempo aggro a lot of the time, along with indulging in their usual lugubrious headbanging trancification. A little less Vitus, a little more Flag (is the song "Gone" a nod to Ginn's other band?). And maybe more Frost, less Sabbath.
Not that they don't bring the riffs, it's just that they don't quite match the 10 on a scale of 1-10 magnitude of those from the likes of "Changing" or "Rip Van Winkle" from the self titled album (how could they?). However, the speedier (in parts) Paralyzed does certainly boast a bonanza of snakey lead guitar action, liberally dosed in tripped out psychedelic FX. We gotta hand it to singer/lead axeman Kyle Thomas, he shows no signs of nervousness taking tangled solos with none other than (let's not forget) J. Mascis bashing away behind him. Nor is he shy on the mic, his vocals sometimes reminding us of the sneer/snarl of Blaine from The Accused... with, still, a bit of the Ozz. Other observations: sometimes we think we hear the cries of garagey pop jangle buried alive on some of these tracks, and at times we might (might) describe Witch as sounding like a way more badass Dead Meadow. Also the more lumbering tracks here ('cause they do slow it down) remind us of some early Melvins or Steel Pole Bathtub. It's a pretty rad, reverby mix altogether, an cool collision of heavy psychotic shambling psych and corroded crossover punk/metal. We're digging it. Comes in a black digipack adorned with the apocalyptic, druggy, melty-looking artwork of bros Luke and Kyle Thomas, which makes it even cooler.
We've all been loving the soft lilting new weird free hippy folk of the Feathers, who for us were a recent discovery. And we've always been big fans of J Mascis, the distorted psychedelic indie fuzz of Dinosaur Jr, but even in his stints with sludgy punk rock outift Deep Wound and behind the kit for weirdo metallers Upside Down Cross. But never in our wildest dreams did we imagine the twain would meet. But what do you know? It's either a seriously small world, or there is some not so secret bond joining the disparate music arcs of these long haired fellows. Witch is not necessarily what you might imagine a meeting of Dinosaur Jr. and the Feathers would sound like, although the frilly jackets and bell bottoms and long hair should give you a clue. This is total seventies proto metal meets sludgy groovy stoner rock. Big BIG riffs, groovy and sun baked, blown out and HEAVY. Seriously. We hear Sabbath, Saint Vitus, Pentagram, Trouble, even some Kyuss and more modern stoner/doom outfits, like Witchcraft and Dead Meadow. The vocals are drenched in reverb and are sort of soaring and whining, some definite Ozzy influence there, also at times verging on a reedy Marc Bolan/Comus folky warble. And the guitar sound, OOF! You'd be forgiven for thinking that was Mascis on lead guitar, but he's manning the drum kit here, no the guitars are fuzzy seventies metallic groove, with a guitar sound definitely reminiscent of Sub Pop drone guitar gods Rein Sanction, like Hendrix filtered through Iommi, laced with LSD, dipped in goat's blood, set in the sun to bake and of course slathered in warm distorted fuzz. But with a band like this it's all about the riffs. Everyone knows Sabbath took all the best riffs, that's why so many heavy bands have based entire careers on stealing 'em, but Witch prove that there are still some killer riffs left out there. Heavy and fuzzy enough to bear a passing resemblance to the Sabs, but weird and wooly and unique enough that they can unabashedly claim them as their own. This is definitely another one of those bands like Elope or the Want, that if you didn't know better, and were forced to guess, you could be forgive for thinking Witch were straight out of the seventies (though with maybe 'cause of J, a whif of '80s SST hardcore punk somewhere in there too). Sonically, production wise, the whole package. And while the whole record is heavy and sludgy and groovy, it's worth the price of admission alone for track 5, "Rip Van Winkle" with a riff that is one of THOSE riffs. The whole track is a stone cold classic, from THAT riff, to the crazy blown out psychedelic leads, to the bombastic drumming, the weird arrangement, the wailing vocals, it's hugely heavy, head noddingly hypnotic, head bangingly massive, but groovy and catchy, minor key melodies beneath thick waves of warm guitar fuzz, totally emotional and amazing, it's like the best Sabbath song that never was. Then there's the track right before it, "Changing", that ALSO has one of THOSE riffs, and sounds like some sort of incredible, exotic Saint Vitus/Flower Travellin' Band hybrid. Wow. And all the other songs are pretty amazing too.
We just wish that they could have come up with a name a little more original than Witch. If they were indeed dead set on some sort of Witch name, you can't go wrong adding some appropriately evil or mysterious second word to your band name, I mean, c'mon, we would have gladly taken Featherwitch or even better DINOSAUR WITCH!
A couple years after he started the Dead Kennedys, Jello Biafra recorded a project called the Witch Trials, with a distinctly proto-industrial bent, primitive drum machines and of course Biafra's spoken vocal front and center, as political, satirical, and theatrical as ever. Recorded in a friend's apartment in London, the record found Biafra taking aim at the Los Angeles police years before NWA and Ice-T would, and in so many ways we're reminded how Biafra's fiercely political voice and ability to inhabit characters in his songs was really a precursor to much of the voices that would emerge in hip-hop in years to follow.
Witch Trials also demonstrates that while many others who were identified in the punk movement subscribed to narrow views of what punk could sound and look like, Biafra never had time for that. Instead he found many outlets to express his dystopian rage. The first two tracks of this ep are almost like full on performance art pieces with Biafra's immediately recognizable vocals speaking/singing over primitive drum machines and crumbling instrumentation that at times even echoed the sound of Public Image Ltd. The strength of the record really shines through on the last two songs which are the most musical of the bunch, especially the record's closer "Meat Beat", which we would guess was the song that inspired Meat Beat Manifesto, and is truly a classic fucked up almost dancefloor ready song that would sound right at home on records by synth outsiders of today like John Maus. Fans of Biafra and fucked up industrial sounding soundtracks to Orwellian nightmares must have this!
Wolf Eyes really tend to divide folks right down the middle. Love 'em or can't stand 'em. And in typical Wolf Eyes fashion, they're going to do their very best to annoy the fuck out of everybody with their 'big break' Sub Pop debut. Quite possibly the harshest Wolf Eyes record, which is saying a lot, Burned Mind is a caustic mouthful of acid, spit right in your eyes (ears?). A head melting electronic throb, equal parts damaged malfunctioning synths, squealing feedback, ultra distorted howls, skittering skipping sort-of-rhythms. Wolf Eyes, more than almost any other band, definitely sound damaged and fucked and seriously messed up. But what keeps Burned Mind from being a boring old straight up noise record? Hard to say. But something definitely does. Some mysterious intangible something. Burned Mind is definitely harsh, bit in no way unlistenable. In fact it's strangely beautiful and subtly (VERY subtly) melodic. Equal parts Factrix, Merzbow, Throbbing Gristle, Whitehouse but all warped and twisted into the uniquely fucked sonic world of Wolf Eyes.
They may be thousands of miles apart, but it would take more than something like distance to keep these two forces of musical darkness from meeting and unleashing this Black Plague. AQ faves, Australian noise rockers the Grey Daturas, were visited recently by the US ambassadors of noise, Wolf Eyes. Never one to squander an opportunity to get together and kick up a ruckus, the Daturas dragged the Eyes into the studio, and both bands spent a few hours cooking up their own unique vision of sonic decay. Wolf Eyes came up with the 5 part "Post Civilization Muzak", 24 minutes of grrrrrrrrrrrinding post industrial brutality. Huge sheets of coruscating electronics, super distorted guitar, and wild streaks of white hot feedback, all tangled up into a blazing blood red supernova of sound.
The Grey Daturas counter with some musical density of their own. A bit more lo-fi, three long tracks, one a tangled freejazz grind psychnoise splatter, a blurred cloud of stuttery staggering freakout, another a slow plodding glacial sludge, with thick washes of abstract doom and simple tribal drumming and finally a full on far out post rock post punk instrumental epic, heavy and droney and massive. Pretty killer stuff.
Packaged in a glossy digipak and released on the Daturas' Heathen Skulls label. Includes a bonus Wolf Eyes track NOT included on the upcoming domestic lp version!!
We've been wanting to list something from this band forever, ever since a mysterious cd-r wrapped in fur (!) arrived at our doorstep. Already thinking it might be good just 'cause of their cool name, we threw it on and were floored by the Wolves' take on grim and majestic black metal. Punk rockers embracing their darksides and spewing forth a relentless torrent of buzzing blasting blackened thrash. Wow. We pestered the band to get copies of that first demo but for some reason could never get more than a few at a time. Well, the Wolves finally showed up in the shop this last week, bearing gifts! Copies of their brand new cd-r, LOTS of copies, so we got a bunch and can finally give everyone a chance to check out Wolves In The Throne Room!
This second cd-r featues a new lineup, longer songs (three songs, 13 minute, 12 minute and 24 minutes) and a sound much closer to what the band had been shooting for all along, according to Wolves drummer Aaron. That sound is a galloping grim black metal not that unlike Leviathan, Burzum, Mayhem, Darkthrone and the like. In fact it sounds quite a bit like a more lo-fi version of SF black metal legends Weakling. Haunting minor key melodies, relentlessly blasting double kick drumming and repetitive riffs that become hypnotic almost-drones. The Wolves add plenty of their own flavor with plenty of weird folk interludes, creepy swirling melodies, stretches of plodding doom, mathy rhythms and moaning ambience. These guys have been playing around here this last couple weeks, and admitedly it was pretty weird seeing a bunch of raggedy indie punk rockers, curly hair, fur vests, tight pants, t-shirts and tennis shoes, blasting out such a torrent of howling blackened fury. But what these guys lack in spiked armbands, windmilling long hair, and corpsepaint, they make up for in sheer, gloriously grim black metal pummel! These are limited of course. In cool black cardboard sleeves and silkscreened in silver metallic ink. Nice.
We also have a handful of their first demo, if you want one mention it in the comments section of your order and if we have any left we'll grab you one. By the way, the band will be recording a proper cd, to be released in early 2006 on Vendlus Records!
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
There's some sort of competition going on in the cassette tape underground. There's nothing new about elaborate packaging, the weirder and wilder and more extravagant the better, but things are getting, well... dangerous.
Recently we reviewed a tape by UK doomlords Moss, each one packaged in a huge metal sculpture, most adorned with nails and chains and gears and all manner of sharp metal bits (don't ask, those are LONG GONE). Somehow though, the packaging fit the music perfectly.
Now we have the latest from the strangely monickered Work/Death, the brilliantly titled Teenage Heavy Metal Revisionism, and the packaging, well, it manages to outdo the Moss in one important way, it's MUCH SHARPER. We mean it, the first time we picked one of these up, we sort of started and dropped it, unprepared were we for the strange sensation of nails on the soft skin of our hands. It's a regular old tape, in a plain old tape case, but each side has a little mini-bed of nails, really sharp nails, tied up tight with twine. Very imposing and threatening looking. And again, somehow, the sharp and twine-y outer shell suits the music within.
A dark, rumbling, scraping and creaking cavernous journey through some post industrial low end wasteland. Sort of ambient, but also brutal, and aggressive, harsh and harrowing. Metallic percussion peppers a snarling swirling black soundscape, streaked with shards of feedback and crumbling black melodies. Thick blown out fuzz churns and roils, as if Wolf Eyes and Black Boned Angel were boiled down and placed in a huge black iron pot to simmer. Or like some sort of caveman Einsturzende... a million black suns slowly dying and spreading out, coating everything in thick, viscous blackness...
LIMITED TO 100 COPIES!! We got about 15, and be warned, it's VERY SHARP, so if you do damage to yourself, we are not responsible, and if you order this with other stuff, it will have to be properly padded and secured to keep it from damaging any of the other items in your order, and in some cases that might bump up you shipping a tiny bit, but it's so worth it!
How had we never heard this band before. A Japanoise grind/noise/powerviolence trio, featuring a vocalist and two drummers and that's it. No guitar, no bass, but you might never know it. When we first heard it, we thought it was some super obscure metal band, but knowing it's just drums and vocals makes it even more ridiculous and cool, some track are wild chaotic, near metallic freakouts, others are blurred Merzbow style blowouts, but the vibe/sound is way different, that it's all drums and vocals, there's even shards of squealing feedback, that again give the impression there are guitars, and sometimes the drums are so blown out and distorted, they sounds like blurred buzzing riffage, the vocals too, go from wild Boredoms like yowls, to death metal grunts, to hysterical shrieks, to straight up, face melting white noise. The sound sometimes settling into some weird rhythms, just the drums pounding away, before the sound explodes again into full on noise mode, brutal blurred fury, that manages to remain musical, while destroying your speakers and eardrums. We just might have ourselves a new favorite Japanese band. thanks Ormolycka. And yeah, once again, these tapes are pretty dang LIMITED!!!!!
We don't see a whole lot of music from Singapore come through here, the most recent was the dark psychedelic folk of the Observatory, and then all the way on the other end of the spectrum are these guys, Wormrot, also from Singapore, but whose sound is a furious blasting downtuned metallic grindcore that SLAYS. Think Insect Warfare, Nasum, that sort of hyperspeed fury. Released last year, on a tiny indie label in Singapore, it didn't take long before heavy music freaks caught on, many declaring Wormrot's Abuse THEE grind record of last year. Which caught the ear of one of the original grind labels Earache, who swooped in and reissued Abuse with a whole bonus disc of demos (34 tracks!).
So here it is, and holy shit does this smoke. We try really hard to convert people to the way of the grind. No reason folks who love black metal and death metal and all sorts of heaviness shouldn't also be into grind, it's fast and furious and technical and super intense, brutal as fuck, more political, more sonically raw, and feral, we've raved about Discordance Axis, Brutal Truth, AKBK, Agoraphobic Nosebleed, Gridlink, Nasum, Pig Destroyer, Unholy Grave and loads more, and Wormrot fit pretty perfectly amidst such esteemed grind royalty. Their sound fast and frantic, the drums insanely intense and technical, the guitars gnarled and frantic, the dueling vox, guttural grunt and inhuman shriek, wrapped around frenetic super convoluted complex blasts of metallic fury, that blaze at lightning speed one second, churn and chug the next, flipping from tempo to tempo, lots of super dynamic start stops, killer riffs, little chunks of classic metal laced into insectoid buzzing and blasting pummel, 23 songs in less than 22 minutes, but about a million parts and a billion riffs, putting most bands 10 minute epics to shame in less than a minute. And if that wasn't bad ass enough, these guys even do a Yeah Yeah Yeah's cover, and DESTROY IT. Easily one of our favorite grind records of the last few years, and we urge anyone who has been grindshy, to check this shit out, hard to imagine you won't be converted.
And while they last, the cd version (not the lp, sorry) of Abuse includes a second disc, Extra Abuse, 34 demo tracks, alternate versions of some of the songs proper, but a mess of otherwise unreleased stuff too.
Record number two from these Singaporean grinders, and it's just as fierce and furious as their first. In fact, in some ways it might be even MORE so. Twenty five songs crammed into eighteen minutes, most of the songs between 30 and 45 seconds (a couple 5 seconds or less!), which is plenty of time for these guys to blast out some tangled super frenzied riffing, and some INSANE lightning fast drumming, the vocals a maniacal shriek, and unlike lots of grind, much of the riffing here sounds VERY metal, not so much punk, but actual metal riffery, just sped WAY up, these micro metal epics that SLAY. No wacky covers like the on their first record where they did a Yeah Yeah Yeahs tune, instead, just a relentless blast of grinding metallic fury, with many of the tracks slowing down for some serious chuggery, before exploding in another head shearing blast of blurred brutality. AND unlike a lot of grind, these songs are surprisingly catchy, with some seriously killer riffs, which makes this way more listenable than lots of similar stuff, but somehow, no less heavy and brutal and badass.
Pounding, ugly, crusty doomcore from this Seattle metal band, mastered by Steve Austin of Today Is The Day (not that it matters terribly much who masters something, but Mr. Austin's name will give you an idea where these folks are coming from). Other hints:
We listed this last time around but it has come to our attention that our review, despite our best intentions, contained, shall we say, at least one major inaccuracy (duh...it's not 11 minutes long! sorry!) so we thought, especially since we DID quite like it, we ought to re-list the Wrangler Brutes album with a slightly revised write-up...
Raging like a tens-years-later update of the mighty Born Against (which makes sense 'cuz it features ex-Born Against singer Sam McPheeters), Wrangler Brutes burst forth with a collection of short fast angry and utterly pissed-off noisy hardcore punk. Guitars buzz like a swarm of hornets, drums clatter like a Neanderthal rock fight, bass rumbles like Kobe, Japan circa '95, and the singer spits out venomous vitriol in a style reminiscent of such early '90s hardcore bands as Circus Lupus and of course Born Against. Fans of recent Record of the Week Hot Snakes should definitely find something to like in these tunes, as elements of indie, garage, and just good old-fashioned RAWK seep into songs amidst the sound and fury. A record to throw on before you head out to the Sunday Night Monster Truck Rally at the local Fairground! Right before you head out, 'cause it's only 22 (but not 11) minutes long -- that's right, 22 minutes, total hardcore -- still worth it but we're a little surprised that KRS didn't make it (a little) cheaper...
The third collection of X Ray Pop tracks in as many years finds this duo of frenetic eighties French synth-poppers in their later era (1984-1989) with catchy songs pulled from lps and cassettes that while still as zany and edgy as the music on the earlier collections, also shows both more polish and dreaminess with more complex instrumentation and arrangements. Their first two collections showcased both their demos in minimal synth-wave form and their full-length releases with a hyper-punkier edge. This collection reminds us even more of French pop groups like Les Rita Mitsouko and Stereo Total with a richer poppier sheen that's effervescent and bubbly but still very weird. Includes bonus material of early demos of their classic songs like "Alcool" and "L'Eurasienne" sung by male member Doc Pilot. This is fast-becoming our favorite of the three collections!
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
