After a whole mess of crazy limited cd-r releases, this is only the 2nd proper, actual cd release from these East Coast blown out garage psych space rockers. Avid readers of the list will no doubt by now, be hip to these guys, their wall of guitar, Hawkwind meets the Stooges meets Monster Magnet meets the Heads is tough to beat, every song drenched in wild outer space FX, the drums pounding beneath an avalanche of psychedelic guitar, the vocals, shadows flitting across the molten surface of these tracks, barely audible just another layer of dense fuzz.
So how does this record stack up to the rest? We mentioned that the last release, the tour only Abstractions And Mutations, was the band's fiercest yet, but Heads On Fire might have us reassessing. Cuz this has to be exactly what it would sound like if your head was indeed on fire.
The opener is a heavy as fuck space rock romp, right out of the gate, a wall of buzzing wah wah guitar is loosed, and all you can do is hang on for the ride, it's like Spacemen 3 on speed, that same sort of billowy tripped out warm guitar buzz, but souped WAY up, supercharged, a blinding supernova of freaked out garage rock psychedelia. But the track right after that is way riffier, a serious Stooges-y stomp, plenty of guitar crunch and psychedelic squalls, but the vocals are more present, a sort of Wyndorf style lord mother fucker drawl, wrapped in reverb and draped over the jagged riffing and pounding drums.
Then there's "Don't Be Afraid", which begins with whipping wind and distant foghorns, ominous and mysterious, a phone being dialed, ringing and ringing, the band gradually coming in, a slow lope, simple tribal drums, a laid back guitar line, soft fuzzy swells of sound in the background, a lugubrious slow build, the vocals howled and spacey, reverbed and dripping with delay, the guitar getting gradually more and more jagged and distorted, until everything drops out, just wind, and muted electronics, muffled FX, the bass line creeping along steadily, bits of melody drifting by, the vocals come back in and BAM the band takes off, the guitar spitting flames, the drums falling down a mineshaft, a huge tangle of psychedelic space rock chaos, and then nothing, a weird, barely there, 5 minute outro, bits of guitar, creaking and buzzing, more wind, and finally silence.
And in case that last 30 minutes, and those last 5 in particular, had you forgetting just where you were, the band shuts things down with 4+ minutes of furious fuzz and pummeling pound, thick and corrosive, and so distorted the riffs seem to melt into each other, the vocals sung from the bottom of a well, a bit of start stop dynamics, replete with creepy giggling children, and then the perfect send off, a sky full of psychedelic fireworks, multicolored streaks of white hot guitar, a blinding ear full of sonic pyrotechnics like staring straight into the sun.
Metatron, one of the masterminds behind UK black metal weirdos Meads Of Asphodel, strikes out on his own (sort of), to craft this twisted slab of Celtic pagan black metal, rooted in the history of the British Celtic Arthurian age, which apparently has historically been misrepresented by erroneous histories and manufactured mythologies. Probably better to let the band themselves describe the lyrical content:
"The album reflects a period around 500AD, that existed after the Romans were recalled to defend their homeland from the Barbarian migrations, the same land hungry hordes that were to engulf the warriors and tribes of Britain. This was� the era of the Germanic and British wars, and the Arthurian defence of our sacred soil that was to end in defeat at Camlan. The main essence of the lyrical concept is the great victory over the Germanic invaders, at The Battle of Baddon Hill around 500 AD, (also known as Mons Badonicus) Baddon Hill was the great Victory that this album surmounts [sic]."
Metatron has recruited a whole gaggle of musical kindred spirits, British and otherwise, including members of Hawkwind, Graveland (!!), Yggdrasil and others, to craft this pagan epic, which definitely has all the stuff you love about pagan black metal (you do love pagan BM don't you?), sure there's plenty of blast and buzz, chug and crunch, but there's even MORE flutes and fiddles, clean chanted vox, gypsy folk sounding melodies, swirling synths, long stretches of fluttery folkiness, swirling almost psychedelic post rock sounding crescendos, there's a bunch of sax too (?!), acoustic guitars, with most of the songs tending toward a seriously seventies British folk sound (albeit often with growled vokills), but all of that pagan / renn faire style swoosh and shimmer, strum and soar, is definitely somewhat balanced by occasional bursts of fantastically dramatic triumphant metal majesty and churning, chugging murky blackened buzz, which are also coincidentally infused with plenty of pomp and majesty, and still more folky flutter.
Meads fans will freak for sure, but anyone into pagan blackness, or metallic folk, or just strange high concept folk infused heaviness, would do well to dig into The Wolves Of Avalon's sonic history of olde Britain.
This record has been floating around in various forms, all insanely limited, and as the title suggests, it was initially a cassette, then a cd-r, then a download, and is only now finally available as a slightly less limited lp, still titled Black Cassette of course, and regardless of format, it's a serious slab of mathy doomy electronics laced sludge, a bit of an odd one for The Flenser, who traffic mostly in metal of the blacker variety, but Wreck And Reference have a sound that is most definitely blackened, and in some ways just as grim and kult and bleak as most black metal. The sound is a wild almost industrial sounding chaotic lurching heavy sludge, with clean vox, thick blown out bass, tons of effects and loads of swirling electronics, a heaping dose of pop liberally applied too, with much of the record playing out like a sort of slowcore indie rock.
The first track was all it took to convince us, a jagged lumbering chunk of dirge pop, with crumbling super distorted guitars, pounding drums, crooned clean vocals, a killer main hook, everything wreathed in buzz and glitch, rife with long stretches of droned out shimmer, and rumbling detuned buzz, and wild squalls of psychedelic feedback, the drums growing more and more chaotic, eventually the guitars following suit, stuttering, all clipped stops and starts before grinding to a halt. So ruling. The following track is more of a moody brooder, a bass driven chunk of slowcore, with clean vocals delivered way back from the microphone, giving the proceedings a definite nineties math rock vibe, think Shellac or Slint, and when the band does finally kick in, the guitars crunch, the drums pound, this time everything is beneath thick sheets of heavily effected synths, making everything deliriously spacey and dreamy. The rest of the tracks offer more of the same, a variation on doom we've never heard before, a Torche like approach to metal, definitely heavily influenced by indie rock, pop and post punk, sung/spoken vox over tribal drumming and grinding muddied riffage, big drumming over muted buzz and what sounds like haunting piano, not to mention deep dramatic crooning, a strangely blurred blast transformed into something much poppier and prettier, long stretches of shimmery spaciness and still more surprisingly poppy vox, and finally, a killer chunk of slow building post rock epicness that sounds a bit like a doomier, more post punky take on Godspeed. A pretty weird, and pretty awesome band, and definitely one of the coolest things The Flenser has put out, which is definitely saying a lot.
Brand new record from NZ guitarist/dronescaper Nigel Wright, who at this point definitely has to be one of our favorite sonic conjurers of minimal drones and gorgeous abstract soundscapes, and the two tracks here do nothing to convince us otherwise.
The A side is a hushed meditative drift, warm layered whorls, slow motion melancholy melodies, all draped over a strange haunting urgent tension, the imbues the whole track with a fantastic dark drama, very minimal, and slow moving, it's almost the darker, more shadowy side of Pop Ambience, ominous and haunting but so lovely.
The B side plays like a more washed out dreamlike version of the the A side, hazy, gauzy, a bleary blurred shimmer rich with buried melodies and slow shifting layers, reminding us of The Caretaker without all that crackle and hum, the same sort of faded memory timeless melancholia. So nice.
Includes a download coupon as well!
This awesome & underrated record by The Younger Lovers is now available on chrome colored cassette with four demos recorded by K.B. from the legendary '70s New York power pop band The Nasty Facts, and they kill! The cassette is limited to 250 copies, so act fast on this one. Here's what we said about this record when it first came out three years ago:
Full on DIY scrappy and delicious garage punk jams brewed up by the Bay Area's own Brontez, best known for being in Gravy Train and beloved by many for his amazing DJ nights (such great taste in music!) and his overall contagious inviting and exciting spirit and high energy. Ever since moving to the bay from Alabama several years ago he's injected such a great bolt of sexually charged queer spirit into what can often be such a straight and white dominated punk rock scene. In true punk fashion he taught himself how to play guitar and with Gravy Train on a bit of a hiatus had songs pouring out of him that begged for a home so The Younger Lovers was born.
His covers of The Rip-Off's and The Replacements show how he loves his rock n roll to be loud, fast, ramshackle and full of relentless energy. We love how honest and direct his lyrics are, whether coming clean about his wandering heart in "Ballad For All My Bandmates And Lovers" or singing about how he can't resist a hottie in "Low Top Chucks & Skinny Jeans." You can tell that Brontez loves punk, garage and riot girl as much as he does girl groups and sassy bubblegum pop. These are songs that are as rocking as they are endearing, making us want to jump and dance as much as they make us wanna lick an ice cream cone and have a pillow fight with a room filled with our punk rock crushes. So damn fun!
