Posts Tagged ‘Heavy’

Finish purveyors of extreme noise, Vorare, has paired up with Earthflesh to create the abrasive blast of an album which is Rope Tower. We’re on the edge of our seats for the album, and are beyond thrilled to present an exclusive premier of the second track from the album to be unveiled after ‘Seepage’.

On the face of it, a mining disaster in the North of England which occurred way back in 1844 may seem like an unusual choice of subject matter for two artists based in mainland Europe: it’s a pretty niche piece of local history. But it’s also a harrowing historical event that warns of the risk to life the industrial age brought. County Durham had a long mining heritage, and Haswell was one of the county’s largest collieries, employing over 300 men and boys. This single incident – an explosion – caused the deaths of almost a third of the workforce, with the blast itself killing 14, and a further 81 dying by suffocation.

For a moment, just imagine the scene, and the sensation. ‘Haswell’ makes for a fitting soundtrack, with a reflection on not only the how of their deaths, but the why…

Lyrics:

We find ourselves in the mines day in and day out, breaking our bones, shoveling our route to the alluring ore necessary for someone else to thrive off of. The caged canary leads the way deeper and deeper into the uncharted maw of Earth left gaping by bombs built by weak little men far from here. The clangs of pickaxes haunt our dreams while the fetters on our ankles might as well be extensions of our limbs alongside the instruments designed to violate the soil below our homes. As the morning seeps in lightless, we continue our work. Descending to the black hole stretching for miles on end, the explosions seem particularly strong today. We can’t see, but we can hear and feel. The chirp of the canary abates and soon runs out. Is this the smell of profit?

An account of the Haswell Colliery Explosion can be found here.

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Following on from our effervescent review of All Are to Return’s monumentally brutal harsh assault in the form of their new album III, we’re inordinately proud to present a video exclusive of the track ‘Archive of the Sky’.

As the duo’s bio sets out, this is bleak music born of bleak times:

‘We have entered a new age of extinction – of poisoned lands, habitat destruction and encompassing climate catastrophe. AATR III reflects the harshness of life laid bare to the vagaries of capital, of uncaring generations heaping misery on their successors and the life-forms with which they share a fragile biosphere… Manmade disasters borne from decades of unfettered greed, of carbon capital plundering the earth and choking its habitants – capital unleashed through self-interested short-sightedness, decades of
corruption and denial of clear fact.

‘Our habitats swallowed by rising seas, engulfed in flames. As we drown, burn, or slowly parch and wither, we remember. Oceans heat and corals die as pale sludge in bright blue waters – thousands of years of unfathomable complexity undone in decades. Forests burn and ancient trees that were young when the pharaohs build their monuments perish in the flames. Poisons have spread through all ecosystems. The product of profit-maximizing agriculture at war with life. As insects disappear they signal extinction on a massive scale.

‘What is lost, is lost forever.

‘We will remember you through your shattered bones, your battered skulls turned fossil. We will remember you through your plastic deposits, your carbon waste, your radio-active poisons still leaking into our bodies. We will remember your bright and brief existence – and the inevitability of your demise.’

Dark times call for dark music, and All Are to Return bring it.

We are proud to present the apex of bleak in the form of ‘Archive of the Sky’. It hurts and we love it. Watch it here:

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AATR III Promo photo © Dejavie

Pic: Dejavie

Klonosphere Records – 3rd May 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

If there’s one thing you need to learn about Djiin, it’s that they don’t bend or bow to conformity, and they come from a quite different angle in comparison to the majority of bands pedalling riffs and noise.

Their bio describes them as ‘a psychedelic stoner-rock band whose name is inspired by a psychedelic stoner-rock band whose name is inspired by spirits and other beasts of the Semitic beliefs and traditions. Influenced by 70’s progressive rock and krautrock bands, doom scene and heavy rock from the glory days of the early Sabbath era, as well as other modern references based on the diversity between western and traditional eastern sounds, Djiin develops a personal, atypical and captivating universe. Spirits and other beasts of the Semitic beliefs and traditions. Influenced by 70’s progressive rock and krautrock bands, doom scene and heavy rock from the glory days of the early Sabbath era, as well as other modern references based on the diversity between western and traditional eastern sounds, Djiin develops a personal, atypical and captivating universe.’

You may need a moment to step back and digest the depth of this. Djiin are not your average metal act.

‘Blind’ blew us away as a single cut ahead off the album’s release, and while it’s in some ways representative, it’s also the soft end of the band’s sharp wedge.

The title track twiddles and widdles in a way that Bill and Ted would probably flail over, and it’s a textured, detailed post-rock epic reminiscent of the hectic fretwork that dominated the sound of 2004-2006, but doesn’t sound in any way dated – not least of all because this is a pummelling blast of noodlesome guitar noise which transcends the confines of time or genre, lunging and lurching against a host off walls which confine genres within narrow, predetermined confined.

‘In the Aura of My Own Sadness’ is a glorious sprawl of post-rock exploration which ventures into a host of territories which are hard to unpack, not least of all because of some of the way if delves into detailed noodly territory, breaking into hefty tribal tones of the pulverising slow doom of the closer, ‘Iron Monsters’.

Mirrors may only contain five tracks, but in terms of depth and quality of content it offers a considerable amount more via its layered, if brutal, soundscape, which carves deep. It’s heavy album, and that’s for sure, and one which doesn’t conform to the distinctions of genre. But genre distinctions count for nothing: what counts is a that his is a raging apocalyptic blast – and it’s good.

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French psychedelic/prog-rock collective Djiin will have recently revealed a music video for a brand song of their forthcoming fourth full-length album Mirrors due out on May 3 via Klonosphere Records/Season of Mist.

The follow-up to 2021’s third album Meandering Soul was recorded, mixed and mastered by Peter Deimel at Black Box Studio and sees Djiin further honing their exciting and powerful blend of psychedelic stoner rock and 70’s progressive rock. Written during the last four years by Chloé Panhaleyx (Vocals/Electric Harp), Allan Guyomard (Drums/Backing Vocals), Tom Penaguin (Guitar/Backing Vocals) and Charlélie Pailhes (Bass/Backing Vocals), "Mirrors" is full of powerful and fuzzy riffs, twisted beats, psychedelic melodies and vocal incantations that invites listeners to embark on transcendental and magical journey. The use of the electric harp in this “classic” rock line-up adds a unique and surprising sonority that accentuate the band’s mystic and ritualistic universe.

Watch the intense ‘Blind’ here:

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Human Worth – 20th May 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

The latest album from Norwich based two-piece Kulk, It Gets Worse, arrives two and a half years after the release of We Spare Nothing, described as ‘thunderous and experimental’, and honing their ‘unique and monolithic brand of heavy doom and sludge’.

The timing – and the title – couldn’t be more apt. Just when you were probably thinking we’d endured the absolute worst of life on this planet – from Brexit and Trump via a global pandemic and insane inflation and everything money-related being utterly screwed and still getting more painful by the day after 14 years of a Conservative government – it continues to get worse – half the world is at war, the other half the world is either flooded or in flames, and there are mass killings practically every other week. It’s not, then, simply a nihilistic strapline to grab the attention, but pretty much a demonstrable fact. Things never get better – only worse.

The band articulate both the circumstances and the mood when they frame the album thus: “This album is about the universal suffocating weight of hoping for more while navigating a climate where the apparatus for seeking it is being consistently undermined. What it feels like to not only struggle keeping your head above water but to try jumping out from the deep end without losing your trunks. It is selfish guilt and misplaced woe, desire is a distraction from the world at our feet”.

Bookended by short instrumental intro and outro tracks, ‘More’ and ‘Less’, It Gets Worse packs back-to-back balls-out riff-fests, where the bottom end sounds like a bulldozer and the beats sound like bombs. Whereas a lot of stuff on the doom and sludge spectrum is simply plain slow, Kulk are masters of the tempo shift. ‘A Heavy Sigh’ comes on at pace and builds a real groove, before hitting the breaks around two thirds in, at which point it becomes reminiscent of Melvins. The reason Melvins have endured is that – perhaps despite the popular perception – they’ve showcased a remarkable versatility and an urge to experiment, and it’s here that the comparison stands strongest with Kulk: they’re not just big, dirty riffs and shouting, although they do a first-class job of putting those things up front and centre. ‘Out of Reach’ is a pounding, raging roar of frustration amped up and overdriven to the max, hitting that perfect pitch at which blasting out a repetitive riff at skull-splitting decibels is the ultimate catharsis and the only practical and sane response to the world in which we find ourselves.

Things take a turn with ‘Mammoth’ showcasing a more hardcore bent initially, before descending into a howl of feedback, a noise-rock quasar delivered with the most brutal force. The vocals are barely audible, and then things get ever harder and harsher on ‘Beyond Gone’ which goes full industrial, hammering away at a simple, repetitive chord sequence with murderous fury. You feel your adrenaline pumping as they thunder away, combining pure precision with absolute chaos as feedback swirls and squalls all around like an ear-shattering cyclone.

The slower ‘Fountain’ shows considerable restraint and makes for an oppressive four minutes: it brings a bleak mood, and the hit lands late but hard when the distortion slams in. Getting Adam Sykes of Pigsx7 to play on ‘Life Will Wait’ is a major coup, and the track is a belter, built around a hypnotic three-chord riff – because all the best riffs have three chords – and really works the quiet/loud dynamic to the max.

Often, when people – particularly people in my demographic – write of the music of the 90s, it’s with a dewy-eyed nostalgia for their lost youth. Sure, I have my moments, but when I say that It Gets Worse takes me back to the 90s, I’m recalling the excitement of discovering endless obscure little bands cranking out major racket in pubs and tiny venues, some of whom managed to either get records or CDs released by shoestring labels, or otherwise scrape together funds to record and release a 7” or CD – and many of whom didn’t, and only exist in hazy recollections. The point is that these were exciting times. The only positive about living in shit times is that shit times make for good music, as people need an outlet to channel their pain, anguish, frustration, and rage. It Gets Worse is saturated with pain, anguish, frustration, and rage. And because of that, it’s very much a product of our times, and it’s absolutely essential.

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Thrill Jockey – 19th April 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

There’s been a quite staggering trajectory to the work of BIG|BRAVE: with each release they achieve an even greater level of intensity, which seems to be unsurpassable – until the next album. They’ve come a long way from their minimal ambient / folk beginnings. The instrumentation has remained minimal, but cranked out ear-splitting decibels, they’ve developed a way of creating a lot from comparatively little, and unlike many guitar bands, they’re not afraid of space. There is starkness, there is silence, there is separation between the instruments, and much room to breathe between slow, thunderous beats and crushing chords which collide at the pace of tectonic plates.

Vital was aptly titled, and marked a new peak in the articulation of raw emotional turmoil. It seemed improbable that nature morte could equal it, and yet it did, and went beyond, a desperate, feral edge pushing its emotive force to a higher level.

Coming a mere fourteen months after nature morte, and some substantial touring, how could they possibly sustain that kind of intensity? It seems improbable, but it’s happened. A Chaos Of Flowers is graceful, delicate, even folksy – but also eye-poppingly intense, cranium-splittingly loud, and utterly devastating.

The tracks released ahead of A Chaos Of Flowers hinted that this new album, beyond what seems human, would once again match its predecessor. ‘I Felt a Funeral’, which is also the album’s opening track, has strong folksy vibes… until the sonorous guitar tones enter. There are hints of late Earth about his, the way the resonant tones of pure sustain simply hang in the air. But dissonance builds, and there’s an awkwardness to this scratchy, imperfect beauty. The way Mathieu Ball’s guitar scratches and scrapes and builds to a blustering squall of dense, twisted noise is remarkable, building from nothing to an all-consuming howl. Yet at the same time, there’s restraint: it’s as if he’s pulling on a least to restrain this ferocious monster in his hands.

Currents – and volume – build. You’ve never heard guitar like this before. It brings the crushing weight of the drone of Sunn O))). And the thunderous relentless repetition of early Swans, but delivered with a breathy ethereal sparseness that’s difficult to place. And then there are the vocals. Not since first hearing Cranes in the early 90s have I heard a vocal so otherworldly.

The guitar feedback yearns heavy and hard in the final minutes of ‘not speaking of the ways’, a track which starts heavy and only grows in both weight and intensity. Robin Wattie’s voice is half adrift in a sea of reverb and drifting, almost drowning, in a tidal flow of guitar noise, for which you’d be hard-pressed to find a comparison. I’ve fried, struggled, failed. You can toss Sunn O))), Earth, MWWB around in the bag of references, but none really come especially close to conveying the experience of A Chaos Of Flowers.

The songs are shorter than on recent predecessors, and overall, the mood of A Chaos Of Flowers is different – dare I even say prettier than the last couple of albums. There’s a musicality and gentility about this album which marks something of a shift, and single ‘canon: in canon’ is the perfect evidence of this. One may say that ‘heavy’ is relative in terms of distortion and volume, but there is more to it than that. Many of the songs on A Chaos Of Flowers are delicate, graceful, sparse, with acoustic guitar and slow-twisting feedback dominating the sound of each track. There’s a levity, an accessibility, which is at the heart of every song here. Much of it isn’t overtly heavy… but this is an album which will crush your soul.

If A Chaos Of Flowers is intentionally less noisy than its predecessors, it’s no less big on impact. Raging, ragged chords nag away, until ‘chanson pour mon ombe (song for marie part iii)’ brings bleak, tones which cut to the core and explodes in to the most obliterative noise close to the end: this is the absolute definition of climactic finale.

There’s a rawness, a primitive, elemental quality to their music which has defined their previous albums, and this remains in A Chaos Of Flowers. You arrive at the end feeling weakened, short on breath, emotionally drained. I ask myself, how did I get here, so sapped-feeling? The answer lies in the force of this immense album. A Chaos Of Flowers is devastating in its power, and BIG|BRAVE reached a new summit – once again. The deeper and darker they go, the better they get.

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Australian purveyors of caustic and slow-burning sludge, Sundowner, have dropped a music video for a new song titled ‘Substance Abuse’, which is taken from the band’s second full-length album Lysergic Ritual due out on April 20th.  

The album sees the band continuing its heavy dirge of grim, feedback laden, nihilistic sludge first offered on their 2021 debut album Guns, Knives And Tyre Irons.
Lysergic Ritual is the best representation we’ve put together of what Sundowner is; just dirty, noisy, heavy sludge,” says the band.

“Having previously done everything on our own: recording/mixing/mastering etc, this time we decided to bring in Jason Fuller from Goatsound Studios to mix the album and Dav Byrne from Iridium Audio to master it, both based in Melbourne, Australia.”

Intoxicated, bluesy and corrosive riffs permeate the album from beginning to end, all mixed with an aggressive and intense mid-tempo swing and violent hardcore punk passages; for the burnt out and downtrodden.

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Drawing on inspiration from the likes of Eyehategod, Iron Monkey, Buzzov-en, Weedeater and a slew of other miscreants, Sundowner play sludge intended for those set on personal annihilation to drop out of life and embrace the sacred ritual of the riff. It’s an uneasy listening for troubled times.

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5th April 2024

James Wells

While firmly rooted in classic stoner rock, Gramma Vedetta’s latest offering, which follows on the heels of album The Hum of the Machine, which made number twenty-five in the Doom Charts (the existence of which is something I was unaware of), is an expansive, ambitious heavy prog monster of a tune. Yes, it’s over six minutes long and built around a big, swinging blues-based riff which displays elements of Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath, but also brings in a hint of Pink Floyd in its widescreen feel. It also packs in a bunch of changes in tempo and transitions through a number of quite distinct segments.

Despite all of the elements having been done to death, ‘Don’t Cross the Line’ still feels like it’s doing something a little bit different, and, more importantly, it does what it does pretty well. Since it’s nigh on impossible to come out with something that’s entirely new – and even less likely to conjure something that’s new and remotely listenable or worth hearing – quality counts for a lot. Balancing beefy riffage with keen melody, ‘Don’t Cross the Line’ has enough to appeal to both traditionalists and those who like it with a bit of a twist, and that makes it pretty solid in my book.

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Mandrone Records – 22nd March 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

According to their bio on Bandcamp, the London trio’s sound is ‘inspired by the punch and grit of 90s alternative rock and eerie creatures of the mind’. But equally, they draw on 70s heavy rock to conjure dark and moody music that’s heavily concentrated on the power of the riff. They’ve been going a while now, emerging with a single release way back in 2015 and launching their debut EP some three years later.

‘Dame Paz’ is their first new material since their debut album, Completely Fine, in 2021 and continues the style of cover art depicting states of anguish, panic, turmoil – which is in keeping with the musical content, and in particular the lyrics.

‘Dame Paz’ is a six-and-a-half minute exploration of psychological anguish, and a collision of heavy rock, goth, and grunge. The dark mood and looming-on-a-precipice tension of the verses – primarily bass and vocal – bring shades of Solar Race, but when things build in volume, so does the sense of drama and theatricality, and they go big, and properly epic, even scaling up to operatic metal at times.

On paper, you might be inclined to think they’re a bit Evanescence or something, but Aliceissleeping do way more, demonstrating an eye-popping ambition and approach to scale which fully embraces the prog aesthetic. It’s bold, beefy, dynamic.

Frustratingly, it’s only been released on Spotify at the moment, which is a bummer if, like me, you’re a Spotify refusenick, or if you’re a band wanting to get paid for your work.

Aliceissleeping - Dame Paz - Single Cover

Magnetic Eye – 15th March 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

Emerging from the punk and hardcore scene of Boston (that’s Massachusetts, US, not the arse end of nowhere in rural Lincolnshire) in 2012, according to their bio, Leather Lung ‘quickly gained an excellent reputation in their local scene, as well as plenty of critical attention through a string of EPs’. And yet it’s taken them till now to complete their debut album. They’ve been busy launching their own lager, ‘Dive Bar Devil’, which has proven popular, and honing their sound, ‘a thick, chugging concoction of stoner metal, doom, and unrelenting sludge, blended into a refreshingly heavy brew with a catchy kick.’

They’re straight in with the big, thick guitars and hefty riffing. It’s mid-paced, weighty, heavy and gritty, and packs a punch. ‘Big Bad Bodega Cat’ is as loud and dumb as it sounds, a blown-out monster blues-based riff lumbering heavy as the backing for raw-throated vocals. It takes some nuts to sing such daft lyrics with such sincerity, and this, I guess, is a large part of Leather Lung’s appeal: they sound a lot more serious than they really are. The fact that the trash-talking ‘Freewheelin’ Maniac’ which comes on with some big-bollocked bravado about ‘getting the fuck outta my may’ shares so much sonic territory with Melvins is a fair indication of the territory Leather Lung occupy. Sure, it’s heavy, but it’s fun, too.

‘Empty Bottle Boogie’ is another example of the way they use the form for fun, landing slap band in between Motorhead and Melvins, before diverting on a melodic prog-metal mid-section and then flooring all the pedals for maximum overdrive to power on to the finish.

In something of a shift, ‘Guilty Pleasure’ starts moody and acoustic, blasts into black metal, spins through a brief electro passage before going full Slipknot. And it not only works, but the transitions are effortless. This should not be possible. It shouldn’t even exist. It’s testament to their abilities – and brazenness – that it does, and that that they carry it off.

Where they really succeed – is in balancing melody and aggression. ‘La La Land’ could easily be a Tad outtake, with a slugging grunge riff and a ragged vocal roar. In contrast, ‘Twisting Flowers’ harks back to seventies metal played through a more contemporary stoner filter.

Graveside Grin was worth the wait: Leather Lung have succeeded in producing a set of songs which is varied, and at the same time, consistently heavy, with a lot of attack and snarly, gnarly energy, with just the right level of irreverence and knowingly OTT extremity and violence. Win.

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