Sinistrous Diabolus: Total Doom//Desecration.

Twenty years. That’s how long we’ve waited for Sinistrous Diabolus’s debut full-length, Total Doom//Desecration. Back in 1993 the Christchurch, New Zealand-based band released Opus One, a three-song cassette that has long been recognized as one of Australasia’s most influential extreme metal demos. Opus One was reissued recently by Dark Descent and Goat Gear (selling out immediately), and its importance for NZ’s underground metal scene–or for anyone who has drawn inspiration from its chasms of putrescent death and even more festering doom–can’t be understated.

In the world of lugubrious Antipodean death and doom you can certainly hear Opus One’s echo to this day. Much like similarly revered NZ metal veterans Vassafor, who recently released their throttling full-length debut, Obsidian Codex, Sinistrous Diabolus played a crucial role in constructing the aesthetic framework of the gloomiest, dankest, and staunchest end of the NZ metal scene. Things have come full circle in recent years for the band’s frontman, N.K.S., as his role in providing eerie noise-scapes on Stone Angels’ magnificently shadowy sludge debut, 2011′s Within the Witch, has seen members of that band join Sinistrous Diabolus’s current line-up. However, the darkest gods have truly aligned with N.K.S having also featured in the line-up of NZ’s most (in)famous doom cult acts Witchrist and Diocletian–and both bands continue to honor the artistic vision Sinistrous Diabolus first evoked back in 1993.

Given Sinistrous Diabolus’s history, legacy, and influence, and of course the unabashed title of Total Doom//Desecration, it’ll come as no surprise to hear that the album’s contents are supremely dark and iniquitous. If references are required, think of it as a blend of the old-guard of death and doom (Incantation, Asphyx, Thergothon, and disEmbowelment) meeting newer purveyors of morbid and malicious eccentricity (Abyssal, Mitochondrion, or Portal). However, keep in mind, N.K.S has been honing the blade for 20 or so years now, and Sinistrous Diabolus do have a sound very much of their own. They call to mind the classics, of course, how could they not? But somewhere in that mix of old and new is Sinistrous Diabolus, crouching in a cave, roasting the bones of sacrificed Christians over a roaring fire.

Total Doom//Desecration is 40-plus minutes of Stygian atmospherics and soul-crushing, grinding doom. Within, Sinistrous Diabolus revisit older tracks, reconstructing them into more intimidating form, with monolithically heavy and murky passages of faster death-metal riffing, and grim soundscapes burying melodies under churning, frequently harrowing, requiems.

“Wipe out Christianity (Exordium)”, and the 12 minutes of ritualized misery on “Wipe out Christianity (Pestis)” seethe with an (obvious) abhorrence of doctrine and divinity. The hawkish chimes and drones–flecked with Orthodox timbres and battering percussion–on “Gate of Hell” plummet into the uber-downtuned roil of “Sleep of the Damned Pt. I”. And the album’s highlight, “The Essence of Divinity Given to Abstractions of the Human Mind”, is a colossally menacing composition–inexorably building layer upon layer of apprehension and tension towards its maelstrom-like zenith.

What defines Total Doom//Desecration is Sinistrous Diabolus’s ability to maintain a sense of trepidation and corruption, underscored by intense despair. Alternating between old-school mid-tempo lurches, pitch-black feedbacking noise, and surges of dissonance and technicality intensifies the palpable reverberations–and drowning harmony in quagmires of immeasurable filth only amplifies the undercurrent of torment and torture.

Total Doom//Desecration is utterly barbaric, but not just musically. Sinistrous Diabolus conjures dread, and it’s a perverted and pitiless kind too–the band taking obvious pleasure in generating plenty of discomfort. The album makes for disconcerting listening, but, of course, it’s that unsettling nature that makes it such a successful release. It evokes what we all ponder in our darkest moments, and what any fan of catastrophic doom adores; that relentless and inescapable march to death.

The production on Total Doom//Desecration deserves mention too, because no such catalogue of ruination is ever going to be effective without the appropriate audio wretchedness. The album is thick and sludgy, and magnificently oppressive. With a similar mass, though less ornate, than a latter-day Esoteric, Total Doom//Desecration comes with all the raw asphyxiating weight of Winter or Indesinence. Vocals are scraped from the bowels of the earth, with sepulchral growls and indecipherable guttural chants reinforcing the album’s bone-chilling harshness. Instrumentally, the pummeling percussion, rupturing bass, and distortion-laden guitars have equally important (and equally audible) roles in contributing to the significant and notably tarnished magnitude. But what is also of note is what’s behind all the noise. In those moments when Total Doom//Desecration is at its most somber, and the yawning mouth of its godforsaken depths are most exposed, there’s a strong sense of something truly malevolent lurking within–something just out of sight, but something that repeated listens will clearly draw to the surface.

Ultimately, Total Doom//Desecration is ample reward for the wait. Obviously, expectations were high, but N.K.S is an artist bent to perfection, so wait we did–and it didn’t help that he suffered a horrendous hand injury in an industrial accident a couple of years back. Still, it’s 2013, and the debut is here, and for fans of deafening death and doom with an ear for old-school intensity (and a boiling hatred of religion) then Total Doom//Desecration is well worth checking out. For any metal fan in the southern hemisphere, it’s obviously an essential purchase; for everyone else, doubly so. After all, Total Doom//Desecration is a piece of cult metal history, and we can only hope the future is just as musically formidable and forlorn.

(All of Sinistrous Diabolus works are available on the group’s Bandcamp page, including Opus One, 2010′s Total Doom, Total Death EP, and various covers and live tracks. Total Doom//Desecration is available on label Internecion Productions’ Bandcamp page, for the fitting sum of $6.66–and with the album being tracked as a vinyl release, that’s how it’s best appreciated.)

A copy of this review has also been posted on Metal Bandcamp. Head over there for reviews of Bandcamp releases from around the globe (both new and old). The site’s overlord, Max, is a huge supporter of metal- in all its many forms – and Metal Bandcamp is an amazing resource for metal fans. 

Shallow Grave – S/T

New Zealand has a twisted heart filled with endless wrath and frustration. That’s ably reflected in the country’s most ill-omened metal, and the self-titled debut from Shallow Grave captures that anger and unease flawlessly. The Auckland-based four-piece amplifies the malevolence that skulks beneath the façade of society in an unsettling, premonitory form—and does so with a substantial amount of spiteful exuberance.

All that grimness makes for engrossing doomsday metal. Such ominous themes have universal appeal, and Shallow Grave’s atmospheric sludge and doom will resonate with fans of distortion-heavy voyages into pits of damnation. The band fuses Grief’s scruffy poundage with Khanate’s evilest reverberations, and binds that to Neurosis’s obstinate artistry. Add in a mutilated, psychedelic undercurrent, and you’re getting close to the essence of Shallow Grave’s sound. It’s prowling sludge covered in festering sores being lanced by the rusty scalpel of aberrant doom (while the stench of post-metal’s rotting corpse lingers).

Of course, sludgy doom bands are a dime a dozen, but what counts in Shallow Grave’s favor is that they don’t play a one-dimensional glutinous-riffs game—although there’s plenty of buckling barbarity on offer. Shallow Grave’s six lengthy tracks (spread over 55 minutes) are all heaving lurches of thickset subterranean sludge, but each retains a pulse distinctly its own. That’s a feat to be applauded; as we all know, the similarity between epic low-end trawls can, in some cases, make for marathon bores.

Thankfully, that’s not an issue for Shallow Grave. Opening tracks “Devil’s Harvest” and  “Chemical Fog” are both colossal dirges of decelerated raw sludge, but their true weight is best appreciated in their fibrous tissue. They’re clear-cut trampling tracks, with howls and hefty riffs direct from the cauldrons of perdition, but there’s refinement in their velocity and texture—making them deluges of multi-hued destruction.

Admittedly, ‘refinement’ might not be a word that leaps to mind when the bone-crunching “From Boundless Heights” begins its assault, but nonetheless, adept musicianship is exactly what you’ll find. There’s no denying that the exterior of Shallow Grave is rough and scarred by acid, but any band worth its weight can make abrasive noise. It’s the compositional depth of Shallow Grave that gives the album its magnitude—the differing shades of its magma. It takes a bite out of early Sunn O))) in its sparser passages, blending those huge buzzing tones into the quagmire to ensure there are plenty of cavernous sonic traps to get tangled in.

Shallow Grave don’t use their abundant power to simply batter; they use it to add a sense of hellish journeying to proceedings. Call it what you want—dexterity or simply skillful handling of dynamics—but while torrents of riffs and bludgeoning percussion rain down, the band shrewdly use grainier and more ambient ingredients to ensure there’s variance in the storm. The fuzz and fog of feedback, which reeks of fused amps, is set around portentous pauses. You’d hardly call them moments of calm, but that sense of space is put to great effect on a track like “To Unfathomable Depths”, where breathing room grants even more impact as the heavier, dissonant elements come into play.

That commanding dynamic interplay is best evidenced on the final 15-minute track, “City of the Dead/Sustainiac”. It churns through passages both red hot and freezing cold. Distorting riffs descend into pulverizing chaos, and the use of frosty soundscapes and samples in its more desolate sections maintains its sinister tenor beautifully. Throughout Shallow Grave you’ll find such contrasting moods. Some suggest adulterated, chemically fuelled pitches into very dark corners of the mind; others suggest bastardized, gruesome sludge from the bowels of eternal punishment.

Ultimately, that volatile capriciousness is Shallow Grave’s best feature. They’re committed to constructing deadfalls of depravity, with a sound that’s as heavy as the themes they tackle. But what they do best is recognize that abomination comes in countless shades, and if you’re providing a tour through Hades-like squalor, it’s best you encompass the many faces of devilry.

In the end, that’s what makes Shallow Grave worth your time—the combination of hulking, bitter and viscid sounds echo and attack from all sides. And with biographical details about the band being scant, there’s an insistence that the message is what counts here first and foremost—and it’s clear that’s a communiqué oozing corruption.

Shallow Grave is an unswerving expedition into the netherworlds, with monstrous apparitions to enjoy along the way. Up front you’ll find the gut-punch of downtempo deviant sludge, while lurking in the shadows is the venom. Shallow Grave is pernicious, slow-baked and hypnotizing poison, working its way under the skin. Sculpting powerful odes to Old Nick and societal degradation, Shallow Grave are fantastically insidious, and there’s no mistaking that this is a wonderfully unwholesome debut.

(Out 4 Feb 2013, on Astral Projection)

Get in touch with Shallow Grave on Facebook 

Shallow Grave blog 

Titan—Burn

Acrophobia is the fear of heights, and Burn, the debut full-length from sludgy hardcore behemoths Titan, fills me with just such dread. Colossal walls of riffs are to be found on Burn. Built on a foundation of hardcore, they’re monoliths of sound, piercing doom-laden skies and towering into a blazing aether.

From up on top, the transition between movements can feel like a lurching drop. As lofty heights are ascended, you become transfixed by the raging torrents, captivated by the chaos—you find yourself teetering on the edge of a colossal abyss. However, the chasms that appear throughout Burn are not empty voids, but deep wells of feverish rumination; eddies of ideas and noise that crash and spill, over and over again, ultimately bleeding together into an onslaught of focused fury.

Of course, there’s no chance Titan would let you fall. Everything about the Toronto, Canada-based band suggests they care deeply about their missives, and they’ve no desire to wound you; shock you out of your complacency, yes, but not injure you. Just like on their previous EPs, these are vicious songs, but the rage isn’t vacuous nor the ire hollow. Titan’s maelstrom is scraped from the boiling silicate of the mantle, and melded to the pure emotive honesty of hardcore. It is ugliness and beauty aligned—substance and mass delivered in its most dexterous and volatile form.

The bite and bark of hardcore on “Feast”, “The Fire Scriptures” and “Myopic” leaves the band’s belligerence in no doubt. Yet that unabashed wrathfulness is not one-dimensional. Within you’ll find the acidic taste of doom colliding with that rhythmic escalation found in post-hardcore. Titan are cut from the same cloth as Neurosis and Cult of Luna, and they certainly circle the Isis/Old Man Gloom locale, but that doesn’t imply they dress the same. Titan has a familiar pitch and sway, but when you encounter an engrossing track like “Telepaths”, with its acoustic strum giving way to a tumult of pitch-black noise, you find that distinct and determined personality reaffirmed.

Sitting at the heart of the album, the 10-minute “Warmer Months” illustrates the band’s craftsmanship in sculpting moods with music. Forgoing the expected dulcet lead-in, the band dive straight to the heart of a supernova. Ringing riffs and percussive and lyrical fervor build to the eventual explosion, before the track drones out in a sweltering churn of catharsis.

Similarly captivating moves can be found on “Vitiate”, which features a beautiful acoustic line shattered and buried by an inferno of distortive might, and “Sermon”, which harnesses the brute strength of hardcore and sludge and fuses it with angular sheets of massive New York noise.

Burn is a triumph for all concerned. Guest slots from vocalist Chris Colohan (Cursed) on “Myopic”, and Tyler Semrick-Palmateer (Mare), Josh Korody,  Sean Pearson  and Bryan W. Bray (Gates) on “Telepaths”, certainly add to the flavor. The album’s production is absolutely massive—honestly, this sounds HUGE. However, Burn’s strength obviously comes down to the band itself. Vocalist James M’s poetic lyrics are transcribed from found sources, adding a welcome existential element, and his impassioned howls leave no question about his ardency. Guitarists Chris W and Brandon M weave barbaric riffs, backed by an array of vehement militancy—their work is a tempest of ingenuity. Chris M’s drumming rolls thunderously across the entire album, and Michael H’s bass channels through the cacophonous trenches.

Burn is by turns dissonant and harmonious, and its success lies where its mass and substance intersect with such reverberating impact. Bands can make instrumentally heavy albums, and bands can make emotionally heavy albums, but combining the two is a rare feat. Impressively heartfelt and technically adept, Burn is a mesmerizing and wholly apt conflagration of passion and commitment to artistry.

In a world of far too easily manufactured and marketed fury, integrity speaks volumes and there’s no doubt whatsoever of the sincerity of Titan’s work. Burn is unequivocally intense, making for a grand metal assault. But more than that, it’s uncompromising in providing decimating narratives that do not speak down to metal fans but lift them up to witness the phoenix just waiting to rise from the funeral pyre of humanity’s failings.

Titan @ hypaethralrecords (name your price download available + “Warmer Months” 12″)
Titan homepage

“Lost My Soul” is salvo number two from Vancouver, Canada quartet Device, who released their debut song, “Enemy Blood”, on Bandcamp back in June. I threw in a disclaimer when reviewing their debut because my Hellbound.ca colleague Kyle Harcott lurks behind Device’s drum kit. Once again, you can forget any favoritism on my part, because “Lost My Soul” requires no embellishments from me to secure its kick-ass wailing metal credentials.

Device play old school jams; blazing metal glorifications that exude grease and sweat, and emit the vintage vapors of NWOBHM and timeless ’80s metal. Last time round, on “Enemy Blood”, things got awfully, well, bloodthirsty—with a berserker raid of swinging axes and skull-shattering good times. On “Lost My Soul”, I’m picturing more of an even-sided gladiatorial battle: Judas Priest and Iron Maiden holding onto tridents, Accept and Exciter brandishing the short swords, and Motörhead arriving to teach them a harsh lesson in how to wield the weaponry.

Opening with deliciously dirty and propulsive riffing courtesy Lloyd Agar and Dennis Marinos, the guitarists sprint up the frets and drop in the chunky split-knuckle riffs (along with a great Middle Eastern-textured solo late in the tune, just to add a dose of far-flung mysticism). Harcott pounds those skins, burly is as burly does, releasing a hefty cannonade of percussive flourishes. Although vocalist and bassist Marc LeBlanc once again ascends to the howling Halford plateaus, he also spends more time at street-level—focusing on that gritty tenor and ragged NWOBHM charm we all so love.

Device are classic metal writ large; they celebrate all that is grand about the genre, from the bombastic and acidulous to the pugnacious and insalubrious. Mean and hulking, “Lost My Soul” is another great track from Device, and at almost double the running time of “Enemy Blood”, there’s twice as much savagery to revel in.

Device

Exordium Mors’ metal has a markedly pitiless temper, much like that of fellow New Zealand kin Witchrist, Winter Deluge and Diocletian. The five-piece band from Auckland originally formed in 2004, and have released a series of demos, a split DVD release, and one EP, 2010′s Verus Hostis – A Hymn to Fire.

The band’s latest EP, Sacrifice, Perish and Demise, is being dangled as fresh bait for prospective labels. Exordium Mors’ blend of unhinged thrash and cutthroat black and death metal makes them a perfect fit for any underground label that celebrates the filth-laden glories of old-school, noxious metal. (Nuclear War Now! I hope you’re paying attention.)

The band consist of Santi and Black Mortum on guitars, Scourge on vocals, Hades on drums and Assailant on bass. They take the path first cut by acts such as Blasphemy, Aura Noir, Bathory and Absu, which of course means Venom’s presence looms large too. Fittingly, Sacrifice, Perish and Demise ends on a blistering cover of “Black Metal”. All of which means Exordium Mors occupy similar territory to that of Impiety or Deströyer 666—where raw, jet-black, relentless riffs crawl from the morass to deliver the brute punch of lo-fidelity horror.

Roaring into life with the vitriolic first track, “Sign of Judas Leige”, Santi and Black Mortum bring the frenzied twin guitar attack to the fore. Their work throughout the EP harnesses an imposing Hanneman/King duality. Dissonant solos shoulder past isolated cyclical riffing or, conversely, they work together in frenzied harmony to bludgeon the band’s aesthetic home. Whichever the case, there’s something reverential about Santi and Black Mortum’s playing. Distortive solos and flurries of riffs change pace ceaselessly, reflecting an appreciation of the heyday of unrefined, blackened thrash.

Still, while thrash plays its part in the manic dynamics, it’s Scourge’s vocals that emerge from the chaos to stamp black metal’s diacritic upon the EP. Scourge spits, screeches, gurgles and growls his way through Sacrifice, Perish and Demise, sounding possessed, malevolent and utterly tormented.

Scorching feedback bleeds straight into the second track, “Ancestors Call”, ensuring the feverish, tremolo-heavy tempo of the first five minutes doesn’t drop an iota. A surge of wicked Marduk-like riffs sees “Ancestors Call” blaze though its running time with plenty of bloodthirsty resilience. With Hades alternating between blasting and martial beats, the track has enough percussive nuance to keep things from becoming overwhelming in nature. Ultimately, it’s that diversity that is the key to the EP’s success. For all its fervency and ferocity, it is not simply a one-dimensional liturgy.

“Exordium Mors”, a song that first appeared on 2006’s Rehearsal 24-11-06 demo, rounds off the set of original tunes. Not having heard the initial version, I can’t comment upon its development. However, throughout its seven minutes an abundance of deft thrashing flourishes keep things moving inexorably forward—it’s probably safe to assume the production values have lifted a notch to illuminate its darkest corners.

Sacrifice, Perish and Demise is made up of four songs: two new tunes, one older track unearthed, and one cover. They display plenty of rancorous grit, determination and promise. Exordium Mors’ originals combine dexterous, serpentine riffing with brusque changes in tack, underscored by the barbarous marrow of extreme metal. There’s technicality to be found, but it doesn’t come at the expense of thoroughly sadistic vigour—something the band shares with outfits like Canada’s Weapon.

It’s also worth mentioning that Exordium Mors’ live reputation has been gaining huge momentum of late. The band’s recent performance in Auckland, opening for Absu, brought them great praise from NZ metal writers; their upcoming shows with Impiety and Goatwhore are highly anticipated.

Nick Keller’s cover artwork has been attracting some serious kudos as well. Keller is a conceptual artist at Weta Workshop (the special effects gurus for Lord of the Rings and the upcoming Hobbit, as well as other big-budget extravaganzas). He’s been making a huge impact on the NZ metal scene of late with evocative and detailed cover and gatefold art for a number of bands—Beastwars, Razorwyre and Heresiarch included.

If Exordium Mors’ aim is to snag some label attention, they’ve certainly laid out a fine trap with Sacrifice, Perish and Demise. NZ does war-cult death metal extremely well—that’s been internationally recognised for many years—and the local scene is loaded with great sludge, black, avant and traditional metal bands. But what makes Exordium Mors stand out from the pack is their ability to evoke the call of metal’s heritage yet retain their own distinct personality. Few bands on NZ’s metal landscape are so effectively malicious.

(My thanks to Chris Rigby’s excellent NZ underground metal blog Subcide for alerting me to the new EP. Check out Subcide right here)

Exordium Mors offical site
Exordium Mors @ Facebook

June 2012 has to go down as a damn near perfect month for Old Loaves. The band released their debut full-length, Drowser, on Bandcamp on the 21st, and watched it shoot to the top of the bestseller list. Available in varying formats, Drowser is a formidable debut (I secured a copy of the Bad Rides 7″/Drowser combo deal, and I’ll be reviewing both). The band may well be tagged on Bandcamp as “alternative metal”, “post-hardcore” and “stoner rock”, but in reality they offer a raft of highs well outside the parameters of those classifications.

Old Loaves consists of Cameron Reid (drums and backing vocals), Kalem O’Brien (bass and backing vocals) and Benjamin Ward (guitars and vocals), split between Wellington, New Zealand, and Sydney, Australia. Fittingly, the band’s reference points are set far and wide. You’ll find the pulse of Om, the jarring tones of Amphetamine Reptile, and the crawling threnodies of Neurosis. But the lurch and drop of Cult of Luna also appear, as do the surge of Botch, the swampy thrum of early Baroness, and the ruminative gaze of Boris—all of which Old Loaves imbue with the bong-seeped synergy of Sleep.

Admittedly, Old Loaves belie easy classification. One minute they’re heaving labyrinthine, sludge-ridden and off-kilter passages at you, the next they’re showing immense adaptability, shifting into bass-rumbling, Joy Division-esque territory, or extending notes and riffs with feedback and static drone. If you’re the kind of open-minded music fan (metal or otherwise) who appreciates gutsy and innovative post-whatever pursuits, you’re in for a rare treat.

16 June 2012: Bad Rides 7″

Bad Rides was originally released in 2010 as the free three-track digital EP, Bad Prawns. Tracks “First”, “Second” and “Third” were recorded live in a single session with no overdubs, while “Hollow” was recorded in 2011 with Shannon Walsh. Tim Shann engineered the initial sessions for the first three tracks, and has mixed and mastered the entire EP. Whatever post-recording tinkering he has indulged in has taken nothing away from the tracks’ buzzing abrasiveness or their acid-burn temperament.

As you’d expect from a single session plough-through, it’s raw, ragged and rough-hewn—in the very best way, of course. Counterpointing the visceral heads-down accent is a strong sense of balanced dynamics. “First” is layered with expressive and isolated notes, adding extra skin to its otherwise sludgy churn. “Hollow” drips with an evocative Earth-like drift, which segues harmoniously into the darkened Americana dirge of “Second”. While “Third” ends it all on a tumult of bulldozing noise.

Bad Rides is the wholly instinctual burst of a band finding their feet. Whatever crudity it has compositionally (and there’s really nothing to complain about songwriting-wise) it captures the band ‘live’ and in their most spartan form. That alone makes for a great 7″ release.

21 June 2012: Drowser

Although Bad Rides was recorded in one brief session, Old Loaves didn’t take too much longer to record their debut album—Drowser was recorded over a single weekend in December 2011. Again, the band chose to work with Tim Shann (who recorded, mixed and mastered) and while the time taken to record their debut was compact, the end result is anything but.

Drowser is expansive, vibrant and sumptuous. It shows fantastic development in the use of more sophisticated arrangements, and the weightier production adds a great deal more heft to the material—as well as providing a more immersive ambience. The band members have clearly made good use of their time between recordings to develop their songwriting acumen. Bad Rides was a thoroughly enjoyable experience, but Drowser trumps it in every way, shape and form (don’t let that put you off the 7″ though; it’s still well worth a listen). Drowser reflects a band given time to find their equilibrium and bring their vision to fruition.

So, two days worth of studio work and what do we have? Something extraordinarily flavorsome. The sun-baked and almost but not quite drone of the intro to “Hooks” gives way to a beautifully mantric thread.  “Teeth” rides majestically atop Reid’s syncopated percussion as Ward channels the rough-edged riffs. And the fume-laden, unkempt desert whirl of “Dust” offers up a pure amp-fuzzing rocker.

The monolithic post-punk of “Their Noise” is underpinned by O’Brien’s superbly reverberating bass work. “Fools” benefits immensely from the same rhythmic device—the bass, percussion and riffs conjuring more austere climes.

“Half Ounce” and “Olshim” bring the atmospheric balladry. Flashes of tribal percussion fuel a gothic current on the former; the somber trek of the latter is reinforced by its haunting minimalism. “Wretch” kicks off with a ringing indie rock riff, and alternatively rolls and reels.

Everything that has come before coalesces on the epic “The Parade”. It’s a magnificent, towering coda that intertwines ambient, doom-laden passages with a smoldering churn. “The night’s calling out, the lights fall away,” Ward intones.

Ward, Reid and O’Brien each add their own crucial sonic ingredients. Ward’s guitar work is outstanding throughout—from the delicate and droning to the angular and barbarous. His vocals, howling or infused with rugged despair, stoke the album’s overall mood. However, Ward’s work would be nothing if not for the sterling accompaniment of Reid, whose drumming shows an admirable balance of dexterity, restraint and aggression. In turn, Reid’s work is fortified by O’Brien’s thundering and expressive bass. With each musician bolstering the work of his counterparts, Old Loaves are truly a powerhouse trio. It’s an honest equation, and a soulful one at that.

What makes Drowser (and by virtue Old Loaves) so damn good is the strong sense of thematic and musical originality that’s at play. The band have a distinctly enigmatic element—the rhythm of their material is familiar, yet outside the realm of the expected.

Identifiable composite parts make up the Old Loaves sound, but the way they fabricate their music into innovative form sets them on a course for some fascinating journeys ahead. Only the sweet, cloven-footed lord knows what we could expect if Old Loaves found themselves with a week in the studio. As it stands, the band have exceeded all expectations. Drowser is an outstanding debut.

Old Loaves

Old Loaves @ Bandcamp

Device—Enemy Blood (Single)

A couple of days back, on the rather fitting 6/6, Vancouver, Canada based four-piece Device released their debut single, “Enemy Blood”. Within their ranks lurks one of my Hellbound.ca colleagues—drummer and self-confessed “vehement metallist” and “burly henchman” Kyle Harcott. Now, obviously you’d be excused for questioning my impartially when reviewing the band’s work. Fair enough too.

However, “Enemy Blood” is 2.44 minutes of classic, cutthroat metal, so there’s absolutely no need for me to indulge in any overly generous embellishments—and hell, even if I did, what’s the point in digging metal if you can’t rave about your pals’ band anyway? Isn’t that what metal’s all about—community, shout-outs to the brethren, and giving yourself a nagging neck injury after banging your head in support of some killer tunes? It should be, because that’s exactly the kind of old-school vibe that circles the steely-eyed metal of Device.

Forget all that post-this, avant-that guff. What you’ll find on “Enemy Blood” is the rough-hewn fettle of Judas Priest, NWOBHM and classic North American metal scrapping it out in a rubbish-strewn back alley with speed metal’s forbears (while Accept and Mercyful Fate cheer on the ensuing carnage). Think British Steel and Lightening to the Nation pulling a rusty blade on Heavy Metal Manic and Kill ‘em All while Don’t Break the Oath and Balls to the Wall cackle with glee in the background.

You get the point. Device take the quintessential, fist-pumping, chest-beating, double-headed-axe-wielding route. Raw, ragged and oozing with vintage six-string pride, “Enemy Blood” kicks off with a Budgie-worthy riff, LeBlanc gets all Cimmerian and bloodthirsty with his soaring Halford howls, while the band deliver the butchering blows. Guitarists Lloyd Agar and Dennis Marinos bring gritty and greasy riffs, hearkening back to the glory years of Downing and Tipton, Smith and Murray, and Hetfield and Hammett. There’s a deft multipart solo from Marinos midway through, and the aforementioned “henchman” pounds out the propulsive meter with abandon.

All up, a damn impressive first charge at the ramparts. I’m definitely looking forward to see what Device have got in store for their next assault.

Device Homepage

Postscript: The one thing you may note as you download “Enemy Blood” is that the song lacks cover art. That could be a problem for you if you’re an aficionado of metal artwork (or you’re just a bit anal about how your iTunes looks). Have no fear. I know that Kyle and the lads will be stoked that I’ve provided my own personally designed artwork—no really, it was my pleasure. You’ll note it has everything you’ll need on a metal cover—a Viking (obviously) and a shark (because you can never have too many sharks on album covers, plus it may lure Ahab followers in). Also, at no extra cost, I have redesigned the band’s logo to incorporate an umlaut and blood trails. Please note, any other bands interested in artwork, feel free to contact me, but be aware that from now on I imagine I will be Device’s very own Derek Riggs.

Space-rockers Hawkwind don’t get enough credit for helping to imbue the psychedelic spectrum of metal with a distinct accent. Lyrics from the band’s ’74 release, Hall of the Mountain Grill, (“We’re astral-planing, floating free / On our continuum frequency / Spacing out, we’re spacing in …”) underscore the mantra of mind-bending metal to this day. That same searching tenor is evident throughout The Higher Key, the sophomore release from Arc of Ascent, a three-piece from Hamilton, New Zealand. However, thematic links to the celestial and unfathomable are not the only aspect accentuating The Higher Key‘s mystical feel. The album’s monolithic doom and stoner riffs, and electrifying solos are swathed in polychromatic Eastern timbres. For seekers of cosmic and/or resin-fuelled truths, the hard rockin’ punch of the band’s material compresses the distance between the firmamental, the metaphysical, and the self—securing the album’s intimate and hypnotic resonance.

Arc of Ascent’s 2010 debut, Circle of the Sun, was widely acclaimed, serving as a consciousness-expanding launch pad for fans. Vocalist, multi-instrumentalist and chief songwriter Craig Williamson was already familiar with psychoactive ventures via his Lamp of the Universe project (see ’09′s Acid Mantra) and previous psych metal outfit Datura. Circle of the Sun was a majestic debut, and The Higher Key‘s six-tracks further illuminate the ascendant pathways mapped out by the band’s first release. Weightier production, more confident songwriting, and fittingly cryptic lyrics mean The Higher Key traverses hallucinogenic and ritualized terrain with big, bold and heavy reverberations.

Arc of Ascent’s bristly metal buffets the corporeal to aid the appreciation of the otherworldly, in much the same way as Sleep, Bong or OM’s transcendent suites so ably do. As with any ceremonial endeavor, the band gets off to an entrancing start. On “Celestial Altar” Williamson intones the beauty of Sol (“Receive sun-born ascension / Enshrining one”) as guitarist Sandy Schaare and drummer John Strange craft a sonic chalice around his homily.

What is immediately apparent is just how far the band have traveled in the last two years. Williamson’s voice sounds stronger and he capitalizes on the mesmeric draw of chanted vocals, intensifying the enigmatic allure of his lyrics.  However, aside from Williamson’s shamanistic clout (and his crucial bass pulse), Schaare’s soaring riffs and solos sculpt psychedelic panoramas, and Strange’s percussion adds the essential, eternal groove.

The core dynamic of a power-trio is exploited in all its glory throughout The Higher Key, with all three musicians working in harmony to construct multihued eulogies. The magnetism of “Search for Liberation” is set around Schaare’s driving guitar work, which drones out on a wonderfully feedbacking hum. However, it would have far less impact without Strange’s drumming, which grounds the track’s trance-like impetus. The band work together with stentorian yet nuanced vitality throughout The Higher Key to underpin its transcendental nature. There is a strong sense of each artist being aligned in the realization of the overall quest. The interplay between Williamson, Schaare and Strange is finely tuned, each supporting one another to fortify The Higher Key’s pilgrimaging spirit.

No one is getting lost along the way. No matter how skyrocketing the guitar becomes, Strange is there to refocus the head-down propulsive momentum; no matter how obscurely spiritual Williamson’s vocals become, Schaare is there to direct the cadence and bolster the aesthetic. The band’s adept symmetry ensures the gargantuan riffs encircling “Land of Tides” do not diminish its mesmeric potential—nor do the band allow the behemothic doom of “Redemption” to overwhelm its recherché spirit. The constant tension between colossal metal and the album’s more divine predilections keeps it utterly engrossing. Where often albums built around a journeying concept wander off on ultimately dead-end trails, The Higher Key never looses sight of the route. Sure, there’s plenty of colorful pit stops along the way, but the band never strays from the course.

Arc of Ascent save their best space/doom quest for the last, with final track, “Through the Rays of Infinity” being 10 minutes of progged-out, psychotropic wondrousness. With a vast array of textures and shapes, spiraling atmospherics fuse acid-drenched psych with driving doom as the song hurtles towards the zenith of a star’s collapse. The song burns out on a beautifully flaming tail of radiant space-dust and memory—the tantalizing prospect that Arc of Ascent has a Dopesmoker-sized epic in them starts right here.

The Higher Key­ is quite simply one of the finest metal albums to be released from these shores. Whether it’s Strange offering adroit fills, Williamson setting a tantric meter, or Schaare layering on the variegated shades, each artist adds his own carefully measured alchemical dose to The Higher Key. Although the album is laden with spliff-friendly tones, there’s nothing soporific about it. Arc of Ascent clearly recognize that if you’re traveling meditative metal trails, it’s best you make the accompanying landscape as exotic as possible. By ensuring the excursion is filled with both crushing and ethereal monuments to gaze upon, Arc of Ascent offer the means of admission to other realms; it’s up to you to decide whether you’re ready to open the door to the boundless.

Arc of Ascent

Scott Kelly, Steve Von Till and Wino: Songs of Townes Van Zandt

It’s perfectly understandable if the notion of listening to country music leaves you feeling nauseous. It’s a genre bloated with über-patriotic twaddle, honky-tonk urban-cowboy nonsense, and endless reactionary absurdities. That said, like any musical genre (metal included), if you’re prepared to sort the wheat from the chaff there are plenty of worthwhile artists to discover, particularly from the outlaw country realm. Although it might seem a stretch to suggest that metal and country are close kin, you’ll find that the ragged, renegade end of the country spectrum shares a common vernacular with metal—both frequently speak with brutal candor about the rack and ruin of lives led on the margins.

Among the outlaw country fraternity, Townes Van Zandt is held in high esteem. Though greatly admired by his peers and fans, he remained a cult figure up to his death in 1997. Blighted by drug addiction, alcoholism and mental health issues, he was too mercurial to have had much of a chance at mainstream country stardom. Sadly, much of his studio work is littered with generic countrified orchestrations, smothering his renegade vigor. It was on stage with his guitar in hand that Van Zandt earned his reputation as a legendary figure. His solo live albums are outstanding, passionate works. Drawing from his own personal turmoil, he imbued them with the hard-worn authenticity of his own often-uncertain existence.

This June, three metal desperados are set to release a nine-song tribute to the renowned rebel troubadour. The three-way split album, Songs of Townes Van Zandt, features contributions from Scott Kelly (Neurosis, Shrinebuilder etc), Steve Von Till (Neurosis, Harvestman etc) and Scott ‘Wino’ Weinrich (Saint Vitus, The Obsessed etc). You couldn’t find three more qualified artists to cover Van Zandt’s work. All have acknowledged the formative role Van Zandt had in crafting their own songwriting styles, and have previously covered his work individually and collaboratively. They’re all well acquainted with the darkened lyrical themes Van Zandt explored; the ravages of addiction and the struggles of an acclaimed cult artist are familiar to them all. Like Van Zandt’s, their missives have an intimate feel—no matter how thunderously they are conveyed. And each artist has sought to discern some deeper sense of meaning from the capriciousness of life.

Putting their metal pursuits to one side for Songs of Townes Van Zandt, Kelly, Von Till and Wino are in acoustic and electro-acoustic mode, honoring the influence of Van Zandt in the most direct and evocative fashion. Von Till contributes the stark and achingly beautiful opening track, “If I Needed You”, the menacing folk crawl of “Black Crow Blues” and the buzzing, psych-flecked (à la Harvestman) “The Snake Song”. Kelly performs the fragile and haunting “St. John the Gambler”, a track I was fortunate to see him play on his recent acoustic tour, along with the heartbreaking, working-class balladry of “Tecumseh Valley” and the dirty-thrum of “Lungs”. Wino covers the forlorn folk of “Rake”, the desolately poetic “Nothing” and the tender, stripped-back “A Song For”. All the songs have been reduced to similarly bare bones arrangements. All are wholly mesmerizing.

Von Till and Kelly utilize their gruff baritone growls superbly. Their depth of tone perfectly aligns with Van Zandt’s tales of calamity and the instability of sentience and love. Wino deals from a more honeyed deck, though with no less affecting impact. Like the skeletally composed solo material of all three artists, the raw-edged timbre of minimal instrumentation on Songs of Townes Van Zandt leaves the focus firmly on their voices and the lyrics. This is, of course, entirely apt for an artist like Van Zandt, whose tales were strikingly forthright, and best appreciated in their most unembellished form.

Again, it’s fitting that three artists with turbulent histories are covering Van Zandt’s work in such a stark manner. They bring an awareness of the soul-shattering heaviness of often self-inflicted tragedies, infusing Van Zandt’s material with their own sense of lives lived among the wreckage and reinforcing its emotive weight.

Songs of Townes Van Zandt is a stunning album. Distilling Van Zandt’s work down to a poignant acoustic framework (as he used to do so well in a live setting) brings the immediacy and lyrical genius of his work to the fore. However, not only does the album pay due respect to the influence Van Zandt has had on Kelly, Von Till and Wino, it also serves as a reminder of the sublime artistry that sits at the heart of their own work. If you can’t find something to latch onto among these nine hauntingly picturesque tracks, or recognize Kelly, Von Till and Wino’s own legacies at play, then it’s best you check your pulse to see if you’re even living.

(Neurot/My Proud Mountain)

PS: I stopped rating albums a long while back, but in honor of this one, I’m reinstalling the regime.