To those obsessed with traditions, setting out to create heavy music then taking guitars out of the equation would not only be akin to blasphemy, but tantamount to an impossible dream. Of course, just about anything suggested by musical gatekeepers can readily be shown up for the absurd notion that it is, and there are plenty of artists that have come and gone that have shown that a pulverizing heaviness can be created with a rhythm section and vocals alone. Ghold are a duo based out of London that have been proving so since their inception three years ago. On their second full-length album released via Ritual Productions earlier this year, Of Ruin, Ghold have produced a record of truly explosive and primal menace that delightfully belies their minimal framework.
If one was skeptical of the capacity for such an arrangement to produce something sonically devastating, then they could just skip right ahead to the album’s second track, “Partaken Incarnate.” From its very beginning, Ghold bludgeon you with swirling toms and a dynamic swarm of distorted down-tuned bass riffs. It’s the sound of earth being torn to pieces and cruelly mixed with masses of blood and flesh from a cohesive and punishing full armoured division attack.
Ghold are frequently referred to as doom, but once again, there is much more to what they have put together than just a single stream of thought. There are far too many crescendos of pace, energy, and musical detail to ascribe any fairness to such categorization. Certainly, there are plenty of dramatic moments where minimal riffs linger and evolve at funeral pace, but Of Ruin manages great strength through great variation. Likewise, in one instance the vocals will rage primitively over their bestial tattoo, then metamorphose from such raw sound into surreal effected choral passages or whispered psychedelic mantras.
Of Ruin adds to the proof that stripping things down need not create limitations for what an artist wants to achieve. Some of the best creations in any field are achieved by keeping things simple, which is not to say that Ghold are simplistic. This is an engaging and punishing record that will definitely appeal to fans of The Melvins (whom Echoes and Dust pointed out are an obvious influence), as well those who love dark and oppressive doom and progressive and experimental metal. With what they have chosen to work with, to have produced a collection of songs with so many different gears of energy and intensity (both within each individual work and between them all) is to Ghold’s great credit.
The Black Captain hosts RTRFM’s Behind the Mirror on Wednesday, July 8, at 11pm (+7GMT).
Nature Trails sound like they could have come from anywhere. This isn’t intended as a slur against the band, but rather an attempt to describe their immediate sense of timelessness and internationality. The foreboding gothic vocals, which could have come from London or New York, the mix of 80’s cold wave with modern digital recording, their characteristic use of only a single guitar and bass. It’s all very in-line with international, rather than local trends in the genre, exemplified by experimental gothic revival bands like Algiers, The Soft Moon, or Trust. It’s an interesting sound to hear in Australia, and especially from somewhere like Brisbane, a city which is hardly known for its worldliness or internationality. That being said, the internet is everywhere, and the existence of any kind of identifiably local trends in influences or sounds shouldn’t be seen as any less of an anomaly than bands like Nature Trails that could have come from anywhere. Still, it remains relatively rare to hear an album from Australia that sounds this little like the product of an Australian band. First of all, there’s little hint of any kind of influence from shoegaze, building comparable depth and power with layers of subtlety constructed digital synths, rather than the wall-of-noise distorted guitars more common to the genre in Australia. It’s also got a bigger focus on harmony than anything you might have heard this year, while somehow sharing little of the pop sensibilities expressed by similarly melodic Australian bands like Soviet X-Ray Record Club, Nite Fields, or Day Ravies. It is, in short, an incredibly confident, surprising debut album, one that’s definitely worth a listen if you’re into goth or cold wave.
Opening track ‘Chaste’ begins with trashy 4/4 drum machine percussion and retro darkwave synths, with a classic gothic vocal line reminiscent of genre-defining 80’s vocalists like Peter Murphy or Andrew Eldritch, built on the back of a strong, repeating guitar riff. Their sound is at once nostalgic and recognisably modern, with its crisp digital production allowing all the instrumental elements in the track to stand apart from one another while still contributing to the densely layered music of the whole. It’s atmospheric without being overwhelming, with the careful use of subtlety layered synthesizers and guitar effects making for a sound that feels much denser and heavier than a closer listen reveals the songs to be. The guitar riff and synth lines repeat until monotony, creating a droning, hopeless sort of an affect: exactly the sort of bleak but beautiful emotions darkwave is designed to create. ‘Hollow State’ begins with a smoky, jazz-noir type of sound reminiscent of the Twin Peaks score, adding in a gothic vocal line to create a laid-back, almost dream-pop kind of feeling, despite working from an almost completely different set of musical influences. ‘Fragment’ is the same, with militaristic drumming and parallel guitar and bass lines, taking elements of classic cold wave, goth, and post-punk and turning them into this romantic, contemporary pastiche, which evokes nostalgia for the classic goth of times gone by, while sounding distinctly different to all of it. The synths are clean and probably digital, but they’re mixed and recorded so well that they feel like they’re authentic. ‘In Glass’ sounds like it could have come out in the 1980’s, while relying on digital synths and hi-fi recording practices that are all 2015. It gives the album a kind of ageless quality: neither throwback, nor revival, but a modern recreation of an older set of sounds and emotions. It’s similar to the breakout debut Silence Yourself from London band Savages in 2013, but recorded and performed independently, without any apparent kind of industry support or record company backing.
This too is a strength of the album, and an indicator of raw, creative potential of the modern music scene. If Nature Trails can create a sound like this, on their own, in a studio in Brisbane, without any kind of prompting from the wider music industry; an album that’s retro, contemporary, authentic, and distinctive, all at once… How can anyone ever say that the industry’s in trouble? We live in an age where possibilities for creative expression are broader and more accessible than ever before, where high-quality new material in almost any genre can be produced by anyone, at any time, without the limitations of market-centric demands from record labels, local venues, or the radio. Nature Trails do their own thing, and they do it very well, and because of that they can be heard and praised for their achievements. It doesn’t matter if they’re young. It doesn’t matter if they’re old. All that matters is their music and the way it makes you feel. In this case, even money’s not a problem. ‘In Glass’ is available right now on Bandcamp, for whatever price you choose to make it. You can keep it forever if you like. What a wonderful album. What a time to be alive.
It is an uncommon thrill that a band’s first release brings with it the promise of a great future. What is rarer and verging on the surreal is when a first release clearly shows that a group of artists are already the real deal, deserving of being spoken alongside the greats that inspire them. Whilst it might be preferable to avoid “inflicting” hyperbole upon first steps, once in a long, long while the response to a new project can be so viscerally moving that it seems unavoidable. It takes time and consideration to be sure, to understand that something is more than just a novelty in the context of a vast and lengthy listening experience. When something makes you feel that way you did when you first fell in love with a particular musical style, such esteem becomes undeniable and essential to express.
Church are a doom metal band formed in recent years out of Sacramento, California. They are Eva on vocals, Matt on drums, Ben taking bass duties, and Shann and Chris responsible for guitars (the later contributing some backing vocals to their work and the individual responsible for bringing the band together). After starting live performances in early 2014, Church released their first songs in April 2015, Unanswered Hymns, through Transylvanian Tapes. The cassette version became available just over a week ago and later this year a 180g vinyl edition is planned for release through Battleground Records. The band’s ethos is that the music should “speak for itself”. It must then be said that, from the first moments, their eloquence is astounding. Church sound like they were born to speak this way.
“Dawning” opens Unanswered Hymns at 19 minutes in length. Introduced by a riff that succinctly clarifies where Church reside on the heavy spectrum, it is when the bass and drums join in that the sound sucks all of the breath out of you, immediately elevating the composers above the dense proliferation within the stream. The guitars are so dense, rough, and filthy, but without severing any of the detail and clarity. With the distorted bass and monstrous drumming ominously filling space behind them, Church billow forth as something primal yet musically articulate and succinct. Nothing is lost in going for such power and volume, in reaching for a production that is blissfully suffocating with its weight.
The result is an atmosphere that is immense and precipitous, put together in commanding fashion. With each engaging and meditative movement, “Dawning” relentlessly creates an epic listening experience, climaxing with an oozing tidal wave of aggression like watching all that you hold dear consumed by an inferno in oneiric slow motion. Church clearly understand that the path to great doom is through simplicity and patience, gradually adding details that amplify the drama of a piece to a level of crushing gravitas. The standard is set very high for the songs ahead.
“Stargazer” follows on from the dark and restless trepidation of “Dawning” as a song awash with profound melancholia. It has been written here before: there is something triumphant in the deepest, most heartfelt doom, even when it is at its darkest and most mournful. “Stargazer” exemplifies this. It is grief at its most pure and vulnerable, spoken of to the world from a place where the artist is completely consumed by such feeling… whilst knowing that there is something better, one’s sights fixed firmly upon the light and possibility from the position of complete loss. After the chilling screams and funereal procession of riffs that compose the song’s beginnings, a gorgeous and lachrymose lead wails onwards, so simple and elegant in its sadness, so full of longing for what is beyond the pain of the immediate. “Stargazer” is a reminder that when doom is played with such emotional sincerity there is not much else around in the world of heavy music quite as powerful and satisfying. There are bonus points for the Tom G. Warrior grunt on 7:57. It’s rare that a familiar garnish on a creation is such a perfect touch.
The final track is “Offering”, retaining all the characteristics Church have exhibited on the first two tracks whilst momentarily bringing the tempo up (just ever so slightly). Initially, the song takes things a little more towards a stoner rock direction. Whereas “Dawning” may have been more baleful in its aggression, like gazing into the eyes of a gorgon, “Offering” paces about the room like a wild beast on the verge of erupting in a fit of destructive cruelty. Midway, the riffs transform back into a creeping funereal mantra, building ominously towards denouement. Gradually, the dirge disintegrates into a malevolent altered state of feedback-driven noise, fading into exhausted calm.
Whilst the instrumental aspects of Unanswered Hymns are just dripping with quality, there is no question as to what lifts Church up to the divine. The vocals of Eva Rose on this release are simply spectacular. Her shrieks, backed up by the bellows of guitarist Chris, are like gale force storms of ice upon your skin. The clean lyrical passages, each one of them ethereal and stately masterpieces, are filled with beauty and menace all at once. Every word is sung with such intense feeling and distinctive tone, crowning the music with that sincerity that burns as Church’s soul.
As previously inferred, it has taken some time to get around to writing about Unanswered Hymns. The effect it has is so powerful and personally resonant that one has to take the time to be sure, pinching yourself until you bleed, to wake up from the dream they have created. With considerable reflection, the songs are definitely up there with many of the great doom records heard across decades. Church’s will to create emotion on such an epic scale is irresistible. One becomes overwhelmed and completely lost in the scale of their solemn overtures and the tremendously heavy sound invoked to create them. You could not ask for more from music of this style.
Melbourne shoegaze band Flyying Colours have received a lot of attention in the UK and Europe recently after the international release of their 2013 self-titled debut EP early last year. Since then, they’ve become the overseas ambassadors for the local shoegaze scene, an unexpected novelty for UK and American critics unfamiliar with the bulk of similarly-inspired music played by a growing number of independent artists in Australia since at least 2010. In 2013, Flyying Colours set themselves apart with their crisp production, pop hooks and pitch-perfect, energetic live shows. With the band returning to Australia at the end of their UK tour, local shows announced, and the national release date of last month’s new album still yet to be confirmed, now seems like the proper time to talk about their new material. Their latest EP, ROYGBIV, named after the colours appearing in the rainbow, is receiving rave reviews from international critics on account of its quality and novelty as a British sound coming from an Australian band. But here in Australia we’re familiar with many acts like Flyying Colours, with local bands like The Laurels, Day Ravies, and Nite Fields all putting their individual spin on the same basic set of stylistic inspirations. Without the sense of novelty experienced by international critics, is the Flyying Colours second EP still going to be worthy of your time?
Opening track ‘I Don’t Want To Let You Down’ is the same driving, My Bloody Valentine-inspired shoegaze as their last EP, but recorded in crisper, higher definition sound. The lo-fi edges of the last release have been smoothed out into bass-driven, radio-friendly dream pop, while still maintaining the grinding, Loveless–inspired guitar riffs that give the band their heavy edges. This sort of sound is still relatively hard to find in local artists, most of whom rely on gothic or post-punk references to generate their darker undertones, though Flyying Colours are adept with those as well. Second track ‘Running Late’ is closer to this more Australian sound, with a Cure-esque guitar riff placed under dual accented vocals, and driven along by urgent, militaristic drumming. This is followed by the ethereal opening strains of ‘Not Today’, where bass and guitar driven high-tempo rock is matched with languid melodic vocals for a pleasingly psychedelic effect. ‘In The End’ begins with a similar combination, taking the same mix of low-energy vocals and high-speed instrumentation, but adding distorted guitars and Disintegration–era Cure riffs to create more of a gothic feeling, and closing track ‘Leaks’ brings these all of these disparate styles together: with a classic mix of psychedelic rock, goth, and shoegaze, pulled into the structure of a pop song. It’s a strong closer that represents all the best aspects of their old and new material, and, like the best finishing tracks, it lingers long after the album is over, making for one of the more memorable tracks on the album.
ROYGBIV doesn’t represent much of a change in style from the Flyying Colours of previous records, but it’s tighter, cleaner and more confident than anything they’ve done before. It also still sounds relatively original, drawing more overt inspiration from British bands like Ride or My Bloody Valentine than any of the other comparable bands coming from Australia at the moment. But it shares a problem with their last release in that still, with a runtime of only 20 minutes, it’s disappointingly brief. Taken together as a single package, the two EPs offer a glimpse of what would have been a breathtaking debut, but without the space to properly explore its many influences, it falls a little short of its potential. Still, even without the novelty it might afford to overseas listeners, this is a really strong release. ROYGBIV stands apart from other new releases from other Australian shoegaze bands, and is strong enough to compete in its own right on the international stage. If you’ve never heard the band before, the new album is as good a place as any to discover them, and if you’re already a fan, it’ll offer five tracks of tantalizing new material even better than the music on their old release. It’s a decent album, but hopefully the next one will be longer.
If you’re after heavy music that comes with more of a twisted essence, Finland has been a pretty safe bet for decades. Long before it was returning to fashionable status, there always seemed to be a love of psychedelic influences bubbling up within the bands coming from the land of a thousand lakes. Whether that was a matter of the drugs at hand or the established influences by locals such as Kingston Wall and their predecessors from abroad, Finnish doom was, and is, often characterized by the mind being let wildly off the leash in acid and shroom infused outbursts. Oranssi Pazuzu and Dark Buddha Rising are two more recent notable groups carrying the heavy psych batons. Another to recently emerge that is of note is the band Domovoyd, who have released a self-titled second album via Svart Records in the past month.
Domovoyd are often referred to as stoner doom, which is a little bit off the mark in terms of the sound. That tag, whilst being attached to some fantastic work, seems more appropriate to the Sabbath-and-Sleep-inspired stream of consciousness rather than explaining the broader possibilities of the psychedelic experience. Nevertheless, it seems to be the go-to label for those writing about heavy psych these days. Domovoyd certainly have their stoner moments; but, they seem perhaps a little raucous and wild to be strictly pigeon-holed as doom. Additionally, the blankets of fuzz and heavy psychedelic effects are a quite more reminiscent of space rock and kraut. Maybe the odd bamboo schooner is rounding out the experience; but, there is a lot more than weed at play here. This is more like Hawkwind playing at a launch for a psilocybin-infused product synthesised by Walter White for intergalactic fighter pilots.
Domovoyd’s debut was certainly very specific with its fuzzy space rock production and musical style. On this new self-titled opus, the heavier spirit of the band comes forth more readily. It emerges from the amorphous psychedelic colour spray to provide some jet black beastly riffs, as though that foot from the heavy psych field that sometimes sets down in the tombs of doom is stamping more loudly for attention. The mausoleum’s walls come crashing outwards, with the waves of heaviness being allowed to flood out of the downtempo pools and through the more frenetic space rock passages. Whilst Domovoyd’s debut was excellent, this is a most welcome evolution through demolition.
Domovoyd is flanked by two relatively lenghty tracks, “Domovoyage” and “Vivid Insanity”. At their climaxes and more boisterous peaks, these songs are as though Matt Pike has done a few lines with Lemmy and brought some more forceful pyrotechnics to the Hawkwind stage. Ergo, there are brief flourishes here that might vaguely appeal to fans of Pike’s wilder sonic side. “Amor Fati” perhaps swings closest most consistently to the stoner doom label, overlaid with deeply introspective chanting vocals and alternating between dreamlike lulls and brief, frenetic heavy psych passages. But much like Ufomammut, stoner doom is just too incomplete a description.
The variety and breadth to Domovoyd’s self-titled second album is a joy; and, to recap, it is the kind of willingness to branch out that has made so many Finnish heavy bands so enjoyable in the past. They have stepped beyond the strict confines of space rock that characterized their debut Oh Sensibility; but, they have held on to it enough to make it something much more nuanced and thought-provoking than the reflex of putting it all down to THC habitually evokes before you hear it. There is enough roughness to the sound to keep it far away from the flowery end of psychedelia, like a deeply disturbing trip that you can’t help coming back to. One gets the feeling that the acid up Finland way is definitely not for the faint of heart or the fearful mind.
Modern post-punk is a lot of things, but it’s rarely been a source for social commentary. Recent albums from Gang of Four and The Pop Group made simple social criticisms in-line with their traditionally political material, and new releases fro Mourn or Sleater-Kinney added a feminist perspective to an otherwise masculine musical scene. But these bands are the exception in the modern incarnation of the genre, which is still predominantly white, mostly male, inward-focussed and largely apolitical. It’s nothing to do with the sound, or even necessarily the politics of the performers. It’s more about their focus and their privilege. Post-punk, as a genre, differentiated itself from punk primarily by focussing on subjects other than politics: dissonance, aesthetics, and musical experimentation. As time went on, the political undertones inherited from old-school punk have mostly died away, and the white men responsible for keeping the dream alive have focussed on these factors to the detriment of everything else. Think about the use of Nazi imagery by Danish post-punks Iceage or Joy Division drawing their name from the concentration camps in Nazi Germany. Post-punks are never really white supremacists, most of them are left-wing, highly educated people, but they draw from the same imagery as white supremacist groups to generate their mood and atmosphere. And when mostly young, white men are attracted to the scene, these images are unremarked upon, merely a part of the subculture. This, coupled with the lack of any kind of contradiction from the lyrics, leads some critics to make the obvious associations with a fascist ideology. Algiers are immediately different, and it’s not just because of the sonic inspiration from gospel and soul readily apparent from the first seconds of their upcoming album. Politics are important to the band.
Even the Algiers website shows this right away, posting up traditional post-punk with social criticism and actual Marxist theory: a well-defined, unique, and undeniably post-punk aesthetic. ‘Remains’ begins with a cold, monotonic synth line and the rhythmic stomp of drums and clapping hands, followed by a chorus of hums and a blues-inspired vocal line that drives forward into a cinematic cacophony that sounds like a deep-south revival church singing through a nuclear apocalypse. The mix of southern blues and post-punk bears a family resemblance to The Gun Club or The Flesh Eaters, but it’s so much more than that, taking on something of the atheist-friendly spiritualism of Swans in its sonorous, religious sense of power. Following that is the atonal, tribal throbbing of ‘Claudette’, which grinds along with its melodic vocals pitched atop a wall of broken-sounding guitars and mechanical synths, before finishing in deconstructed pop, and the next track, ‘And When You Fall’ starts with a sonar beat and lo-fi electronic drumming, adding a walking bassline, fuzzy-sounding computerized synths and passionate, politically-motivated lyrics. “When it all falls down, you’ll know exactly who we are,” Franklin James Fisher shouts, and a chorus of angry voices sing out in reply. It’s a singular and powerful experience, like a lecture breaking out into a riot. But Algiers aren’t just a band or a political statement; they’re a manifesto for the genre they belong to, and their combination of atypical musical influences and radically unapologetic left-wing politics with the angularity and nihilism of post-punk expresses its unexplored potential for social change and future innovation.
Rather than relying exclusively on dissonant guitar effects or clichéd and offensive Nazi iconography, Algiers draw their energy and frightening sense of power from real-life social inequality, apathy, and the challenges of change. This strong political position is reflected most clearly in tracks like the flawless ‘Irony. Utility. Pretext.’, the passionate ‘Black Eunuch’ or the damning confessional ‘Blood’. The lyrics to all these songs are posted on their Youtube videos, because unlike a lot of other artists in their genre, the lyrics matter: “For all your love of soma, all my blood’s in vain, you say your history’s over, all my blood’s in vain, your television coma, all my blood’s in vain, it’s gone too far to change,” Franklin sings in ‘Blood’, using dystopian classic Brave New World to make a powerful case that our addiction to media and lack of interest in the future makes a mockery of all the social movements of the past that shaped the world we live in today. It’s a thoughtful piece of social commentary delivered with raw power and total conviction in a modern genre where personal expression is usually married with political ignorance or apathy, and it still manages to follow all of the sonic and emotional conventions of the genre it belongs to. It’s a breathtaking achievement, and the most original-sounding debut of the year.
Without attempting to commandeer the personal experiences that the album clearly represents, this feels like a generation-defining sort of a release. Like Joy Division’s Unknown Pleasures, or The Sex Pistols’ Never Mind The Bullocks. Something new has happened here that goes beyond the current wave of post-punk revival and into something else, a revolutionary, intellectual, and profoundly original musical creation that not only highlights the creativity and diversity of modern underground music, but also its potential to discover new sounds and landmarks we never could have thought about before. Algiers are a breath of fresh air, and whoever you are, you need to hear this album. It’s one of the strongest new releases of the decade. If change is not impossible, this band will change the world.
Modern post-punk is a lot of things, but it’s rarely been a source for social commentary. Recent albums from Gang of Four and The Pop Group made simple social criticisms in-line with their traditionally political material, and new releases fro Mourn or Sleater-Kinney added a feminist perspective to an otherwise masculine musical scene. But these bands are the exception in the modern incarnation of the genre, which is still predominantly white, mostly male, inward-focussed and largely apolitical. It’s nothing to do with the sound, or even necessarily the politics of the performers. It’s more about their focus and their privilege. Post-punk, as a genre, differentiated itself from punk primarily by focussing on subjects other than politics: dissonance, aesthetics, and musical experimentation. As time went on, the political undertones inherited from old-school punk have mostly died away, and the white men responsible for keeping the dream alive have focussed on these factors to the detriment of everything else. Think about the use of Nazi imagery by Danish post-punks Iceage or Joy Division drawing their name from the concentration camps in Nazi Germany. Post-punks are never really white supremacists, most of them are left-wing, highly educated people, but they draw from the same imagery as white supremacist groups to generate their mood and atmosphere. And when mostly young, white men are attracted to the scene, these images are unremarked upon, merely a part of the subculture. This, coupled with the lack of any kind of contradiction from the lyrics, leads some critics to make the obvious associations with a fascist ideology. Algiers are immediately different, and it’s not just because of the sonic inspiration from gospel and soul readily apparent from the first seconds of their upcoming album. Politics are important to the band.
Even the Algiers website shows this right away, posting up traditional post-punk with social criticism and actual Marxist theory: a well-defined, unique, and undeniably post-punk aesthetic. ‘Remains’ begins with a cold, monotonic synth line and the rhythmic stomp of drums and clapping hands, followed by a chorus of hums and a blues-inspired vocal line that drives forward into a cinematic cacophony that sounds like a deep-south revival church singing through a nuclear apocalypse. The mix of southern blues and post-punk bears a family resemblance to The Gun Club or The Flesh Eaters, but it’s so much more than that, taking on something of the atheist-friendly spiritualism of Swans in its sonorous, religious sense of power. Following that is the atonal, tribal throbbing of ‘Claudette’, which grinds along with its melodic vocals pitched atop a wall of broken-sounding guitars and mechanical synths, before finishing in deconstructed pop, and the next track, ‘And When You Fall’ starts with a sonar beat and lo-fi electronic drumming, adding a walking bassline, fuzzy-sounding computerized synths and passionate, politically-motivated lyrics. “When it all falls down, you’ll know exactly who we are,” Franklin James Fisher shouts, and a chorus of angry voices sing out in reply. It’s a singular and powerful experience, like a lecture breaking out into a riot. But Algiers aren’t just a band or a political statement; they’re a manifesto for the genre they belong to, and their combination of atypical musical influences and radically unapologetic left-wing politics with the angularity and nihilism of post-punk expresses its unexplored potential for social change and future innovation.
Rather than relying exclusively on dissonant guitar effects or clichéd and offensive Nazi iconography, Algiers draw their energy and frightening sense of power from real-life social inequality, apathy, and the challenges of change. This strong political position is reflected most clearly in tracks like the flawless ‘Irony. Utility. Pretext.’, the passionate ‘Black Eunuch’ or the damning confessional ‘Blood’. The lyrics to all these songs are posted on their Youtube videos, because unlike a lot of other artists in their genre, the lyrics matter: “For all your love of soma, all my blood’s in vain, you say your history’s over, all my blood’s in vain, your television coma, all my blood’s in vain, it’s gone too far to change,” Franklin sings in ‘Blood’, using dystopian classic Brave New World to make a powerful case that our addiction to media and lack of interest in the future makes a mockery of all the social movements of the past that shaped the world we live in today. It’s a thoughtful piece of social commentary delivered with raw power and total conviction in a modern genre where personal expression is usually married with political ignorance or apathy, and it still manages to follow all of the sonic and emotional conventions of the genre it belongs to. It’s a breathtaking achievement, and the most original-sounding debut of the year.
Without attempting to commandeer the personal experiences that the album clearly represents, this feels like a generation-defining sort of a release. Like Joy Division’s Unknown Pleasures, or The Sex Pistols’ Never Mind The Bullocks. Something new has happened here that goes beyond the current wave of post-punk revival and into something else, a revolutionary, intellectual, and profoundly original musical creation that not only highlights the creativity and diversity of modern underground music, but also its potential to discover new sounds and landmarks we never could have thought about before. Algiers are a breath of fresh air, and whoever you are, you need to hear this album. It’s one of the strongest new releases of the decade. If change is not impossible, this band will change the world.
The exact date is lost; but, there is one day back in 1996 that will always live in memory until it decays beyond recognition. Going out to check the mail at my house on Stirling Street, I found a single envelope, which contained a promotional CD. It came from a label I had not had prior contact with, Ancient Lore Creations. It would turn out that this label was linked to Misanthropy Records, who had been releasing Burzum’s records, run by Tiziana Stupia whom I was regularly in touch with at the time. I had never heard of the band, called Arcturus. The leaflet that came with the disc advised that this was their first full-length studio album, Aspera Hiems Symfonia. Ulver’s Garm was on vocals, with Mayhem’s Hellhammer on drums. That was intriguing, to say the least. I put the disc in my player. The next six minutes and forty-six seconds after that blew my brains out. It took some time before I was even able to hear the second song. To that date, it was the most amazing record I had heard come out of Norway. Behind the Mirror’s listener poll for that year (which, at the time, was certainly no small thing) had four songs from the album in the ten best songs of the year. It was an explosive musical event. Yet, it was barely imaginable even then how amazing and unique amongst European extreme metal the following albums would turn out to be.
La Masquerade Infernale and The Sham Mirrors are regarded as two of the very best avant garde metal albums ever made. The technical ability of the band was astonishing, displaying musicianship that was virtually derisive of Arcturus’ peers. The demented jester character of Garm personified in his distinctive vocal delivery placed Arcturus firmly in experimental territory, preventing the blazing lead breaks and virtuoso instrumentation from bogging the band down in a prog singularity trapping them in the niche of tech nerdism. Songs like “Ad Astra”, “The Chaos Path”, “Kinetic”, and “Radical Cut” were the peak of metal at their time, even if ‘the market’ may have not said so. “Ad Astra” was almost certainly the first black metal song played on RTRFM’s Out To Lunch, which in 1997 was an astonishing concept.
After The Sham Mirrors, Garm left Arcturus, with his musical direction well and truly having departed metal for good at that point. With that, 2005’s Sideshow Symphonies was inevitably Arcturus’ most divisive album. Simen “ICS Vortex” Hestnæs’ vocal performance was outstanding; however, he was always bound to be subjected to ferociously resistant criticism when stepping into the shoes of such an enormous creative personality. Despite its quality, the album did, in all honesty, lack the more bizarre elements of Arcturus’ 2nd and 3rd albums. At a concert in Melbourne, Vortex greeted the audience with the words “Welcome to the last Arcturus concert, ever!” Not long after that, the band confirmed that this was true, with the band breaking up.
Around 2011, the net began to buzz with rumours that Arcturus were reuniting. By September of that year, it was a reality, at least in the live performance sense. Three years later, the band announced that they were recording new material. The news was greeted with a mix of skepticism and people absolutely losing their fucking minds.
So, nearly ten years after their previous album, Arcturus are finally back with Arcturian, out through the German label Prophecy. Reunions are often a lottery, with nostalgia often clouding the judgment of even the best musicians. In Arcturus’ case, they have judged their position very well.
Arcturian begins with the fan base wholly wrong-footed, much like the secret track at the beginning of La Masquerade Infernale or Hallucinogen’s In Dub album. A passage of nu-skool breaks shows that Arcturus have lost none of their warped sense of humor and capacity to toy with their audience, magnified in this context by their full awareness of the trepidation over a reunion and the debate over their last album. Within half a minute they have exploded into their unmistakable sound. In metal, it is a matter of great difficulty to sound unlike any other. When you hear Arcturus, you know exactly who it is. “The Arcturian Sign” announces that this new album shall be no different.
So, with it having been over a decade since Garm left Arcturus, one would hope people are well and truly over the expectation that the band should sound like Garm is still the vocalist. It’s metal; so, we all know this will never be the case. You can’t make everyone happy. Vortex really steps out and well and truly makes the role his own on this new album. Like a deranged drunkard space pirate, he traverses an enormous range of styles, shifting in and out of deftly executed prog vox into berserk intoxicated off-key wailing and then ferocious black metal insanity.
There is a rawness and wild nature to the sound of Arcturian, perhaps not as rigid and polished as the first four albums. I have read that the recordings are of live performance in the studio, avoiding the tricks of digital sterilization that can often leave so many metal records sounding mechanical and devoid of anything organic. This may unsettle those determined in their preference of the pronounced sheen of previous albums. Alongside the vocal delivery of Vortex, it feels a wholly apt decision to go for something more alive and less processed.
Across Arcturian, there is a kaleidoscopic sound in the songs not present since the band’s second album. With the band having formed out of the mind of keyboard player and principal composer Steinar Sverd Johnsen, electronics have always played a big part in the band’s sound and remain ever present with greater stylistic diversity. Those wonderful strings that first appeared on “Ad Astra” provide, as ever, some of the great highlights of the record, such as in the cases of “Crashland”, “Pale”, and “Bane”. And, as always, the musicianship is of a level as though everyone else is just playing a game. These guys are heroes without the usually associated deluge of fromáge.
What Arcturus has managed to do with Arcturian is make, by far, their best album in nearly 20 years. It should be taken as a good sign that this is a band that causes arguments amongst metalheads, and this album will be no different. It is a testament to their uniqueness, established so long before American darlings were heralded as taken the genre to “new levels”. Arcturian shows the star will continue to burn brightly for some time still. Welcome back!
Californian hardcore punk band Ceremony are no longer a hardcore punk band. This decision is bound to ruffle the feathers of their few remaining hardcore fans who weren’t entirely alienated by the Wire-inspired shifts toward a classic post-punk sound on their previous albums, 2010’s Rohnert Park and 2012’s Zoo, but even those fans would be forced to admit that it wasn’t unforeseeable. Ceremony’s sound has been drifting for years and it’s only on their latest album, The L-Shaped Man, that they’ve really got it right. It isn’t fair to judge the sound on what it isn’t, and this isn’t heavy music anymore. What this is is hardcore-edged post-punk revival, similar in sound to UK bands like Editors or The Cinematics. If that’s not what you’re into, then Ceremony’s new album is not for you. But if you’re interested in seeing how they’ve put it all together, and how their sound compares to other artists in their new and incredibly crowded genre, then read on. You might be surprised at what you find.
After the minimalistic, piano driven opener “Hibernation”, the album starts strong with “Exit Fears,” taking a stuttering 4/4 drum beat similar to the opening of Editors’ “Smokers Outside The Hospital Doors” and layering on bass and parallel guitar lines to create a smoky, film-noir sort of feel. The Wire obviously runs deep, with a similar mix of jangly guitar chords and clear and prominent vocals. It ebbs and flows, twisting around a repeated guitar riff in the verse, and crescendoing into walls of sound in the choruses, like waves crashing against a rocky beach. This is followed by the driving, energetic sound of “Bleeder,” with its rat-a-tat guitars and blast-beat drumming, hardcore elements that emphasise the force behind the accusatory vocals. The guitar tone is buzzy and unusually lo-fi, while the mixing is crisp and professional, an interesting midpoint between D.I.Y. and radio-friendly rock that creates a subtle tension, like a threat of hidden violence that could explode at any time. You get the same feeling from tracks like “Root of The World,” with its shoegaze guitars and howling vocals, or the raw, emotional anguish of “The Bridge,” with its sing-a-long, miserable lyrics and hoarsely shouted choruses. The best moments of the album occur on tracks like this one where the vestiges of traditional punk and hardcore mix with the more consistent indie influences to create this unstable hybrid that feels a knife’s edge away from completely falling apart. At its worst, it’s just a little boring, with competent but typical tracks like “The Party” or “The Understanding” neither dragging the album down nor being interesting enough to stand out. It’s really an album’s worth of fantastic singles, some of which will leave you in awe, and others that you’ll want to dance along to even if they remind you of songs you’ve heard before.
You might accuse Ceremony of selling out, and fair enough — this is probably the most marketable music they’ve ever made. But there’s too much going on here for that hypothesis to fit. Music that sounds like this isn’t really popular anymore. While most people will accept that Interpol and Editors were fantastic for the time, they’re considered to be “of the time” today as well. And the on-going newer wave of post-punk revival seems to be less focused on pop hooks and melody, and more on lo-fi mixes of 90’s indie with 80’s punk. This album isn’t really any of that. It’s off-trend, and more-importantly, consistent with everything the band has done before. It feels like a labour of love, and it was an incredibly risky one. They could have killed the last of their traditional fanbase, while failing to stand out enough from other bands to attract any kind of new attention. But that didn’t happen here. Ceremony’s new album might be rubbish hardcore, but it’s fantastic post-punk revival. And it’s really the hardcore elements that push it over the edge: the drums, or the anger behind the vocals. That’s where the album shines; it sets their sound apart from everybody else and hopefully it’s an angle they’ll continue to explore on future releases. But either way, The L-Shaped Man is a memorable record. You might not approve of what they’re doing here, but they do it very well. And anyway, Ceremony named themselves after a Joy Division song. Doesn’t it make more sense they’d sound a bit like this?
San Francisco’s Bosse de Nage have succeeded in creating the kind of anonymity most black metal musicians at least tell people they dream of (before going out and doing as much as they can to peel away the layers of mystique surrounding the pseudonyms and shadowy figures photographed against the skylines of the night). There is next to nothing one can know about them beyond the consumption of music and lyrics, the establishment of which amounts to a refreshing expression of mystique that sets things up nicely for purifying your enjoyment and interpretation of their creations. There is no back story. There is just the album you are playing.
Nevertheless, communities will gather to tell their stories; and, the one I most often hear when Bosse de Nage are mentioned initially has been “they did a split release with Deafheaven”. Following this, and being an established part of the USBM scene, lazy comparisons with Deafheaven are often encountered. Along with this come the trite and simplistic segues into posturing dismissal, of Bosse de Nage being “hipster” metal based upon association via the aforementioned discography and the odd photographs from live shows. Perhaps it is also the album covers, far removed from ham-fistedly beating you about your mental identikit with “we are black metal” iconography (“the most hipster metal album cover ever made” has been written about their latest).
These are tired, old, and indiscriminate mantras. Bosse de Nage have certainly received their share of appreciation, as they should. Yet they have not garnered the more expansive embrace that they deserve. This is perhaps best viewed in the form of the band releasing their fourth album through Profound Lore Records, All Fours, yet with many reviews (even those missives penned by writers who, by all accounts, should know better) describing Bosse de Nage as “exciting new talent”.
If the recognition some of their Bay Area colleagues have enjoyed has not come to them beforehand, one should rightly expect it to be generated by All Fours. Musically, the BM in Bosse de Nage’s USBM is perhaps the clearest and most easily identifiable amongst their American peers, immediately putting the kibosh on any of the grumpiest dreams of your most dogmatic black metal message board trolls. There is no doubt black metal is the heartbeat; but, it is by no means an appropriate description of the organism.
All Fours is rife with the tendrils of so many sonic forms of extremity, all seamlessly coming together in their creation of a somber and disturbing series of poetic tales of depravity. Bosse de Nage are masters of fusion, evolving black metal with their divergences into stylistic ambiguity. Fans of bands such as Fugazi, Nomeansno, Husker Du, Slint, etc. are just as likely to find the album appealing as are those who loved Sunbather as well as more traditionally darker expressions of black metal. Perhaps most satisfying is how All Fours incorporates these indie and punk sensibilities into their work as though through sleight of hand, never coming across as an overt attempt to appeal to a broader audience. These elements are a natural fit for the more abrasive and explosive aspects of the record’s feel, thoughtful yet deranged, sensitive whilst dark as fuck.
In the case of every song, All Fours maintains its elevation above resorting to bland, overwrought theatrical black metal trademarks through lyrics of brilliant poetic flair describing sexuality way beyond the fringe. In this sense, the record rediscovers black metal’s capacity to shock those who cross its path. This is terribly rare, quite simply by virtue of those established theatrics having failed to survive the psychological inflation of what disturbs people over time. What helps vocalist and lyricist Bryan Manning achieve this shock value without becoming a caricature is not simply just a matter of the subjects and his capacity for imagining these scenarios. It is in the tremendous skill with which he articulates his imagination. It is no surprise to know that Manning has a book, The Sinking House, due for release later this year. His words are Bosse de Nage’s power play.
So, do not be fooled by any such descriptions of Bosse de Nage as being “new”. They are experienced and exceptional hands at this craft. If you have yet to discover them, you are long overdue. All Fours makes for a fantastic introduction to their work for those not already swooning as one of the band’s previously enchanted familiars.
To those obsessed with traditions, setting out to create heavy music then taking guitars out of the equation would not only be akin to blasphemy, but tantamount to an impossible dream. Of course, just about anything suggested by musical gatekeepers can readily be shown up for the absurd notion that it is, and there are plenty of artists that have come and gone that have shown that a pulverizing heaviness can be created with a rhythm section and vocals alone. Ghold are a duo based out of London that have been proving so since their inception three years ago. On their second full-length album released via Ritual Productions earlier this year, Of Ruin, Ghold have produced a record of truly explosive and primal menace that delightfully belies their minimal framework.
