Sweet skeletal remains of D.B. Cooper decomposing under my neighbor’s backyard swing set, do my eyes deceive me? An update regarding music that
isn’t an in-depth analysis of a time-honored hair metal video? I’ve been devoting more time to experiencing a gallimaufry of live music—ranging from
D.C. area doom metal to the most bestial
death metal to ever come out of Austria— and, at the risk of transposing this misanthropic mecca of madness into generic blog # 479532, I cannot fight the urge to inform you of the audio pastiche currently tickling my eardrum with wet pinky fingers made of music.
Witchfinder General:
Death Penalty
When I hear the term
doom metal, the first band I think of is Black Sabbath. Obviously. They’re also the second, third, fourth, and fifth band that comes to mind. The sixth is
Trouble. But the seventh is Witchfinder General. Besides staking claim to one of the greatest album covers in the history of recorded sound,
Death Penalty makes me want to smash a hobo on the noggin with his flask of Canadian Mist. Its primitive style sounds like it was recorded on a boom box in a Stourbridge garage over a twelve hour time period. In a utopian society, every jock douche bag that claimed to be a Metallica fan in 1993 who
didn’t own a copy of this album would have been molested extra hard by his wrestling coach as “Enter Sandman” played over the weight room’s loudspeaker.
The Mountain Goats:
All Hail West Texas
Lo-fi urban folk at its finest, this album actually
was recorded on a boom box (a Panasonic RX-FT500 to be precise). I know it was released way back in 2002 and, although I regretfully admit that I was not as familiar with the Mountain Goats’ catalogue six and a half years ago, I haven’t been able to remove this CD from my rotation in a biblical week. The hiss of the Panasonic creates a backing track to John Darnielle’s adept lyrics creating a colorful tapestry that could bring a smile to my face even if La Chupacabra killed my dog and left its carcass on my porch drained of blood. Put
All Hail in your stereo and listen to it for a couple days. If you don’t love it, start to question the existence of your soul.
Tallahassee, also released in 2002, is a marvelous record as well, despite the fact that it was recorded in an actual studio with an actual band.
Valient Thorr:
Immortalizer
Finally, a band whose members look like the bikers from the “now yous can’t leave” scene in
A Bronx Tale. The riffs are melodic and Thorr doesn’t give you any ballads or bullshit. On top of that, the bassist’s name is Dr. Professor Nitewolf Strangees. If that doesn‘t do it for you, the following is a history of the band per their publicist:
The band landed their spaceship in North Carolina in 1957. They then left this time stream and came back to it (20 years later), having never returned to the same time stream more than once before. They hid a time machine near Virginia, and set off again to explore the past, and the effects of the Earth's weather on the seeded Venusian babies, who would become the first "Earthlings". They returned for a third time to this time stream in the year 2000. This time they became stranded on Earth because Walt Disney had stolen their time machine 21 years earlier.
Thorr, however, manages to deliver beyond the bloated backstory. At least for now. The Venusians prove metal can have a conscience and still be gritty enough to leave particles of sand in your ears. “Infinite Lives” compares war to a video game without a Contra Code. If the boogie metal sounds of Valient Thorr ever make their way to commercial radio, I will chug a 20 ounce glass of paint thinner.
Wetnurse:
Wetnurse
I’m not quite sure how to describe Wetnurse. NYC sludge with elements and tones that range from the AmRep school of ugly noise rock to Voivod to Die Kreuzen to Candiria. Their eponymous debut, self-released in 2004, is thrash meets hardcore meets Nikola Tesla on LSD with a loaded handgun. Rumor has it that scientists in Cambridge, Massachusetts have harnessed the unadulterated energy of Wetnurse to power a Prius from New England to Oregon. Do your part for the environment; scratch and scrape your way through the bowels of the Internet and purchase this gem, then cop their Seventh Rule follow-up,
Invisible City. Go ahead.
Jail:
At the Crossroads
Imagine
JPT Scare Band or
Bloodrock with a menacing vocalist that sounds like he has gargled with hydrochloric acid. This is Philly scum rock. I saw these beasts for the first time recently and I didn’t know what to expect when they took the stage and I realized they were the strange looking fellas adjacent to me at the bar swilling Rock & Rye and PBR moments prior. The lead singer/guitarist looks like he’s going to bust out into “Free Bird” at any minute, the bassist has a rather unassuming presence, and the new drummer is a humble, pony-tailed gent with whom I might have smoked a joint at a Pink Floyd laser light show a few years back. The only disappointment was that the three bands that followed Jail seemed insentient and pedestrian in comparison. If you’re ready for a blues injected sludge-oil riff rock hellride crushed by the hand of doom, then get on the train.
ASRA:
The Way of All Flesh
If you have the chance to experience this band live, please do so. If ASRA were playing on the eve of Armageddon, I would forego spending my final earthly minutes with my loved ones to attend the show. Or at least strongly consider it. The decision would be difficult. I am also taking into consideration that the band’s acronym stands for Alleged Satanic Ritual Abuse, which I’m sure won’t earn brownie points with the Man Upstairs. H. Christos delivers devastating vocals and shifts from death growl to ferocious grind shriek smoother and faster than a Porsche shifting gears on the Autobahn.
The Way of All Flesh is such a truculent cacophony of rage, I feel like I should be arrested for a violent crime upon listening, which is a feeling I wholeheartedly embrace.
GridLink:
Amber Gray
Eleven brutal songs in under twelve minutes. You can listen to this album
twice in the time it takes you to listen to
Reign in Blood. If it were any longer, you would need a doctor's prescription to purchase the album as it would be likely to induce miscarriages among pregnant women and potentially lethal heart attacks. Former Discordance Axis front man, Jon Chang, transcends superlatives. His savage shrieking is adamantine and Takafumi Matsubara’s riffing is merciless.
Amber Gray will make you feel like you’re jumping rope with a downed power line in a torrential rainstorm. I was lucky enough to experience GridLink in the flesh along with Chang's
Hayaino Daisuki project, which is an equally refreshing, frenzied kick in the face. The only way I can describe Hayaino Daisuki, which translates to "I Love Speed," is a mountainous line of white china cut with The Berzerker and Dragonforce. Seeing GridLink and Daisuki live is comparable to a vision quest; a feeling of insanity may set in, but it is a rite of passage in which the end result makes one spiritually whole.
