Film In Music—Tell Tale (Drip Audio)

Film in Music, formed in 2009 and led by cellist Peggy Lee, includes a formidable bunch of heavy hitters from the local jazz/improv/creative music scene. When you note that Jesse Zubot, Chris Gestrin, Ron Samworth and Dylan Van Der Schyff all contribute, no preview listening is required. You already know this will be good. Seeing them perform this album live earlier this month reminded me of cinematic post-rockers Do Make Say Think (whatever happened to them?), albeit at a much lower volume. Other bands come to mind as well; for example, “Epilogue to Part 1” roils along like Tortoise. The album intersperses full-band material with individual or small group performances. On his solo piece “Gruesome Goo,” Torsten Muller (acoustic bass) produces squeaks, growls and rattles from his instrument—suddenly you’re trying to bunk down in the world’s most haunted attic. Equally eerie is “Egg Hatched” by Gestrin/Lachance/Samworth. Based on the threatening pulses, plinks, and echoes presented, you don’t wanna know what entity has pecked its way out of that egg, that’s for sure. To label Van Der Schyff’s “An Eyeball for Dan” as a drum solo is accurate but inadequate, such is the avalanche of sonic surprises that tumbles forth. The TV series Deadwood was the inspiration, says the liner notes. By and large, the album’s tracks evoke a kind of Old West desolation. Even the jaunty moments are undercut with yearning for better times. Bursts of dissonance generate tension, hinting that not everything will be all right.

Guapo—Obscure Knowledge (Cuneiform)

Obscure Knowledge maintains Guapo’s penchant for sinister splendour. The UK quartet mix genuine tunefulness with discord and drone, never shying away from unexpected transitions or joyous bombast. They always maintain a balance between psychedelic repetition and steady development during a piece of music. They’ll get stuck into a particular groove and then blow it apart at just the right time. Coming along relatively quickly after 2013’s History of the Visitation, Obscure Knowledge at first feels like the previous album’s close relative. They’re practically twins, if you just compare the track lengths: starting with a long 'un, followed by a brief, more abstract linking track, and ending with a mid-length track. Both albums are 42 minutes long. Uncanny! I don’t know whether this is coincidence or by design, and ultimately I don’t care. They definitely haven’t written the same album again. The tracks all cross-fade into each other, and a musical motif or two repeats from track one to track three, making the album a seamless listen if you so desire. (The album's press releases emphasizes that the album is in fact a single track indexed into three sections.) Obscure Knowledge sounds more assertive than its predecessor. Slashing, discordant moments abound. Guitarist Kavus Torabi gets in some screaming leads during the first few minutes of the untitled opener. Drummer David J Smith skitters around his kit with a more orchestral approach than the usual rock drummer. When he drops into a beat in the last few minutes of the opening section, its grounding effect is all the more pronounced. Since denting my brain with Five Suns (over 10 years ago!), Guapo are still the archetypal “heavy prog” band in my mind. Nobody that I’m aware of does what they do. Every release is a major event, and Obscure Knowledge is another album worth studying and savouring.

Burning Ghats—Something Other Than Yourself (self-released)

I'd like to think the title is aimed at the oblivious majority—the people who never look up, lost in their handheld pseudo-realities. Burning Ghats are all about confrontation. If they don’t want to destroy the passer-by, they definitely want to give him/her a good wake-up slap. This Vancouver hardcore/metal/grind quartet have pinned me against the back wall many times with their incredible live show. Afterwards, I’m left with thoughts along the lines of “What the hell just hit me?” rather than “hmm, the tempo change in the second song was kind of cool” or other such musical musings. With a 7-inch already to their name, this EP-length 12-inch (mine's on gruesome grey vinyl) has now arrived. The record provokes the same gut reaction that their gigs do, but it's allowed me to appreciate the band on a new, deeper level. The recording is punishing, the songs are cathartic and harrowing. Recorded at The Hive with Jesse Gander and mastered by Brad Boatright at Audiosiege, they certainly worked with the right people. The ten tracks vary in length and tempo, but not in intensity. The tense, drum-led trudge of “Cold People” sets a forbidding mood before “Hexes” blows it all apart with blasting, double-kicked fury. There’s little time to breathe between the relentless series of tracks that follow. “Grief Ritual” blasts by in 21 seconds. “Carry the Head” shudders and howls with pure horror. “Gold Sores” oozes forth over six minutes, and closes the album with sheets of ominous, macabre sound via guest contributors Night Mother. As a purely indie release, Something Other Than Yourself stands impressively on its own, although fans of Baptists and the rest of Southern Lord’s hardcore roster need to hear this now.

Burning Ghats' record release show is Friday, November 22 at the Astoria in Vancouver.

Horseback/Locrian—New Dominions (Relapse)

Although this album is a bleak listen, it’s still exhilarating to bask in the sonic collisions wrought by Horseback and Locrian. New Dominions is a reissue/compilation of collaborations and individual tracks from a pair of 2011 vinyl releases. Horseback works in a variety of modes, from the blackened Americana riff rock of last year’s Half Blood to the abstract fields of sound found on Forbidden Planet. If it’s branded Horseback, it’s going to freak you out, that’s for certain. Locrian work in the same experimental realm as Horseback, issuing a steady stream of releases on various labels, including Relapse these days. Their 2012 collaboration with Mammifer, Bless Them That Curse You (Profound Lore) is another challenging record that’s well worth steeling your nerves for.

The first two tracks are from a collaborative 12-inch EP originally on Utech Records. On “The Gift,” wind howls, guitars scrape, somebody plucks a piano’s innards, a drum pattern rises from the murk and attempts to impose order before it’s too late. “Our Epitaph” writhes in ecstatic agony for 13 minutes, with bass and tom-toms relentlessly counting out the time. Once the vocals have finished, delicate sheets of guitar and ripples of feedback take over, sounding (I imagine) like the final radio transmissions from a dying planet.

A split 7-inch first released by Turgid Animal Records is next on the program. Horseback’s “Oblivion Eaters” emphasizes the almighty drone, with Jenks Miller’s rasping vocals competing with a squall of guitars that almost sound like massed bagpipes. Locrian’s “In the Absence of Light” is full of deep-throated guitars on the edge of feedback destruction. Piano and ominous voices contribute to the haunted atmosphere. Interestingly, for a genre that often shuns the human voice—there’s no conventional song structure; no verses and choruses, after all—every track on New Dominions features vocals. They provide a human connection amidst the tortured electronics, and make the entire mood all the more despairing. James Plotkin’s remix of “The Gift” (exclusive to this release) sounds like urban demolition rather than the radiation-poisoned windstorms of the original. The remix is thus very much its own thing and an essential addition to the album. It reveals different layers buried within the original track, twisting, inverting and elongating what were already some mesmerizingly daunting sounds. It completes the cycle, ending the album by returning to the beginning, in a way. Balance restored, you’re released to the outside world again; a world that looks a little brighter than it did before.

Guapo—History of the Visitation (Cuneiform)

This is a welcome return for a band that made a huge impact on me with their Five Suns album in 2004. Their music was raw, unapologetically bombastic and disturbing. Having been primed by exposure to Univers Zero, Present, and Godspeed You! Black Emperor, the British instrumental trio aligned with what I was seeking at the time. Guapo’s next two albums completed a loose trilogy, and although each of them was superb in their own right, after the final album, Elixirs, came out I thought I could hear the band’s constitution beginning to fray. They’d been reduced to two core members, and the album sounded like a band searching for direction. It’s still a fascinating listen—I heard it in a record store last summer and was reminded how good it actually was.

This is a short but nevertheless eventful and satisfying album. The band’s current lineup, which includes new keyboardist Emmett Elvin and has guitarist Kavus Torabi taking a more prominent role, easily maintains that dark Guapo power. At 26 minutes, opening track “The Pilman Radiant” dwarfs its successors. One of its most outstanding qualities is that it doesn’t feel that long. It has remarkable time-compressing qualities, maybe because it achieves a dreamlike state at several points, beginning with an extended orchestrated drone, then moving along to a somewhat macabre groove halfway through, where the swirling mix of instruments contributes to the hall of mirrors effect. Even at its most raucous, the song has an elegant flow that helps insinuate itself into the subconscious. “Complex #7” is the creepy comedown, a collection of drips and scrapes against a background hum. “Tremors From the Future” releases the tension with its shimmering pulsations and celebratory guitar slashes. You’re never quite sure which tangent it’s going to follow. The pace never slackens, though, as it shifts from thing to thing and drives towards a frenzied peak.

But that’s not all! The band and Cuneiform Records have teamed up to add a companion DVD to this handsome set. Featuring two tracks, it’s definitely a treat for fans who haven’t a hope of seeing them live. The rendition of “Five Suns” from NEARfest 2006 is pretty amazing. It’s a multi-camera shoot presented in beautiful B&W that captures this eerie epic perfectly. I won’t spoil everything that happens during the song; suffice to say that Guapo are a band that cares how they present themselves on stage, and knows how to create a memorable experience for the audience. “King Lindorm” is a simple one-camera colour presentation from Rock In Opposition 2007 that again emphasises what a powerful live act they are.

Elephant9 with Reine Fiske—Atlantis (Rune Grammofon)

Trying to slot this fantastic album into a genre is difficult. Is it progressive rock with jazz structures? Or simply hard-rocking jazz? Why bother trying? Basically, this band rips. Elephant9 keep it loose and improvisational, for the most part. Riffs give way to jamming; riffs come back again, sometimes. The major tracks on this album all clock in around 10 minutes each. They really hurl themselves into their work. The album sounds urgent—it only took them three days to record, so obviously they weren't messing around. The rhythm section rumbles like a herd of 9 angry elephants charging at you. The bass guitar has an attack and tone that will stomp your puny frame into dust. It’s like Jack Bruce and Lemmy are tag-teaming the thing. The keyboards consist of burning Hammonds and raging Rhodes pumped through some huge speaker cabs. This is one heavy outfit. The opening to “Psychedelic Backfire” is pure doom metal malevolence. Atlantis features the Norwegian trio with guest Reine Fiske (Landberk, Dungen, The Amazing) on guitar on many of the tracks. Fiske integrates well with the rest of the band. He especially finds a kindred spirit in keyboardist Ståle Storløkken as they engage in some overdriven tradeoffs. The constant push-pull of the band’s approach doesn’t leave any room for virtuoso showcases. Everybody gets their licks in while managing not to get bulldozed out of the way. This sound may have crystallized in the late 60s, early 70s with Mahavishnu Orchestra, Tony Williams Lifetime, even The Band of Gypsys—check out the funky riff on “Freedom’s Children” that sets up Fiske’s initial solo flights—but it’s proven to be a timeless approach. Everybody likes hearing crack musicians playing off each other at top speed, right?

Janel & Anthony—Where Is Home (Cuneiform)

Janel & Anthony’s music is both personal and personable. I like that they’ve chosen to feature themselves on the cover of Where Is Home, posed amongst quaint objects, musical and otherwise. They could have used a photo of a derelict barn or a misty birch grove for the cover, but they didn’t. There they are: “We’re the two people who made this music.” Even before the record gets played, we have names and faces; a human connection to the art that lies inside the jewel case.

Janel Leppin and Anthony Pirog are both active in the Washington DC experimental music scene. They make music separately and together. This is their second album as a duo. Janel plays cello and guitar; Anthony plays guitar. Those instruments create the foundation of their sound, but they also use looping to build layers and establish backdrops for solos. A few other instruments—various keyboards and percussion odds and ends—are in the mix as well. There are some jazz and folk flavours in their music, but they’re blended into the duo’s own elusive style. It’s detailed and exploratory, spacious and often wistful, and very well mannered. No single instrument dominates the space. Janel and Anthony clearly have a high-functioning, harmonious musical partnership.

Their songs are for the most part tight and disciplined with ear-grabbing, repeating themes and space reserved for non-indulgent soloing. The rapid-fire “Big Sur” is some kind of a gypsy bluegrass hoedown, driven by Leppin’s ostinado, Pirog’s twangy picking, and some exciting unison runs. Many of the other tracks are more sombre, like the wistful “Leaving the Woods” and its gliding guitar lines, volume swells, and of course, the cello moaning away, not shying away from its status as the world’s saddest instrument. “Mustang Song” has them both on guitar, picking out a haunting tune that’s like a tidier, more elaborate take on what Earth are doing these days. Linking most of the longer tracks are short, spontaneous-sounding pieces that vibrate in sympathy with their neighbours and keep the album flowing. Of these, “’Cross the Williamsburg Bridge” and “Auburn Road” stand out as lovely little tunes.

For all their inventiveness in making such elaborate music as a duo, Janel & Anthony’s music brims with emotion and personality. Where Is Home is a gem, and seriously cool from start to finish.

Nicklas Barker – El Último Fin De Semana

Reviewing a soundtrack is tricky because the music is meant to be part of a greater whole; not necessarily an experience unto itself. Without having seen the movie for which this music was made, I can’t comment on how it serves the visuals and storyline, which is the true criterion for a soundtrack’s success. However, as a prog head and fan of Anekdoten, Nicklas Barker’s primary band, I declare this music to be quite fantastic on its own.

It’s mostly hushed, eerie stuff. Given titles like “Night Ambience,” “Entering the Lost Village,” and “Confrontation/Doom,” I’d guess El Último… is a pretty creepy film. Barker—a guitarist in his main gig—piles on Mellotron, Hammond, and Theremin to create these ethereal snippets. An atmosphere of melancholy pervades everything; occupying a realm between Air and Morte Macabre (the beloved Anekdoten/Landberk collaborative one-off). Fans of vintage keyboard sounds will be in their element.

“Celestial Ghost” is the longest, most “rock” track on here. Once the drums and bass kick in beneath its hypnotic organ line, it’s clear that it’s descended from the Anekdoten family. “Chase/Purgatory” is structured like its title, starting with a driving rhythm just like one of Anekdoten’s peppier songs, then giving way to massed Mellotron choirs and buzzing synthesizers. Only the comparatively jaunty bossanova of “Beach Girls” pokes through the gloom—some light relief at the end of a series of little nightmares.

The Gates of Slumber—The Wretch (Metal Blade/Rise Above)

With The Wretch, The Gates of Slumber have reached a new peak by trolling the depths of despondence. The Gates of Slumber are a doom metal institution by now, going from strength to strength with their no-nonsense lifer rock. The Wretch is especially free of frills. You won’t hear backup vocals, rhythm guitars or keyboards; only the sound of a trio trudging along a sorrowful path with their simple but devastating riffs.

The doldrums suit them. Guitarist/vocalist Karl Simon says as much in his liner notes: “We’ve made the ‘Conan Crushing Doom’ thing our niche…but in the end I think that our move from the fantastic to the personal was best for this album.” To say the least. Doom needs truth and it needs pain. It needs to point a finger. Chuck Eddy nailed it when he described Sabbath’s Paranoid as “extremely moral.” Honesty and moral righteousness underpin a lot of these songs, from “The Scourge ov Drunkenness” to “Coven of Cain” (an anti-coke tale) to the self-castigating title track.

Empty spaces dominate the album. Not just spaces between notes—tempos are generally slow, slow, slow—but in the arrangements. The guitar often drops out to let the rhythm section carry things. The light/shade structure of “Castle of the Devil” showcases the approach. The verses are in the gloomy folk-ballad mold of Sabbath’s “Solitude,” while the choruses erupt in power chords. Then comes a surprise in the form of a swinging solo break—with the drums striking up a minimal boogie, going it alone for a few bars—that’s about as jazzy as The Gates of Slumber are gonna get.

Simon delivers a great vocal performance that doesn’t shy away from vulnerability and melody. For a metal band, their arrangements are surprisingly sympathetic to vocals. “Day of Farewell,” for instance, is a genuinely affecting anti-life epic (“The fruit is bland/And the wine is dry/Why continue this lie?”) that ends with a one-note chug as Simon’s cries echo in the distance. The songs include the entire package—riffs, lyrics and melody—that more bands would do well to study. There’s a lot more to being heavy than crushing, downtuned sonics.

The Wretch is not an album that hit me immediately. I needed to play it through a few times to get in synch with its tempo and mood. Only then did I find myself getting stuck on it, discovering a new favourite track with each airing until the whole damn thing became indispensible.

Earth—Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light 1 (Southern Lord)

The Bees Made Honey in the Lion’s Skull (2008) was a shimmering, hypnotic set based around precision and repetition. Angels of Darkness… showcases a more relaxed approach, as though the band visited Neil Young’s Ragged Glory barn and took some pointers from Crazy Horse. (I often wonder if Neil Young has ever heard Earth, given his history of work in bleak guitar landscapes, from the Dead Man soundtrack to Le Noise.) If The Bees Made Honey… struck you as regimented, the untamed swirling of sounds here will be a pleasant surprise. It’s another refinement to the basic approach Dylan Carlson has taken since Hex; Or Printing in the Infernal Method—striving for a state of grace through repetition, deliberation, and space. Don’t call it drone. “Old Black” demonstrates the impact of small gestures in this environment. In the first half of the song, Carlson unspools a lengthy, slowly developing riff, punctuating each turnaround with a slight tug on the whammy bar. That minor quaver is enough to stir the soul. When the closing riff emerges, he steps on a wah pedal and everything liquefies. Superb. “Father Midnight” is mainly carried by bass and drums, as Carlson steps back and improvises around the slo-mo groove. Lori Goldston’s cello scuttles and churns underneath. “Descent into the Zenith” sounds like a sunrise, with a mood that fits Carlson’s “Miami Morning Coming Down” series. Only “Hell’s Winter” feels too typically Earth; overfamiliar and overlong. With a vision so strong, and a band so consistent—the same four players appear on all the tracks, and there are no guest musicians—the music pours freely on the title track’s 20 minutes of lolling oceanic improvisation, like an accompaniment to a humpback ballet. This is Earth untethered, gliding through air and water rather than scrabbling through scrub-brush. Angels are at play, yes, but so are demons, exerting gravity via the low notes at the end of a riff, or a downcast chord progression, or Adrienne Davies’ steadfast downbeat. It feels good to be caught amidst this quiet struggle. Let it play and hear it glow.

Creation’s End—A New Beginning (Sensory)

I looked up “Prog/Power” in the OED (it’s been added to the latest edition, I swear) and it said “See Creation’s End.” Which means (a) the OED knows its metal, and (b) if you want some fine prog/power metal, Creation’s End delivers it, straight-up, with no discordant King Crimson moves, no jazz fusion tangents, and no zany circus-music fluff (thank Christ for that). They take a stab at exoticism with some extra percussion in a couple spots, which doesn’t mesh well, but it’s harmless. Creation’s End are a project band assembled by guitarist Rudy Albert and drummer Dario Rodriguez. Everybody’s “ex” this band or “of” that band. They chose well, especially in the singer department. Mike Dimeo (ex-Masterplan, ex-Riot) has lungs of rawhide and brings some essential grit to the enterprise. Albert and Rodriguez put him through his paces, especially on “Hollow,” where a key change pushes him near the breaking point. You’re not sure he’ll get to the end, but he does. With such talent in place, it’s a relief that the songwriting is a cut above as well. Most of the songs begin by establishing quality choruses and effective hooks before they (inevitably) get all tech and paradiddly between minutes 4 and 7, only to have the catchy elements reappear towards the end as if to say “Remember us?” to which I reply, “I absolutely do—welcome back!” All the trappings of power/prog are present, including some way-OTT keyboard solos and songs about war, justice, and religious hypocrisy. It’s stern stuff, powered by brick-shithouse guitar tones and a Neil Kernon mix that’ll put hair on your chest. Everyone involved has obviously poured a lot of love and enthusiasm into A New Beginning. Nobody’s phoning it in. If there’s meat ‘n’ potatoes on the menu in prog metal’s opulent dining quarters, then Creation’s End will serve it up on a heaped platter. Tasty, if familiar, fare.

Electric Wizard—Black Masses (Rise Above)

Electric Wizard doesn’t want to be your friend, so don’t try to get all chummy. Keep your distance, give them their space, and everything’ll be cool. Still, you remember the good times; those hazy, lazy days that became nights that became days hanging out with Come My Fanatics, or maybe Dopethrone. Then things seemed to go bad for them and you lost touch. You thought it’d be best to leave Electric Wizard alone to let them sort through their hassles. That’s what being a friend is all about—knowing when to step away, but being there nevertheless, listening for clues as to when to get in touch again. On Witchcult Today, they almost sounded like they were ready to party again. A song like “Dunwich” was downright bouncy compared to a lot of their other stuff. The mid-range throb the album emanated made them quite presentable. Now, on Black Masses, they reek a bit. Everything, including the vocals, is caked in relentless distortion. It can’t be healthy. Once you’re accustomed to the grimy atmosphere, though, Black Masses makes sense. They throw us a decoy with “Venus In Furs,” but it’s an original tune; their Jess Franco obsession trumping any deference to the Velvet Underground's claim to the title. “Satyr IX” is somehow both crude and majestic. After its dying Mellotron makes you abandon all hope, the catchy psych of “Turn Off Your Mind” lets in some fresh air, but just a couple lungful’s worth; after all, mental obliteration is the priority here. That’s the genius of Electric Wizard—their elementary crash ‘n’ burn approach sounds like something anyone could pull off given a basic knowledge of power chords and a big enough amp. But trust me, you’d screw it up. You’d add at least one too many notes. You can’t channel their genius without living the life. It’s best to just give in to Black Masses and visit it as often as you can stomach. Contemplate the noise, the trudging tempos, the half-eaten, mouldering food, the freezer bag of weed spilling over the table, the kitchen sink full of “matter,” battered LPs and VHS tapes strewn all over… This is who they are, bless ’em. Don’t try to change them, man!

Agalloch—Marrow of the Spirit (Profound Lore)

At this point in their existence, a new release from Portland’s Agalloch generates near-Neurosis levels of anticipation. They take their time between albums—it’s been four years since Ashes Against the Grain came out. We know the new album will be good, but we don’t know what kind of good: which of the band’s many strengths will be emphasized, what new elements will come into play, what will the production reveal (or conceal)?

The cover depicts a bleak, impressionistic winter scene with ravaged trees and mottled snowfall. The Agalloch logo is drizzled in varnish across it. It’s in keeping with the classy and subtle presentation of their previous releases. They’re a greyscale kind of band. The first track (after the cello-based intro “They Escaped the Weight of Darkness”) is called “Into the Painted Grey,” so we know for sure that we’re not in a Technicolor world. As the song takes off with (relatively) new drummer Aesop Dekker’s punishing blasts, it’s apparent that Agalloch are exploring darker climes than the more gaze-y, spectral Ashes… did. The lead guitar work is much more pronounced as well. Instead of hanging back and providing polite texture, the solos cut through. Guitarist Don Anderson’s work with Sculptured proves he can shred, and he’s doing it with Agalloch as well.

“The Watcher’s Monolith” continues these themes in a sparser, mid-paced fashion, with a piano coda that eases us into the album’s centrepiece “Black Lake Niđstång.” This track has gained a lot of praise as the “must hear” song on Marrow of the Spirit, and justifiably so. It’s the longest (I believe, at 18 minutes), most startling song Agalloch have tackled so far. It begins as a dirge, slowly piling on the drama with additional tympani and classical guitar. This is the album’s most post-rock passage, which is a sound they’ve steered successfully away from, on the whole, with Marrow of the Spirit. The track goes some remarkable places that I won’t describe here. I want music to surprise me, and I trust you do as well.

To close the album, there’s the more familiar folk metal feel of “Ghosts of the Midwinter Fires.” “To Drown” smoulders on the embers of the fire that came before, acoustic guitars and cello to the fore, giving way to a chilling and forlorn squall of guitars. Marrow of the Spirit ends a triumphant year for Profound Lore and establishes Agalloch as one of the titans of modern metal. I bought this too late in 2010 to honestly claim this as my album of the year, but it’ll be the album of the rest of the winter anyway.

Blood Revolt—Indoctrine (Profound Lore)

There’s metal, and then there’s extreme metal. Blood Revolt make extremist metal. Indoctrine puts you in their blast zone, where they will cut you down. This Irish-Canadian collaboration—vocalist AA Nemtheanga (Primordial) joining Albertan war-metal stalwarts C Ross and J Read (Axis of Advance) on guitars and drums respectively—attack this album like a suicide squad, knowing this is their one chance to get it right. Anything less than total destruction would be a failure.

When this project was announced, I had difficulty envisioning how an emotive vocalist like Nemtheanga would mesh with the musical style of his bandmates. Primordial’s music provides space for singing, whereas Axis of Advance’s razor-wire hyperblast had been augmented exclusively by snarling, rasping vocals. It’s a testament to the strength of this collaboration that neither party has compromised at all. Nemetheanga plays his part to the hilt; howling, growling, speaking and whispering in his portrayal of someone whose internal struggles with faith and truth lead to a destructive act of martyrdom. It’s a bravura performance that is, I imagine, informed by his Irish heritage as well as by the ongoing insanity in the Middle East. Read and Ross are utterly furious throughout, firing off rounds of stirring, filth-encrusted riffs like Bolt Thrower in overdrive. The production is pretty much perfect, favouring the thick distortion of Scandinavian death while maintaining the raw scrape of past AoA recordings. The drum sound is especially effective—their natural resonance is more in the spirit of jazz records than modern metal production. I don’t usually think of drums as an emotional instrument, but here they sound truly angry, a rage stoked by the punishment that Read doles out with each snare/tom/snare/tom roll outburst.

Don’t think of Blood Revolt as some side project formed to indulge someone’s career frustration or musical fancy. Indoctrine stands on its own as the product of three musical extremists pushing each other to the limit. To paraphrase the album’s opening line, their aim is true and their hands are steady. If your listening habits reside at the ragged extremes, you’ll ignore this at your peril.

Egg—The Polite Force (Decca/Esoteric)

Egg’s second album, The Polite Force (1971), saw them maturing on all fronts. They’re far more focused and heavy. The album has only four tracks, with none of the quirky filler interludes from the first album. Once again, everything is good humoured and down to earth even as the band churn away with great complexity. Save the philosophy and mythology for Genesis and Yes—Egg were more concerned with having a high-minded good time. The classical reinterpretations from the first album are gone (save for a bit of Bach heard in “Boilk”) in favour of concentrating on their own identity. Mont Campbell’s vocal style is still ultra-sauve, but more even keeled. “A Trip to Newport Hospital” is apparently the most beloved track on the album, and I can hear why. The intro riff is right doomy, as prog goes—almost as if it’s sprung from Iommi’s mangled fingers, mashing down on organ keys rather than against that maroon SG (there’s some more of that fuzz in “Long Piece No. 3”)—before it traipses off into jazzier realms. It’s a big comfy couch of a song; a vibe that comes to mind when people discuss the Canterbury sound—an easy-going, nostalgic aura created by young men for whom nostalgia seems a premature mindset. “Contrasong” is a punchy jigsaw of a tune, embellished by a horn section stabbing at the accents. “Boilk” is a rather indulgent 9-minute collage of field recordings, found sound, mellotron noodling, and feedback. Those were the times, man. “Long Piece No. 3” which takes up the entire second half of the album, is where Egg really flex their muso muscles. This dazzling, disorienting exercise actually has several very accessible, catchy nuggets scattered amongst the riff salad. It sounds like Egg weren’t pursuing dreams so much as transcribing, then performing them. It was all too much for Decca, who begrudgingly released The Polite Force after sitting on the tapes for several months. After that, the game was up for Egg for the time being. The trio moved on to separate projects (the Egg family tree encompasses The Groundhogs, Khan, Hatfield and the North, National Health, and Neil from The Young Ones!) before reuniting for 1973’s The Civil Surface.

Egg—s/t (Decca/Esoteric)

The music on this L.P. is not dancing music, but basically music for listening to. It is harmonically and rhythmically complex, designed to be as original as possible within the confines of the instrumental line-up; so its [sic] pretty demanding on the listener’s attention. –notes from the original LP

They come across as polite and eager to please in the liner notes, but in truth, Egg were like ELP’s bratty siblings, building lopsided-yet-intricate sand castles in the shadow of ELP’s Stonehenge. They had a whale of a time with what I consider the “rock” organ trio format (bass/drums/organ, as opposed to the jazz organ trio of guitar/drums/organ), jamming in strange time signatures and rocking up the classical canon. In common with the Canterbury rockers they eventually fell in with, Egg were whimsical and jazzy, and wrote songs with long titles (with a parenthetical bit at the end). Their first album was released to little fanfare on Decca’s Nova imprint in 1970. It captures this endearing outfit larking about with various ideas from free-form noise (“Blane”) to classical interpretations ("Fugue in D Minor" and the various movements of “Symphony No. 2”) to furious jazz/rock workouts (“The Song of McGillicudie the Pusillanimous [or Don’t Worry James, Your Socks Are Hanging in the Coal Cellar with Thomas]”). Ahem.

Keyboardist Dave Stewart went on to play with loads of people, including Hatfield and the North and Bill Bruford. His sound is in tandem with Hugh Banton’s churchy style, often lending a dreamlike air. Drummer Clive Brooks is a nimble player—he’s gotta be to keep up. And Mont Campbell (who seems a great character based on his contributions to Prog Rock Britannia) manhandles that bass like Jack Bruce and sings with a kind of lounge-y lilt. It’s hard to say whether he’s having a laugh with his singing (it was a few years before Bill Murray’s bit on SNL), but it fits the absurdist bent of most of the material.

This Eclectic Discs reissue* is fully annotated and expanded with a “lost” track (a segment from “Symphony No. 2” that was withdrawn to avoid objections from Stravinsky’s people), and a remarkable early single. The A-side, “Seven is a Jolly Good Time,” actually extols the joys of writing songs in odd time signatures, moving through bars of 4, 5, 7, and 11 as it progresses. As an educational tool, it’s awesome; as a single, it was a dismal failure. But no matter. Egg were kids hepped up on the endless possibilities of the new decade, with no precedents, no safety nets, and not much of an audience, unfortunately. But with critics and their record label on their side, Egg would get another crack at it with The Polite Force in 1971.

*Eclectic Discs is now Esoteric Recordings and is still your source for mind-blowing stuff.

The Nels Cline Singers—Initiate (Cryptogramophone)

The artwork for this double album is dominated by marvellous photos of the CMS detector at the Large Hadron Collider. The images echo the shape of the the CDs within. Collider would have been a good name for the album, actually. The trio of Cline (guitars), Devin Hoff (bass), and Scott Amendola (drums) smashes together a number of styles and influences on this grab bag of rocking jazz noise, with often blinding results.

Their music has as much in common with jazz as it does avant-rock. Let’s call it improvisational rock. Some of these pieces build and climb towards howling climaxes like Godspeed! You Black Emperor or Isis (Aaron Turner, take note if you’re looking for new collaborators!). The Nels Cline Singers also have a lot in common with Southern Lord fringe-metal bands like Earth and SUNN O))) and Eagle Twin, where black metal and drone mix with Bill Frisell, Eyvind Kang, and La Monte Young. I found Initiate in HMV’s Jazz section, but really, it could have been filed anywhere.

Disc two, recorded live in San Francisco, is especially loose and wild—anyone arriving late might have thought they’d come to a Boris concert by mistake. On “Raze,” that’s exactly what they do. “Fly Fly” is an avalanche of glorious noise. “Thurston County” is, as you’d expect, an homage to Sonic Youth. It’s easy to imagine Mr. Moore crooning along with its pounding melodic riffs.
Anyone dismayed by having their earholes singed by all that just has to sit tight, because as I said, the Singers can lay down just about anything with gusto. “Blues, Too” is a delicate tribute to Jim Hall. “Sunken Song” is a rollicking “actual” jazz number. The live set closes with their take on Weather Report’s “Boogie Woogie Waltz.” With a setlist running from the aforementioned face-melters to funky 70s fusion, this must have been quite a gig!

The studio-based disc one has much the same mix of material, captured with a little more restraint. There’s lots to explore in this sonic curiosity shop: the slow-building pulse of “Mercy (Procession),” the spacey sounds in “Red Line to Greenland,” some acoustic folk-jazz on “Grow Closer,” and the kling-klang mechanoid atmosphere of “Scissor/Saw.” I want to say there’s something for everybody on this album, but it’s not a question of wading through the tracks to find something you'll like—it’s all killer. Adventurous and visceral, The Nels Cline Singers make serious music that’s easy to enjoy.

Entombed-Left Hand Path (Earache)

Entombed’s debut album, Left Hand Path, was released 20 years ago, and it’s still looking and sounding pretty spry. I clearly remember first seeing the cover, with its menacing Dan Seagrave artwork and “Crushing guitars—Mass death!” sticker. My friend Ken had bought the album based on that boast, and I picked it up soon afterwards. It was one of the first metal albums I bought on CD, purchased on the same day as Rush’s Roll the Bones. You can guess which one struck me as the more vital, exciting record.

The songs are good, of course, in that catchy way of early death metal. The Swedes’ style combined a Discharge-ish approach with chunky, nascent DM riffing of Carcass, Autopsy, and Bolt Thrower. Entombed—just teenagers at this point—had a flair for song introductions that drew you in and for placing memorable choruses within the mayhem. Invisible Oranges (who are much more on the ball with the metal anniversary celebrations than I am) makes a case for the opening title track and “But Life Goes On” as the most noteworthy tracks, which I wouldn’t dispute. "Left Hand Path" is epic, framed by a frantic opening and the legendary Phantasm-inspired outro—the only stretch on the album that’s not bent on flaying you alive.

“But Life Goes On” is a much different song. It’s more direct and catchy, descended from thrash titans Slayer and Kreator and rendered in Entombed’s own sounds of death. My pick for an underdog track is “Supposed to Rot,” the shortest song on the album. From start to finish, it’s pure brutality. It doesn’t waste a split second. The opening riff—all 14 seconds of it—is my favourite part of the album.

Aside from the songs, Left Hand Path’s real legend was built on its guitar sound. The combination of Peavey amp and Boss Heavy Metal pedal has passed into metal folklore by now. The guitars are out of control—so much so that they seem to play themselves. Any trace of human gesture, like pick noise or palm muting, is obliterated by the ooze, giving the impression that the riffs are generated by an unseen, supernatural force. When I think of Left Hand Path, that thick paste of frequencies comes immediately to mind. Crushing Guitars—Mass Death!

Left Hand Path isn’t one of those forgotten or underappreciated classics. It’s earned its share of kudos over the decades. It’s been inducted into the Decibel Hall of Fame and 20 years later people are still discovering it. Long may it rest in festering slime.

Hellhammer—Demon Entrails (Century Media/PDR)

Now that I’ve reviewed Tom Warrior’s latest project, let’s go way, way back to his first recordings with Hellhammer. He documented this era in Only Death is Real, THE metal book of 2010 so far. The only thing that remarkable compendium didn’t include was a soundtrack. Fortunately, Century Media released just such a thing in 2008.

At the time of their first release, most bands are like teenagers—reckless, ill-groomed, and pumped up with new possibilities. When Swiss legends Hellhammer put out the Apocalyptic Raids EP, they were toddlers, artistically—apt to fall down, smear peanut butter on the cat, and forget to use their “inside voice.” After the EP’s release, critics gave them a unanimous “time out,” during which Tom Warrior and Martin Eric Ain’s balls dropped and they emerged kicking and screaming with the mighty Celtic Frost.

But even before Apocalyptic Raids, Hellhammer took their first baby steps via the demos compiled on this two-disc archival release, Demon Entrails. If you’ve heard Apocalyptic Raids, you can imagine what the Hellhammer demos must sound like. The sonics are indeed grim. Yet, some promise seeps out of the murk. Hellhammer knew what they were going for, even if their ambitions far outstripped their abilities.

Disc one contains the entire Satanic Rites demo from December 1983. This was the band’s first session in a real studio, an occasion tainted by the last-minute loss of their bassist. Described in one of the funnier episodes in Only Death is Real, the band learned that Stephen “Evoked Damnator” Priestly had gone shopping with his mother the morning of the session. “In our view, he had dishonored the name Evoked Damnator,” rues Warrior, who had to record the bass parts himself. They’re pretty much inaudible. With the production being a write-off, the band still manages to upchuck some interesting material. The ambitious “Buried and Forgotten” is an early version of “Necromantical Screams” from Celtic Frost’s To Mega Therion, one of their most grandiose tracks. “Triumph of Death” is another gnarled masterpiece—probably Hellhammer’s greatest achievement. Here it’s a couple minutes shorter than the agonizing Apocalyptic Raids version, and better for it. The riffs carry more headbanging momentum. The rest of the tracks reflect Hellhammer’s speedy punk-metal sound. “Maniac” even verges on rock ‘n’ roll, and stands out along with “Euronymos” and “Messiah” as the best of the blackened polkas.

Disc two steps back six months in time for the Triumph of Death and Death Fiend demos, both recorded in one session at the band’s rehearsal space (the latter title was never released). Intoxicated with the idea of recording, they laid down their entire 17-song repertoire. The sound is truly noxious, but better balanced than the Satanic Rites demo, with Steve Warrior’s Cronos-inspired bass sound holding it own against Warrior’s guitar slop. The band bulldozes through everything with little attention to quality control. Were it not for their zeal to release everything, they could have tossed out at least half this material from the outset. Some of the important elements are in place, like Warrior’s biting guitar sound. The rest of the good stuff seems to happen by accident: “Death Fiend”’s punkish energy and the (hobbled) stoner rock groove of “Bloody Pussies,” for example. The band’s first thrash at “Triumph of Death” is even shorter and faster than the version on disc one. Blinded by metal, leather and hell, Hellhammer were still scrambling for control over their material in terms of performance and songwriting.

While none of this was acceptable to the metal establishment at the time, hearing it now that "raw, primitive BM" is an accepted subgenre underlines Hellhammer's unwitting influence. It’s interesting to hear their sound develop from elements of the NWOBHM (especially Venom) along with a more cruel approach using Sabbathian power chords in semitone clusters. Demon Entrails demonstrates that Hellhammer were a departure point where metal took a stern, uncompromising direction that led to the second wave of black metal. Demon Entrails isn’t exactly a listening pleasure, but it is an undeniable piece of metal history.

Nick Cave & Warren Ellis—White Lunar (Mute)

Spooky music by spooky guys with spooky facial hair. You all know Nick Cave. Warren Ellis is one of the Bad Seeds and 1/3 of the Dirty Three. They recorded some of this music for movies; the rest came from their own vaults. Disc one presents selections from the soundtracks for The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, The Proposition, and The Road. The liner notes claim that the disc has “the big themes, the orchestra and the songs,” yet what I hear on instrumentals like “What Must Be Done” is intimate and delicate. When the orchestra is employed, as on “Song for Bob,” it provides shadings rather than bombast; a backdrop for Cave’s or Ellis’s sparse melodies. The resulting music is restrained yet powerful. Some pieces are built from loops or drones, like “Martha’s Dream.” The songs from The Proposition get increasingly listener friendly, progressing from the pulsing, scraping “The Rider No. 2” to “Gun Thing,” a malevolent ballad, and concluding with “The Rider Song,” which resembles a Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds track. After the set from The Proposition, the selections from The Road feel like an extended orchestral piece. They almost sound hopeful, except when the “The Journey” blackens the skies for a few minutes.

Disc two, described as “fractured, haunting and sometimes badly behaved,” is still of a piece with disc one. The overall feel is more ethereal and exotic, and yes, haunting. These are fairly friendly ghosts, though. “Halo” is based on a soothing three-note loop. “Magma” consists of voices joining in a wordless mantra, like Gregorian monks brought in for a Beach Boys session. The selections from The English Surgeon soundtrack are at times similar to the music on disc one, gently orchestrated with piano and violin conversing overtop. Glimpses of menace come through “Window” (from The Girls of Phnom Penh) and “Zanstra,” a tense interlude powered by Ellis’s jagged bowing. And for bad behaviour, stick around for the coda to “Sorya Market” if you don’t mind getting your mellow harshed. Throughout, Cave and Ellis sound like equal partners, staying out of each other’s way, yet unafraid to assert their voice/instrument when it serves the music’s mood. White Lunar is a rich compilation that shows that Cave, a devastating lyricist, can be equally effective letting the music speak for itself.