Led Bib—Bring Your Own (Cuneiform)

To adapt a line from LA punk legends Fear, Led Bib’s alright if you like saxophones. Fortunately I do—I haven’t always, but I came around to them. As a staunch rockist, I regarded them as poisonous garnish (the sax on IQ’s Nomzamo in ’87 filled me with rage). All I needed to hear was saxophone being properly deployed. After Van der Graaf Generator opened the gateway, the sax and I were good to go. A bit of skronk is good for what ails ya.

Led Bib’s got two wild, battling saxophones capable of erecting walls of sound, then crashing right through them, raining blows down upon each other. The British quintet play jazz…of a sort. Their music marries the attack of rock with jazz’s freedom and exploration, which I admit reads like marketing copy, but that’s how I hear it. It’s two great tastes in one. The prominent Fender Rhodes tints everything with a bit of the’70s jazz-rock/Canterbury sound. It’s not ’70s-style fusion and it’s not techy like Zevious, for example.

They’ve made their own rules. They’re sometimes quite heavy, as on “Is That a Woodblock?”, where the bass growls away, or the menacing opening of “Little X”, one of the few tracks not composed by drummer Mark Holub. The tracks often start with an ultra-catchy head played at full-tilt. You can parp along with them, if you’re given to parping. But Led Bib don’t milk their themes; they get on with it. Where they’ll go after establishing the head is always open to question. On “Shapes and Sizes” the band races each other like a grid of F1 cars heading towards the first corner. They strike a more placid mood on the brief “Hollow Ponds,” or on the occasionally mournful “Winter.” Sometimes the whole endeavour collapses, and you’re left wondering how they’re going to claw themselves out of the pit they’ve fallen into, as on “Moth Dilemma.” But they always do.

Like their Mercury Prize-shortlisted Cuneiform debut Sensible Shoes, Bring Your Own brims with action and adventure. It’s a blast, in short. With duel-to-the-death saxes, great riffs, and crack musicianship in service of exciting, frequently weird, songs, what’s not to love? If you don’t like saxophones, well, grow up! You’re missing out on some stirring modern music.

25 Years of Powerchord

This Saturday we’re celebrating the 25th anniversary of Powerchord on CiTR with a gig at the Rickshaw Theatre. The bill includes Woods of Ypres, Titans Eve, Scissortooth and others. It should be quite a night.

Powerchord’s been on the air since 1985, always in the same Saturday afternoon 2-hour time slot (with one or two deviations). It speaks to the dedication of the local scene and CiTR staffers that it’s stayed on the air this long, moving through various hosts, the latest of whom are Geoff, Andy and the Mistress of Metal.

The first and most beloved Powerchord hosts were, of course, “Metal Ron” Singer and Gerald “Rattlehead” Yoshida. They deserve a lot of credit in building up the Vancouver scene from virtually nothing in the mid-’80s to the thriving scene we have today, with a huge number of bands toiling away in every sub-genre, and a handful of artists attaining genuine international prominence.



Vancouver was not a metal town at all in 1985. In fact, it was downright hostile to the genre. Ontario had Anvil, Razor, and Exciter; Quebec had Voivod and a zillion other bands. Toronto also had a more open-minded media, with CITY TV’s New Music and (later) Much Music regularly dedicating airtime to metal acts.

Here in Vancouver, our cutting-edge local community access video show, Soundproof, was a hive of snobbery, championing power pop and politico art/punk slop (basically anything on Zulu, MoDaMu, or Nettwerk) while sneering at anything suburban and scruffy. For example, Vancouver Province critic Tom Harrison reviewed records every week on Soundproof. Oh boy, it was a banner week when he pulled out Mercyful Fate’s Melissa and declared it the worst album he’d ever heard: the band couldn’t even play metal properly and the singer had a ridiculous falsetto. For months afterwards, records were gauged against the standard set by the “Melissa-Meter.” Metal provided no end of amusement and mockery amongst Tom and the Soundproof hosts, especially when Tom discovered Venom’s At War With Satan, a record he deemed even more of an insult to good taste. Thereafter, the Melissa-Meter became the Venometer, and the laughs at metal’s expense continued…

(Incidentally, both Venom and Mercyful Fate have had albums inducted into Decibel magazine’s Hall of Fame; Venom for Welcome to Hell, and Mercyful Fate for, of course, Melissa. It’s safe to say those albums have had a greater impact on the history of music than anything that, say, The Animal Slaves ever released.)

It was into this environment that Ron and Gerald arrived. It came as a surprise too, because CiTR seemed to be in the same anti-metal camp as Soundproof. I remember reading a profile of the station in the paper that discussed the station’s “anything goes” approach, except when it came to metal. “We’ve had someone approach us wanting to do a metal show,” said a spokesman (I’m paraphrasing from memory, but trust me, do I ever remember this stuff). “We showed him the door.” I’m not sure how Ron and Gerald cracked it, but there they were, bringing us the latest albums, demo tapes, gig listings, and metal news.

They made a good team. Neither of them were natural-born broadcasters. Gerald had (still has!) a nasal drawl and was prone to fits of giggles. Ron had a high, sort of reticent voice that occasionally sounded resigned against Gerald’s onslaught of babble. Their chemistry made them endearing and approachable. They were just two nerds, same as me but with better connections. Despite my shyness and hatred of phones, I’d sometimes ring Gerald during the show to ask about upcoming release dates or to make a request. He was never less than friendly and ultra-enthusiastic.



CiTR was powered by a hamster in a wheel back then, so there was no way I could tune it in at my parents’ house in Burnaby. However, CiTR was on cable too, so once I figured out how to rig a coaxial adapter to my boom box I was in the Powerchord club. The first show I caught was a revelation. These guys had the stuff! Things I’d seen mentioned or advertised in Kerrang! but never had a hope of hearing came blasting out of the radio. Hearing Megadeth for the first time (a demo of “Loved to Deth”) nearly popped my head clean off. Bands like Watchtower and Fates Warning fused metal and prog in ways that made me an instant fan. The Energetic Disassembly tape got a lot of play. “One of those bands that’s good if you’re into Rush and bands like that,” Gerald would say. Duly noted.

After a few weeks it became clear that each host had his own specialty. Ron was into what he called “class metal”—Helloween, Agent Steel and so on. Power metal before power metal sucked. Gerald was obsessed with “crossover” at the time. Any bands with three initials for a name got the nod. The day Speak English or Die arrived was like a dozen Christmases rolled into one for him.

If I could cue up a tape in time, I’d tape away; otherwise I'd make notes of what I liked, and hoped it would come out on Banzai Records soon. It was a good time for me, becoming aware of the local scene—bands like Genghis Khan, Karrion, Mission of Christ, and a few others—and realizing that there were other people in this city who cared about the same things I did. I can’t say I made new friends directly because of Powerchord, but I did eventually fall in with a crowd who were avid listeners. The show was just another thing we bonded over. What it did make me realize is that if you love something, no matter how strange or obscure it is or how much it marks you as a freak, you should let people know about it, just in case they find the same spark in it that you do.

Once the ’90s hit their stride right up to the present day, Vancouver’s been doing really well metal-wise. The old guard and the former tastemakers have faded away, and more open-minded folks have taken their place, to the point where all kinds of people mingle at metal shows now, and metalheads worry more about their scene being infiltrated by hipsters than about having a scene at all. Gerald and Ron, our unassuming metal gurus, led the charge. Thanks, guys, for helping my city open its ears, pull the stick out of its arse, and finally learn to rock.

Mitochondrion—Parasignosis (Profound Lore)

Listening to this album is a hellish experience. That’s not a critique; that’s just how it is. Parasignosis is grim, oppressive, and gruelling, a torture chamber in which twisting tendrils of death metal slither, entwine and ultimately suffocate whatever sensibility you had when you entered. You’re compelled to explore this black pit of sonic horror just in case a sliver of light finds its way in, giving you a glimpse of its terrible mystery.

Victoria’s Mitochondrion are furthering the distance between metal and rock 'n' roll, extending the line drawn by Hellhammer’s primitive expulsions, Incantation’s abstract death metal, and Gorguts’ fractalized dischord. Every element seems designed to confuse. Riffs—so many relentless riffs—coagulate and break off, overlap, and mutate. Songs merge to form time-dilating expanses. Cyclic song structures are mostly absent, giving us few cues with which to orient ourselves. The production smothers details—vocals are subterranean gurgles, and reverb blurs any fine lines that might have existed. It’s a triumph of atmosphere over clarity, yet it works for their style.

However much Mitochondrion revel in metal’s inversion of values, there are genuinely outstanding elements to celebrate. The drumming, full of militant beats and blasting, has advanced quite a bit from their first album. K. Godard’s use of the entire kit is particularly striking; skittering under, over, and between the guitars. The packaging is a masterpiece of cryptic writing and symbolism. I know not what it all means, but it, like the music, is clearly the product of advanced thought and dedication. Having released this daunting work, it’s intriguing to consider where they might go next. If there’s a more depraved, extreme form of metal that lies beyond Parasignosis, then I’m sure Mitochondrion will be the band to find it.

Six Organs of Admittance—Asleep on the Floodplain (Drag City)

It’s a credit to Ben Chasny’s abilities as a guitarist and songwriter that his work sounds so effortless. It has the flow and spontaneity of conversation, making the listener feel like a privileged eavesdropper. Listen to the exchange of phrases on the opening track “Above a Desert I've Never Seen”: tentative at first, then faster, as the discussion heats up, trills jabbing back and forth, then resolution and a calm parting of the ways. It’s surely the product of intense concentration on the part of the artist, but sounds easy as breathing.

Asleep on the Floodplain takes a more intimate, acoustic approach than recent Six Organs of Admittance albums such as Luminous Night or The Sun Awakens. Four of the tracks are solo guitar, with occasional harmonium overdubs. The combination works very well—the guitar paints a compelling line in the foreground; the harmonium provides the background element; that other dimension.

Sounds both placid and haunting dominate, like the low thrum that underpins “Brilliant Blue Sea Between Us” or the synth that curls like smoke around the memorable “Hold But Let Go.” “S/Word and Leviathan,” the longest track, establishes an uneasy atmosphere, vibrating like a dozen hammers pounding on power cables for several minutes. A chord progression emerges, then some vocals, before an electric guitar slashes through and obliterates all the chatter. “A New Name on an Old Cement Bridge” follows, a bluesy guitar piece to balance the mood after its predecessor’s cloudburst.

The album abounds in water imagery, which suits the flowing qualities of the music on Asleep on the Floodplain. These are small-seeming songs that resonate much larger, like the chain of ripples forming behind a skipping stone.

21 Tandem Repeats—One Little Dream (Canada Lynx)

Super Robertson is his own man, and he does what he does with no concern about what’s cool and what might "rock." We should all be so unencumbered by cultural baggage. If this makes him an outsider, never mind; he’s got larger concerns. He’s got kids to raise, a Supper Show to organize every week, a garden to tend, bee survival to worry about, and songs to write.

Dreams have become a theme in his work as 21 Tandem Repeats. On “Robertson’s Dream Orchard” (from No Junk Mail Please) he sang about a fantasy of small-town life amongst the trees and bees. He expresses the same urge to escape the city on “Bold Point Road,” where he once “went to learn about the farming life” on Quadra Island. “One Little Dream” is about having the spirit required to help that dream survive in the face of challenges to our creativity and growth—“You gotta be bad to be good.” As ever, Super’s got ideas and opinions packaged up in these dreams-turned-songs.

With his last album, I gave him some stick over what I thought were less-than-definitive versions of songs that I’d been enjoying live. Timid arrangements diminished the material, I thought. This time, he’s assembled a crack team that has injected a lot of style and personality into the album. Alvaro Rojas (Cortez the Killer, Big Buck, etc.) and Willingdon Black handle electric guitars, adding twang and raunch when required; Johnny Wildkat (Mongoose) plays bass; Shawn Killaly—an irrepressible showman and incredible musician—is on drums, cracking the whip and giving the songs a boot up the arse. The MVP trophy, though, might have to go to C.S. Rippin for his piano playing, always rollicking away in the background, providing bounce and some humour—do I hear “Sweet Home Alabama” licks in “The Last Honey and Toast”? Jesse Gander’s mix buffs it till it sparkles. It’s a great leap beyond 21 TR’s handmade origins.

Quirks and characters populate 21 TR’s folk music. A song about a photographer friend (“Moustache Man” ) leads to a tune musing on Robertson's own neighbhourhood notoriety (“Famous Person”), followed by a slice of road-trip life from Robertson’s Knocking Dog days (“I was thinking that this ought to be in a movie” he thinks, as they drive through “Saskatchewan”). A minor gardening accident inspires “Rage Hero Episode #37,” a rambling narrative that Genny Trigo sings with the rage-negating chipperness of a children’s entertainer. Best of all, though, is “Nothing is Heard” a protest song that reminds me of Neil Young whipping up a storm with Crazy Horse. This version far eclipses what I’ve heard on stage. Based on this song alone, I’d declare One Little Dream a success, but considering everything else—the fine playing, the production, and other songs like “The Recurring Hurrah” and the title track—it’s clearly the best 21TR effort yet.

Red Fang—Murder the Mountains (Relapse)

What’s the angle on Red Fang? Well, there’s the beer-fueled, Pythonesque hilarity of the “Prehistoric Dog” video. I got on board after catching that, I’ll admit. There’s the Portland angle. Who doesn’t like Portland? Place is awesome. There’s the “produced by a Decemberist” angle, but that’s hardly an angle. It’s not like Red Fang are suddenly writing fantastical folk songs to be savoured by NPR listeners (and me). They rock, and hard. How about the fact that they’re on Relapse Records, purveyors of fine grind? Nah, Relapse embraces all genres of fine music these days. Fact is, Red Fang don’t need an angle. You just gotta hear them. I’m feeling pretty evangelical about Murder the Mountains, similar to how I felt about Harvey Milk’s Life…The Best Game in Town. The resemblance is superficial—the two bands’ demeanours are quite different. Red Fang are more sociable than Harvey Milk, but in terms of big American rock with great riffs and unexpected, unabashed catchiness, I get the same feeling from both albums. Red Fang mainly operate in two modes, combining a thudding, Melvins-like approach and a breezier, QOTSA kind of feel. One mode often dominates a song. “Into the Eye” and “Throw Up” are two of the most bruising tracks, while “Wires” and “Number Thirteen” have the shuffle going on, and are massively catchy. The alternating styles mesh well, and give the album that most valuable, old-fashioned quality of being able to tell the damn songs apart. The best thing about these songs, however, is that they go interesting places. Although they follow a three- to five-minute verse/chorus format, there’s always a cunning segue into an instrumental break or other digression that wakes me up from my rock trance thinking, “Wait, how did we end up here?” The best example might be “Wires”—the scuffed-up glam stomp heads into the orchestra pit, where guest Jenny Conlee’s keyboards take over and we’re suddenly prog-rockin’ for a stretch until another colossal riff—the kind of riff that can only end a song because it cannot be topped—breaks out. Sure, Red Fang can write memorable riffs and vocal lines, but this drive to explore what can happen within a song provides the X factor that’s made this one of my favourite albums of 2011 so far. Beyond the bearded, beer-swilling trappings there lies the souls of true rock ‘n’ roll craftsmen. And I’ll hoist a tall can to that.

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!

A Difficult 2010, 5 to 1

5. Ludicra—The Tenant (Profound Lore)

When I listen to The Tenant, I don't think "Hmm, I have determined that Ludicra has created the ideal blend of black, classic, and progressive metal." No, I'm too busy going, "METALLLL!" I've long considered Ludrica the awkward cousin to Bay-Area bands like Slough Feg and Hammers of Misfortune, but with The Tenant they've broken through and finally got my full attention. They have a lot in common with Enslaved, but this is a much better record than Axioma..., with a spartan, street-level approach and the perfect mix for this type of music: drums and bass up front, vocals howling down from the attic. The songwriting has an organic quality. Riffs and sections don't sound stitched together; instead each epic track flows with beauty and logic. My admiration for this record grows every time I listen to it.

4. Horseback—The Invisible Mountain (Relapse)

I bought this on pretty flimsy pretenses, having given one of my own pretend albums a very similar title (2009's Invisible Mountain Day). Of course the Relapse blurb got my attention as well: "An intensely heavy, psychedelic, post-metallic, kraut-rock journey..." Schwing! This record sucked me in. I can't listen to it in pieces; I gotta have all 38 minutes of this glorious black morass at once. The psychedelic/kraut-rock elements lie in the simple, driving fuzztone bass riffs and intense repetition. Keyboards (sounds like a Rhodes) swirl around the pulse while raspy vocals add menace to the atmosphere. The first three songs build the momentum, climaxing with the stridently melodic title track. The album ends with the 16-minute exhalation "Hatecloud Dissolving into Nothing"; the start-to-finish arc is is where the "journey" part comes in. In other hands, this could have added up to drone boredom. What makes the album transcendent is the powerful drumming. Not only does the kit sound fantastic, but the performance gives the songs dynamics, applying boots to ass with well-placed fills and crashes. Nothing else sounded like this in 2010. Proof that evil has no boundaries.

3. Rotting Christ—Aealo (Season of Mist)

I'd long been kind of/sort of a Rotting Christ fan, but Aealo's passionate, battle-ready approach got me on board last year. It seemed like every record on Century Media between '95 and '97 sounded like this...maybe it was only the Rotting Christ albums. Exotic and intense, it manages to rock in lock-step, mighty 'n' militant.

2. Blood Revolt—Indoctrine (Profound Lore)

I'm almost embarrassed by how many Profound Lore releases made my list this year. I think everyone will admit the label was on fire this year, though. For me, much of the inferno was sparked by this long-promised Irish-Canadian collaboration. Based on the talents involved, Indoctrine promised much, then delivered something unexpectedly dramatic and explosive.

1. UFOMAMMUT—Eve (Supernatural Cat)

One song. One huge song. One huge, heavy song. One huge, heavy, perfect song.

A Difficult 2010, 10 to 6

10. Black Breath—Heavy Breathing (Southern Lord)

After their scorching debut EP, I wasn't sure that Black Breath could sustain the energy and interest over a full length. I shouldn't have doubted their abilities, as these Bellingham burnouts take to the album format with ease, with a raft of great punk/metal tunes and a surprise or two (most notably the blackened blues of "Unholy Virgin"). Kurt Ballou records them with the same fat tones as their debut. It's pure rock 'n' roll; so inspiring that yes, I will take them up on that offer to "Spit on the Cross" and then "Eat the Witch." Tasty.

9. Stargazer—A Great Work of Ages (Profound Lore)

Leave it to Profound Lore to unearth a tech-death band with a captivating twist. A Great Work of Ages has a severe, murky atmosphere, while showcasing great songwriting and serious chops (bass shredding abounds). It all works, at both an intellectual and a visceral level. Stargazer take great satisfaction in mucking up the sterile, cookie-cutter prog-metal aesthetic, marching forward with power and stern pride.

8. Agalloch—Marrow of the Spirit (Profound Lore)

While you can debate whether this is Agalloch's best album, you can't deny that this album brought some interesting new elements to their sound. I think it's their best album from the point of view of start-to-finish flow. I'll remember Marrow of the Spirit for that flow, as well as the darkness that permeates the entire work.

7. Kylesa—Spiral Shadow (Season of Mist)

Kylesa, with their Static Tensions album, was a big discovery in 2009, and Spiral Shadow is a walloping follow-up. I'm willing to toe the party line on it. Yes, I do hear some indie/alternative rock influences in their still-weighty approach—some Sonic Youth here, some Superchunk there. That's not a bad thing, and a perfectly logical direction when a band's starting to craft such tuneful material. Phillip Cope's attention to tones (well-documented on the DVD included with my deluxe edition) makes this the most ear-pleasing album on my list. It almost gives me hope for modern production techniques.

6. Triptykon—Eparistera Daimones (Century Media)

The best thing T. Warrior's done since Into the Pandemonium? Perhaps.

A Difficult 2010, 15 to 11

15. Wormrot—Abuse (Earache)

There's good to be found in all genres, and I like to find the best in everything during the course of a year. Wormrot's Abuse is my grind album of 2011. Sometimes I just want to experience pure rage through music, but it must also rock. Wormrot manage this again and again and again.

14. Neil Young—Le Noise (Reprise)

Quite a dark and haunting trip with Neil Young; these deceptively simple tunes performed solo then pushed through Daniel Lanois' filters of studio mystery. His production infests the album with ghosts. Is it a gimmick, an elaborate cloak for run-of-the-mill songs? I don't think so. The murky swirl of murmurs, rumble and thrum create a inviting soundworld, while Neil's voice and amplifier roar with anger and love.

13. Enslaved—Axioma Ethica Odoni (Nuclear Blast)

I thought Vertebrae was just okay. Their live set helped me discover a couple gems on it. Axioma Ethica Odoni (rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?) is quite a bit better. In fact, the prevalence of proggy riffs reminds me of their Monumension and Below the Lights-era leaps into the post-BM beyond, making for a welcome reinvigoration of their sound. Only the everything-louder-than-everything-else mix detracts from my listening pleasure. I wish they'd do a stripped-down, live-in-the-studio recording sometime. It would destroy.

12. The Pineapple Thief—Someone Here is Missing (kscope)

We're back to the "best of everything" ethos here. This time we're in the realm of slick, mainstreamy semi-prog rock, and The Pineapple Thief. I'm glad I finally caught up with this band. They're quality.

11. Slough Feg—The Animal Spirits (Profound Lore)

You can't really go wrong with Slough Feg. Seeing them live in Vancouver was one of the highlights of the year. I'm sure they played a couple tracks from this album, but I'll be buggered if I can remember which ones. There's a great fistful of bangable songs here, from "Trick the Vicar" to "Materia Prima" (where Southern rock trades shots & pints with the NWOBHM) to "Free Market Barbarian" (a truly masterful hard rock song). If the album dips in the middle it's okay because they take it home with an Alan Parsons Project cover ("The Tell-Tale Heart") and the frantic "Tactical Air War." Brawn, brains, great tunes, and twin leads out the yin-yang—that's our Slough Feg.

A Difficult 2010, 20 to 16

Here we go with my top 20...

20. Nachtmystium—Addicts: Black Meddle Pt. II (Century Media)

Based on Nachtmystium's ability to get purists all riled up, I sprung for the new album, only to be disappointed by the lack of anything truly radical. Remember 1997 and the Weirding of Norway? La Masquerade Infernale and Neonism represent the kind of stretch I'd like to hear Blake Judd make in the realm of NWOUSBM. If I shake off those hopes and expectations, I'll admit this is a pretty good rock album. The title track sounds like a charred BÖC (Black Oyster Cult?), although it's marred by a halfhearted ending. Other bits I like are the denouement of “Every Last Drop,” the tambourine on "Nightfall," and "No Funeral," with its Cars synth line. Those are moments when I go, "that’s cool, that’s somewhat brave." But there's a weird, unband-like vibe to it...maybe it's the direct-injection guitar tone (whether that's the method they used or not, that's what it sounds like). At least I can tell the songs apart, which is no small victory for me at this stage!

19. High on Fire—Snakes for the Divine (E1)

Blessed Black Wings made me a High on Fire fan. Death Is This Communion did a great job of building on its predecessor's relentless attack, adding some heaviness and perfecting the trio's chemistry. This new one rocks hard, but it doesn't take things over the top. "Bastard Samurai" and "How Dark We Pray" stand out as deep cuts that sustain the album after the opening duo of the title track and "Frost Hammer" kick things off with everything set at an unsustainable 11. High On Fire are one of the hardest working bands around; if it's possible to make a living playing metal these days, I hope they find a way to thrive.

18. Mares of Thrace—The Moulting (Arctopus)

I gotta say, Mares of Thrace didn't misrepresent themselves on their debut album. This is a raw, jolting record, sometimes almost too strict in its adherence to the single guitar/voice/drums format. I took this home after seeing them live, and yep, this kind of howling noise rock is what they're all about. If I had one wish, it'd be that they'd recorded these songs after honing them on their epic summer tour. As it stands, the album has some jagged edges that at least add an excitement you won't hear on 99% of records these days.

17. Algernon—Ghost Surveillance (Cuneiform)

Algernon are a crack outfit from Chicago who play a suitably spectral style of post-rock/prog on Ghost Surveillance. These instrumentals are based on strong rhythmic ideas, rich-sounding synths, and plenty of tuned percussion (vibraphone and glockenspiel). Great stuff that gets catchier every time I listen to it. Recommended if you like Tortoise; Ghost Surveillance makes a more stern, stately companion to Beacons of Ancestorship.

16. Worm Ouroboros—s/t (Profound Lore)

This album sounds like water to me—it surges, bubbles, and seeps into the corners of the patient listener's mind.

A Difficult 2010 (Part II)

As I said, I was operating at reduced capacity last year, so I've decided to do a top 20 of albums that I really honestly listened to a lot. I think I did 25 last year. The countdown will begin soon, but meanwhile, here are my honourable mentions for 2010—great albums that I didn't give enough attention to, or albums that simply landed outside of my top 20, but were otherwise so honourable that I had to mention them.

Blood Cult—We Are the Cult of the Plains (Moribund)
I have to thank Kyle Harcott's hellbound review for turning me on to this grimy work of black-rocking madness. Imagine new-school Darkthrone and Sigh shacking up in a trailer park, and you're close to capturing Blood Cult's drunken, eccentric mayhem. The wild guitar solos are a bonus.


Nels Cline Singers—Initiate (Cryptogramophone)


Atheist—Jupiter (Season of Mist)


Cathedral—The Guessing Game (Nuclear Blast)
Cathedral’s double album might as well have been titled Daft Side of the Loon. Draped in wonky Mellotron and sporting songs filled with surprising turns, Dorrian, Jennings and co. sound like they’re more enamoured of their Spring and Gracious LPs than any of their peers in the current doom scene. I support this kind of thing, although Dorrian sounds a little weary and a couple tracks could have been left locked up in the attic with all the other mad aunties. They still cough up some great songs in “Painting in the Dark” and “La Noche Del Buque Maldito (Aka Ghost Ship of the Blind Dead)”.


Grinderman—Grinderman 2 (Anti)
Nick Cave and his Grindermen are loud 'n' lusty, pounding out raw rockers like a paunchy, well-read JSBX. I didn't pick up their first album; this follow-up sounded like the one to get. Coming in the wake of Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!!, Grinderman 2 makes sense. It's a good time, and "Palaces of Montezuma" is downright tender and heartfelt.


District 97—Hybrid Child (Laser’s Edge)


Emeralds—Does it Look Like I’m Here? (Editions Mego)
I got this at Soundscapes in Toronto, fittingly enough. Synths and guitars fight it out for space-rock supremacy. Emeralds keep the tracks short and melodic; aimless doodling this is not.


Moon Duo—Escape (Woodsist)
Super cool space/trance/kraut jams from Erik Johnson (Wooden Shjips) and Sanae Yamada, carving canyons o' sound with organ, guitar, and drum machine. This is one of those records where you might say, "I can do that," but you totally can't.

A Difficult 2010 (Part I)

Happy new year to anyone who chanced upon this blog over the last 12 months. I wouldn’t induct 2010 into Life's Hall of Fame. It was a little too hair-raising for that, what with employment uncertainty and sudden family-related life adjustments. My music acquiring and listening habits were affected, but I learned something in the process. I’m not one of those people for whom music is a release from everyday problems. Looking at my massive collection of tunes doesn’t get me through those tough times, man. It’s not balm for my troubled soul. Enjoying music is like making rock candy. I can't get the desired results unless there’s a little seed of contentment to cling to; then the enjoyment can flourish and grow. I really need to be secure and grounded to appreciate music in my usual way. Here’s to a secure and grounded 2011.

Let’s start with a list of my top shows from 2010. The Rickshaw Theatre really came into its own as Vancouver’s metal hub last year, though I worry that its fittings are going to be battered and broken before the venue has had a chance to accumulate some real folklore and atmosphere. I don’t think I set foot in the Commodore once.

1. Katatonia/Swallow the Sun/Orphaned Land (September 22, Rickshaw Theatre)
I didn’t review this show originally because I was stumped by how exactly to communicate the majesty of Katatonia. They dominated. I just stood there the whole time thinking, “This is one of the greatest rock bands I’ve ever seen!” and “I love this song… I love this song too… Oh, man, ‘My Twin’! I love this song too!” It was like being at a Guided By Voices gig, blindsided by each entry in the set list.

2. Slough Feg/Funeral Circle (May 29, Red Room)

3. Kylesa/Baptists/Haggatha (December 2, Media Club)

4. Enslaved/Blood Red Throne (November 21, Rickshaw Theatre)

5. Cynic/Intronaut/Dysrhythmia (July 26 at The Venue)

6. Woods of Ypres (June 26, Biltmore Cabaret)

7. Mares of Thrace (August 12, Casbah Lounge, Hamilton and August 21 at the Secret Location, Vancouver)
I like going to shows when I travel. On our annual family trip to Ontario I managed to catch two: good-time Canuck thrashers Fatality at the El Mocambo and Mares of Thrace in Hamilton. The Casbah Lounge is a tiny room with a stage to match. Even though Mares are a two-piece, guitarist G. Thérèse Lanz still had to set up on the floor. The crowd was small but immensely keen (not to name drop, but Sean, Laura, Adam and Jonathan from hellbound.ca were there, as was Chris Bruni), and MoT put on a fierce show. Afterwards, we immediately inquired where we could see them in Vancouver, and, after I assured her that I wasn't a cop, Ms. Lanz sent along details on the Secret Location. The Vancouver show was another good one, with openers Hoopsnake impressing me, and MoT delivering their angular sludge to a more crowded room. When the band got going, all I could see was GTL's pigtail whipping back and forth as she and Stefani unleashed chaos. Again, again!

8. Red Sparrowes (April 30 at The Biltmore)

9. High on Fire (February 10 at The Biltmore)
Not my favourite High on Fire experience. It was cheap (underwritten by Volcom), packed, and sweaty and I couldn't see a thing. I'll always remember this show as the first time I heard "Bastard Samurai"—one of the coolest songs of 2010 from the soon-to-be-released Snakes For the Divine.

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.

Kylesa with Baptists and Haggatha, Dec. 2 at the Media Club

It’s been a while since I’ve been to a show that was less than well attended. Maybe it’s the gigs I pick, or maybe the overall live scene’s really healthy right now. From reading bands’ tour blogs, those bad nights of playing to a few old alcoholics and the bartender’s dog still happen, but bands hitting Vancouver must do fairly well out of it. The word definitely got out about Kylesa prior to Thursday night’s gig at the Media Club. Last time I saw them was opening for Mastodon at the Commodore, where they played to a typically distracted, trickling-in crowd. This time they were welcomed by a full house as bona fide saviours of rock, kicking ass with a borrowed backline to a crowd that roiled and surged with every song.

Local four piece Haggatha started the night with some astringent sludge/doom savagery. Their low-frequency vibrations really helped work free the gunk in my cold-wracked chest. Everyone around me was probably feeling the same somewhere in the sweetbreads as Haggatha pounded their guitars in dogged pursuit of the fabled “brown note.” Praising a band for being loud is kinda like those stupid Coors ads that claim their beer is the coldest beer, like we're supposed to be impressed by that. Are we touting the quality of the beer or the refrigeration? Am I reviewing the band, or their amplification? Anyway, Haggatha's amps were working a treat and I'm sorry that I had to mention Coors here. If Haggatha were a beer they’d be the most tar-like, gut-punishing stout imaginable. Eight per cent at a minimum. Yes, they were loud and yes, they were damn good.

Baptists were spazzy and hyperkinetic, starting with a Converge-like flurry of songs before settling into Jesus Lizard territory mid-set, then launching into more chaotic material by the end. Those enervated by Haggatha’s attack shook themselves off and got slamming. To finish, the singer flung himself into the crowd, while I made a note to look up their drummer to see if he played in any other bands. The kid was a monster.

With the local bands showing so strongly, this was Kylesa’s crowd to lose. Thankfully they built on what had come so far, adding their double-drumming attack and catchy material to drive the room into an even deeper frenzy. They played for about an hour, touching on the best tracks from Static Tensions (I was glad to hear “Running Red” in particular) while working the new album, Spiral Shadow, which I picked up at the show. Kylesa are simultaneously lean and fat (phat?). They have two of everything: two drummers, two guitarist/vocalists. Although the bassist has no partner, he also plays keyboards, so he’s on double duty. They make an imposing sound, but it’s all in service of some tidy material—three and a half, four-minute bruisers in the main, with the occasional spacey interlude that reminds me that this was a band who were on that Syd Barrett tribute from a couple years ago. If using the opening bands’ backline was a problem, it certainly didn’t show. Guitarist/singer/producer Philip Cope had an interesting habit of glancing sideways in the middle of songs, as though he was keeping tabs on his bandmates, making sure everyone was still with him. No worries; they were killing it, powering through their set plus an encore, sending everyone home happy and setting the stage for an even bigger show next time they make it up here.

Dimmu Borgir with Enslaved, Blood Red Throne and Dawn of Ashes, Nov. 21 at the Rickshaw Theatre

Here’s half a concert review, or, to be precise, a review of half a concert. I was most interested in the meat in the Dimmu/Dawn sandwich, so I timed my arrival accordingly. My strategy almost backfired, because there was a long lineup outside the Rickshaw—it was an all-ager, so they were checking IDs, giving out wristbands, etc. While I wait I overheard some amusing banter between some dudes behind me about how they would look back on all these metal shows when they were old men of 40. Hey, guys, the fun doesn't have to stop when you’re 40.

The Rickshaw is seeing a lot of metal action these days. Local promoters The Invisible Orange (not to be confused with Invisible Oranges) favour it for their all-ages gigs, now that the Croatian Cultural Centre isn’t having shows. The Rickshaw is definitely a good space—basically a movie theatre with the seats removed from the front half of the house—although it lacks some character beyond its splendid neon sign outside. The sound system is inconsistent as well. Sometimes bands sound stupendous; other times I may as well be listening to a cassette pumped through a ghetto blaster turned full up. I often walk out the place thinking, “If only that show had been at the Commodore…”

I got in just as Dawn of Ashes were playing their last song. It was difficult to tell what they were going for. Combining masks and costumes with nondescript black-ish metal, what I heard and saw didn’t make me want to investigate them any further.

I’d never seen the venue so packed. While I was pleased for the promoters, I found it hard to find somewhere to watch Blood Red Throne do their thing. I like BRT quite a bit; their blocky, no-nonsense death metal rolls like a tank. When I interviewed mainman Tchort for a Green Carnation article a few years ago, I got the sense that BRT was where his real passion lay. And it’s true, BRT have been a lot more productive than GC lately, and here they were all the way from Norway. They didn’t sound like much at first. I was especially perturbed by the lack of bass in the mix. The busy, trebly bass playing is one of the most defining elements of their sound. After a few songs, it all came clear, popping and tapping in all its 5-string Warwick madness. Every song started with a quick pap-pap-pap-pap on the snare, which is just great style. Although they never sounded terrific overall—I heard one guy afterward pleading with the soundguy to turn it up for the next band—BRT made a strong impression, inspiring some punishing pit action.

Enslaved have long been near the top of my wish list of bands to see live. Getting a 45-minute set after nearly 15 years of fandom was a tad cruel, but I’ll accept such treatment for now. With such a time restriction, they focused on the new album, playing three songs from Axioma Ethica Odini and one each from Vertebrae, Ruun, and Isa. Again, the pit went nuts, proving that people will mosh to anything. Bassist/vocalist Grutle Kjellson was a charismatic master of pagan ceremonies, gesturing to emphasize the lyrics even if it meant playing with one hand occasionally. Lead guitarist Ice Dale was the band's MVP, stepping up for some impressive solos. After a brilliant rendition of "Isa" they were finished, and I was left wondering how big Enslaved could be if they toured as hard as Opeth out here. They were already a big draw on the night. Let's have a headlining show if they ever sail their longship this way again.

Young, moderately loud, and not so snotty: high school albums

The Deciblog recently published Laura Pleasants of Kylesa’s list of five albums that remind her of high school, and asked, via their Twitter feed, people to submit lists of their own. I heeded the call, then thought that a fleshed-out version might make a decent post. So, here we are.

I wish I could say that I had a better time in high school—cutting class, sticking it to the man, barfing O’Keefe’s Extra Old Stock while leaning out of a speeding Datsun 510. None of those things happened. I was really crappy at being a teenager. I was never high in high school. I’m pretty much the same person I was when I was 14, except that the peach fuzz ‘stache is gone, and I can talk to girls now.

Oh, and music was almost all crap when I went to high school. When I started grade eight, Keith Moon, Bon Scott, and John Bonham all died in quick succession. Foreigner were big. Michael Jackson and music videos happened. When I graduated, Duran Duran were huge. If I could sum up high school with one phrase, it would be “a state of constant discouragement.”

In no particular order, these were some of the records that kept me going.

Rush—Signals
“In the high school halls, in the shopping malls...” Signals isn’t my favourite Rush album of the period (Permanent Waves came out just as I turned 14, followed by the untouchable classic Moving Pictures), but I remember it being more ubiquitous than most. My first day of senior high at Burnaby Central, I heard Signals drifting out of someone’s car in the parking lot. Rush were growing up, for better or worse. The songs focus on late adolescent concerns. "Subdivisions," of course, lent some sympathy to bored suburbanites, “New World Man” was like a social studies class in song form, “Digital Man” was in sync with budding comp sci majors, and “Losing It” was a sobering dose of reality for those of us enjoying the best years of our lives. Signals was a senior high wake-up call. Time to put away childish things and get serious.

AC/DC—Back In Black
Talk about ubiquitous. This was the Nevermind of its day; the album on which a former cult band exploded into the mainstream. This record got so much play that I’ve never actually owned it. We got into AC/DC with Highway to Hell, and its soon-to-be death-tinged mystique, but Brian Johnson and the band’s thunderous intent took things over the top. We played most of these songs in our band, with Willingdon Black gritting his teeth at my attempts to “improve” on Phil Rudd’s beats (I was a deluded little bugger). Back in Black was more than just a party record—we studied it and learned from its lean, mean songcraft. WB and I have since been in many bands together and separately, but when we’re collaborating on songs, we speak the same Back In Black-derived language. I wish more bands today would learn from it as well.

Iron Maiden—Number of the Beast
Like Back In Black, this album was an event, albeit of a more cultish variety. “Wrathchild” got some airplay and I thought it was a damn cool song, so when CFOX premiered the new Iron Maiden album in its entirety, I was there, rolling tape and getting blown away from “Invaders” onwards. (Although I despise file-sharing and the havoc it’s wreaked on 21st Century music consumption, I never bought into the “home taping is killing music” argument back then. Just one of the many hypocrisies I live with daily.) As with AC/DC, a new singer helped bring new popularity to Iron Maiden, along with an album that was obviously an instant classic. I saw them at the Coliseum sandwiched between Girlschool and Scorpions later that summer, so suck on that. On second thought, things kinda ruled when I was in high school!

Marillion—Script for a Jester’s Tear
I realized that I’d be a progressive rock fan for life when a copy of Close to the Edge made the rounds between my friends, and I was the only one who could stomach it. My enthusiasm for Yes and ELP in high school was tainted by the knowledge that they’d both peaked a decade ago. There was nothing fresh and new to get excited about. I tried really hard with 90125, which was a quality pop album, but not really Yes. Genesis had no mystique either; they were all “No Reply At All” or “Illegal Alien.” Marillion came along in the nick of time (i.e. before I had to buy another Saga album). Script... had intrigue, especially because the North American edition didn’t come with a lyric sheet. I dove right in, puzzling over every sonic detail, trying to figure out what the concept was, man. They were my favourite band for five years.

Pink Floyd—The Final Cut
Although it didn’t take long to suss out that this wasn’t really Pink Floyd, we bought into this album wholeheartedly. I was a bit too young/naive to get fully into The Wall when it came out, so The Final Cut was it—it was new, it was ours. We loved the cover (not by Hipgnosis, I now realize), we loved the “holophonics by zuccarelli labs ltd.”, the swearing on “Not Now John,” and Roger Waters’ Falklands-inspired bitterness. Hey, I was bitter too—Thatcher and Reagan seemed callous and out of control, and nuclear annihilation surely awaited us all. Along with The Day After and If You Love This Planet, The Final Cut fuelled the fear and secret hope that I’d get to see two suns in the sunset and high school would suddenly become the least of my worries.

Zevious—After the Air Raid (Cuneiform)

Zevious are “way out” and “too much.” The trio slips me a mickey on “Where’s the Captain?,” opening the album with a skittering bit of electric jazz. Just as I’m settling back for a John McLaughlin Extrapolation-style outing, they shut her down and burst into some powerful, angular King Crimson/Voivod damage. Then the madness escalates as the song breaks into detailed micro-skronk sections that remind me of Dysrhythmia or Behold...The Arctopus. Looking at the personnel involved, all this makes sense—Dysrhythmia’s Jeff Eber plays drums (joined by brother Mike on guitar), and the album was recorded by Colin Marston of Dysrhythmia, Arctopus, and Krallice. Zevious represents a jazzier take on the tech/math/prog thing. They’re tight, but the tones they employ are occasionally mellow. Bassist Johnny DeBlase plays both electric and upright, and Mike Eber operates in a slightly distorted middle ground, only cranking it up when absolutely necessary. He offers the strongest contrasts on “The Children and the Rats,” shifting between gentle picking and sudden, atonal squalls. Amongst all the riffs and motion-sickness rhythms they make space for lots of guitar solos and a couple drum spotlights on “iNCITING” and “Glass Tables.” The guitar solos are when Zevious loosens up and takes off—it’s great to hear the rhythm section churning away while the guitar clears a path of its own. I’ll admit to feeling worn down by the second half of this album, such is the jazz battering they dish out. But the more I listen to After the Air Raid, the easier it gets to absorb it a single pass. McLaughlin, Williams and Pastorius may have tried it first, but Zevious are a trio of doom for today.