Hailing from what seems to be the most magical of all rock n’ roll boroughs right now, Brooklyn, Hull represent that geographical body’s brute Hulk force, and one run through their sophomore album, Beyond the Lightless Sky, will leave you wondering how there are any buildings left standing at all in Kings County. Indeed, Hull’s dense, triple-guitar punishment can reduce anything to rubble, but it is amidst the dust and debris that Hull emerges to capture our collective astonishment by drawing us into their more kindly tempered, idyllic post-rock bosom. Of course, we soon realize it’s all a fantastic ruse, the promise of proximate peace nothing more than a lie designed to get us close enough to crush, and sludgy blows rain down upon us once more. Apparently Beyond the Lightless Sky is some sort of concept album about Mayan brothers, so I’ll just go ahead and assume that’s what all the dudes in the band are screaming about, but what does it for me is the way Hull mixes the massiveness of Omega Massif with the lumbering pace of Harvey Milk and then tosses in some mystical solos for good measure. Beyond heavy, man.
It’s been three years since we last heard from The Parlor Mob, whose debut album And You Were a Crow successfully cradled the fine line between mainstream exposure and underground appeal, a rock n’ roll record borne of barefoot ideals and mustache machismo that was part Led Zeppelin, part Black Crowes, and all radio play. But the New Jersey band has surfaced with their follow-up, Dogs, which, like its predecessor, should curry compliments from people on either side of the popularity divide. However, unlike And You Were a Crow, Dogs has a more commercially viable edge to it, a darker, heavier hard rock flavour, heard especially on the songs “How It’s Going to Be,” “Fall Back,” “The Beginning,” and the album’s first single, “Into the Sun,” complete with a pop-driven chorus. What Dogs lacks, however, is the hippie groove that packed And You Were a Crow full of dust and soul, and while “Hard Enough,” “Slip Through My Hands,” and “Holding On” capture some of that ol’ feel good vibe, it’s clear The Parlor Mob have kicked it into attack mode this time around. You know, Dogs could have a little more boogie for my buck, but now that Dirty Sweet have rode off into the hazy horizon, it’s The Parlor Mob or bust. And I’m not ready to go down just yet.
I don’t know at what point this retro occult rock movement is going to turn into a silly fad, but I don’t think we’re there yet, which means I can continue to pour candle wax all over myself in the name of this bitchin’ dark art. Sweden’s Year of the Goat is the latest band to delve into the ceremonial castle doom with their debut four-song EP, Lucem Ferre, which tables a slightly cleaner and more melodic psych-rock sound than what you might get from contemporaries like Witchcraft, Ghost, The Devil’s Blood, Dead Man, Graveyard, Blood Ceremony, Asteroid, and others. The EP’s three original songs, “Of Darkness,” “Vermillion Clouds,” and the instrumental “Lucem Ferre,” are powered by Thomas Eriksson’s Buckley-bled voice and a whole cabal of groovy, crimson-tinged riffs likely conjured up in some virgin-killing ritual, while the Sam Gopal (back when Lemmy was at the helm) cover, “Dark Lord,” follows the possessed, fuzzy-cloaked form we’re used to hearing from bands of this breed. Simply put, Lucem Ferre is four songs of ancient awesomeness and I swear it’ll make you want to smoke skull dust, drink from a chalice, and pray for someone’s pagan soul.
Hull
The Parlor Mob
Year of the Goat