Black Pyramid Stormbringer EP
Hydro-Phonic Records
Black Pyramid’s 2009 self-titled full-length debut was nothing short of devastating, and I mean that in the best way possible, of course. It’s a festering slab of warmongering fuzz often compared to a maligned mix of Black Sabbath, Sleep, and High on Fire, and it’s as close as you’ll get to a modern day doom classic, if such a thing exists. Well, the Massachusetts trio is back (on their own after a few splits) with two new songs, side A’s “Stormbringer” (not a Deep Purple cover) and side B’s “Cloud of Unknowing,” and both remain true to Black Pyramid’s rotting character but offer some subtle twists that hint at an evolving metal sound; “Stormbringer,” for instance, rides into battle at a Sword-like tempo and contains a mid-song breakdown reminiscent of Metallica’s “Orion” or “The Call of Ktulu” while “Cloud of Unknowing” opens in a more haunting, melodic death fashion akin to Swallow the Sun before it converts to crushing. If you’re not into Black Pyramid yet, now is the time. Guitarist/vocalist Andy Beresky is quickly emerging as one of my favourite in the genre, and assuming they haven’t sold out, this 7″ has an amazing die-cut cover and is available in both a standard and deluxe edition.*
*I was lucky enough to snag one of the 100 deluxe editions before they sold out. It came with glow-in-the-dark vinyl and a CD containing six songs (the two from this EP, three from Black Pyramid’s 2007 demo, and the vinyl-only track, “Macedonia,” from the self-titled full-length). To the best of my knowledge, though, the standard edition is still available.
Check out a video of Black Pyramid performing “Stormbringer” live!
Ulver have always delivered dark music in one form or another. Many forms, actually. From black metal to experimental to electronic to progressive to ambient to avant-garde, they’ve permeated every conceivable pretentious genre throughout their 17-year career with profound passion and demonstrative secrecy. Their art, while ever changing, is always high, and now these Norwegian artists, four years removed from their last album, have embraced a whole new expression of accessibility. Having thrived as an independent band for years, Ulver now find themselves with management and backing from a big label, and have taken to doing something in the last few years they never have before: playing live. Wars of the Roses, then, ought to be considered carefully, its structure plastered with new clay, its window treatments pulled back at last. Opener “February MMX” comes on like a vacuous gothic pop rock song, leading us to believe the house of Ulver is stale and empty, but, once inside, the beating heart beneath the floor ignites the madness and renews all hope . Much like Shadows of the Sun, the remaining six songs on Wars of the Roses rely on breathless emptiness to achieve their haunting efficacy, a well-conceived mix of percussion, bowed guitar, strings, wind instruments, piano, electronics, and, in the case of “Providence,” a female vocalist (Siri Stranger). It remains, by large, a sleepy effort, but that’s not to say it’s boring, because Ulver’s ability to transcend mere ritualistic potency is mesmerizing. They finish it off with the 15:00 minute “Stone Angels,” whose lyrics are a text written by American poet Keith Waldrop and read by guitarist, and newest member of the band, Daniel O’Sullivan, a final statement on the band’s thematic vision, one that’s less concerned with mainstream malfeasance and more intent on doing what they’ve always done — divinely flexing their learned, classical, and philosophical muscles.
Souvenir’s Young America The Name of the Snake
Init Records
Souvenir’s Young America hollow out a small part of your mind in order to separate themselves from the dense din of all the instrumental post-rock and experimental metal out there, and in that crater they lay something so remarkably vast, so terribly scary, that a mere whisper of its presence alerts you to your certain doom. Not that the Virginia band’s latest album, The Name of the Snake, is abundantly evil, it’s just that it exudes a numbing solitude that borders on hallucination desolation. The four songs laid down here (you get three bonus tracks from their September Songs EP as well if you happen to have the CD) moan like a five-hundred-year-old desert wind, beat on the old, dry, cracked earth like a chain-gang of ghosts, and lead you on a callous, lonely walk through the valley of the shadow of death. The star of this album, however, is the harp. The heavy momentum on “Water (Forgetting the Past),” “Vanishing (Remaining),” and “Amnesia (A Victor’s History)” isn’t disrupted by the haunting harmonica that calls you home with a totem’s tongue; instead they work together in some kind of brazen, taunting harmony. The backwoods brass and cowboy harmonica of “Dust (Erasing the Future),” the album’s commandeering ballad, is for outlaws only, and captures the spirit of wide open, starry nights and circling, hungry vultures. Again, the dichotomy of hope and desperation abounds. You don’t get the same old epic, aural sound scape with SYA that you do with other bands of their ilk. What you get instead is the distinct, suffocating, and palpable feeling that the end is near. Deep, awesome stuff.
Black Pyramid
Ulver
Souvenir’s Young America