Jesse Sykes & The Sweet Hereafter Marble Son
Station Grey Records
At first listen, especially to one of her earlier albums, like Reckless Burning,Oh, My Girl, or Like, Love, Lust and the Open Hallways of the Soul, you wouldn’t think that Jesse Sykes would become a desirable figure in the world of heavy music (although she does look like a raven-haired mistress of the night), but thanks to her collaboration with Boris and SunnO))) on “The Sinking Belle” from Altar, the alt-country/indie singer/songwriter has made a name for herself amongst weirdos and beardos alike. In fact, she’s toured with bands like Earth and Black Mountain, and played at Roadburn, so whether it seems like a natural fit or not, the dark side has embraced Sykes, and now on her latest release, Marble Son, she’s embraced it right back. Truth be told, Sykes’ music (which she’s always made with longtime musical partner Phil Wandscher) has always contained darker elements, but never has that been more evident than on Marble Son, which sheds the alt-country vibe of albums past for a more psychedelic feel of melancholic finger-picking, mystical strumming, and distorted magic. In fact, all of that can be found on the eight-and-a-half-minute opener, “Hushed By Devotion,” which sets the tone for the rest of the album by acting as a giant rabbit hole into which you fall, and once the title track and “Come to Mary” sink their elegant claws into you, you’re adrift on the foggy river of Sykes’ wonderland of sorrow and beauty, and there’s no turning back. And that’s saying nothing of the addictive potion that is her voice, a kind of whiskey-owned siren call of hypnotic splendor that will toss you into thralldom on such songs as “Be it Me, Or Be it None” and “Wooden Roses.” Masterful stuff, really, as electric and powerful as it is lovely and languid, bound to nothing but its bold, broad appeal.
Earth Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light I
Southern Lord
Ever since they returned from their nine year hiatus with Hex; Or Printing in the Infernal Method in 2005, Earth’s patented drone doom has shown significant trending toward a dark, apocalyptic, Americana sound; they’ve long since replaced the fuzz and feedback of earlier albums with clean, mournful rhythms of a dusty and desolate gothic Western landscape. Their latest, Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light I, follows the conceptual blueprint laid out by Hex, Hibernaculum, and The Bees Made Honey in the Lion’s Skull, laying its soul bare, like an old man at the end of his days embracing death beautifully and without any fanfare. It pours (slowly, of course, like molasses) an hour’s worth of rich, hypnotic sustain — thanks in large part to the abundance of soft cello and bass — into five songs (best appreciated as a whole, as usual), punctuated perfectly by weary harmonics that you might swear are crying out to you. While not entirely memorable or new, this album is still good, and Earth’s main man, Dylan Carlson, continues to prove he’s a master craftsman, a man capable of mesmerizing and enlightening us, even when we’ve heard it all before. And yes, Earth fans, that I in the title means that II is on the way.
Listen to “Descent to the Zenith” from Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light I!
Although I haven’t yet received my vinyl copy of this EP, I have heard that the packaging is a real pain in the ass, that you need a letter opener to open the fucking thing because it comes in an envelope like a greeting card. I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it, but for now I’m only concerned with these eight new songs, which, in true Torche fashion, tower over you like a crest of foamy sludge rock, threatening to break at any moment and swallow you whole. Despite the fact that the Florida band is now a three-piece, they don’t lose anything where volume is concerned; Songs for Singles is as deliciously frenetic, catchy, and heavy as anything they’ve ever done and even reaches new pinpoint horizons on some occasions (“Hideaway” and “Arrowhead”), as if they’ve brought laser daggers to a knife fight. Songs for Singles is only about 22 minutes long, and while the majority of that is a gush of iron-gutted crunch and fuzzy grooves, it closes with two expanded songs (“Face the Wall” and “Out Again”) that lay out and draw you into a void of dynamics and a hypnotic tempo of riffing, respectively, tickling every capillary in your body. Torche is in a league of its own, really, so packaging be damned. I’d gladly gnaw on a padlock to get at ‘em if it came down to it.
Jesse Sykes & The Sweet Hereafter
Earth
Torche