Earth

Having been locked up for about a year (since it was recorded at the same time as Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light I), Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light II finally meets its emancipation, and while you’ve no doubt got its dark, drawn out revelry already figured out, there are some differences to be noted between the two sisters. For one, II is only three quarters of an hour long, a good fifteen minutes shorter than I, despite the same number of songs, and in Earth terms, that’s a good spell. That doesn’t mean it feels any less shorter, though, and that’s largely due to II‘s more optimistic tone. If I was the descent, II is the ascent, punctuated by more prominent contributions from Adrienne Davies’ percussion and Lori Goldston’s cello, both of which seem to pull songs like “Waltz (A Multiplicity of Doors)” and “The Corascene Dog” toward the glowing embers of some distant fire. Much like I — and Earth’s last few albums before it — II is a dust n’ bones affair, albeit a somewhat more redemptive one, meaning it’s got plenty of that hypnotic Americana gothic sound worked into the band’s signature drone doom, but the way Dylan Carlson’s guitar reaches for something akin to a riff on “The Rakehell” is a subtle but dynamic move that reveals beauty and hope in the blackness.

Listen to “The Corascene Dog” from Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light II!

Rising

Yes, Rising’s To Solemn Ash was released last year overseas, but since this here is its North American release, I don’t feel tardy in telling you all about its sludgy goodness, dig? Following a four-song EP in 2009 and a 7″ single in 2010, To Solemn Ash finds the Danish trio finally putting a massive effort into a full-length, and oh what a monumental design it be. As though guardians of some Copenhagen castle, gargoyles perched high in the blackest of skies, Rising preside over the kingdom of heavy with a stony, melodic glare. The swirling storm that is To Solemn Ash swells with opener “Mausoleum,” its dark, corpse-painted intro-riffing eerily akin to Behemoth’s “Ov Fire and the Void,” but as the album thunders on, it comes to pass that Rising were not born of the extreme black, but that they are, in fact, doomed descendants of the Baroness bloodline. So they carry themselves accordingly throughout, beset by beasts both basilisk and sharp-toothed hound, themselves grotesque creatures commanding a thick rush of temper-metal weather and spreading brutally fancy dread.

Listen to “Through The Eyes of Catalysis” from To Solemn Ash!

Infernal Overdrive

Discovering that Boston hero* Marc Schleicher has surfaced as the front man for New Jersey rock n’ road warriors Infernal Overdrive is one hell of an early Christmas present, my friends. Hell, I’m not sure I’d be here today if it wasn’t for Schleicher’s brawlin’ brand of East Coast riff n’ roll, so to hear him once again stranglin’ the six-string like a twenty dollar hooker is something special; a sure sign that the wheel of the American rawk machine is back in the grip of one of its most prolific drivers. Last Rays of the Dying Sun, the band’s full-length debut, is, quite simply, arena rock for dive bars, like KISS or Cheap Trick on a chain link tour through Southern wilds, and the way they saturate it with razor-backed hooks, sky high solos, nasty drum fills, and blacktop lingo (“I-95,” “Electric Street Cred,” “Rip It Out,” “Motor”) will lead a man to submit himself to a life of drinkin’, cheatin’, lyin’, and dyin’. Or, if you prefer, a life of glory. You know, I don’t think this one actually comes out until 2012, but either way, Small Stone has finished this year off — or started the next — on a definite high note.

*I’m not from Boston, but I have spent many years there vicariously through people much cooler than me, and I would be utterly shocked to find out that anyone who played in Cracktorch, Antler, and Quintain Americana isn’t a hero in that town.

Listen to “Rip It Out” from Last Rays of the Dying Sun!

Midnight

After almost ten years of releasing only splits and EPs — and not really wanting to become a real band at all –  Cleveland’s cult metal band Midnight have finally succumbed to a full-length job, and it’s the genuine article, man. Led by Athenar, the same freak responsible for the brew-fueled madness that was Boulder, Midnight don executioner hoods, worship flame and steel, and rip through ten songs (eleven if you have the vinyl) of black metal thrash so absurdly good you’ll be reawakening neck muscles that have been retired since the early 80s. It’s clear that Midnight’s mission is annihilation, which they deliver to you, like a shitty 2 AM pizza, in thirty minutes or less, and despite the fact that Satanic Royalty is dripping with Venom inspired evil violence, its really powered by a degenerate biker rawk Athenar has no doubt borrowed from his Boulder days. Thus, every song, especially “You Can’t Stop Steel,” “Lust, Filth and Sleaze,” and “Shock ’til Blood,” sound like Cronos leading Motörhead on a black-winged ride outta hell and straight up your ass. Anyone who has stuck by Midnight over the years waiting for this day to come can go ahead and raise their gauntlets high. As for the uninitiated, prepare to be outright dominated by pure metal riff-itude.

Listen to “Lust, Filth and Sleaze” from Satanic Royalty!

Orchid

In the spirit of brevity — or laziness, if you prefer — I’m going to go back to something I wrote awhile ago and give it a face-lift for the sake of this review (if you want to read the original version of this passage, go here):

You know, as far as I’m concerned, if you sound exactly like Black Sabbath you are doing something right, so keep on with yo’ nocturnal self, ’cause Black Sabbath are the pinnacle of doom and metal. Stealing their crooked staff for your midnight stroll through the graveyard of evil is hardly a crime. In fact, it’s a noble thing to do. The truth of the matter is, any band worth their salt will have elements of The Stooges, Thin Lizzy, Black Sabbath, or AC/DC in their music.

Right, so on their debut full-length, Capricorn, San Francisco’s Orchid present us with an album full o’ witchy-riffed psych-blues that, had it been recorded in 1969, would be the subject of the first chapter of all tomes concerning the history of heavy metal. I mean, not only does the music sound like Iommi shit it out himself from atop a moss-covered tower, but the song titles read like a stoned Sabbath freak got a hold of some fridge magnet poetry at a party; dig “Eyes Behind the Wall,” “Black Funeral,” “Masters of it All,” “Cosmonaut of Three,” and “Electric Father” for the most obvious examples. Their 2009 EP, Through the Devil’s Doorway, made a lot of hay, but Capricorn has blown the gates of the void wide open, and is a swirling tempest of dark mastery and cosmic wizardry in spite of the familiar force of its headwinds. Or perhaps because of it.

Check out the video for “Cosmonaut of Three” from Capricorn!

Black Tusk

Set the Dial is the fourth full length from Savannah metal heads Black Tusk, and if you’ve had the pleasure of hearing either of their latter two, Passage Through Purgatory or Taste the Sin, you know exactly the kind of sludge covered punk you’re about to receive (John Dyer Baizley artwork and all). You see, like its predecessors, Set the Dial rumbles its way through murky swamp and crusty gutter to get to where you feel most safe and comfortable only to heap a hell of a lot of petulance and abrasive screams onto you. That being said though, as crumbling, noise-driven attacks, Black Tusk’s earlier efforts thrived on destruction, where Set the Dial‘s objective seems to be one aimed at rebuilding, at harnessing the rust-stained chaos in order to rise to loftier heights. They do this through the coy use of groove, which lays in wait on table-setter “Brewing the Storm” and then busts through the muck and mire to take over songs like “Mass Devotion,” “Set the Dial to Your Doom,” “Resistor,” and “This Time is Divine,” making Set the Dial‘s riff-driven focus the main, albeit subtle, point of difference. At the end of the day though, it’s another grease-charged album of Georgian origin, and one could spend an entire month getting filthy, high, and in trouble listening to Black Tusk and their mates of state, Zoroaster, Kylesa, Mastodon, and Baroness.

Listen to “Set The Dial To Your Doom” from Set the Dial!

The Shrine

Almost exactly two months ago I was flipping out over Glitter Wizard’s madcap rock n’ roll show, and now the one percent club I placed those dandy medieval spacemen in is getting some deserving new members, the equally out-there Los Angeles trio known as The Shrine. To say that you have to hear these psych-garage rangers before you do anything else is like saying you have to grow a beard — it’s obvious to the point of insult. Do it as quick as you can and reap the life-changing rewards. Just one run through Bless Off‘s neurotic, thrashy, fuzzy, riff-packed punk-doom hybrid and beer will taste better, partying will last longer, denim will fit snugger, and your conquests — sexual or otherwise — will be mightier. In fact, all you really need to know about The Shrine and Bless Off‘s influences are flagrantly displayed on the demo’s cover in black and white: Edvard Munch’s The Scream and Thin Lizzy’s Jailbreak. Oh, and in case you don’t know, tapes — yes, cassettes — are making a comeback, and if any band is tailor made for such an unnecessary but awesome underground fad, it’s The Shrine (they actually released their self-titled debut on tape). I really hope they don’t ever upgrade Bless Off from its demo status because any kind of sonic improvements to this dungeon ruckus will ruin the whole stinkin’ trip.

Listen to “Zipper Tripper” from Bless Off!

Elks

You know the kind of bat-shit fury Kvelertak stirred up last year when they jammed everyone’s radar with their maniacal Norwegian death punk? Well, this year’s ‘Holy-fuck-these-guys-are-my-new-favourite-band!’ band is Elks. The Brooklyn quartet light up the skies with their six-song debut, Destined for the Sun, a cosmic metal racket that shamelessly picks off select parts of a great handful of heavy music genres with a precision laser guiding system manned by a drunk galactic warrior. Those righteously ragged parts are then collected and fused into one 22-minute static mess of ballsy glory, the mere sound of which will fill you with the same excitement you felt when you first heard The Number of the Beast or Reign in Blood or Blues for the Red Sun or Remission. From their northern-inspired, horned mammal moniker to their spacey, void-voyaging concept, Elks are nothing if not a beard’s wet dream, and the fact that they hail from the same place that currently boasts the spawning rights to Children, Weird Owl, and Bad Dream puts ‘em in elite company. A company, mind you, these young riff-wielding upstarts ought to own outright very soon. It’s okay to lose your mind, friends. I am and so is everyone else.

Listen to Destined for the Sun right here!

Omega Massif

The moment you begin listening to an Omega Massif album, there’s not a heavier, darker moment occurring anywhere else in the world; it was true of their 2006 debut EP Kalt, it was true of their 2007 debut full-length Geisterstadt, and now the same can be said for their latest album, Karpatia. Knowing the kind of power Omega Massif is capable of harnessing, I feared putting the headphones anywhere near their desired mark lest my skull succumb to the inevitable decibel rape and cave in upon first riff impact. To say the German instrumental band is crushing is an understatement. Many will label ‘em drone sludge, post-metal, or atmospheric doom, but each of those are just rusty links in the thick chain tied to the ten ton anchor that is their sound, which rests in the deepest part of the ocean’s black crevices, a place still and breathless, a place untouched by humanity. Whether drenched in feedback, antagonizing you with its gentler, swelling passages, or unleashing a resounding and brutal assault of monolithic proportions, Karpatia is stone cold terror. You might want to think about finding a happy place with strong walls before you drop the needle on this one, man.

Listen to “Wölfe” from Karpatia!

Big Business

About three years ago the dastardly duo of Jared Warren and Coady Willis brought in Toshi Kasai on guitar to, I suppose, fill out the Big Business sound. Frankly, I didn’t think there was anything Big Business needed to do because the heavy racket created by the bass and drums of Warren and Willis, respectively, was colossally fuzzy and beyond reproach. Well, now they’ve added a second guitarist, Scott Martin (400 Blows, Crom), to the payroll, giving this hydra one more head, and while the implications are this makes the beast all the more ferocious, it’s not entirely the case. What the four songs on this new EP, Quadruple Single (released on their own Gold Metal Records label), offer are heightened dynamics and structure, which, when talking about Big Business, might not inspire much confidence. However, Big Business are, and always will be, ruthless ogres, and so long as Warren continues to sing like he’s gnawing on the skull of every sweaty, bleeding-ear drunkard in the front row, you won’t have reason to lose confidence in ‘em. The band is at their best when they’re pummeling you black and bruised with thick cudgels of sludge, and there’s plenty of that kind of low-end love on board here, especially on “City Ham” and “Guns” (‘Guns are better than everything else!’). If anything, all the fret-raping screeches and squeals take some getting used to, and while “Always Never Know When to Quit” contains a turbulently gorgeous melody and “Ice-Cold War” places an unusual emphasis on the riff, they don’t reach through the speakers and tear your head from your neck. Big Business songs used to do that. At least half of ‘em do here; the others just slap you around a bit.

Listen to “City Ham” from Quadruple Single!