Written by: Lichtmensch, Loveloth, and Ancient Hand
"But wait!" the haters said, sweating feverishly. "This is a metal review site! Get this pop crap out of here!" Needless to say, said haters are now....disposed of, and the Village is significantly quieter for it. Miss Anthropocene an album many of our writers enjoyed, and it is also hardly a stretch to justify Grimes' latest iteration as "heavy." On her long-awaited followup to 2015's revered Art Angels, Grimes pushes pop to a dark and ethereal place. Utilizing a healthy blend of sounds and genre aesthetics, Miss Anthropocene decries stagnation.
The Sleeping Village's cabal of scribes is a multifaceted lot, and when a Grimes review was proposed, three unique individuals--Lichstman, Loveloth, and Ancient Hand--were all excited to put in their two cents regarding Miss Anthropocene. In cases like these, where a frank and friendly discussion between friends seems more productive than a bunch of separate reviews, we break out a rare but ancient form of communication: the conversation. So, here it is: the long-belated followup edition of Twofold Treatise-- but, in this case, we're not dealing with two slumbering critics, but rather three. Hence: Threefold Treatise.
Written by: Ancient Hand
Aggression and forthrightness are the key components of Code Orange’s attitude. After the release of their incredibly well-received album Forever, the band maintained a certain level of aloofness and, well, fuck-you-ness. While some perceive this attitude as cocky and narcisistic, this attitude truly stems from the group’s hardcore/punk roots. The band’s DIY nature still exists to this day-- despite their Grammy nomination and signing to Roadrunner, the band still packages and ships their own merch.
This fierce devotion to their craft also translates into a ferocious protection over their artistic direction. After the worldwide success of Forever, it may have been anticipated that the band would lighten their sound and move forward in a “Bleeding in the Blur” style where Reba Meyers would sing the band into top-rock-chart stardom. However, the band’s first record in three years, Underneath, does anything but.
Bor•bo•ryg•mus: a rumbling or gurgling noise made by the movement of fluid and gas in the intestines. In other words, things are about to get nasty.
Seems like I’m always a release behind the curve when it comes to Wisconsinite goregrind one-man outfit Borborygmus. Bit of a bummer, really, as the self-appointed Hellsmasher consistently delivers delicious platters of still-warm viscera--”raw,” in other words. Ghoulish Goremet is a goregrind gorefest, with the trappings of such, from the horror-film samples, to the toilet gurgles, to the crashing percussion, to the wall-of-sound approach. And, of course: every implement and surface you encounter within this EP is coated in a thick patina of blood and guts.
Because this particular scribe is a big frickin' nerd, I recently listened to an episode of Criminal detailing Sgt. David Mascarenas' treacherous dive into the La Brea tar pits. In searching for evidence, the LAPD Dive Supervisor volunteered to lower himself into the crushing bituminous mass, led through the impenetrable murk by sonar and his own gloved hands, grasping and clawing his way through the dark. This stuff is famously thick enough (and hungry enough) to consume mastodons and other beasts of significant size. Not for the faint of heart, in other words. Nor for mortals.
This is all a long way of stating that Compelled to Repeat, the debut LP from Beggar, is the closest thing I can imagine to swimming through that tar, methane bubbles bursting, languidly, in the sludge in my miserable wake. The difference--besides the obvious fact that Sgt. Mascarenas actually did that shit--is that, in the case of Beggar, we aren't exactly guided by sonar. This, friends, is unknown territory.
This review (in its unadulterated form) was originally published in December of 2018 but, as this Friday sees the re-release of an expanded version under Bonita Steel Records and Diabolic Might Records, we thought it would be appropriate to break out this ol' writeup. The following is an edited and updated version. - Ed.
Well, this is refreshing. Typically, when promo proclaims that a band represents a "bold new take" on a traditional, well-trod style, you can expect the same: yet another forgettable "revitalization" of a sound and aesthetic that has been done to death, reanimated, and then slaughtered by copycats once more. In the case of Tzimani, the status quo is effectively put in its place. Despite sparking synapses associated with a variety of high-octane hard rock and metal birthed in the days of yore, this self titled debut EP genuinely feels fresh-faced. Pull on your leather, put the pedal to the metal, and smell the gasoline: Tzimani begins with menacing distortion, a rumbling engine of Mad Max-ian proportion. This EP, previously reviewed by yours truly here, had been bolstered for a vinyl release by a new track, a couple o' covers, and some demos.
Providing thoughtful reviews of music that is heavy, gloomy, and loud enough to wake us from slumber. Written by a groggy-eyed, highfalutin peasantry.