Written by: Izzy
Despite often on first glance appearing as a metalhead, probably because I’m oft wearing my Slayer or Gojira tshirts, I actually consider myself much more of a hardcore kid at heart. I never cared for classic punk, and my dad raised me on Dio and Black Sabbath so it was natural I grew up mostly in the metal scene, but as I got older and learned about more genres adjacent and outside of metal, when I finally dove into hardcore something about the music and community just grabbed me and I’ve felt so at home there ever since.
Don’t get me wrong, metalheads are great people (usually), but the hardcore community was so accepting, progressive minded, filled with activists looking for a change, it felt like where I belonged, much more than any metal community I had been a part of. So, in the span of a couple years I went from a diehard metalhead to a straight-edge core kid, I guess you could call me…Transgenre.
Okay okay I just really wanted to make that joke. I’ll actually start the review now.
Yogyakarta, Indonesia is a long way from the humble halls of the Sleeping Village, but, much like the plague that riddles our haggard inhabitants, proggy melodeath knows no borders. In that spirit, we’re breaking out the latest single from Yogyakarta’s own Goddess of Fate. “The Orchard Gardener” represents a tidy breakdown of composition: in the band’s words, “this single is 50% progressive metal and 50% ‘everything else.’” And I’ll be damned, that somehow isn’t mere hyperbole. While the blend may not appear entirely seamless, Goddess of Fate rip it up with a meaty conglomerate of blastbeats, melodeath riffing, tech shredding, acoustic-backed chanting, harsh screams, and (prerequisite) proggy passages. A distinctly jig-esque riff forms the bookends, lending the 7-and-a-half-minutes an epic quality that stretches across the entirety.
Captain Graves is back. Guess he's too busy writing reviews to destroy worlds these days. To each their own, I guess. - Ed.
I've been on a rampage here in The Village. These stoned fools have dubbed me "Space Friend" thanks to Concilium, and it really makes my intergalactic blood boil. I guess all the flak I send their way is really getting to them. Solving this with humor isn't really conducive with my way of thinking. I prefer setting folks on fire, and then watching Varic eat their planet whole.
Here we have Blackwater Holylight, and I'm actually honored to write this review. Their reverb drenched self-titled was a delight, so I was ecstatic to find they had a new album (Veils of Winter) on the horizon with Riding Easy Records.
In the interest of transparency: Creeping Death have three things going for them right now. The first is that gorgeous cover artwork. The second is the fact that I downloaded Wretched Illusions before clambering into this airplane, and, lo and behold, theirs is one of the few albums currently available for the duration of this flight. Thirdly, and most importantly, is that Creeping Death peddles a thoroughly solid brand of death metal, and that is all and everything this weary scribe is craving at the moment. When I'm feeling this malnourished, nothing sticks to my bones quite like meat 'n' potatoes death. No bells and whistles for me, please. Just the inevitability of crushing riffage, throat-wrenching growls, and enough thrash-derived adrenaline to keep me awake, thankyouverymuch. But enough talk. Let's hit that runway, shall we?
Captain Graves is on what we earthlings might refer to as "a tear," and I'm certainly not going to stand in his way. Enjoy his latest treatise. - Ed.
I've been kept busy over here at The Village. They took me to their vomit pits for a glorious session. Watching feeble humans excrete from every orifice is quite satisfying if I do say so myself, and I do.
When The Deadbolt Breaks' Angel's Are Weeping... ...God Has Abandoned... is far from vomit inducing. It's more homicidal/suicidal, and I really get into that. Destroying worlds and making people suffer is somewhat of an expertise for me. The first track "Centering Through Isolation" has a long intro, it almost turned me off from writing this review, but I'm glad I gave it a chance. Its atmospheric and sludgy nature reeled me in. "Blood Born" also has a long intro, but the guitar is trance-like and seems to tell a story on it's own. I do love wet guitar lines. It turns into a sludgefest after that, switching between operatic vocals and deathly screams.
While many of you are likely aware of the plague pit we keep out back here at the Sleeping Village, a better kept secret is our vomit pit. That's where we go when the going gets...gross. Luckily, Pornographic Seizures, the debut from Ohio's nigh unpronounceable Sanguisugabogg, comes with an appropriate warning on the label: "we are not responsible for any instantaneous vomiting upon listening." Thanks, guys. Long story short, we made it out to the aforementioned vomit pit prior to hitting play on this 4-track grotesquerie , and everyone is for the better because of it.
Pornographic Seizures is just that: gross. Obviously. And in that spirit, as is the case of most metal of this variety, it's a bit of a race to see how many negative words I can attribute in a positive light.
The infamous Captain Graves is back with another review--but this time, he seems to have lessened his blows. Could...could this mean that the Captain be showing a softer side? This must be some kind of ploy. - Ed.
There's been some new additions to the Village since my last visit. I wonder if they're warned of my sadistic ways, or do they just allow them to figure it out on their own? The stoned fools aren't ready for the annihilation that will ensue, warning or not.
Here we have Concilium, an Epic Doom outfit from Boston, MA. We've had the pleasure of playing a couple shows together. They became a sort of sister, and brothers in arms. Helping Advent Varic decimate Salem, and Allston. I had not heard of them before being booked together. As I normally do when booked with bands I don't know, I waited for that live performance to conjure up my opinion. I'd hung out with their singer a few times prior, and had no idea she was the lead vocalist in a band, or maybe she told me when I was drunk. I used to hit the bottle pretty hard. You fucking Earthlings really stress me out... but I digress.
The briefest of perusals through our archives will indicate that we Villagers cover a sizable share of doom (and affiliated genres.) For me, doom and stoner rock are the progenitorial genres--the heavy music that got me into heavy music to begin with. Regrettably, I just haven’t been in the mood for the low ‘n’ slow for some time, and while a number of solid releases have come and gone, nothing has truly drawn me back into the fold.
Not until today, that is, when Fumarole’s latest single, Valley, found its way into our drafty scriptorum...and stayed here, on repeat, for quite some time indeed. And now, gateway opened, I'm clambering inside the doomier corners of the promo pit with grossly wild abandon. Thanks, Fumarole, for your unintentional service. But enough blathering; let's get to the track in question.
In the drafty scriptorum of this Sleeping Village, power metal--and, by extension, said genre's upper echelon--serves a remarkably utilitarian purpose: pumping us the fuck up. In the turbulent seas of heavy music, very little rivals the charybdian draw of power metal's trademark infectious chest-pounding braggadocio.
As such, regardless of your contradictory opinions, and despite the (generally) bloody subject matter, an untouchable positivity reigns eternal in this particular arena. There's nothing like a little dose of Powerwolf or Judicator or Blind Guardian or Turisas or Falconer or Sabaton to banish a bad mood. Soaring vocals, lusty choral battlecries, meathook melodies, stomping riffage, and the promise of (obnoxiously) omniscient keyboard provide, for better or for worse, a highly energetic and uplifting experience. And, for that alone, power metal has earned a perpetual timeshare in our township.
Written by: Izzy
Slipknot is a household name. - Love ‘em or hate ‘em, every metalhead can recognize Corey’s rough gravelly vocals in an instant, and for a lot of people, including myself, Slipknot was a gateway to the heavier side of metal. And I can say I’ve loved every album of theirs for one reason or another: S/T, Vol. 3 and The Gray Chapter mix in perfect amounts of aggression and catchiness, Iowa is still one of the most blistering and unrelenting albums I’ve ever heard, even All Hope Is Gone which is pretty much universally considered their worst album still stands out completely unique with the different direction they took in riff writing. Even though I agree it’s definitely their weakest project.
So expectations are always high for Slipknot, especially with the singles for this album. Given "Unsainted" and it’s soaring chorus and emotionally charged breakdown, and "Solway Firth’s" near perfect return to classic Slipknot form, I was thinking this was gonna be an incredible album. But I’ve beat around the bush enough so I’ll just be honest, We Are Not Your Kind was a disappointing album. Not bad, but I expected better.
We provide thoughtful reviews of music that is heavy, gloomy...and loud enough to wake us from slumber. Written by a highfalutin peasantry!