Like any other, our little Village has its little pranksters and jokesters, and theirs is a crude, unsophisticated humor. We don’t get much wit nor deadpan ‘round these parts, so when someone rolls into town possessing the unique ability to keep a straight face whilst performing something capriciously off-kilter, I tend to be suitably impressed.
This isn’t to say that LA’s heavy rockin’ Deathchant don’t take their art seriously. To the contrary, in fact. It’s quite obvious that TJ Lemieux and Company (John Bolino, Colin Fahrner and George Camacho) are very accomplished musicians, and their debut LP is, frankly, quite the stunner. Rather, I’m suggesting that what makes Deathchant so unique is the ability to launch into experimental passages and then out again with nary a glance backward, maintaining the guise that they’ve been playing a standard heavy rock number the whole damn time. At first, the casual nature in which a track--such as opener Pessimist--slips from recognizable psychedelic fare into a passage inhabited by a post-singularity beehive before ending back at Lemiuex’s sultry, fuzz-laden voice is....unexpected, to say the least. Very quickly, however, this becomes a trademark motif. A similar compositional technique rears its head in album highlight Ritual, which turns a seemingly driving intro riff into an extended experiment in psychedelia, before devolving (or evolving?) into pure noise. It's a neat trick, and Deathchant's ability to maintain composure throughout sells the package.
Because these four switch things up so frequently and unexpectedly, it remains difficult to peg them--both in the case of the direction of individual tracks, as well as the general genre. It has the brooding weight of a new-age doom act, but there’s a propulsive heavy metal element, as well as a distinctly avant-garde jazz ambiance. For a prime example of the latter, look to the somber Eulogy. Closer Trigger is the most aggressive track, the most outwardly “metal,” but still, that’s excluding the extended intro and outro, which are entirely constructed from the reverb-drenched strains of an organic brand of industrial noise. Its weird stuff, and from a standpoint of both personal preference and critical awareness, Deathchant’s formula (if it can even be referred to as such) works very well. The unique song structures prevent a dull consistency that I unfortunately have come to expect from both heavy psych and noise. Beyond that, each track is goddamn interesting on its own merits. There isn’t a song here that doesn’t brings its own flavor to the Deathchant universe, and that is something to celebrate.
Despite the obvious jarring nature of the more noisy elements, a melodic and near-harmonious air hangs, hazily, over the whole affair. The vocals are delightfully laid-back, yet richly emotive when needed. Instrumentally, there are no weak links. Drums, as mentioned, possess a jazzy bent--but they also lay it down with a fierce intensity when the occasion arises. The guitar holds that lovely distortion in loving arms, and whether plodding or bursting into an impromptu canter, that sweet psychedelic tone is never abandoned. Despite remaining unpredictable, Deathchant knows how to comfort their listeners.
Critically speaking, the only real item of note is the length. At 29 minutes, this hardly qualifies as a full album in my (admittedly self-published) book. The fact that I want more is, if anything, a testament to the strength of what these rockers have conjured up. While this groggy wordsmith might not have the vocabulary to accurately describe what exactly Deathchant have created here, I will say this with certainty: whatever it is they do, they’ve done it with great skill and aplomb. Needless to say: highly recommended!
Deathchant arrives January 10th of next year, courtesy of King Volume Records. In the meantime, both singles--Hex and Pessimist--are available for streaming. Otherwise, we highly recommend you saunter, levitate, or otherwise ooze your way over to that pre-order. It’s really not the sort of decision you’ll end up regretting.
Lest the masses be confused: I am decidedly an album guy. A truly well-conceived arrangement of tracks, designed with the explicit purpose of flowing and interlocking with deliberate grace--for me, this is the holy grail of the music-listening experience. With that said, this month has been all about the singles, evidenced best by the number of goddamn times I’ve hit repeat on Red Beard Wall’s (certifiably) unstoppable latest.
For those of you not in the know, RBW plays a wickedly cacophonous brand of sludge--a brutal slugfest between the hooky pseudo-melodic stylings of Torche or Helmet, and the bayou groove of NOLA’s finest. Here, the formula hasn’t changed all that much, thank the lord. Given past experiences I went in expecting a lot, and this track absolutely brings it in the execution department, due in large to the multifaceted vocal delivery. Raspy roars one moment, chant-along-the riff cleans the next. It’s a delicious recipe, to be sure, accented by crunchy, head-bopping riffage and some absolutely crushing work in the percussion department. This is sludge rock at its finest--thick, unique, and relentlessly repeatable. It’s a rabble-rouser, a neck-snapper. As a single, The Warming does its job...inordinately well.
Red Beard Wall’s (excellent, I assure you) sophomore album, The Fight Needs Us All, releases Feb 22nd from Argonauta Records. Full review shall follow in good time. In the meantime, we Villagers, effectively woken from our slumber, highly recommend you find your way over to that preorder.
Red Beard Wall can be found
Whilst compiling, cross-referencing, and copy-editing the Great Year End List of ‘18, the walls of our slumbering Village were battered by the tides of death and doom. As a result, some calmer tides are in order, and those gentle swells are brought to us today in the form of a single from Austin’s own A Good Rogering. Described briefly (if...not inaccurately) as “non-metal,” Out Of Reach demonstrates a stark contrast to AGR’s typical brand of eclectically raucous heavy rock. 2017’s EP, the ridiculously enjoyable and irreverently entitled This Is Death Metal, sets a much more electric tone. This release, as with AGR’s prior work is groovy, bouncy, and wonderfully off-kilter. Wearing the aesthetics of feel-good heavy rock on their sleeves, this outfit was seemingly slotted into a singular Primus-meets-Manowar category of their own.
Out of Reach, then, is a stark change, yet not unwelcome. In the same way that both Alice In Chains and The Smashing Pumpkins are instantly recognizable by their uncanny ability to provide well-written tracks across the spectrum from crunchy to acoustic, AGR proves that they have an apparent bevy of tricks up their sleeves. Here, the Alice In Chains comparison feels particularly apt, as the vocal delivery adopts a certain laid-back Staley vibe. The track builds in intensity, but never breaks into blustery rock ‘n’ roll rodomontade. A true testament to AGR’s ability to write a compelling tune. The vocal melodies are plenty hooky, no hefty riffs necessary. Much like the grunge of my childhood, Out Of Reach scratches that introspective, melancholic itch quite handily. The acoustics are presented with a competent grace, the chorus is a real earworm, and the lyrics, while suitably dark, remain comforting. All is well.
AGR is due for an album this coming year, and if it manages to balance the quiet emotive numbers such as this with their more heavy-handed side, I will be suitably impressed. With that said, Out Of Reach hasn’t left rotation for weeks, and with songwriting this good, I can expect the best. Our recommendation? Check it out on spotify, post-haste.
A Good Rogering can be found:
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.
Modern trad metal works best when A. the songwriting feels like it has been dredged from the past, and B. the musicianship sounds like the result of decades worth of practice. Here, the brotherly duo--frontman Eddie Vazquez and drummer Sebastian Vazquez--are certainly beyond their years in terms of skill. The instrumentality is remarkably tight for such untested newcomers, and the writing reflects an unprecedented maturity. These seem like tracks resulting from years of failure and eventual triumph. Take, for example, We Are the Ones, a blazing number that begs for repeat listens. It’s catchy as hell, with appropriately corny lyrics and a lot of gleeful rock ‘n’ roll presence. This is all due to a predictable structure, but Tzimani aren’t trying to reinvent the wheel here, so much as play tunes that would have undoubtedly filled stadiums--had they the good fortune to be released 30 years earlier. Drums are tight and precise, the bass is audible enough to leave a sizable impact, and the vocals are surprisingly flexible. Eddie has a decent range, and he isn’t afraid to throw some vaguely Hagar-influenced inflection into the triumphant refrains.
While Tzimani is impressive on all counts, the nail in the coffin of this EP’s success is the brilliant display of axemanship. Face-melting solos, finger-blistering arpeggios, and a Skull Fist’d shred’s-not-dead approach to riffage is worth the price of admission alone. While never flying off the handle or stooping to mere wankery, a vibrant enthusiasm for flashy displays of technique is evident in Eddie’s highly skilled fretwork. The solos absolutely rip--'nuff said. His ability to craft galloping NWOBHM tinged riffs and licks with a distinct sneering competency a la Motley Crue, and the earworm sensibilities of the aforementioned Skull Fist--or perhaps Def Leppard--is truly something to behold. There's definitely a little Maiden in there as well, which only adds to the splendor.
Originality is always going to come into question, and while this all feels necessarily familiar, it doesn’t feel, well, done. The Crue Connection, for example, is most apparent in closer Get Me Out Of Here, which recalls Kickstart My Heart's central theme, yet comfortably reinforces Tzimani’s (already established) trademark: balls-to-the-wall momentum. This track proves that these guys aren't here to let off the gas and coast in the strength of a couple tracks, allowing listeners to flounder in the filler and fluff so often associated with this brand of hard rock. To be frank, there isn't a track here that would seem out of place as a high-octane radio single.
It sounds cliche, but the greatest weakness of this EP is just that--it’s only an EP. When Tzimani drop an album proper, they are undoubtedly going to become recognized as a force to reckon with in the face of revitalized American metal. This monster has swiftly climbed the list into my top 5 EP’s of 2018 (spoiler!) and thus comes highly, highly recommended.
Lest the masses be confused:
I am decidedly an album guy. A truly well-conceived arrangement of tracks, designed with the explicit purpose of flowing and interlocking with deliberate grace--for me, this is the holy grail of the music-listening experience. With that said, this month has been all about the singles, evidenced best by the number of goddamn times I’ve hit repeat on Red Beard Wall’s (certifiably) unstoppable latest.
For those of you not in the know, RBW plays a wickedly cacophonous brand of sludge
--a brutal slugfest between the hooky pseudo-melodic stylings of Torche or Helmet, and the bayou groove of NOLA’s finest. Here, the formula hasn’t changed all that much, thank the lord. Given past experiences I went in expecting a lot, and this track absolutely brings it in the execution department, due in large to the multifaceted vocal delivery. Raspy roars one moment, chant-along-the riff cleans the next. It’s a delicious recipe, to be sure, accented by crunchy, head-bopping riffage and some absolutely crushing work in the percussion department. This is sludge rock at its finest--thick, unique, and relentlessly repeatable. It’s a rabble-rouser, a neck-snapper. As a single, The Warming does its job...inordinately well.
Red Beard Wall’s (excellent, I assure you) sophomore album, The Fight Needs Us All, releases February 22nd from Argonauta Records. Full review shall follow in good time. In the meantime, we Villagers, effectively woken from our slumber, highly recommend you find your way over to that preorder.
Red Beard Wall can be found:
Despite Homme’s declaration that Kyuss was inspired more by Black Flag than the progenitors and perfectors of psychedelic heavy rock--say, Blue Cheer or Black Sabbath--the desert rock scene’s worship of the amp and riff are surely tied to the ingenuity of early doomsters. Because Sabbath have left such a veritable canyon in the firmament of heavy music, we dedicate Sundays to highlighting a lesser-known band that carries, in some fashion, the Sabbathian mantle. Today we review Electric Mountain’s s/t debut, straight outta Mexico City on the wings of inspirations aplenty. Welcome to Sabbath Sunday.
At this point in the Sleeping Village’s doomy coverage, it feels a little cliche to declare, but here goes: Electric Mountain doesn’t deal in subtilty. Borrowing Kyuss’ thick riffs and Orange Goblins aggressive percussive flair, this meaty and otherwise fuzz-tastic take on the belov’d stoner rock template remains a highly enjoyable listen, despite zero intention of breaking the mold. And yes, I can harp on the unoriginality here, but while the formula remains consistent, there really isn’t a bad track on this slab. Upon many repeated listens, Going Under and Green Mountain Side are clear standouts, especially if you’re particularly diggin’ the crunchy Black Pyramid vibes. Into the Maelstrom provides that crisp mid-album acoustic flavor, and Free Woman/Space Rocket provide that feisty one-two punch in the album’s early stages. This is a lesson in hookiness--with riffs characterized by near-sensual groove and a near-impenetrable haze, fuzz idolatry is the name of the game.
Gib’s filtered vocals are distance and tinged with a forthright familiarity, serving as an effective sidekick to his joyously energetic guitar. Bouncing from riff to lick and back again, there are no slow moments here. While the occasional riff does recall earlier tracks, each song has its own unique identity. Electric Mountain as a whole squarely hits the mark in terms of length--long enough to satisfy, brief enough to incite a round of questioning: what will they deliver next?
If your relationship with rock of the overt desert and psychedelic varieties can be qualified as mere flirtation, Electric Mountain might not be the introduction necessary to sway you over into the riff-filled land. That said, fans of the genre with undoubtedly find this debut a significantly worthwhile affair.
A certain groggy-eyed, highfalutin' peasantry