Written by: Heavy Grinder
What do you do when a band makes music you like but has a name you don’t particularly care for? You fucking get over it. Neck of the Woods have a campy band name that seems more apt for a pop country act positioning themselves as the band next door. You know, the one you want to have a beer with and eat fried chicken or whatever. I don’t remember being particularly moved when Sacha Dunable crooned about ‘waiting for the other shoe to drop’ on Blood from a Stone; a perfect example of why in Metal, idioms and folksy phrases should be used sparingly or avoided. But we’ll just assume there is something very Metal going on in those woods or there is some profound hidden meaning to the name that eludes my simple mind.
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Written by: Heavy Grinder
When a friend tells you a band is a mash of Tool, Rush, Jerry Cantrell, plus some post-Black, well, the only appropriate response is “I’ll fucks.” You are virtually obligated to give it a spin and see if the hype sticks, as it is a no-lose situation. If the band lives up, well then you have gold in your ears. If not, you have an opportunity to rib your buddy for being overly dramatic. The over-dramatization wins in this case, as Gates to the Morning is not a perfect mash of the above legends. That does not mean it disappoints either, because the above combination is a unicorn sasquatch, never to be seen in the flesh. Gates presents an intriguing mix of styles not normally associated with one another. The progressive element clearly is dominant throughout, and the Black influences end up being only a small part of the piece, leaving echoes of an old early 90’s alternative feel to balance out the sound. The melodies in "My Star" and "Two Winters" would fit right in on a Toad the Wet Sprocket LP if played on a backbeat in 4/4. That’s no insult, Toad is a great band and I loved how well Gates gels their influences together. 
Written by: Vattghern
I tend to lie to myself, pretending my procrastination isn’t as bad as it is. The moment when the truth hits me like a bus is usually when work has piled up to a giant tower of Jenga blocks, about to collapse in seconds. So, as the weeks of collapsing Jenga towers have passed and my studies have come to a temporary halt, I can shift my focus to procrastinating again. And a fruitful product of said procrastination is this heavily delayed review of Raphael Weinroth-Browne's debut Worlds Within. Despite my love for the distorted and noisy sounds of metal in hectic and stressful times, music like Worlds Within is balm for my soul. It is the type of music that is rather easy on the ears, yet has an endless depth to it. But before we get into the meat and potatoes of the Canadian cellist’s solo debut, one thing should be noted: While this is Weinroth-Browne's first big venture as a solo artist, he’s far from an unknown face in the metal and rock scene. Either because of his insanely talented cello covers of modern prog classics (“Bleed” by Meshuggah or “Harvest” by Opeth, to name a few,) or through his influential work with bands like the neo-folk project Musk Ox and Norwegian prog masters Leprous, which included Weinroth-Browne as an integral part of their live and studio performances. Our shadowy cabal of scribes has happened upon one of the most wondrous and/or perplexing albums in existence. The following reviews, released over the course of several days, is our humble attempt to decipher that which lays before us. Prepare thyself. - Ed. Written by: Capt. Graves (and his grisly extraterrestrial compatriots)  As I smoke my cigarette, I feel better than I have in hours. The only thing that's changed? That album isn't playing. Remmirath reminds me of a bunch of angry dads: "Clean your room!" "Where's my screwdriver?" American Football-style leads really make us cringe. A couple surf rock and disco breaks make me want to hate them even more. This is the kind of music I want to like, but hate with every last bit of my being. If you put video game sounds inside of a shit black metal band, this is what you get. Never will we listen to this album again. I think I broke my ears giving them an ounce of my time. The guy rooting around in his garage really spoke to my hate. Some weird soundtrack to a horrible acid trip, and then I just lost control. Remmirath - Shambhala Vril Saucers was released March 2015 from Todestrieb Records Our shadowy cabal of scribes has happened upon one of the most wondrous and/or perplexing albums in existence. The following reviews, released over the course of several days, is our humble attempt to decipher that which lays before us. Prepare thyself. - Ed.  Written by: Izzy Where do I even begin with this. This album. This fuckin’ album. It is a MONSTROSITY and an ABOMINATION and a cruel joke against nature, God, and all that is holy. And I fucking LOVE it. Listen, if you’ve never heard of these guys before, don’t feel bad, neither had I until a couple weeks ago. But listening to this album was a life changing experience. You think Dillinger Escape Plan is strange? That’s cute. You think Psyopus is weird? That’s adorable. You think Genghis Tron is wildly outlandish? That’s gosh diddly darn PRECIOUS. |
Welcome!Providing thoughtful reviews of music that is heavy, gloomy, and loud enough to wake us from slumber. Written by a groggy-eyed, highfalutin peasantry. Archives
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