“Atmospheric doom/sludge. Ponder that tag and allow the words and your imagination to create a world, a special place of their design. Personally, there’s no light where those words take me. I see the genre before me and am transported somewhere dark, cold; visions of Errata convulse under Clouds which Swallow the Sun, and I begin to dream of a place that I could call home. Norway, Finland, Russia, Canada… the lands of ice and snow dance behind my eyes.” Weather forecast: Grim.
“To fully appreciate where we’re going, we must understand a few things about Hobosexual. Firstly, they’re not metal, and that isn’t going to kill you. I might though, if you opt to miss out on this slab of goodness based on that detail alone, but let’s try to avoid all that. Secondly, that name. According to the band’s Facebook page, ‘Hobosexual was adopted by Ben and Jeff as a tongue in cheek dictatorial spin on affiliation as antiquated preference.” Once you go Hobo, you never get clean.
“In a faraway corner of the Southern hemisphere belonging to radiant women and men who loot (and labor), a storm is brewing. A seething swarm of stoner sludge swirls and simmers in the starless sky, and my advice, should you hear that thunder, is the same as Colin Hay’s: you better run, you better take cover. A scant 2 years after dropping a self-titled pseudopodian riff bomb on an unsuspecting world, Melbourne’s Motherslug have added a second full-length to their cornucopia of doom, and all the salt in the world won’t keep you safe from this slugger.” Slimin’ and stealin’.
“The world has moved on, woe Discordia, and every day sees more and more elements of the past being phased out of existence. Goodbye, Pogs. Farewell, AIM. RIP Nu-Metal (no, seriously, please rest). The sands of time are a cruel invading force, whatever will they snatch up next? Chile’s Thy Serpent’s Cult may be bowing out of the fight after nine years of thrashing to death, but their answer, given in their swan scream album Supremacy of Chaos, remains as trve and timeless as ever: Not our fucking death metal.” Time waits for no band.
“Once, I believed myself able to see past the veils and charades of societal labels, to be able to transcend the likes of religious affiliation in order to experience art for art’s sake. Once, I believed that I could overcome any element of musical unpleasantness if the rest of the material was strong enough. I have loved the likes of Mos Def, Flyleaf, and Ghost Bath, and felt no shame. Once, I believed all this to be enough to allow me to find redemption in any kind of music… until I heard Enzo and the Glory Ensemble’s In the Name of the Son.” Jazz hands for the Lord.
“Heads up, Angry Metal Explorers! Today we’re taking a magic carpet ride to a whole not-so-new world, a faraway place where the caravan camels roam. We’re going (going, back back) to Israel. Israel. Not exactly a land lauded for its black metal scene, but here we are, gathering our courage to sneak a glimpse at a trve monster born of death metal dreams in blackened Arabian nights.” Jinn and juice.
“Don’t look at me. I feel nothing but shame for the treason I am about to unveil, for though my words are true, they are most certainly not trve. I’ve been banging my head to power metal all week… and I liked it. It started with this band, Gods of Silence, and their debut assault Neverland.” From muppet to lost boy.
“Why tech-death insists on being an exercise in as many bands as possible doing the exact same thing as each other, is something that baffles. On that note, and with Beuller-approved levels of irony, let’s talk about some dudes from Dubai and what they’ve done with the genre on their third full-length, Past, Present… Torture.” Dial N for Nile, oh, and Nervecell.
“Hailing Satan from Poitiers, France, they knock politely for 20 seconds before bursting in to commandeer the stereo. We’re listening to Servants of the Salem Girl now, and that’s that. Within moments the air is thick with fuzzy guitars, and unless somebody’s handling the snacks poorly then I believe I’m also getting a whiff of brimstone. In short order, Servants gets and keeps heads moving the good old fashion way: bitchin’ riffage and songs about the Devil.” The Dark Lord of Partying.
“Firsts. Life’s full of ’em. Some are wonderful, such as the proverbial first kiss, or the first time you heard (or wrote about!) heavy metal. Some are horrible, such as the Drew Music-al first kiss, or the first time you heard Good Charlotte. A band’s first album can fall anywhere within this spectrum, and with their future depending on that first impression, the importance of debut albums cannot be overstated. This being said, let me prepare your future selves to remember the first time you ever heard Nostoc.” First shot at glory.
