![Suldusk – Lunar Falls [Things You Might Have Missed 2019]](https://www.angrymetalguy.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/12/Suldusk-Lunar-Falls-01-768x728.jpg)
“Spotify’s Discover features serve me well. For without my Discover Weekly playlist or the Artist and Playlist radio station features, I do not know whether I would have stumbled across Suldusk’s stunning debut album Lunar Falls in time to join the flurry of this year’s Things You Might Have Missed posts. Suldusk is the one woman neo folk blackgaze project of Emily Highfield of Melbourne, Australia.” Lunar folk.
“I hate being sick. I recently recovered from a cold that I received from my year-old nephew that me and the Mrs. Hollow kept passing back and forth to each other ad nauseam. If a cold can be that frustrating, puking is even worse—breaking out in cold sweats and chills while worrying about keeping any form of nutrition down is truly frustrating because nothing seems to make one feel better. It’s probably even worse vomiting fire, which apparently is something Australian death metal group Ignivomous has on their mind because that’s what their name means. Must hurt.” Burning throats and ears.
“It’s early afternoon, and I have decided to embark on a rather lengthy walk. During this time I will be spinning Triumph & Disaster, the fourth full-length album from We Lost the Sea, and their second since the tragic loss of singer Chris Torpy. I load up the first song and notice something out of the corner of my eye—yes, I did see that right. The instrumental progressive post-metal album I’ve picked up has a fifteen-minute long opening track. Because I’m a terrible reviewer at heart, my brain does the only thing it can: it leaps to the nearest conclusion and prepares for a very long hour.” Time is a social construct.
“Ok, be honest. If I told you today’s review was for a double album that clocked in at nearly 160 minutes and consisted of atmospheric blackened doom metal, what would you say?” Alexa, skip.
“A new Voyager album is always an unknown quantity. I’ve dearly loved some of the Australian prog-meisters material, and felt ambivalent about some of it as well. I raved about 2011s The Meaning of I, but struggled to love parts of followup V. They won me over again on 2017s Ghost Mile, so naturally I hoped the good times would keep rolling with their new opus Colours in the Sun. And why shouldn’t they keep rolling?” Why indeed.
In which we go apeshit.
“What a good story needs first and foremost is interesting characters though, and The Neptune Power Federation get that. Their vocalist, Imperial Priestess Screaming Loz Sutch, assumes the mantle of a time-travelling space witch for their fourth album, Memoirs of a Rat Queen. 70s space rock that mixes Heart with Hawkwind and AC/DC, a sexy vengeful bombshell on the mic, and a story scattered from the French revolution to boning in a parking lot; what could possibly go wrong here?” Aqua(lung) metal.
“Modern life is safe. Extreme danger and fear are rare, which makes experiences that mimic them memorable. The genre of depressive/suicidal black metal (DSBM) appears to support this, because not much is more extreme than profound depression and suicide. Yet those of us who listen, do so because it makes us feel better; that dabbling in the pain through music lessens its impact in the real world.” Depression lite.
“Stoner rock is one of those genres where it’s hard to put into words what separates the great records from the tediously competent. What is it that makes Kyuss’ Welcome to Sky Valley or Sleep’s Dopesmoker nigh-on perfect records, while another album with all the same constituents just barely scrapes a 2.0? Well, as I say, it’s hard to put into words but, possibly because of its close relationship with the blues, great stoner has a ‘feel’ to it, a ‘know it, when you hear it’ quality.” Empty feelz and bluesy thrills.
“It was cold. We chased the sun downhill and West, out of the snowy peaks of the Sierras and across their weeping faces. It gleamed through the murmured rain on the windshield, beat the slick cliff sides and shattered on waterfalls loosed from the ice above. The only sound in the car, save the pelting rain, was Hope Drone’s Cloak of Ash. No other music could accompany the pounding, screaming beauty of the land. No other beat could choreograph the ferns below and firs above. It was art in conversation with the snowbanks and in time with the rushing streams.” Primal beauty.
