“It’s not often that doom metal turns my head these days. Growing up as an impressionable teen in rural New Hampshire, I hunted down as many CDs at Newbury Comics from as many different subsets of doom metal as I could, whether it was the likes of the Peaceville Three, or the more biker-influenced style of Americanized doom metal. But while I still love those bands, it has to take something special to cause my head to turn and take notice. That something special is the one variety of doom that creeps forth from your speakers with hellish intent, that sound that does everything in its power to make you as uncomfortable as humanly possible while slowly grinding you down into a fine crimson powder. Doom like Hell, Primitive Man, and today’s subject of intense scrutiny, Denver’s Oryx.” Doom for comfort.
