“When I saw the beautiful artwork for Seasons Dreaming Death, the debut album from Indianapolis thrashers GraveRipper, I had high hopes that it would inject some spice into my love affair with the riff, and when I discovered that GraveRipper’s members have been involved with projects sporting distinguished names like Partiac Arrest and Car Door Dick Smash, I figured that I was in store for a good time. Let’s see if these guys managed to leave me satisfied and smiling.” Grave developments.
“At first listen, Bloodletter sound pretty much the same in 2023 as they did in 2021 (or 2020, depending on when you believe the album was actually released). Combine the nasty thrash of a Slayer or a Dark Angel with the melodeath of The Black Dahlia Murder or At the Gates, sprinkle in some icy blackened tremolos, and you’re left with a 35-minute package of highly melodic brutality.” Hate mail!
“Alright, here’s a puzzler for you. Indianapolis sludge metal band Conjurer released their first full-length Old World Ritual in 2015. Then, in 2019, follow-up Sigils dropped. In 2020, Conjurer chose to swap names, now operating under the moniker Veilcaste. Same band members and everything. As Veilcaste, their first release listed is, naturally, Old World Ritual, dated 2015. That’s fine, people rebrand their older albums all the time. Anyway, back to business. Veilcaste play a lumbering, ponderous sort of stoner sludge doom with little in the way of frills or other decoration.” Sludge by any name…
“As autumn attempts to blow its crisp, leaf-scented breeze through the still-humid, still-swamp-assy climes of Northeastern Florida, I can’t help but reach for my own aural equivalent of a pumpkin spice latte, a sound so comfortable that it’s akin to slipping on a well-worn hoodie that’s seen better days. Kiddos, it’s time to revisit the sounds of early 90s doom/death. I’m talking about reminiscing of days both Brave and Murderous, of paradise being lost, and of flowers withering.” Old dooms.
“All is not well at the edge of the cosmos. Some of us look to the heavens and see a frontier, a blank page for all mankind to fill with the best of ourselves. Others, like the black thrash cosmonauts of Blasted Heath, can only widen their eyes in horror at the vast and indifferent expanse. This foursome may hail from Indianapolis, but their first transmission Vela sounds like a broadcast from a far corner of the galaxy. The message? No one is living long or prospering out here, the ship’s AI is starting to get cheeky, and we’ve lost contact with the colonists on LV-426.” Space madness.
