I don’t do too terribly well in oppressive heat, and I never have. There’s something about it that makes it feel suffocating and dangerous, my body panicking like there is something wrong with me physically. There’s a brutality to the heat, knowing too much of it can harm you, potentially fatally, and the only way to escape it is to try to hide from it somewhere where it can’t get to you. It’s just lurking, waiting.
Taking on blackened doom trio Ghorot’s music reminds me of that very thing, feeling like you’re being baked alive as their manic noise and gargantuan riffs weigh down on you, making breathing a competitive sport. On their crushing new record “Wound,” their second, they manage to make things heavier, nastier, riffier. As soon as the five-track record opens, you’re mangled by sonic eruption with the band—guitarist/vocalist Chad Remains, bassist/acoustic guitarist/vocalist Carson Russell, drummer/vocalist Brandon Walker—piling layer upon humid layer of desert-like heat, the punishing thrashing you’re taking feeling even more intimidating as your fear for survival consumes you.
“Dredge” gets started with feedback scorching, growls boiling, and the doomy fire growing and raging in time. Shrieks cut through as the pressure builds, pummeling as noise peels off and takes chunks of flesh with it, eating away with acidic pummeling. The bruising continues as the riffs create thick smoke, melting with bluesy turns, ringing out into oblivion. “In Absentia” rips open with scathing riffs, a blistering force, and a rhythm section that pounds away, disassembling bodies bone by bone. The growls slither as the brutality accumulates and corrode, lashing with a devastating force that’s impossible to avoid. Leads glimmer from there, and everything melts, leaving the stench of burnt rubber behind.
“Corsican Leather” corkscrews in and immediately goes dreamy and immersive before the growls eat into your psyche. Blood runs cold just as the guitars catch fire, going for a slow-driving, yet devastating pace that aims to take you apart. Tornadic riffs land as the growls smear soot, creating an overwhelming intensity that causes the pace to drive harder, stomping to a molten finish. “Canyonlands” brings a psychedelic glimmer that slowly unfurls, whispers haunt, and the playing slithers toward its prey in calculated fashion. Shrieks then gut as the melodies boil over, the soloing laps up sweat and bile, and a hypnotic glaze grabs your attention, ending in a pit of noise. Closer “Neanderskull” guts with sound before sludgy madness digs into ribcages, slowly brutalizing with oppressive heat and banshee wails. The guitars bleed heavily and then coat with iron ore, the sounds wrench and combust, and everything ends in a panicked terror bathing in manic energy.
Ghorot’s volcanic energy is on full display with “Wound,” one of the loudest, most sonically aggravated records you’re bound to hear this year. Each of these five tracks is a pummeling journey through desert heat, a skull-dragging affair that leaves you burnt and parched. The brutality and psychedelic firepower are impossible to shake, and your bones will ache for days after the music ends.
When bands make changes to their sound, there always are the hand wringers out there panicking that the thing they liked is turning into something else. It’s kind of silly to do that because it’s natural for artists to grow and evolve, and as long as they don’t veer too far from their center point, an open-minded listener might find wrinkles they didn’t know would make them happy.
I’m not suggesting UK post-hardcore/black metal-influenced force Svalbard have made wholesale changes on their new record “The Weight of the Mask,” because they’re still completely recognizable, still incredibly infectious and heavy. But on this, their third record, they add more delicate tones, added cleaner singing, and different colors that make their style even more exciting and flexible. The band—vocalist/guitarist Serena Cherry, guitarist/vocalist Liam Phelan, bassist Matt Francis, drummer Mark Lilley—always wore their passion on their sleeves, but adding the depth to their sound makes them even more dynamic. Cherry steps back from her more political lyrics to make personal matters the focal point, leaning into depression, love, anxiety, and feeling like you’re hiding behind your true self. She handles these areas with bravery, vulnerability, and understanding, hopefully helping others who hear this music connect with the messages.
“Faking It” opens the record feeling energetic and fiery, but digging inside finds the real, painful truth. Cherry’s shrieks are lacerating and passionate, but her words signal something darker when she wails, “How am I standing? How am I alive? How am I making it seem like it’s fine? The question repeats and repeats.” It’s a sentiment many share, and as the track goes on, so does the pain, echoing out as she calls, “I just fake it, nothing is scared.” “Eternal Spirits” spills out, bringing intensity and emotion, the verses crushing and lush singing arriving over the chorus. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” Cherry calls, a hyper-melodic surge following that, the declaration of, “We carry your torches,” hammering home the message. “Defiance” delivers heartfelt riffs and softer singing, easing you into the explosion. Once it arrives, the knives are out and the battle is on, Cherry wailing, “Try to kill my drive but I’m fighting, try to hold me down but I’m rising,” a push that aims to bury those who wish to oppress or hold one down. “All I can do is keep fighting,” Cherry insists, bringing a clenched fist and a blaze to the effort. “November” is a change of pace, feeling more delicate musically but not lyrically. There is ache and sadness, the remembrance of a loss that lingers, Cherry determined never to go that path as she calls, “Head down, barriers up, nothing will ever come close to my heart.” As the track goes on, it wrenches harder, shrieks rain down, and the crushing turns add bruising and scarring to the heart.
“Lights Out” sinks into lingering mental wounds one tries to hide, as the playing pummels, hammering with a force that stings and layers with black metal melodies. “I am too depressed to show you how depressed I am,” Cherry calls, the music going dreamier as the emotion cuts deeper. The album’s title comes from this song as Cherry sings about being weighed down by the mask she must wear, the playing shimmering and unleashing fog as she admits, “The light in me is out.” “How to Swim Down” brings both darkness and brighter hues, the singing layering heavier emotion, moodiness lurking as the horizon gains blues and purples. “Go fight, I will heal you,” Cherry declares (taking on the role of the healer from “World of Warcraft”), the track moving toward more positive light, finally dissolving into something resembling hope. “Be My Tomb” ignites with energy flowing, great riffs, and powering shrieks that rattle bones. The catchiness is impossible to shake as a massive gush pushes in, the guitar work continues to add smoking layers, and the intensity really skyrockets at the end, landing in fresh, cool waters. “Pillar in the Sand” is cloudier with clean singing, guitars washing in the tides, tearing open as the shrieks do their damage. The tempo is pounding and passionate, taking its time to make its point, disappearing into the distance. Closer “To Wilt Beneath the Weight” lands huge punches right away, sticky riffs attacking, the rampage moving toward you like a tidal wave. The drums rumble as the deluge multiplies, bruising and mashing with electric jolts, the vocals wrenching one last time before the track ends in shimmering power.
Svalbard make musical leaps and bounds on “The Weight of the Mask,” still delving deeply into melodic hardcore and black metal waters but also showing no fear to try softer sounds and show some delicacy. It pays off huge, adding yet another element to this great band, and that’s all before digging into these brave, confessional lyrics that are unafraid to show vulnerabilities. It’s crucial for the band to release these feelings and just as vital for those in their audience who can identify with these songs, hear something they perhaps thought they were alone in facing, and potentially finding a way to rise above all of that and live to fight all over again.
It’s long been said black metal plays by no rules, that defiance is the blood that pumps through its veins, that it takes no commands from anyone and lashes back at the power structure. That makes it so strange that so many bands in this circle gravitate toward fascist ideals, basically creating anthems that tip their hand toward, you know, unquestioned power. Fucking weird move, man.
Most people know Ayloss for his work with Spectral Lore, but on his Auriferous Flame project, here on its second record “Ardor for Black Mastery,” he is continuing his mission to wrest black metal away from boot licking and back toward drawing blood of the oppressors. An interesting wrinkle on this record is that Ayloss is employing more of a black thrash approach, making the music more riff oriented, mashing, and dangerous, grinding away at you over seven tracks that are beefy and bruising, making menacing sounds that should have anyone on his sights shaking in their boots. It’s a devastating record, one that lives nicely alongside last year’s debut “The Great Mist Within” and expands the hold to encompass even more territory and flex dexterous muscles.
“Wielders of Secrets” is the 9:39 opener, and it bursts open, howls wrenching and hissing, entering into a Maiden-like mystical terrain that has a classic metal feel. The playing rampages again, going daring and fast, even getting delirious before hitting colder air, icing your cells. Finally, the last strike overwhelms, savage howls dent skulls, howls echo, and everything disappears into the clouds. “Thaumaturgical Irresolutions” is a tick short of 10 minutes, and it lights up and drives hard, smashing its way through, synth dashing at the heart of a storm. The leads twist and taunt, thrashing heavily, the fast pace slaying as vile cries rain down, the drums crushing. The tempo remains relentless, slashing and spiraling and rushing out into a sound cloud. “Behind the Gentle Breeze” is an instrumental piece, mixing electric and clean melodies, a spacey vibe opening up and letting you see into the future, fog building up as the drums reverberate, washing through and turning into ice.
The title track has challenging guitars opening, the howls rippling through previously calm waters, synth accumulating and making the carnage dreamier. Glorious leads tears out of that, barked cries punch out amid overcast skies, and a great force trudges and tangles. The playing thrashes anew, the growls land with impact, and the drums turn bones to dust, blasting into oblivion. “Beyond Light, Beyond Reason” attacks right away, the vocals going for broke, the pace coming in fast and mean as synth meets up with the bloody power. The playing gets chunkier, the leads lather with electricity, and the dizzying journey gets even more so, fiery call hammering and burning into your brain, moving into instrumental piece “Ophidian Hallways” that instantly gives off cooler vibes. Guitars chill as classical runs work down your spine, feeling dark and a little jazzy, running deeper into the universe. Closer “Recommencing the Great Work” blasts in, howls crushing, rampaging through madness, twisting and turning in your guts. The vocals make a deep impact as the playing gallops, the heaviness pulsates, and the cries wash out in time, letting guitars tingle and the drums blast away.
Reclaiming black metal’s mantle from those who bastardized it is a noble goal for Auriferous Flame and Ayloss, and everything on “Ardor for Black Mastery” takes that mission ever further. To lash back against power structure instead of implicitly (and sometime explicitly) embracing it is something black metal never should have lost even an ounce of, and this project is seeing to it that the coursed correction is violent and bloody. This is a powerful second record from this force, and as we go further into the future, the music is likely to get deadlier as the foes in its view try harder to seize power.
It’s possible humanity has exceeded its usefulness. Look around you and just see the things we’ve done to sicken this planet and destroy our natural surroundings because rich people who stand to make money told us to do that. Try to spend a few minutes on social media without trying to claw out your eyeballs in complete disgust. It’s futility from end to end.
NYC-based death metal killing machine Ruin Lust is trying to see that destruction through at a faster clip on their alarming fourth record “Dissimulant,” a record that is not trying to conceal its intent to strip humanity of all it has left. It’s mercy meted out through annihilation, and the band—guitarist/vocalist J. Wilson, guitarist/bassist S. Bennett, drummer/vocalist M. Rekevics—spends eight tracks and 31 minutes punishing with death metal that veers violently into war territory and black metal that’s less concerned with devilry and more invested in taking apart the scourge of humans one blast at as time.
“Eden” roars open with crazed guitars scurrying, blistering stomps viciously spreading the blood. The howls echo relentlessly, a maiming force that piles into guttural chaos, the guitars burning and bubbling flesh, crashing out at the end. “Imperium” dashes as the drums crush, torching mentalities, pounding howls making their mark. The drubbing and thrashing continues as the growls blaze, the intensity explodes, and the playing disappears into oblivion. “Clinamen” hammers away, the growls snarling beastlike, the leads heating up and ushering in total devastation. The guitar work tangles and tramples, opening body cavities and slaying, the playing bringing on a total attack that ends in ashes. “Thrall” immediately leaves everything in the dust, guitars churning and punishing, the assault making blood rocket through veins. The playing decimates everything in front of it, the drums explode like a nuclear assault, and the speed lathers with chaos and hellish passion.
The title track brings crushing noise, the growls working their way down your spine, the terror mauling as everything comes unglued. The playing becomes vile and evil, rampaging with storm-like power, raspy howls peeling flesh from bone. “Purge” comes on as a total onslaught, molten power flexing its muscles, eventually slowing into something heavier and more oppressive. Growls retch as spacey horrors are abound, drubbing and dragging you over the coals, spiraling out in echoes. “Infinite Regress” rings in the air before dragging in demolition, the growls pounding away at vulnerable wounds. The vocals push as the guitars slice, thrashing and blistering, dissolving in an acid bath. Closer “Chemical Wind” enters in a warped haze, sinister blackness spreading and sinking in its claws. Brutality increases as the growls clench their fists around throats, an ungodly force increases, and disorientation increases and slowly drags you into oblivion.
“Dissimulant” is utterly barbaric, an exercise in death metal terror that feels uncomfortable and unforgiving from the very start. Ruin Lust make the vitriol feel as genuine as any other band out there making such warped sounds, proving their dedication to the further erosion of our species. This is a raging fire of disgust that cannot be extinguished and that will consume you whole.
Humanity seems to have a brain injury. We have so much history at our disposal to show us where those who preceded us failed, why, and how to avoid such a fate. And we never seem to learn. The cycles always repeat. The hubris prevents people from embracing what’s sensible and what would be better for those around us because the words of grifters, almost always transparent fools, are just too attractive.
Long-running black metal force Woe never shied away from digging into the seamy underbelly of humanity, and they do it yet again on “Legacies of Frailty,” the first since 2008 debut “A Spell for the Death of Man” solely helmed by founder Chris Grigg (Lev Weinstein does play drums on 3 tracks though). Over 6 tracks and 48 minutes, Grigg rolls out a conceptual piece about how humankind’s selfish nature always leads to ignoring history’s lessons for today’s rewards that often are falsehoods. We watch things rot and burn, we watch people die, we watch fascism get platformed and clap stupidly, slobbering all over the place. Grigg sounds as angry and channeled as ever, his shrieks turning into a growled bark, the music blunt and confrontational, the type that comes from a creator who has long since seen enough and wants us to wake the fuck up already.
“Fresh Chaos Greets the Dawn” starts chillingly, alien synth moving over your brain before the track tears open, Grigg’s death-like roars rippling down your spine. “The brazen sycophants, the spineless drones emerge, to sway in craven veneration, drawn to its pure vacuous dirge,” Grigg howls as melodies swell amid the fury, vicious and channeled playing aiming for throats. Warmer sound trickles as the growls continue to carve, riffs encircle as the oncoming storm lands, and everything is engulfed in flames before the synth returns and soothes your wounds. “Scavenger Prophets” has the howls tearing at flesh, clubbing with violence and savagery, the heaviness in both the music and words eating into your heart. The growls strangle as a fiery dialog lashes back with, “Resurrect the esoteric words, liar’s tongue, benighted reason, a fist against the weakness of the world.” The playing batters and makes the earth beneath you crumble, the guitars tingling as mangling wails choke you out. “The Justice of Gnashing Teeth” fires up with cyclone force, mean growls sounding like the cries of humanity desperate for relief. “Hatred, the reliable refrain raze the rags of civilization,” Grigg taunts as keys chill flesh, and powerful soloing explodes, lashing back with clobbering energy, the emotions exploding in the sky. Suddenly, everything goes faster, pounding away as Grigg stabs, “Every era thinks that it is different until it sees the broken bodies at its feet.”
“Distant Epitaphs” lights up immediately, igniting as the drums thoroughly punish, the growls ruthlessly carving tributaries. The playing trudges and actually finds a way to turn darker, sinister threads woven into your psyche, throaty wails feeling like a closed fist to the throat, the fires slowly subsiding, its thick smoke left behind. “Shores of Extinction” grills with black metal-style riffs that make way for sorrowful melodies that weigh down any positivity you’ve fooled yourself into feeling. “Heavy eyes spare no glances, a haze descends to still the world,” Grigg calls, a sentiment that repeats itself throughout this song, feeling more daunting every time. The playing then disorients as thick, poisonous fogs increase, the guitars make it feel like the room is spinning, and everything churns into a pit of despair. Closer “Far Beyond the Fracture of the Sky” opens with Grigg howling, “Every parent dreams of peace in wartime, gentle reason that yawns throughout the day,” and as the song goes on, that hope turns to relentless anxiety and existential despair. The force is furious as the thrashy force increases, destroying the light, the guitars racing to flex its bloody muscle. Things frost over as synth arrives, increasing the chill, making your bones shiver before the drums round back in and scorch the earth. A huge deluge swallows chaos, the playing hits a sinister glory that makes you feel both invincible and wholly defeated, sending shockwaves and drawing whatever blood is left, Grigg wailing, “Every parent dreams of peace and driven to lie to those wondrous gazes somehow sentenced to life,” ending everything in pain.
It’s a shame we still need records the nature of “Legacies of Frailty,” but humankind has shown its inability to learn, to self-reflect, to consider they might be wrong, misled by forces that intend to reap reward from their lies. Grigg zeroes in on this expertly and soberly on this record, and the harshness of the music, the guttural approach to the vocals, are necessary for expressing this multi-pronged view that we’re continually duped and always happy to fall for the grift. It’s Woe’s harshest record yet, one that has to exist because a wake-up call is absolutely needed, one delivered with a knife, though the ears that need to absorb the call likely will be distracted by bullshit.
There is plenty of heavy music that’s aiming to be the most destructive, infuriated thing on the earth, but oftentimes it comes off as all gimmick, not much venom. You know when you hear music that is actively hating, spilling out the most acidic fluids from humanity’s rotten belly that you almost wonder if it’s a little too much. I feel more uncomfortable than I care to feel.
Swiss destroyers Rorcal never make you second guess whether they mean it. You can feel it in the sonic battering you take from front to back, the black metal attack that borders on industrial heat, the pure scorn and sobering reality bombarding your brain. That continues on their sixth record “Silence,” a title that could not be less indicative of what you’re about to hear. The band—vocalist Yonni Chapatte, guitarist Diogo Almeida, guitarist/sampler Jean-Philippe Schopfer, bassist Jeremy Spagnolo, drummer/sampler Ron Lahyani—is in full nuclear annihilation mode from the start, pulling you through mental conflict, terminal disappointment, and the uncurable wounds from our pasts that still grind away at our anxieties to this day.
“Early Mourning” starts with noise sizzling before the elements combust, howls spreading, panicked energy sprawling. The guitars swell as hell is unleashed, darkness folding in on itself, the drubbing coming early and often, everything disappearing into mystical winds. “Childhood is a Knife in the Throat” is incendiary from the start, mauling and darting, peeling the top layer from eyeballs. The playing divebombs as the blackness increases, jerking rhythms cracking ribs, the guitars flushing and disorienting, mechanical waves making psychosis a certainty. “The Worst in Everything” is another positive jam, pulverizing and dizzying, your lungs taking in far too much filth for you to breathe. Riffs tear at your mental capacities, destroying with intensity and battering terror, quaking to its final resting place. “Extinguished Innocence” lets sounds hang in the air as things get ominous and uncomfortable, desperate wails making it feel like there is no hope at all. More on that in a bit. The playing goes into a moodier stretch, bringing thunder and retching howls, spreading misery as far as the eye can see. The pressure builds as everything implodes, taking your safety and well-being with it into hell.
“Hope is a Cancer” is bloody and destructive, an impossibly damaging burst, stomping on guts as you lather in blood and shame. Molten leads turn bone to gelatin, flattening with calculated heat, spiraling into the ground as the shrieks fade. “Constant Void” is ashen and punishing, the guitars zapping with laser force right through your skull. The playing slowly turns the vice as the roars corrode, bashing and crushing, making you absorb the complete force that’s coming for you with a bloodlust. “Under the Nails” soaks in black metal zaps, pushing frenetically as everything weighs down with global force. The leads glimmer as harrowing warnings loom on the horizon, a slashing assault pushing its way into your corner of safety, carving paths into static squalls. Closer “No Alleviation, Even in Death” dawns in an engine-like gust, spreading and heating as shrieks maul, lurching through absolute darkness. The playing digs deeper, finding new waves of sadness and frustration, the drums splattering as disorientation sets into your mind. The track blasts back in and twists guts, the howls char flesh, and the punishment pulls you into the void before ending abruptly.
If you had any idea coming into “Silence” that you might not be dragged to the bottoms of a sea of despair, then you very much fucked up. Any journey into Rorcal’s realm must be done so with care and the understanding you will witness horrors and agony that can’t simply be wiped from your brain. This band and record stick a dagger so far into the heart of hope that the beating stops immediately, and any dreams of feeling positive or finding motivation to carry on are snuffed cruelly, with you left to wallow in the salty ocean of your tears.
My love for smaller and boutique metal and heavy music labels had to start somewhere. Everyone like me would feel the same. At some point, you stumble across someone who puts out music that feels like exactly what you’d do in the same position, only you’re not as ambitious and as savvy as the person releasing this music. But you secretly feel like whoever started the label did it for people like you.
I’m an unabashed fan of Gilead Media and its owner Adam Bartlett. I’m lucky enough to call him a friend, and I’ll upfront admit that because this is a critical piece, and I have never-ending anxiety, I don’t want the words that follow to be skewed. There’s a documentary on Bartlett, Gilead Media, and 2018’s Migration Fest that took place at Mr. Smalls in Millvale, Pa., super close to my house and one of my favorite weekends of my life. I remember being at the gym hours before it and listening to Thou’s “Rhea Sylvia” and thinking this is something I’m going to remember forever. I didn’t know it would be a transformative weekend of my life. But it was. But this isn’t about me.
“A Wandering Path: The Story of Gilead Media” is a documentary created, written, and directed by Michael Dimmitt of Mutilation Rites about Bartlett, Gilead Media, and Migration Fest that is touring film festivals and is an incredible experience. Admittedly, if you’re not a fan of the label or its bands, you might feel like you’re on the outside looking in on this entire world. But this feels like a film made for Gilead devotees and its bands, the people who filled Mr. Smalls and swear by every Gilead release because you know the music will deliver every time. And there’s enough here to explain who Bartlett is, who the main players are for Gilead Media, and why Migration Fest was a spiritual and communal experience its followers cherish completely.
Panopticon at Migration Fest by Samuel Claeys
The story of the label is interwoven throughout the film, and as the journey goes, we meet each band that has been pivotal to the label and formed the foundation of what Bartlett does. Well, there’s one exception. Panopticon and its leader Austin Lunn get a lot of focus, and they are not actually on Gilead Media. But Lunn’s words and Bartlett’s urging him to finally take his band to the live setting is what makes that union so vital. Panopticon appeared on both versions of Migration Fest, and Seidr performed at the 2014 version of Gilead Fest, so their relationship goes back a long way. Lunn explains why Bartlett’s urging, which at times were purposely antagonistic (“You’re afraid,” is one of his jabs to get his friend to perform live with Panopticon), and Lunn credits him with pushing him to take his band to the next level. It’s a cool, touching story, and being able to see the band live at Migration in 2018 is a life highlight. No exaggeration whatsoever. So, thanks, Adam.
As these stories are told, we see sections at a time. We see Bartlett in his Oshkosh, Wisc., record store Eroding Winds (which now has two locations) as he prepares for the journey to Pittsburgh (Millvale is the home of Mr. Smalls, which is just a few miles from downtown) and his coworkers helping him for the mission. We meet his wife Cari and his mother Lora as we learn more about Bartlett’s upbringing (childhood photos and video included), we see his pups (with a closeup on the late, great Tater), and the seeds planted for the birth of Gilead Media in 2005 (the name in inspired by the “Dark Tower” series by Stephen King). We get a running tally through the piece of important Gilead releases throughout the label’s existence, starting with Crossing the Atlantic, A Scanner Darkly, …Of Sinking Ships, and the Cancer Conspiracy. From there, we get small segments on each band that’s been a major contributor for the label as well as a thorough timeline of those key records.
Thou at Migration Fest by Mary Manchester
We encounter the uncomfortable and punishing Couch Slut, whose singer Megan Osztrosits bloodily recounts her stage antics, the pain and agony behind performing songs that have so many stories of the sexual trauma and harassment she exorcises on stage. The fact that other women relate their stories and appreciate how she exposes these horrors helps them deal, which she acknowledges. Live, she’s an utter typhoon, but that awe you’re in is informed by the horrors she faced. Of course there’s Thou, the band Gilead Media became known for, and the live portion from their Migration Fest performance centers on newest member KC Stafford and their incredible performance on “The Hammer.” It also shows how loose and not seriously the bands takes itself, and testimonials from Emma Ruth Rundle, who also is widely featured, and Blood Incantation/Leech member Paul Riedl give deeper insight.
Black metal wizards Krallice have had a long journey with Gilead, that we see here from its beginning, and we get a look at how their collaboration with Neurosis’ Dave Edwardson came to be. By the way, Edwardson’s speaking voice sounds eerily like Nick Offerman’s. We then move to West Cornwall, CT., and Yelping Hill, the site where Yellow Eyes write and record their music. The Skarstad brothers explain what their music means to them as artists and also display some of their homemade instruments that are responsible for the otherworldly sounds on their records.
A dash to the Pacific Northwest covers Mizmor and Hell, as well as the wild Eternal Warfare, and how their bands have become familiar affairs. We see the early days of Sorceress that featured A.L.N. of Mizmor and M.S.W. of Hell in a more traditional doom band before we see how each group formed out of that and still involve each other. A note I forgot over the years is M.S.W. breaking his leg skateboarding and A.L.N. potentially having to find a fill-in drummer for the Mizmor Migrations spot. If you don’t know how that ends, I won’t ruin it for you. A.L.N. also further explains how he went from studying the bible overseas on his path of faith to the first Mizmor album that was devotional music to how his faith eroded and disintegrated over time. He’s a fascinating interview, and his excursion is inspirational and painful, a plight that’s not foreign to many in the metal landscape and beyond.
Before we end up at Migration, we get a quick look at Mutilation Rites, which has Wiegedood hilariously roasting them as the “most dysfunctional band” they’re ever toured with, noting, “Europe hates Mutilation Rites.” It’s a joke. I think.
Adam Bartlett and Dave Adelson by Dave BUrke
We finally end up at Migration Fest weekend, July 27-29, 2018, and we see the end of the journey, Barlett and co-creator Dave Adelson of 20 Buck Spin talking about how everything came to be, and performances from Pyrolatrous, Fórn, and the bands we already met, Tanner Anderson (of Obsequiae who played keys with Pantopticon) praising Mr. Smalls’ sound as they gush over the weekend. It’s a lovefest, basically, and anyone in attendance at the festival knows it felt that way the entire weekend. It was an incredible event spearheaded by Bartlett and Adelson, an event that was to have a third version in 2020 until the pandemic struck.
“A Wandering Path” is an intimate piece about a man who has sacrificed sanity to see through his mission, Bartlett being a longtime fan of heavy music who has been a credit to underground bands and helped introduce some incredibly important artists people love. Getting to see the players away from the stage and speaking honestly from the heart both about their art, the label, and the festival is such a wonderful experience. You get real humanity, a lot of humor, and the desire and care each of these artists put into their creations. It’s impossible to walk away from this not liking every single person featured. That’s on top of some of the very heavy subjects of abuse, sexual assault, religious indoctrination, and the grief of losing important people that are matters with which so many of us can relate. Perhaps someone watching will connect to one of these people’s stories and realize they’re not alone and also can find the will to fight.
For longtime Gilead Media fans, this is a real treat, a chance to get to know everything and everyone a little better, and the way Dimmitt presents everything moves quickly but still leaves you more knowledgeable and engaged that once everything comes to an end, it feels like a full journey you’ve taken. Even if you’re not as familiar, you still can come away with enough insight to move forward and dig into Gilead and these bands, giving you a crash course into a record label built by love, courage, determination, and will, which you easily can glean from every human being featured on this great documentary.
“A Wandering Path: The Story of Gilead Media” will be screened at Richmond International Film Festival in Richmond, Va., Sept. 27 at 9:50 p.m. at the Byrd Theater. There’s a meet and greet from 8-9 p.m. at Plan 9 Music across the street from the theater.
Putting on a record and immediately feeling a jolt of energy is nothing out of the ordinary. Most bands want to start with their best foot forward, pulling you into their newest collection of songs by grabbing you and making everything seem so exciting. But how many albums have great starts only to lose momentum over the course of the thing? Most of them? It’s not an easy thing to do, make a record that keeps your blood pumping front to back, but it can be done.
Seattle’s Filth Is Eternal are proof of that, which they prove on their great new record “Find Out,” a 14-track pounder that has absolutely no down time. Punk, grunge, metal, and hardcore all jam themselves into the recipe, and everything here sounds vital and pumping blood, making this a record that will fly by before you know what hit you. The band— vocalist Lis Di Angelo, guitarist Brian McClelland, drummer Emily Salisbury—build on what they unfurled on their debut “Love Is a Lie, Filth Is Eternal” and made it even more expressive and explosive, covering subject matter as varied and vital as mental health, addition, and relationship issues. There are some strains of their early days as Fucked and Bound, but there’s a different energy, a musical maturity that isn’t stuffy and still takes chances, leaving you guessing what’s coming next in the nest way possible. Also, Di Angelo is a charismatic, charged-up singer who reminds me of something in between Joan Jett and Mannequin Pussy’s Missy Dabice, their delivery like no one else’s, my attention totally theirs as these songs rampage over me.
“Half Wrong” gets going with guitars storming, Di Angelo’s spirited howls, and the playing driving hard, the drumming blasting with power. “My longest nights, let me go forever,” Di Angelo calls as the fire sparks, and we’re headed right into “Crawl Space” that’s instantly infectious. The singing scorches as the guitars playing is catchy as fuck, the pace opening and sprawling, blistering with jarring force. “Magnetic Point” brings pounding riffs and pushy singing, the ferocity feeling like something you can reach out and touch. Di Angelo lashes, “Private pain, public tether, let us break even together,” before declaring, “I want you to feel my spirit,” as everything leaves the earth quaking. “Cherish” has burly riffs and a grungy vibe, the singing echoing as punches land, punk-fueled fervor bruising your knees. Things are gruff and muscular, blasting out into “Roll Critical” that is nasty and faster, coming at you like a freight train, Di Angelo howling, “Catch your breath while you find it, what you don’t know can hurt you, don’t lose sway.” The pace is pounding and twisting, blasting out with sinister intent. “Curious Thing” is speedy and energetic, the singing raspier and throatier, melodies jabbing as we spiral into a pile of filth. “Into the Curve” sizzles with great melodies, metallic edges that bloody noses, the force growing increasingly more tornadic. “I can feel the dark void coming,” Di Angelo wails, “and the only way forward and through it all is to let the dark void come for you.”
“Pressure Me” is fast and thrashy, combustible elements all around, fluid viciousness coming right for your throat with no intention of letting up the fight. “Body Void” is grinding and filthy, fun and rhythmic, the guitars blazing as Di Angelo enthusiastically shouts, “Let’s go!” Chants rouse, guitars bubbling over, and a piledriving force keep this track brawling and aiming for your adrenaline. “The Gate” starts with the drums leading the charge, grungy guitar work feeling like the glory days of three decades ago, and everything is aggressive and defiant, Di Angelo howling, “I’m gonna break this thing apart, I will find my way out of here.” “Signal Decay” is watery and darker, heading into murkier, more uncertain territory. The guitars then heat up as everything gets more intense, Di Angelo calling, “But I’m not alone in this lonely place, so how long can we keep it here?” as everything barrels away. Fucking great track. “All Mother” begins with a Motorhead-like riff that’s always welcome, as the rest of the band rips through and leaves gaping holes and chaos. Shrieks breathe fire as the madness increases, ending in a torching ferocity. “Last Exit” is fast and strikes hard, the vocals coming out as shouts, the punk vibes ripping through your nervous system. The bass leads the way as the atmosphere haunts, pounding away as the shrieks tear as you like knives. Closer “Loveless” feels doomier and darker, moving sludgier and with a dark heart. The vocals peels at your flesh, Di Angelo belting, “Saturn devours his son, time set is almost come, why must I die one day at a time?” The hammers keep falling, poking at wounds not healing, shoving your face in the mud as you heave trying to gasp for a breath.
Filth Is Eternal pour a lot of different subject matters and means with which to deal with them into “Find Out,” and it’s a good idea to take a few trips with this record so you can fully absorb everything going on over these 14 tracks. This band feels sharper, heavier, more certain than ever before, and the feelings you’re left with once the record ends, no matter which listen you’re on, will sit with you long after the sounds cease. It’s also a killer sounding record, the best stuff Filth Is Eternal has done so far, and an indication that we’re just on the cusp of this band becoming something special.
There are a few types of releases we tend not to write about just because they’re things that don’t make me especially excited to detail. Live albums, compilations, re-recordings, and cover albums really aren’t that exciting to me from a place where I want to devote words and work. It’s not the artists’ fault at all, and there are plenty of good releases from that category worth your time and money. It’s me.
That said, Waldgeflüster’s new EP “Unter bronzenen Kronen” is an exception to that self-imposed rule for a few reasons. First, there is new material here, which is thunderous and weighty, perhaps a sign of where things go next. The covers (one an updated version of their own song) actually add a new sonic understanding to the tracks and aren’t just regurgitated versions. The tracks also provide a glimpse of what led Waldgeflüster to be what it is, important building blocks of inspiration that practically act as musical DNA. Oh, and we love Waldgeflüster, so their records always will get consideration because there’s plenty of content that fires up our hearts. This four-track EP explodes with love and passion for the music and the artists whose tracks get new life, and the band—vocalist Winterherz, guitarists Dominik Frank and Markus Frey, bassist Avagr, drummer Thomas Birkmaier (Nostarion plays cello on “The Pit”)—delivers repeatedly on an EP that is beefier than most.
The title track begins with a huge melodic gust, shrieks raining down and pelting the ground, everything flush with intense melodies. A sunny and hazy deluge breaks through, Winterherz’s shrieks going for broke, the infectious passion getting into your bloodstream and helping you feel every ounce of the energy. Clean singing works in, bellowing and digging deep into your chest, another massive burst strikes, and everything settles into the cold. “The Pit” is a cover of the Panopticon track from their 2020 split with Aerial Ruin. It’s not the first Panopticon track they’ve covered as they did a version of “Norwegian Nights” on a split with that band, and this one is just a tremendous rendition. It’s one of Austin Lunn’s darker, more self-critical songs, and Waldgefluster handles that with devastation and digging deep into the sentiment of the track, and it’s a spellbinding take, giving the bluegrass-fed song full black metal treatment. “Herbst befiel das Land MMXXIII” is an updated version of a track that appeared on their 2009 full-length debut “Herbstklagen” and it’s full of deeper clean singing, thunderous flooding, and enough emotion to pump your chest full of passion. The track storms and surges, making it feel like a thick nighttime fog is spreading across the land, choking out the lights. Closer “Black Flies” is a cover of the Ben Howard song from his 2011 album “Every Kingdom.” It’s doomy and jolting, adding metallic fire to the piece and adding even more urgency to the line, “No man is an island, oh, this I know, but can’t you see, oh? Or maybe you were the ocean when I was just a stone.” Awesome take.
We tend not to do a lot of covers albums just because so often I find them uninspired or an excuse for a cash grab. But not here. Waldgeflüster always are reliable, and these songs they reinterpret seem like vital parts of their creative canon, pieces that made this band what it is. The new track is a killer too, and this is anything but a stopgap release and more a way to celebrate the past while looking toward their future.
The disintegration of a relationship is one of the more unpleasing, frustrating, mentally annihilating experiences a person can endure. The agony and uncertainty alone are enough to abandon the whole idea and just live in the misery you know. Then the process of ending the union, be it personal, romantic, business, etc. can make you live in self-doubt just in case you did the wrong thing.
Great Fall’s cataclysmic new record “Objects Without Pain” goes down that bloodied road, reliving the pain and anger of separating from someone or something you know and love. From the moment it gets under way, the pressure is palpable, the emotion pouring from the heart as if blood from a mortal wound. In fact, the band itself did go through the ending of a long relationship when vocalist/guitarist Demian Johnston and bassist Shane Mehling parted ways with drummer Phil Petrocelli and replaced him with Nickolis Parks, and that new trio fires on all cylinders on this record. You easily can apply what’s going on here to any similar events on your own life, simmering in the sour feelings and imminent heartbreak of bringing a partnership to a bitter conclusion. Also, this Great Falls got some collaborative help from the Australian indie rock band Great ~ Falls, as their singer Lillian Albazi provides her voice here to further enrich these harrowing songs.
“Dragged Home Alive” slowly dawns and sets in its claws before wrenching howls gut you, turning on the intensity. Albazi makes her first appearance as she whispers, “Wait, there’s no escape,” a harbinger of the chaos to come as everything comes unglued. “There is no escape from this place!” Johnston wails as the walls come down, crushing with weight and power, smothering as the guitars ache, wails jolt, and the noise spills out. “Trap Feeding” bludgeons right away, the yells working their way down your spine, whipping and wrecking, the playing penetrating your sanity. The guitars spike and torment, sludgy trucking pounding its way in, devastation blinding you and putting your patience to the test, torching and leaving festering wounds. “Born As an Argument” has guitars engulfing out of a burst of noise, the cries scathing and scratching at wounded flesh, everything feeling frustrated and on fire. In fact, things turn even more volcanic before calm finally enters, cooling your pained nerves. Albazi’s voice calls out from the distance, layers thicken, and we bleed into “Old Words Worn Thin” that rivets with strange beats before it’s on top of you, chewing your face off. Mangled howls twist muscles as the mashing assault makes it feel like the room is spinning, the ground rumbles, and the yells rattle your eardrums. Things settle as damaged strains ring out, only for everything to tear open again, a shocking, boiling force coming at you with no mercy, screams rampaging, all of the elements burning on a pile.
“Spill Into the Aisle” opens with Albazi whispering, haunting your dreams, the bass emerging and chugging, savage howls rushing down a hill, barreling toward you. The bruising fury continues to gnaw at you, everything aggravates the pain that just won’t subside, vicious guitars aching and resting your head in its quivering lap. “Ceilings Inch Closer” eases in, letting the emotion take hold before everything comes unglued. Guitars race and slide into mud, the wiry panic eating at your mind, melting over circuit boards like an old candle flowing and hardening. The moody clouds part for a striking storm, going off as guitars slice and the vocals attack with closed fists, the noise endlessly ringing in your ears. “The Starveling” brings noise that chills, an unhinged gallop that feels like pins and needles all over, the tar overcoming and dragging you under. Noise layers stymie as all of the element lay waste, pummeling with crazed howls, angling out with abrasive force. Closer “Thrown Against the Waves” runs 12:40, and it drains every last bit of strength you have left inside of you. The assault is insanely heavy, going in and out of warmth and freezing, throbbing and thrashing with ill intent. The drums then mash as the playing lumbers, melting and stretching flesh, feeling like a rainy, saturating front that is just getting under way. That blends into the final sequence, a long run that’s built with colors rushing, blistering howls, and a total psychological blasting that twists and turns, disappearing into an unforgiving steam.
“Objects Without Pain” sounds like a mental downfall after a long-simmer dissolution, the final realization that everything is irreconcilable and permanently broken. You can feel that in every note, every word, every dash of power that creates the structure of these eight songs. It’s an incredibly emotional, devastating record, one that feels like a cry for help to extinguish something that’s long since worn out its welcome and needs to be put to rest for good.
Meat Mead Metal 