It’s the fourth of July, and we’re not taking the day off. If you’re an American, you’ll be drunk in a yard at some point today, potentially blowing off a hand with a sketchy firecracker, and you’ll want something that can match you drink for drink, bad decision for bad decision.

We’ll also work to keep this a little short today because we don’t want you hurting yourself trying to read a long essay about a band that you should just check out without me rambling at you, so get off your ass and get into some Shroud Eater. You like Kylesa but wish they were a little nastier? You like Mastodon before they wimped out and lost their balls? You like Uzala and pretty much hope nothing changes about them? Same with Jucifer? Then you’ll have time for this Miami-based trio that turns up the sludge power and crust agony to a point that your neighbors will wonder what you’re doing in your backyard once they hear these grimy, powerful, explosive noises (not fireworks).

The bad is back with “Dead Ends,” a new five-song, 28-minute EP that’s as fun and loose as it is molten and muddy. These three—Jeannie Saiz on guitars/vocals, Janette Valentine on bass and vocals, and Felipe Torres on drums—have been doing their thing quite well since forming in 2009, and they have one full-length to their credit, that being 2011’s “ThunderNoise,” that they self-released. This band’s sound is perfectly suited for warm, humid gatherings, but don’t for a second think that’s because their music is geared toward a meat-head contingent. It totally isn’t, as there are brains and tenacity behind what they do, so to underestimate that would be foolish. No, instead, while you’re watching smoke rising and your mind wandering, know that you’ll be doing so alongside a band that’s going to give you something to think about while you’re baking.

“Cannibals” opens the record with tribal drumming, feedback, and noisy doom that leads the way for the demolition that is “Sudden Plague.” That song lets noise simmer out of control, gruff vocals pepper you with power, and then it settles into a long stretch of power. Saiz and Valentine assault you with the dueling voices, and the rest of the band melts into a power-hungry chug. “Lord of the Sword” has a slow, doomy opening before voices start shouting at you and sludgy mud gets pelted at you from all angles. The song lumbers and melts, and the aggressive vocals should get your attention right away.

“Tempest” sounds like High on Fire going to war with Kylesa (especially with the trade-off vocals), and it’s the darkest song on the record. “The Star and the Serpent” is the stunning closer, and it actually takes a little while to get moving. It treads water its first few minutes, but suddenly it goes into space with clean guitars, a psychedelic polish, and vocals that sound like they were transferred from the cosmos after traveling light years with a message. Really cool finish that shows the band has many tricks up their sleeves.

Shroud Eater keep improving and progressing while maintaining all the savage goodness of their sound. This is a really strong, fun EP that’s heavy where it needs to be, melodic when that’s necessary. And it would make a fine soundtrack to your barbecue efforts today when you try to show your friends and loved ones how high you can get that grill fire going. Sit back and enjoy, but also don’t be afraid to think.

For more on the band, go here: http://www.shroudeaterrocks.com/

The buy the album, go here: http://tpltr.bigcartel.com/

For more on the label, go here: http://thepathlesstraveledrecords.com/

The last decade or so has been a good one for depression. What I mean is, you’re no longer ostracized and beaten down by society if you happen to regularly not feel right and have crippling bouts of sadness and inactivity that you can’t seem to break. It’s not that you’re weak or not worth anything, it’s that your brain has something going on that make you feel fucking miserable.

Along with the wider acceptance of depression and anguish has come bands that do an amazing job expressing the darkness and pain inside of them and have no problem entering what can be a macho, meat-headed world of metal and pouring their sadness out in front of you. Australia’s Mournful Congregation is a wonderful example of this type of sad, lurching doom metal designed to make you feel every ounce of their pain along with them, and Loss practically make you want to call 911 on their behalf just in case they’re feeling a little too much like what they express in their songs.

Another band that’s proving excellent at conveying these brooding feelings is Oakland, California-based quartet Lycus, who already made a mammoth impression on their “Demo MMXI,” a hugely impactful recording that only hinted at what this group was capable of doing. But on their dark, devastating debut album “Tempest,” they take their tumult and sound even further, showing a more fully realized version of the band that’s ready to become a major force in the doom metal world. Their lurching, melodic, trickling doom sounds just right if you need someone to pound at the walls alongside of you, and the three cuts on the record are some of the most promising, eye-opening expressions the sub-genre has seen this side of Pallbearer’s stunning debut. If people are paying attention (that’s no given), then Lycus are going to be celebrated and lauded for this incredible debut album, and this record easily should make more than a handful of year-end lists come wintertime.

Lycus is made up of guitarist/vocalist Jackson, bassist/vocalist Daniel, guitarist Dylan Burton (he’s the newcomer to the band), and drummer/vocalist Trevor Deschryver. Their debut is offered up by 20 Buck Spin, a label that has released its fair share of anguish-charred material, from aforementioned Mournful Congregation to Atriarch to Alaric to Samothrace. The combination seems to make perfect sense, and it feels like a musical marriage that could last well into the future.

The album bubbles open on “Coma Burn,” an 11:38-long slow scorcher that starts with mournful notes that actually remind of Pallbearer. But that association is short lived as the band dips into mucky, grimy doom, complete with bowels-buried growls that sound like they emanate from the deepest woes of humankind. Strings are layered in, and the harsh vocals push their way over the carnage to express emotions some people are too timid to bring to the surface. Before the song ends, there’s a flourish of black metal thunder that rises up and fulfills anyone’s penchant for violence, then it’s off to clean wails and bellowing madness that shake your insides.

“Engravings” is the miniature song, coming in at a paltry 9:37, and its slowly drummed intro leads into simmering feedback and noise, then into tortured singing that sounds half emotive, half graveside confessional covering all of life’s wrong turns. The song reaches a spacious, cavernous doom, letting the band explore the surroundings, but eventually the punishment returns, massive growls pick up where the story left off, and a savage, yet airy atmosphere envelops the dirge.

The closing title track is the monstrous epic of the bunch, clocking in at a massive 20:35, though it never feels nearly that long. It opens with some liquidy guitar work reminiscent of deathrock before strings join the scene and the gory blackness oozes through the surface. The song is both melodic and threatening, hinting that it could go off the rails at any moment, then all of a sudden, it does in such a massive way that it might knock you for a loop. The drums reach a D-beat assault, the rest of the band opens up and reveals their sharpened teeth, and the cut rips through a massive drape of black metal so thick that it’s blinding. Eventually the storming subsides, but heavy rains of sorrow, agony, and panic remain. The closing few minutes of searing drone feel like the perfect way to collect yourself, trudge up the hill in the mud, and hide yourself away for as long as it takes.

Lycus’ debut is a depressive triumph that reaches all those nerves affected when pain and self-loathing are at their worst, and that message comes across not just in the words, but in the music as well. You feel this psychological heaviness weighing down, you never question the motives, and you simply go through this black catharsis with the band because you really have no choice but to participate so you don’t miss out on every drop of sweat and blood. “Tempest” is a monster of a first statement, one that should shake the doom world the fuck awake.

For more on the band, go here: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Lycus/156095311142662?sk=info

To buy the album, go here: http://www.20buckspinshop.com/

For more on the label, go here: http://www.20buckspin.com/

Fog, doom, and storm clouds have been pretty regular visitors the last week or so in my parts, and in fact, the forecast for the week ahead calls for even more of the same stuff that makes sun-worshipping people kind of sad and awfully annoying to be around. I kind of like these days, especially if they happen to occur while I’m at work and will be confined to a building anyway.

I’m sure you know where I’m going with this since I often make connections to the weather and what I’m listening to at a particular time, and you’d be right. For these times I like to immerse myself in dark, moody, shadowy music that mimics the surrounding atmosphere. I don’t need something storming and violent, because it’s not like trees are being uprooted (thankfully). Instead, I want something that makes me imagine being transported along the fog as I stare out at obscured scenes and mist that practically demand something that helps me dream and wonder.

Kwaidan is one such band that aligns perfectly with weather like this, and their debut album “Make All of the Hell of Dark Metal Bright” has been an excellent companion. The cover to the album depicts a snowy, frigid scene, either new dawn or dusk, with a single red beacon shining into the sky. It’s a pretty arresting image in its simplicity, and it goes along well with the music contained inside. Yeah, I know we’re half a year or so from snow, but it still works really well. The music is an atmospheric display of ambient melodies, with sparks of black metal, doom, and post-rock, and it really is a collection you need to absorb all at once, front to back. There are no pull-out cuts on this record, and nothing here logically will make an addition to anyone’s random playlists, so by all means, commit yourself to the adventure and you’ll be fuller for it once it unfurls in front of you.

As for the band’s members, some may be familiar to you. André Foisy is a member of the great Locrian, with whom we visited last week, and he’s a huge contributor to Kwaidan along with Mike Weis (Zelienople) and Neil Jenson. The Chicago-based trio may just be on their first long player together, but they already have a cohesion and musical spirituality among themselves that you’d think they’ve been creating music together for ages. The way these six songs seamlessly flow together–especially the opening triptych–suggests they were meant to create these passages together and, despite having commitments elsewhere, could have a rewarding future together.

As noted, the first three songs are stitched together as one and makes for a really enthralling opening that lets you stretch out and get settled as the clouds encircle you. “Evening Bell” is the first third of the mini-journey that’s rich with drone and panic, with noise pulsating and floating outward. Sounds continue to bubble and float, and they make their way into “Gateless Gate,” that has a generous share of tapping, chimes, and otherworldly ambiance. Guitars split off and start to rise up, threatening to take over the scene, but they dissipate and play their part, bleeding into “Ostension.” This track is both calm and volatile, like a breeze pushing through when you can see dark clouds over the horizon, and you’re left to wonder if the storm will strike or pass. The sound builds in intensity, they bend and scrape, and they eventually subside, ensuring your narrow survival.

The second half starts with “The Iceberg and Its Shadow,” a noisy, whirring trickle of space-age wonder, leaving a cold, isolated feel in your soul as you wonder your place in the galaxy. It’s a shorter track, but it makes the most of its lifespan, and it leaves plenty of room for “Space as Support,” that kicks open with tribal drumming, swirling noises, and guitars that thicken and shake. That cut drifts along, pushing you into stardust, and it’s a challenger that’s perfect for helping you contemplate the night. Closer “The Sound of This Bell” is the epic of the collection at 12:14, and while it starts hinting at serenity and inner peace, that comes to an end when sounds begin to boil over, looking for terrain to flood. The guitars bubble and burn, and the power continues to grow and stretch its shadow, finally drawing the sense of danger and your personal journey to an end. It’s a stunning adventure you might not realize lasts as long as it does because it flows so well.

This first trip from Kwaidan is a riveting one that can feel like a murky out-of-body experience at times. These three musicians meld to form a mind-altering unit that embodies that foggy storm stretching over your humid town as you wonder whether to watch or take cover. Their excellent debut should stick with me for a long time, and if you’re into ambiance, drone, and doom, you’ll love to slip into this psychosis over and over again.

For more on the band, go here: https://www.facebook.com/kwaidanofficial?fref=ts

To buy the album, go here: http://batheticrecords.com/release/make-all-the-hell-of-dark-metal-bright/

For more on the label, go here: http://batheticrecords.com

There is more than one way to express rage, loss, depression, and even empowerment. Sure, decibels, giant stacks of amps, and buzz-sawing songs certainly help someone get out the emotions and feelings welling up inside, but who’s to say a metal musician can’t find other ways to get out the demons that have been raging inside?

Erik Wunder, who you know as the multi-instrumental power behind black metal ritualists Cobalt and who has been a member of Jarboe’s live band, is one such person who does not adhere to the confines of sound and genre. Yes, he can make hellacious racket and make you feel like the devil is kicking down your door to rob you of your dreams, but with Man’s Gin, he’s taken things back to a more rustic and relatable manner for those who can’t get with the heavy shit. His project can make one think of Roky Erickson or Jason Molina or even Johnny Cash—not to mention classic Alice in Chains in their heyday, unplugged—as his dark, Americana-tinged songs sprawl out in front of you, refusing to show an ounce of restraint.

“Rebellion Hymns” is the second Man’s Gin release, following the excellent “Smiling Dogs” debut, and it shows that not only has Wunder expanded his creative prowess, but the music has grown and formed new shapes. This record certainly sounds like Man’s Gin, but it has so much more to it than the debut record. The melodies are heartier, the vocals push even harder, the instrumental backing swells like a congregation slowly building, with lyrics as raw and heartfelt as ever. It’s a stunning record that, even at its darkest and most hopeless, still sounds like a triumph of an album that’ll sound perfect while sitting outside around a fire, beer or other spirit in hand. It’s an album that helps you, too, meet and discard what’s holding you back and make you say, “Fuck it,” to every little thing that tried to get in your path. It’s very much like Cobalt in that confrontational, you vs. the world sense, but it just sounds different.

Wunder is joined by bandmates Joshua Lozano (who played live with Cobalt on their recent tour run) and Scott Edward, and they really do a nice job wrecking the room and cultivating a loose, organic sound. Joining the band are guests such as Jarboe, Bruce Lamont (Yakuza), John LaMacchia (Candiria), and, naturally, Phil McSorley, Wunder’s destructive partner in Cobalt, and their contributions are rewarding but subtle enough that they don’t take away from the greater good. They’re here as re-enforcements, and they’re awfully handy at that job.

Opener “Inspiration” is a lift-you-up-by-your-boots, wipe-the-blood-off-your-face anthem that should make you feel like an asshole if you’re not motivated to try once you hear it. “Keep on chasing that dream/Don’t take no shit from naysayers,” Wunder howls, and that’s before the song progresses and his voice hits a high bark that’s equivalent to a fist to your chest. “Varicose” then lets the sadness slip in, as it’s acoustic based and bleeding, as Wunder painfully demands, “Why did she have to die?” There is talk of lost love and dead doves, and it’s a really dark track among a collection of them. “Off the Coast of Sicily” is a gruff, dusty song that reminds me of Murder By Death at times, with raking cello, guitars that sound aching and rusty, and Wunder repeating, “There’s no sun rising.” “Old House (Bark at the Moonwalk)” is an odd one, with lots of rustling piano and strangeness, and it’s this album’s “Solid Gold Telephone.”

I didn’t mention yet there are a few interludes that go unnamed that break up some of these songs, and the one that follows “Old House” has strains that remind me of some of the long, rousing instrumental passages from the title track of “Eater of Birds.” Maybe I’m just hearing things. “Never Do the Neon Lights” is more of an up-tempo rock song, and Wunder sounds like Eddie Vedder at times (in the best way possible, by the way … I know that can have a negative connotation), and the song has spirited harmonica play and lively guitar soloing. “Deer Head and the Rain,” which has been making its rounds on the Internet, is a killer folk rock track that’s a pretty good pick for a leading song with its hand drums, off-kilter piano, sliced cello, and harmonized vocals. “Cellar Door” is a piano-led instrumental that leads the way for “Sirens,” a self-destructive song where Wunder admits, “I work to drink myself to sleep,” and every ounce of his frustration is evident. Closer “Hibernation Time” is a rough, scraped up song that foresees a long winter and impending pain, so if you were hoping for a happy ending, well, you’re not getting one. Then again, if you sift through about five minutes of silence once “Hibernation” concludes, you’ll find a ridiculous add-on song to the melody of “Let It Be” with completely ridiculous lyrics that repeatedly sing the praises of “E Dub.” Assuming that means Erik Wunder. Or I heard it wrong.

This Man’s Gin project has gotten leaps-and-bounds better on “Rebellion Hymns,” and if you didn’t already know what a music powerhouse Wunder is, you’ll know now. Yeah, we all want a new Cobalt album, but there’s enough darkness, pain, horror, and blood on this record not only to satisfy but to fill in a lot of the holes. If you’re feeling like a miserable shit and just want to drown yourself in misery and alcohol, this is your companion on the bar stool next to you convincing you your debauchery hasn’t gone nearly far enough.

For more on the band, go here: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Mans-Gin/163217557044788

To buy the album, go here: http://www.profoundlorerecords.com/products-page/plr-items/

For more on the label, go here: http://www.profoundlorerecords.com/

All that gore, all the bodies, all the sticky blood and flowing guts that comprise death metal’s disgusting roots had to come from somewhere. It didn’t just sprout up one day like a stinking, rotting crop ready to be reaped by those who had enough of music that played by the rules. It had to be cultivated from scratch in order for death metal to be a thing in the first place.

Now, death metal is a huge genre, its musicians are respected for their diversity and ability to pull off great compositions in the midst of such horrors, and there are fucking institutions such as Cannibal Corpse, Suffocation, and Immolation that are still slaying audiences to this day years and years after people predicted what they do so well would be a fad. On the down side, the sub-genre has bloated so much that there are tons and tons of substandard bands that need skimmed off the surface of death metal’s swamp before you can even think of going in knee deep. That’s why when one of the master bands like Autopsy comes back around with something new, we remember why we love this style of music in the first place, all those lousy Hot Topic-pumped death bands be damned. And let me be clear: Their music should be damned.

Maybe we can just feed them to Autopsy, the long-standing death metal giants who are uglier, meaner, heavier, doomier, more deranged, and more violent than 99.9 percent of the bands that followed in their muddy footsteps. Yeah, they went away for a while after 1995’s weird “Shitfun,” but the band reunited in 2008 for what was going to be a couple new songs for a reissue of their 1989 debut “Severed Survival,” but then it stuck. The guys reformed, and they issued us 2011’s killer “Macabre Eternal,” as triumphant a return record as you’re bound to hear. Now the gears are moving and the blood is spilling and they’re back with their punishing new record “The Headless Ritual.”

Autopsy’s lineup remains unchanged from their 2011 comeback, with long-standing members Chris Reifert (vocals, drums), Eric Cutler (guitars, vocals), and Danny Coralles (guitars) standing tall along with bass player Joe Allen (ex-Abscess) who joined the fold in 2010. They remain nasty, creative, off-putting, a little bit experimental, and very much focused on spilling as much horror into their work as they possibly can. The record is a trim 45 minutes that doesn’t feel nearly that long, and it’s further proof that sometimes you must let the masters step in show you how it’s done. So kids, get ready for school.

“Slaughter at Beast House” opens the record not only with a song title that should chill you but with a speedy, tricky assault that eventually turns into muddy doom, like a grislier take on classic Black Sabbath. Reifert howls about “tales of torture” as the words rip through his throat like razor wire, and the track ends on a dizzying note. “Mangled Far Below” is burly and has a High on Fire-style stoner gallop, and it just wallops you in the face over and over. “She Is a Funeral” is an elaborate, chilling take of death that’s the longest cut on the record and the most intoxicating. “I was transfixed,” Reifert howls over a death groove, and the rotting horror story evolves along with the music, that is some of their most interesting-sounding in some time. “Coffin Crawlers” gets a little playful at times, with weird, cartoon-like guitar runs that sound like they’re soundtracking a cat chasing a mouse, but then crushing doom settles in. “When Hammer Meets Bone” leaves little to the imagination, especially when the song opens with blood-curdling lurching that sounds like someone drowning in their own blood, and then it launches into a gallop that kicks up dirt.

“Thorns and Ashes” is a short, interlude-style cut with simmering guitars and buried growls, and it leads into “Arch Cadaver,” that has a vintage Slayer feel. The cut blows up and hits high gear quickly, and the gruesome violence is packed into 4:22-long serving. This one will be devastating when played live. “Flesh Turns to Dust” has a damaged doom riff as a spine, weird noise whining in the background, and an overall bizarre personality. “Running From the Goathead” is screamy and savage, furious and fast, and mean and mangling, sounding as terrifying and nightmare-inducing as its title indicates. The closing title cut is a bit of a surprise because it’s a swirling, melodic instrumental that’s over fast and causes the record to end on a strange note. Nothing wrong with the track, but it kind of takes the charnel air out of the sails of the record’s conclusion.

It’s Autopsy. You don’t really need a neat summary to wrap up this look at “The Headless Ritual,” do you? You know what these guys do, and if you’re somehow unfamiliar with this legendary band’s blood-crusted path, then you’d do fine starting here and working your way backward. This is true death metal, the way it was intended to be made, and no one does it uglier. That’s just the way it should be, and Autopsy remain your flesh-shredding masters.

For more on the band, go here: http://www.autopsydeathmetal.com/

To buy the album, go here: https://www.burningshed.com/store/peaceville/collection/225/

For more on the label, go here: http://www.peaceville.com/

It’s always great when a band whose members bust their asses on a regular basis are rewarded for their efforts and get to move up in the world. The sad thing is, that doesn’t happen often enough, and there are so many times when I get press releases from labels about fresh signings that just baffle my mind. Can you stop signing garbage?

But then there are stories like Boston’s Ramming Speed, a band that’s been plying their trade of crossover thrash for almost a decade now (they started life as Despotic Robot in 2005 with an EP containing some of the best song titles I’ve read all time, all my life) and put out quality brutality for labels such as Tankcrimes and Teenage Disco Bloodbath. Luckily for the band, and for everyone else, Prosthetic Records came along, liked what they heard, and added them to the label’s constantly evolving roster of artists, and their first effort for their new home (and second full-length overall) “Doomed to Destroy, Destined to Die” is a portrait of a band finding their way into a slightly expanded sound, better production, and a whole new world of potential admirers.

Now, don’t fret when you hear talk of their sound expanding, because it’s not like they’ve written any radio hits. Instead, they merely stretch out their thrash, hardcore, and NWOBHM tendencies a little further to make things roomier so you have more terrain to bash people’s skulls. This band remains relentless, energetic, and brutal enough to get your eyes blackened at one of their shows, and the improved production (courtesy of the great Kurt Ballou) merely highlights their strengths and gives even more explosive life to their sound. “Doomed to Destroy” is a really great-sounding album, and it’ll be a mighty introduction to those not yet aware of this hard-hitting quintet.

The band’s lineup has been intact for a couple years now, after some changes in 2011, and they sound like they’ve fully realized the weight of their sound. Pete Gallagher is the guy screaming at you, alternating from shriek to muddy growl, while guitarists Kallen Bliss and Blake Chuffskin, bassist Ben Banoogen, and drummer Jonah Livingston round out this steady lineup. If you’re into bands such as Toxic Holocaust or the recently reviewed Noisem and Power Trip, chances are you’re going to like this record and will spend hours letting it compromise your hearing.

The record opens with the title track, and to be honest, it’s not the strongest song of the bunch and had my guard up the first time I heard it a few weeks ago. Gallagher’s vocals sometimes get a little too close to a metalcore growl, and it’s not a terribly imaginative song. But it gets better, as “Anticipating Failure” has some nice ’80s-style sleaze riffs, shouting vocals, and some cool lead guitar play that gets the album down the road to fun. “Grinding Dissident” is heavy and crunchy, with gruffer vocals and more impressive guitar interplay from Bliss and Chuffskin. “Gorgon’s Eye” is an impressive dose of classic thrash and thunder, and it’s one of my favorite cuts on the record. “Cretins and Cowards” keeps the momentum going with fury and more violent tendencies than we hear on the record to this point. “Anthems of Despair” pulls back into classic metal again, with guitar work that sounds inspired by Iron Maiden, while “Ashes” is chunky, catchy, and something at which you can shout back.

“Ministry of Truth” chugs and stomps, and like we’ve heard elsewhere, there are more strong dual guitar lines that run headlong into bursts of speed. “The Rhetoric of Hate and Other Examples of Wildly Unchecked Ignorance” not only is a song perfectly titled for some of the shit going on in our country this month, but it mangles and blasts you until you can take no more. “Extinction Event” mixes old-school punk and hardcore into their sound and completely flattens everything in front of it. “Under the Monolith” injects a little Southern rock filth into things, with strong soloing and more commanding vocals from Gallagher. “Hollow Giants” throws a curveball as it opens with acoustic guitar strains before it slides into a slow-driving tempo, and it feels sort of misplaced on the record. It brings the momentum to a halt, and it might have worked better as a closer or somewhere in the middle when you need a breather. Nonetheless, “Dead Flags” gives the album a ripping conclusion with blasts, thrash charging, and raspy screaming.

Hopefully Ramming Speed will see some positive returns from their association with Prosthetic, and “Doomed to Destroy” is a pretty impressive first effort for the label. There are some things that need tightened, and it’s not a perfect album, but Ramming Speed make a positive, crushing impression and should bring their noise to even more people.

For more on the band, go here: https://www.facebook.com/rammingspeed

To buy the album, go here: http://www.indiemerch.com/prostheticrecords/

For more on the label, go here: http://prostheticrecords.com/

If you’re not familiar with the band, if I say the words Squash Bowels, do you not already get an idea of what to expect when you hear their music? Unforgiving heaviness, horrors, disgusting themes, music that would make your neighbors refuse to associate with you? Would it surprise you if I told you they’re actually a folk band? Obviously, that’s utter bullshit.

The long-standing Polish band is known for their relentless, disgusting grindcore violence, and they have an impressive back catalog that might take you some time to get through if you’re starting from square one. There are like 75,000 releases in their arsenal, so yeah. But that gigantic resume aside, we haven’t heard from the band since 2009’s “Grindvirus,” released by our friends over at Willowtip, so it was a huge sigh of bastardized relief when their sixth record “Grindcoholism” landed in the Meat Mead Metal inbox, complete with 14 cuts and 32 minutes of total madness.

Squash Bowels now call Selfmadegod Records their home, which makes sense both musically and geographically, as the label also is based in Poland, and this killing machine that started nearly two decades ago shows no signs of aging, slowing down, mellowing out, or anything that could make their grind-frenzied audience nervous. These songs are what you expect from the band, and the fellows who make it all happen–bassist/vocalist Artur “Paluch” Grassmann, guitarist Andrzej “Andy” Pakos, and drummer Mariusz “Melon” Miernik–are nothing short of generous when it comes to creating insanity that will make you want to throw lamps around your house and vomit all over the floors from the stench all at the same time. I know. That’s pretty disgusting.

The gore and muck that make people salivate over bands such as early Carcass, Rotten Sound, label mates Antigama, and Pig Destroyer are going to salivate once the opening strains of “Tastelessness” kick into gear, with gurgly growling, punishing grindcore, and even a little shadowy doom slipping in for good measure. “Trap” also has a doomy feel and punchy, cool riffs that should shake you right into “The Theater,” a thrashy good song that hits a killer groove and has death-inspired vocals. “Surrender” has its fair share of crunch and violence, but then it turns on a dime and accelerates the speed and anxiety. “The Second…” has deep growls and lets a complete demolition erupt, paving the way for “Inclinations to…” that has grisly, menacing vocals that turn into shrieks of fury. The title cut—and what a fabulous title it is—lets mud and muck spread all over the place while the sounds of alcohol-filled glasses clink together in the background. The song is a total demon.

“Steering” has some nasty blast beats and mean vocals that are joined by charred guitars to get their message across. “Naked Positive Act” lets the groove back into the picture as it grinds and abuses your senses, leaving you no room to recover before “La Mienta” strikes. That song is thrashy and meaty, with the vocals nearing pig squeal territory but not quite jumping into that pen. It’s one of the burliest cuts on the entire record. “Compassions” chugs along at a rumbling pace with the guitars simmering, and soloing poking at classic heavy metal. “Litany of Hungry” is a really weird one at first, but then doom drops and metallic soloing rips a hole in the wall. “Foreign Will” is gloriously pissy and short, while closer “Stigmatizing” gives one last gasp of groove, grind, and monstrous vocals that stab an exclamation point at the end of the record.

Squash Bowels remain ugly, seamy, and furious, and it’s not likely they’re going to smooth out their sound any time soon to end up on a Mayhem tour or any of that garbage. Their stuff plays best in a small room in front of people brutalizing one another, as their music is the perfect soundtrack for that style of healthy aggression release. “Grindcoholism” is strong and heavy enough that, if grind is your game, you might find yourself properly addicted.

For more on the band, go here: https://www.facebook.com/squashgrind

To buy the album, go here: http://selfmadegod.com/en/shop

For more on the label, go here: http://selfmadegod.com/

So how are you feeling at the end of the week? Miserable? It’s OK. It might be Friday and all, but we wouldn’t enjoy this day and the week’s end nearly as much as we do if we didn’t need it to get a huge gasp of air and recharge our batteries. That means somewhere along the line you probably had some pretty shitty moments over the week, and that left you feeling a little irritated.

I’ve said this before, but whenever I’ve had a miserable week, it’s nice to have a heaving, furious, pissy slab of evil death metal that matches the soot collecting in you and choking out your will to live. I can’t say for certain if I’ll be feeling that way on this day as I’m coming to you from the past (uh, meaning I wrote this earlier in the week), but even if I’m not, I still like to revel in some ugliness and madness now and again. That’s the cathartic thing about doom and death metal is that they stand as examples of something more gut wrenched, angry, and diseased than you are.

If you are in the need of something to help you cope, might I recommend The Vein, a new Danish doom-smeared, blackened, death-fuming band that’s coming at you with their new compilation release “Scouring the Wreckage of Time,” a beastly, six-track effort that combines their dual EPs “Chapter I: The Poison Chalice” and “Chapter II: Born Into Grey Domains.” This 46-minute album is mean and nasty, sounding like a perfect amalgamation of early ’90s death and doom metal, and their brand of punishment is bound to leave you dizzy and disoriented.

Shadow King is exposing this hellish band to the world, and they’ve been instrumental in furthering some of the band members’ other venture, namely the awesome Altar of Oblivion. Guitarist Martin Meyer Mendelssohn Sparvath, bassist C. Nørgaard, and drummer Thomas Wesley Antonsen make up 3/5 of that band, and in The Vein, they are joined by vocalist JBP, who also plies his trade on Cerekloth, Church Bizarre, and others. They’re an impressive group together, and this first infernal release is a fun but miserable listen that should let you know you’re not alone in the doldrums.

The first four cuts on the record make up the “Poison Chalice” portion of the album, kicking off with “Pale Dawn Rising,” a mauling, depressing dirge that opens with a cryptic quote from the 2007 movie “Sunshine.” The vocals are demonic and painful, the lead guitars sear the flesh, and the band lets the song lurch to a finish. “Seeds of Blasphemy” is growly, muddy doom that trudges in its place and starts to leave bruises. The guitars are cold and dark, the rest of the band hammers away with guts hanging out, and the song ends on a classic death metal-style romp. “Acedia” is an interlude that’s calm, tranquil, and psychedelic, almost as if it’s paying homage to vintage Pink Floyd, leading to the close of the first half with “The Poison Chalice,” a riff-heavy punisher that’s awesome and sweltering.

The two-track “Grey Domains” portion is comprised of a couple of epic tracks, starting with “The Great Deception,” a chugging, faster cut that changes up all that sludgy footwork. JBP’s vocals are deep and gurgly, as he emotes like he’s reading a letter from hell, while the guitars take on a classic metal feel, and the song eventually leads you into a mournful pocket of sounds. Closer “Carving a Labyrinth,” all 14:17 of it, is creepy and eerie, with spooky synth spilling its light over the room, slithering guitar work that gets your shoes caught in the muck, and creaky screams that reek of death. There are some tasty traditional doom-style guitar passages, weird, crypt-like speaking, and enough funereal horrors to keep you looking behind your back to make sure no one’s closing in on you.

You can practically lick the decay and disease from these songs, and there is nothing here to make you happy and ready to walk into the sunshine. As we noted, this could be a great record to help you cope with a shitty week where despair and frustration has been at every turn and you just need to hear a hellish voice that understands. The Vein can relate to your madness, and they’re here to make your daydreams all that much bloodier.

For more on the band, go here: https://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Vein/189452581105086

To buy the album, go here: http://store.shadowkingdomrecords.com/

For more on the label, go here: https://www.facebook.com/ShadowKingdomRecords?fref=ts

Combining dynamic, accomplished forces into a single unit can bear all kinds of results. On one hand, all of the parts could work together beautifully to create an unstoppable, hulking machine. On the other, the larger components at work could clash and try to remain individualistic, thus rendering their formation pointless.

When the new band Palms was announced, many ears perked up because it was to be the union of three members of one of the greatest post-metal bands of all time in ISIS along with the singer from one of the ’90s most misunderstood, miscategorized bands in the Deftones. Being a fan of both bands, I instantly was excited to hear what these four guys would bring to the table musically, and like a lot of other people, wondered if it would sound like ISIS fronted by Chino Moreno rather than Aaron Turner. And if that ended up being what it would sound like, would that be a good or bad thing and would it sully the very idea of the band?

The band’s debut actually did not turn out the way some people expected, and while there certainly are elements of ISIS’ style–and come on, how could there not be with 3/5 of the band comprising this unit?–this is a band unto itself. You couldn’t exactly slip this in the middle of an ISIS discography without it seeing weirdly out of place sonically, and it certainly does not sound anything like a Deftones album. Instead, guitarist/keyboard player Clifford Meyer, bassist Jeff Caxide, and drummer Aaron Harris took their musical dreaming a little further into hazey outer space, and Moreno figured out a way to weave his poetry through what they conjured. It’s not an immediate-sounding record, and there’s nothing on here you can hack off for an up-tempo playlist, but if you’re in the mood to soar and soak for about an hour, you’re bound to find plenty of enjoyment in this.

This record also is a nice one with summer arriving, at least for someone like me who loves to have something cerebral and calming when it’s time to chill. I’m already planning on listening to this record a lot later this summer once beach vacation arrives, and I think it also would sound quite fitting for a near-dusk drive on a warm evening, when you just want to see sights and enjoy the surroundings. Each of these songs provide a panoramic view into a dream or life moment that you want to let seep in for proper understanding, and it’s easy to get lost in these six compositions that are bound to excite you.

Watery, gazey “Future Warrior” opens the record on tranquil note, as guitars float and Moreno begins to weave his tale, which takes a dark twist when he notes, “The closer I am, I notice something’s wrong with you.” The keys behind the song are mournful, and eventually all the rest of Palms catch up with that emotion. “Patagonia” spreads itself out in a calculating manner, as the music trickles and pools at the start, with distortion and reverb-rich vocals meeting it and taking the song into bumpier terrain. “Mission Sunset” lets its noise settle on the ground, and the song follows more of a mid-tempo path. Moreno pushes the intensity a little more on this one, letting some jerky screams accentuate his lines, and the rest of the band meanders along a little too long for this track to be fully effective.

“Short Wave Radio” has more liquidy melodies, slipping in like a spirit, with Moreno vowing, “I would never leave your side.” But that tranquility is short lived as the song eventually gets more aggressive, with Moreno howling about “descending into hell” while gazing into heaven. “Tropics” is perfectly named, because it’s easy to imagine being stranded in a boat on a large, calm body of water while the sun burns away. The song is shimmery and numbing, as Moreno observes, “Over the sea, the waves go by.” Closer “Antarctic Handshake” feels like a long, drug-induced slumber, where your mind is wandering and wondering. The band helps you slip into a comfort zone with their repetitious composition, with Moreno admitting, “It’s time to let go.” It’s a sad thought, really, but one that sometimes we have to confront and deal with.

Palms’ debut is a good one that wasn’t what most of us thought it would be, and that’s just fine. It’s not a perfect document by any means, as some tightening here and there could have made some of these songs a little stronger, but it’s a minor quibble about an otherwise rewarding record. Hopefully this band has a future beyond this record, because it would be interesting to see how Palms grow and progress as time goes on.

For more on the band, go here: http://palmsband.com/

To buy the album, go here: http://www.bluecollardistro.com/palms/categories.php?cPath=1657

For more on the label, go here: http://www.ipecac.com/

As more bands adopt the “do shit yourselves” model, the ones that have been doing that thing pretty much the entire time they’ve been in existence are going to be the ones leading the way while everyone else catches up.

It’s not that you can’t operate with a label behind you. Bands like Jucifer and Dillinger Escape Plan have tried to take as much control as they can of the operations for their respective groups, though both have plied their trade for record labels at the same time. Jucifer especially, who are nomads and work to ensure their model works best for them. These bands seem to have a more intimate connection with their fans and certainly seem way more like one of us. That’s because they are. There’s no pretension, no sitting above their audience, and that makes for a fanbase more invested in the band, even if that doesn’t necessarily mean playing larger halls or making more money.

Canada’s Fuck the Facts is another band that’s done whatever they feel like doing for their entire run, be it touring or creating, and even with a label like Relapse behind them, they don’t lean back and relax in their arms. In fact, the band seems to put out more music on their own than for Relapse, and it feels like every months FTF have something new to offer their fans. Their discography listing on Encyclopaedia Metallum is borderline hilarious. It helps greatly that everything they put out can damn near peel the paint off your walls with its intensity and power, and they certainly don’t gouge their listeners. Now, the Canadian postal service is another story. FTF’s downloads are insanely affordable, and if you do spring for physical copies of their output, you generally get a package you can tell is hand assembled, adding another personal touch.

The band is back again with a new EP “Amer,” a seven-track effort you can have digitally, on vinyl, or on cassette, and it shows FTF making more strides creatively and continuing to morph into a new monster every time out. The band certainly retains its grindcore roots, but they’ve added a lot more classic heavy metal and rock swagger over the years, and that’s on full display on this effort. Another noted difference is the amount of vocal contributions from other band members to complement Mel Mongeon’s banshee wails. Bassist Marc Bourgon and drummer Mathieu Vilandre also howl and growl over some of these songs, adding a new dynamic to FTF’s sound and giving Mongeon other presences to play off of while she’s killing you. The rest of the band is rounded out by guitarist and founder Topon Das (who also produces music for a number of killer bands), the only remaining member who has been around since the beginning, and guitarist Johnny Ibay.

The record gets off to a simmering start on “Une triste vue,” with melodies that swirl and chafe, military-style drumming, and growly singing that sets to stage for Mongeon to come in and rip the walls down. Immediately the use of dual vocals pays dividends and shows a different, more chaotic side of FTF. “Vent du nord” has harsh screams, sweet power metal-style guitar runs, growls that mix in with Mongeon’s demonic wails, and even some monstrous prog-fed punishment to give you a few more kicks for good measure. “Panser la plaie au lieu de soigner le mal” opens with Mongeon sounding possessed and unstoppable, as the guitars stab and boil, and the band reaches a quaking level of bone mashing.

“A Void” is a curious little cut with humid, sweaty guitar clouds that hang in the air, setting a mid-paced tempo, and burly growls are the only words we hear on the track. Then it’s into “Jour de souffrance,” a grinding, gurgling cut that rolls in broken glass and bleeds everywhere. Mongeon is on fire once again, and the band makes great use of the shorter space with an effective burst of violence. “L’enclume et le marteau” has a massive hardcore-laced edge, with a bursting breakdown coming at the song’s midpoint, and all three vocalists practicing an all-throats-on-deck approach to their messaging. It’s a pure fireball of frustration and rage. Closer “Amère” is a curious one that begins with experimental guitar hissing and charging that rises up, erodes, then fades into the background. That’s before this muddy bastard really gets it feet moving and mooshes you face-first into a wall, with Mongeon screaming emotionally as if seeking meaning and understanding. Behind her is a rather somber melody that’s unlike anything else on this record and is another example of the band’s dexterity as players and writers. Then it blows up and destroys your life.

Fuck the Facts certainly are not devoid of inspiration or creative means, as they seem to have something meaty for us every year in which to indulge. “Amer” is another satisfying mini-portion from the band that’ll keep you full until they serve up another full-length or even an additional smaller release. Whatever it ends up being, we’ll be ready to listen eagerly because Fuck the Facts always have something thought-provoking and challenging to heave at us, whether we’re ready for it or not.

For more on the band, go here: https://www.facebook.com/FuckTheFacts

To get the album, go here: http://fuckthefacts.bandcamp.com/