Well, this is awkward...I really like this song. Must be the atmosphere. 😂 #notmetal #taylorswift

https://open.spotify.com/track/0V3wPSX9ygBnCm8psDIegu?si=57847d2945844029

Nechochwen – Spelewithiipi Review

By Killjoy

It can be healthy for artists to periodically take time to reset and remember what first compelled them to start creating music. Aaron Carey originally founded Nechochwen in West Virginia as an unostentatious acoustic guitar project paying homage to his Native American lineage. It didn’t take long for black metal influence to emerge and with the addition of Andrew D’Cagna as the rhythm section, the two styles proved a potent pairing to explore the cultural history sewn into every note. 2015’s Heart of Akamon was well-received in the metal community and by our Vice Overlord Steel Druhm, who later went on to underrate their very good1 follow-up Kanawha Black. During all this time,2 Nechochwen had been quietly working on Spelewithiipi, a fully instrumental acoustic folk album akin to their debut full-length Algonkian Mythos. Can Nechochwen come full circle and revisit an older style without feeling like a step backward?

Nechochwen was always more inclined to reach for an acoustic guitar than an electric, but Spelewithiipi takes it a step further. Carey’s multi-tracked acoustic guitars enjoy near total exclusivity, plucking and strumming along like a bolder variation of older (and newer) October Falls. This is something of a double-edged sword—there is little to distract from the graceful guitar melodies, but the emotive burden of proof falling solely upon one instrument can be a challenging songwriting prospect. This may be why similar-minded neofolk albums from Thurnin and Wÿntër Ärvń in recent months opted to diversify with various other folk instrumentation, and Spelewithiipi follows suit, albeit sparingly. Here and there, indigenous drum beats (“Lenawe’owiin,” “Spelewithiipi,” “Primordial Passage”), a full drum kit (“Precipice of Stone”), and a gentle flute (“Lenawe’owiin,” “Spelewithiipi”) provide embellishment. This pared-back instrumentation is an important part of Spelewithiipi’s reverent, intimate nature.

At this point in his career, Carey can wring seemingly every ounce of breadth and depth from his weapon of choice. The acoustic guitar lines, usually appearing in pairs, flow and breathe as they fluctuate in intensity and complexity. Sometimes they’re straightforward, with clear lead and rhythm roles (“Nemacolin’s Path,” “Spelewithiipi”). Elsewhere, Nechochwen weaves multiple distinct melodies together into a more elegant soundscape (“Tpwiiwe,” “Precipice of Stone”). Unsurprisingly, the music is intrinsically bonded with nature, the rain sounds in “Othaškwa’alowethi behme” adding a mystical effect to the stream of twanging guitar notes. The best and most passionate performance lies in “Mthothwathiipi,” which features a gentle, cascading tune that gives way to vigorous fingerpicking laced with percussive slaps. The immense skill on display almost convinces me that Nechochwen might be better off in this unplugged realm.

Almost. Like a phantom limb, I find it impossible not to miss Nechochwen’s black metal side. In my view, their appeal mainly stemmed from the meticulous melding of acoustic folk with metal, not either component taken individually. Therefore, an attempt to decouple them was, perhaps, destined to yield a diminished result. Even setting aside genre preferences, Spelewithiipi lacks much of the structure and focus from when Nechochwen were grounded in black metal conventions. The first half of the record fares better thanks to more developed melodies, whereas the back half feels more barren and aimless (particularly “Primordial Passage”), but nearly every song suffers to some extent from rocky transitions or promising ideas cut short. With fewer musical handholds on Spelewithiipi, the overall songwriting needed to be more coherent and engaging to make up the difference.

Spelewithiipi is not an immediate album; it invites rather than seizes the listener’s attention. Accordingly, fans of Nechochwen’s recent work will likely need to manage expectations and exercise patience. As I spent time with it and let go of what I wanted to hear from Nechochwen, I gained greater appreciation of what they created. Aaron Carey plays heartfelt, stirring acoustic guitar lines the likes of which I’ve never heard before, and I’m in awe of his instrumental mastery. Yet, even the best guitarwork on Spelewithiipi is not quite as captivating as that of Heart of Akamon or Kanawha Black. This, plus the relinquishment of metal influence and its short 31-minute runtime, make it hard to see Spelewithiipi as a complete Nechochwen record. But, even so, this is still a pleasant walk through the woods worth taking.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 13 | Format Reviewed: 192 kbps mp3
Label: Nordvis Produktion
Websites: nechochwen-nordvis.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/nechochwen
Releases Worldwide: May 9th, 2025

#2025 #30 #AmericanMetal #DarkFolk #DarkNeofolk #Folk #Instrumental #May25 #Nechochwen #NordvisProduktion #NotMetal #OctoberFalls #Review #Reviews #Spelewithiipi #Thurnin #WÿntërÄrvń

Last Leaf Down – Weight of Silence Review

By Killjoy

I imagine we all have our own personal keywords that snag our attention and interest. Marketers (and record labels) know this and try their best to capitalize on our weakness. The descriptor “dreamy shoegaze from the woods” doesn’t sound particularly like something one might look for on Angry Metal Guy, nevertheless, it was the deciding factor for me to fish Weight of Silence out of the promo bin. Last Leaf Down originally formed in Switzerland in 2003 as a “dark doom” metal band. Whatever that sounds like, we may never know because on their debut album Fake Lights in 2014 they had already veered into the shoegaze sphere. Now, coming off a long break since 2017’s Bright Wide Colder, Last Leaf Down offers a reinvigorated interpretation of this timeless genre.

Although I’m not so sure that the woodsy label fits, Weight of Silence is certainly dreamy. The serene, melancholic atmosphere strongly reminds of Slowdive. Last Leaf Down have been steadily adding more and more alt-rock to their original shoegaze formula, specifically the polished, moody alt-rock of Snow Patrol and The Fray. The pairing is a good one; the hazy allure of shoegaze and the reliable structure of alt-rock complement each other well. As might be expected, Weight of Silence is heavily reliant on the vocals, and Benjamin Schenk’s voice has a vulnerable timbre that gives the music a distinct character. He’s clearly been working to stretch his singing abilities further during the extended break, and, despite the occasional signs of strain, he sounds more confident compared to prior albums.

Weight of Silence seems designed to magnify rather than produce intense emotion. This is largely a function of the instrumentation’s stripped-back, minimalist nature. The guitar parts are usually simple and supportive (I was surprised that three guitarists are credited), with nary a keyboard or synthesizer to be heard. In some ways, this approach is refreshing, as it leaves plenty of room for Daniel Dorn’s bass lines to add subtle depth in “Cold Heart” and satisfying heft to the chorus of “Reach the Sun.” On the other hand, the guitars and drums seem relegated to primarily building atmosphere and supplementing Schenk’s vocals. I appreciate the instances when they can break free from the norm a bit, like the swirling post-rock guitar melodies in the ending of “The Ending”1 or the tom grooves in the second half of “Falling Sky.”

This probably explains why the closer I pay attention to Weight of Silence, the less invested I feel. It makes for a great companion while sitting at my desk late at night, catching up on work, but my focused listening time usually results in lukewarm enjoyment. The more upbeat songs with well-defined choruses are, understandably, more memorable (“Illusion,” “Mislead,” “Reach the Sun”), while others feel too repetitive, particularly in the lyric structure. Album opener “Silence” is the biggest offender of this, with some variation of the phrase “It feels like I’ve lost myself” comprising around half of its lyrics sheet. To Last Leaf Down’s credit, they have improved at self-editing. The shorter overall runtime helps the punchier moments retain their potency and ushers the less engaging parts along, making Weight of Silence far from the longest 42-minute record I’ve heard.

The best way I can sum up Weight of Silence is that it’s aggressively inoffensive. Like morning mist, it’s pretty, pleasant, and refreshing when the mood strikes, but also ultimately immaterial. It’s the strongest Last Leaf Down album to date, and I like the direction in which they are trending. Their blend of shoegaze, alt-rock, and post-rock makes for an agreeable musical palette. I wouldn’t mind hearing them revive the dark doom style that they purportedly used to play, as I think it could have real potential inside this framework. I encourage anyone who, like me, feels even slightly enticed by the phrase “dreamy shoegaze from the woods” to take a chance on Weight of Silence.

Rating: 3.0/5.0
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Lifeforce Records
Websites: lastleafdownlfr.bandcamp.com | lastleafdown.ch | facebook.com/lastleafdown
Releases Worldwide: April 11th, 2025

#2025 #30 #AltRock #Alternative #Apr25 #LastLeafDown #LifeforceRecords #NotMetal #PostRock #Review #Reviews #Shoegaze #Slowdive #SnowPatrol #SwissMetal #TheFray #WeightOfSilence

OK Go has released a new video 🪄

And as always, it's creative and cool 😎

OK Go Love
YT link
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=gz9BRl7DVSM

#NotMetal #KittysJukebox

Everything Nothing from Humanity Gone

https://humanitygone.bandcamp.com/album/everything-nothing

#NotMetal according to metal-archive 🧂🧂#NowPlaying

Thurnin – Harmr Review

By Carcharodon

Dutch one-man project Thurnin were unknown to me before I snagged Harmr for review. Having now investigated, I see that I’m in for a subdued time. Following a similar, winding path to that walked by Wardruna’s Einar Selvik, Thurnin main minstrel Jurre Timmer wandered away from his black metal roots, corpse paint washing off in a Dutch downpour, to arrive in instrumental neofolk land. He has now taken up permanent residence there, with two albums under his belt as Thurnin, 2021’s Menhir, followed two years later by Útiseta. I am informed (whether reliably or not) by the promo blurb for this latest platter that the Icelandic word Harmr is now understood to mean ‘sorrow.’ However, Timmer adopts it as the title of his third album for the (apparently) older, more traditional sense of ‘grief.’ So, let us skip down the road, lute in hand, and see what Harmr has been done.

Ok, that was misleading. As far as I know, Thurnin makes no use of lutes on Harmr. Instead, the majority of the work is done by Timmer’s acoustic guitars, adorned by other strings, including violins and occasional pipes. The guitars are multi-tracked and densely layered, meaning that, despite being both instrumental (a few background vocal effects, like on “Arcturus,” aside) and largely percussion-free (save for “Heortece” and a few moments of “Eitr”), there are multiple layers to this tapestry. Whether one interprets Harmr as depicting sorrow or grief will, I suspect, come down to your own individual perception of those two words. For me, I lean more to the former. The soundscapes conjured on the album feel forlorn and melancholy, imbued with a sense of longing, but not the despair, desperation or hopelessness that I associate with grief.

As Harmr progresses, Thurnin confidently crafts and maintains the mood, its sombre tones resonating across the album’s full 42-minute run. There is something about it that reminds me of an accordion. Not in the sound—no accordions were Harmred, or used, in the making of this album—but in the breathy quality of the music. It almost feels like, track to track, the record in- and exhales, just as the air flows into an accordion, before being slowly expelled again. Perhaps breathing would be a better metaphor because Harmr feels very organic in its flow. The delicate, relatively stripped back notes of “Fylgja” or closer “Folkvangr” are at once notably different in mood from, but clearly belong alongside, the more urgent and insistent refrain of “Heortece” and the backend of “Eitr,” which feature the only percussion (it sounds like it’s probably a handheld drum along the lines of a bhodran) on the album.

Thurnin’s overall approach is perhaps best described as dreamlike. Harmr seems to slowly wander, weaving between moods and pacing without ever breaking the spell. For me, however, this is both the charm and Achilles heel of this album and indeed Thurnin’s prior releases. For all its richness of sound and compositional consistency, it also lacks differentiation. The absence of vocals and very limited use of percussion means that the album is crafted using a fairly limited palette, compared to the likes of Wardruna. Moreover, although there are changes in pacing (compare, for example, “Heortece” and “Fylgja”), these are relative, within the spectrum of what Thurnin does. That said, the production here is worthy of a callout, as Harmr sounds phenomenal. Although albums like this, without the backbone of drums, often seem to return high DR scores, the 11 here feels right. Its component parts breathe and sway like the wind-in-the-grass vibes that open “Folkvangr,” feeling rich enough to almost touch.

Harmr is one of those albums where I wish we didn’t give out scores or ratings. Whatever I choose will feel wrong, and mileage will likely vary significantly. On the one hand, Thurnin’s forlorn dark folk is expertly crafted and executed but on the other, it also feels a bit limited in scope. I find myself largely unable to recall individual moments, left instead with the overall sense and mood evoked by the album, but without any details. Above, I likened Harmr to a dream, and perhaps that intangibility is the epitome of this. Either way, I don’t see myself returning to this album often because, I suspect, its virtues will fade quickly. However, if I find myself listening to it, I will no doubt be borne away again, as I was the first time round.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 11 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Auerbach Tonträger
Websites: thurnin.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/ThurninFolk
Releases Worldwide: March 14th, 2025

#25 #2025 #AuerbachTonträger #DarkFolk #DarkNeofolk #DutchMetal #Folk #Harmr #Instrumental #Mar25 #NotMetal #Review #Reviews #Thurnin #Wardruna

Wardruna – Birna Review

By Mystikus Hugebeard

Wardruna’s impact on the Nordic music sphere is difficult to exaggerate. The explosion in popularity of dark Nordic folk across the last decade can be heavily attributed to Wardruna’s music and their involvement with History Channel’s Vikings, and to this day they are Exhibit A of the genre. While the music may sound rooted in a specific culture and historical period, it has still resonated so deeply with people the world over regardless of ethnicity or nationality, myself included. My discovery of Wardruna as a young man had a profound impact on the development of my musical literacy, and they’ve since remained a critical part of my vocabulary. As such, for myself and for the world, the release of Wardruna’s newest album Birna carries some serious anticipation. So, how is it?

In all the right ways, Birna offers the same Viking-era folk music that Wardruna has provided since the beginning. Sawing taglharpas, the wistful yet powerful notes of a kraviklyra, the call of bukkehorns, and the deep reverberations of deer-hide drums; the full ensemble of Wardruna’s traditional, hand-crafted instruments lends an absorbing authenticity to their sound which is further brought to life by a sublime mix, done by composer Einar Selvik himself. As always, Selvik and co-founder Lindy-Fay Hella are a strong vocal duo; Selvik’s iconic voice is ever the focus, though Hella has what feels like a notably more active role in Birna than in previous albums. Birna is also a solid entry point for any readers discovering Wardruna for the first time, as the music encompasses all the stages of Wardruna’s sound. The vocal melodies and dark, brooding drone of “Tretale” hark back to the mysticism of Gap var Ginnunga and Yggdrasil, the dramatic horn blasts in “Birna” call to mind the finality of Ragnarok, and the skaldic beauty of Selvik and his lyre in “Hibjørnen” continues the pattern begun in Kvitravn and, more pertinently, Skald.

But Birna is more than a chronology of Wardruna’s evolution. Conceptually, Birna is a response to the upheaval suffered by bears in nature (Birna means “she-bear”), musically harnessing the bear’s natural strength and signaling a hopeful end to their forced hibernation through a motif of spring. The music of Birna radiates with intent, carefully constructing this idea across every element. It can be as small as warm, dancing flutes and Hella’s vocal melodies (“Ljos til Jord,” “Himinndotter”), or even just the chirping of birds (“Dvaledraumar,” “Jord til Ljos”), gently exuding a quiet optimism. Or it’s the awesome, primal majesty of the bear, viscerally felt through resounding horns, beating drums, or Selvik’s fervent vocals (“Hertan,” “Birna,” “Himinndotter,” “Skuggehesten”). I would describe it as a change in color; the dark, earthy green and brown of Wardruna’s music has begun to incorporate vibrant shades of orange and yellow. It’s a compelling shift in tone from Wardruna’s darker vibes of the past, and it works beautifully through the sincerity with which it’s performed and the rich texture of traditional instruments and natural sounds that has always characterized Wardruna.

If there were aught I might criticize about Birna, it would be how “Hibjørnen” fits into Birna’s pacing. After the low-energy—but no less beautiful—”Dvaledraumar” and “Jord til Ljos,” the frenetic beat of “Himinndotter” rebuilds a momentum that’s poised to continue at the song’s conclusion, but is instead interrupted by the skaldic pace of “Hibjørnen.” While I wish it was placed but one or two songs later, it’s nevertheless a beautiful song, and this most minor of gripes only arises due to how well the diversity of Birna’s music is paced in all other regards. Birna starts strong with the poignant, absorbing “Hertan,” which flows directly into the equally powerful “Birna.” The heavily ambient “Dvaledraumar” was a nice surprise that, at 16 minutes long, could have derailed Birna’s pace but fits snugly as the fourth song, and is a captivating crawl through a tar-thick, dream-like ambiance that transitions perfectly into “Jord til Ljos.” Finally, Birna wraps up its themes with “Lyfjaberg” (old Norse for “healing mountain”), Wardruna’s best song since “Helvegen.” It’s a gradual, gripping crescendo of impassioned chanting and singing; a vital plea, commanding in its urgency, reminding us of the respect and reverence nature needs, and deserves, from us.

Within the thriving Nordic folk ecosystem, Birna is clear evidence that Wardruna remains within a league of their own, a powerful reminder of the sway Wardruna holds within people’s hearts. In Selvik’s own words, Wardruna serves as a bridge between people and the natural world. The sounds of nature, the effortless melodies played by instruments that carry the weight of history, the electrifying voices of Selvik and Hella; together, they grow into an irresistible heartbeat, one that you realize was in you from the beginning. Do not miss Birna.

Rating: Excellent
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 256 kbps
Label: By Norse / Sony Music
Websites: warduna.com | facebook.com/wardruna
Releases Worldwide: January 24th, 2025

Dr. A.N. Grier

Wardruna is probably best known for contributing to the highly acclaimed Vikings television show. And why not? Wardruna is about as authentic as you can get. Technically a duo, Lindy-Fay Hella and Einar Selvik have been using traditional Norwegian instruments and guest contributors to carry us through majestic fjords and Viking war paths for nearly fifteen years. Luckily for me, I knew and enjoyed Wardruna well before I saw Gustaf Skarsgård’s sexy ass. Though the band has many o’ great albums, 2018’s Skald proved to be one of my favorite albums that year. Unfortunately, we’ve never received promos from the band, so I couldn’t spread my loving praise on an AMG page. Until now.1 While I could have lived without Mystikus Fuckbeard asking (for months) if we’ve received the promo, I’m glad we got Birna, and that I got to piggyback review with him. While I might be late as fuck on this review, Birna does not disappoint. But, in all honesty, they never did.

With all the different variations of folk metal, Wardruna is the most straightforward of the bunch. Not that their compositions are simple. Not by any means. But, if you’re expecting the headbanging Viking anthems of Amon Amarth or the Valkyrie-screaming passages of Bathory, stop now and readjust yourself. Wardruna is anything but that. Instead, their music invokes the ancient times of Viking culture when men were men and women were women. Or something like that. Incorporating beautiful male/female vocal duets, traditional chanting choruses, and massive atmospheres with instruments sourced from animal parts, listening to Wardruna is like sitting around a fire, drinking mead after annihilating an entire village of lowly peasants.2 With Birna, Warduna is, yet again, in top form.

If you’ve heard the band, you know that drums are the foundation of any Wardruna song. The opening track, “Hertan,” kicks things off with a soft heartbeat that reverberates through your chest before the male vocals appear, mimicking the rhythmic beat. As the intensity increases, the chants and distant choirs elevate the track. On the back half, it snaps the trance as the two vocalists duet their way into the snowy clouds. The title track follows the opener and delivers those tasty movie soundtrack elements. Beginning with a soft beat and female vox, the beautiful lyre arrives before the eruption of instrumentation, choirs, and booming male leads. Rising and falling throughout its seven-minute runtime, “Birna” is one of those Wardruna songs that explores every facet of the band’s skills, building layer on layer until the bitter end.

Yet, the most epic of the bunch is the nearly seventeen-minute “Dvaledraumar.” Using the sounds of nature as its core, each flute, horn, and percussion instrument sings as if a lone member is standing atop the highest hill of a lush prairie playing their hearts out at dawn. Each build begins with gentle pluckings as new layers are added, intensifying the varying moods of the song. “Dvaledraumar” traverses moods of complete relaxation, damning sinisterness, and other emotions that took my simple mind on a rollercoaster ride. But, probably the coolest combination of moods is “Himinndotter.” After the male leads hijack the female ones, this song transitions to the closest thing to a chorus on Birna. Which is fucking gorgeous. Then, the track drops into a low, dark place controlled by graveling vocals and simple, yet angry-sounding drums. But that chorus returns, ripping you from the thorns and placing you in the halls of Valhalla. But the best song on the record is the closer, “Lyfjaberg.” I can’t tell you exactly why this track hits me so hard but it’s damn near perfect. Clocking in at over nine minutes, it controls itself while introducing new builds, leads, and a passion that closes the album perfectly.

Though one would argue that “Lyfjaberg” might have been a last-minute inclusion, as it has existed since 2020, it’s perfect for Birna. So, I don’t fucking care. Perhaps the least enthusiastic songs are “Ljos til Jord” and “Hibjørnen,” but they aren’t so bad that they corrupt the flow. The first is odd coming off the mighty title track, while the latter is overly simplistic—even if it still delivers a fitting tone. The dynamics are interesting because they seem deliberate. Averaging at a DR8, they range from the “heavier” DR6 tracks to the breathable DR13 tracks. Having a bit of oomph for those moments where more intensity is needed and allowing the softer moments to open up is a rather clever approach. Once again, Wardruna does not disappoint, dropping another album that continues to portray the culture of olde, while producing gorgeous tracks and a satisfying flow.

Rating: 4.0/5.0

#2025 #40 #45 #AmonAmarth #Bathory #Birna #ByNorseMusic #FolkMetal #Jan25 #Norway #NorwegianMetal #NotMetal #SonyMusic #VikingFolk #Wardruna

Dax Riggs – 7 Songs for Spiders Review

By Grymm

It’s a weird fact of life to experience this, but ask anyone with creative tendencies, whether dabbling or full-on submersion, what their biggest fear is, and many (if not all) will tell you that hating the very thing that gives you life and joy will be at the top. Burnout murders the love one has for everything they enjoy making,1 and sometimes the elixir one needs is time and distance away. That time and distance could be days, or it could stretch to months or years. Dax Riggs, the influential voice of his eponymous band as well as the frontman for the recently-reactivated legendary Louisiana sludge beast Acid Bath, took 15 years away from the music world shortly after the release of 2010’s Say Goodnight to the World, and seemingly lived up to that album’s title by disappearing off the face of the world. His recent resurfacing to announce the resurrection of Acid Bath and the release of 7 Songs for Spiders was a massive surprise to everyone that absolutely nobody predicted in late 2024.

That surprise is welcome, however, as 7SfS not only acts as a familiar, cozy blanket of bluesy folk-rock goodness but is a tremendous welcome back from one of Louisiana’s most talented voices. Within seconds of “Deceiver” and its fuzzed-out opening riff, Riggs and company teleport your happy ass back to the swamps of their neighborhood, sounding simultaneously familiar and fresh. While Riggs remains comfortable in his lyrical wheelhouse, combining stream-of-consciousness wordplay with storytelling that’s both autobiographical and metaphorical, his voice has shown a greater warmth (if that was possible) from his previous albums, howling “Ain’t no great deceiver/Ain’t no bride of Jesus either” with infectious intent.

It doesn’t hurt that he’s got an incredible backing band. The way Scott Domingue lays down a hypnotic trance-like percussive groove on closer “Graveyard Soul” should be studied in a master class for building up tension and heft. Kane Cormier’s bass, while not flashy, does a tremendous job of keeping to pockets of groove, poking his head out every now and then to elevate moments of songs like towards the ending of “Blues for You Know Who”. Guitarist Lucas Broussard’s melodies and synth work complement Riggs’ voice and riffs, not being too flashy or subdued, but rather playing up to the strength and aura of the song. But once again, Riggs’ smokey, warm howl leads the fray, singing tales of the dead, the mysteries of the night, and the darker side of life in a captivating and enthralling way from beginning to end.

What hurts the aforementioned aura a bit, though, is the production. While the warmth is present, the mix feels a little bit squashed, especially in some of Domingue’s drums and Cormier’s basslines. The only other beef I have with 7SfS lies in its length. I will be the first (and loudest) to complain when an album needs some serious trimming. In this case, at a scant, brisk 28 minutes, it flies right by. Granted, that’s not so much a bad thing, but when an artist is away for 15 years, that brevity will leave the listener wanting more, especially when the music being offered is this good.

And I don’t know if “good” is a strong enough descriptor of what’s on offer on 7 Songs for Spiders. To quote a popular modern saying in regards to the music of Dax Riggs, if you know, you know. This is a tremendous welcome back from one of the most unsung modern voices of rock and metal, and you would do yourself a disservice if you pass this one by. Crank this for your jumping spider, tarantula, cat, dog, parakeet, neighbor, roommate, friends, family, and yourself. Y’all deserve a nice, happy treat every now and then.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: v1 mp3
Label: Fat Possum Records
Websites: daxriggs.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/@officialdaxriggs
Releases Worldwide: January 24th, 2025

#2025 #40 #7SongsForSpiders #AcidBath #AmericanMetal #BluesRock #DaxRiggs #FatPossumRecords #Jan25 #NotMetal #ProtoMetal #Review #Reviews

Very much #NotMetal, but I am listening to the TRANSA album at the moment. It is an album focussed on support for trans people. The feature single is Sade (which is still a beautiful song), but there are loads of other amazing songs there too, with a whole range of incredible artists.

A good listen. I will be back to metal after this, honest.

Forndom – Moþir Review

By Twelve

I remember perfectly where I was the first time I heard Forndom’s music through the album Faþir. Very early in the Covid-19 pandemic, Faþir was a peaceful harmony at the onset of an extremely troubling time. In part because of that emotional connection—and because it is an exemplary album—it remains in my regular rotation four years later. The ambient, Nordic folk musings of Ludvig Swärd continue to offer incredible catharsis in times of joy and sorrow. To say I am excited to be reviewing the follow-up and third full-length album from the project is a severe understatement—but with that excitement comes trepidation, the fear of disappointment, the knowledge that it would genuinely break my heart to write negative things about Moþir after such a strong initial impression of the project. Such is the life of the reviewer. So does Moþir live up to the incredible standard Forndom has raised? Can it?

One of the most amazing things about Forndom’s music is how effectively it transports the listener. All of the above emotions vanished within seconds of “Tunridor” beginning, and by the time it was halfway through I’m not even sure I was in the twenty-first century anymore. Truly, the songwriting on Moþir is phenomenal; slow orchestral passages, performed by the Uppsala Temple Orchestra, build to aching heights, bringing the listener to warm wintry sunrises and faraway fields. Swärd’s singing acts as a guide, friend, and storyteller in an unknown time, with choral accompaniment from Janne Posti and Gullan Swärd. Often at the helm, Thomas von Wachenfeldt (Bards of Skaði) performs incredible leads on his violin, his emotional tremolandos and measured pizzicatos soaring atop the ancient folk harmonies. The result is both acoustic and orchestral, authentic and polished, and highly effective.

As was the case with Faþir, Moþir excels through emotional melodies and harmonies rooted in a deep respect for the history, mythology, and tradition of Swärd’s native Sweden. From the very first track this is on full display; “Tunridor” is slow to start; ritualistic chants and rhythmic percussion lull the listener into a sense of peace. Then a scream (Disa Åman) emerges from the distance and a gorgeous, reverent melody takes the song in a completely new direction. “Moderstårar” is written like a power ballad, beginning with quiet singing atop pizzicato strings and slowly, slowly building on that theme to an emotional crescendo over seven minutes that fly by. “Jord” is one of the two instrumentals, and even these are effective, despite the absence of Swärd’s emotional delivery; such is the strength of the songwriting and the impassioned playing by every involved musician.

Moþir is unmistakably a folk album, but the inclusion of von Wachenfeldt and the Uppsala Temple Orchestra overtakes a lot of the traditional acoustic stylings of past Forndom releases. The result is an album that toes the line between cinematic orchestral music and dark, ritualistic folk. As I mentioned earlier, it is entirely acoustic, but the orchestra blurs that line a bit. “Den kärlek s om vi gav,” the album closer and, in my view, the best song, is a great example both of the balance needed and the way Swärd approaches it. It is a cinematic journey that builds and builds, with a memorable and evocative chorus wherein the layers of strings, chorus, singing, and lead violin are haunting. Just as you think the song is about to end, the violin returns with a solo, transitioning the song to its orchestral conclusion. It’s a fine balance, but Forndom does it well, and I appreciate the direction. It helps that the production, by Swärd, and mastering, from Tore Stjerna, offer warmth and balance to the music, allowing each instrument to shine and contributing to an accessible whole.

Moþir is a powerful album. It is a feat of storytelling and an amazing expression of culture, history, and tradition. Forndom is the kind of project that you can put on for thematic, intriguing background noise—but the more you listen and pay attention, the more lost you become in the details, the more swept away you are by the evocative, cathartic melodies. Moþir is an album that attempts to defy time. I can’t seem to stop listening to it because it succeeds.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Nordvis Produktion
Websites: forndom.bandcamp.com | forndom.com | facebook.com/Forndom
Releases Worldwide: December 6th, 2024

#2024 #40 #BardsOfSkadi #Dec24 #Folk #Forndom #Moþir #Neofolk #NordvisProduktion #NotMetal #Review #Reviews #SwedishMetal

Hours of Worship – Death & Dying Vol. II Review

By Thus Spoke

When it comes to metal, “depressing” can mean a number of things. There’s funeral doom depressing—melodramatic, with heartbreaking melodies and savage growls. There’s DSBM depressing—hopeless, with listless refrains and inhuman shrieks. Then, there’s something like the music of Hours of Worship, which, now we come to it, isn’t metal at all. But it is depressing, and that’s precisely what the duo intend. Death and Dying Vol. II is, as you might expect, the follow-up to sophomore record Death and Dying Vol. I, and continues along the ambient gothic trajectory mapped out by that predecessor. The path that Hours of Worship have trodden has now reached a place truly apathetic and sober, which makes even their debut The Cold That You Left look upbeat. This is the most miserable electronica you’ll ever hear.

Death and Dying Vol. II. is an instant portal to the morose, mopey world that’s become Hours of Worship’s signature. Instantly recognizable for its solemn, stringlike synths and spaced-out, apathetic vocals, this visit sees it mired still further in gloom. The (relatively) uptempo rock and pop sensibilities of the debut have now been all but stripped away. The lone exception, cover of Faith and the Muse’s “Shattered in Aspect,” is still glummer than a song with its chirruping refrain ought to be, while its companions threaten to totally ruin your day—or make it, if you’re a masochist like me. Moving away from a moody Depeche Mode, Joy Division vibe and into what’s essentially a synthesized, clean-sung version of None, Hours of Worship are only getting darker and less eager to be part of this world.

Hours of Worship know that bleakness goes down best when it’s beautiful. The sedate, melancholic melodies are a brilliant backdrop for Wound and Trembling Master to sigh out their ennui in breathy baritones. Little chimes ring resonant in the air alongside pulsing bubbles of warm noise and quivering ethereal refrains (“Losing the Will to Live”). Drum beats echo. Vocals layer and melt into the syrupy synths as they drawl (“Opaline Ashes”). Sometimes sobriety wraps this prettiness in a shroud of monotony, the repeating flickers of is-that-guitar-or-keyboard1 almost sinister before they meet with an airy descending aria (“Bunker in Disarray,” “Derelict & Ruined”). Stand-out “Losing the Will to Live,” however, hides nothing of its pulchritude. With weeping chords and delicately developed descending scales, a heartbeat of echoing drums, and painfully morose moans, it’s a masterclass in wretched allure. Beside this, the bluntness of “Beneath a Hanging Tree”—the most depressing piece of all—is only intensified. Its low ratio between bluntness and beauty magnifies that of others—the carillons of keys breaking dull chords (“Derelict & Ruined”), subtle chorals and warped notes forming mournful refrains (“Losing the Will To Live”), and listless drones alternating with Byronic near-whispers (“Opaline Ashes”).

The dour sensibilities of Death & Dying Vol. II do nonetheless take their toll. Despite being moody as hell, opening duo “Bunker in Disarray” and “Derelict & Ruined” are neither confrontationally joyless as “Beneath a Hanging Tree,” nor grimly graceful like “Losing the Will to Live,” and “Opaline Ashes.” Their brand of washed-out disinterest therefore sits in the limbo of placidity, and they aren’t as strong as the songs that follow. The smooth drum transition between the two of them is, however, very nice. More broadly, there remains a nagging thought that Hours of Worship’s recent proclivity for the particularly funereal is holding back their talents for music with a bit more grip. But perhaps one ought not complain about a lack of sparkle from a record whose primary goal is to disillusion them with the land of the living

Death & Dying Vol II achieves what it sets out to do. You will come out its other side weary and jaded. Its ability to swallow up hope and cast a gloomy veil really is second only to DSBM, even surpassing it, at its most monotonous—for better or worse. If you enjoy wallowing in misery as much as Hours of Worship do, indulge yourself for a while.

Rating: Very Good
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: PCM
Label: Worship the Dead
Website: hoursofworship.bandcamp.com
Releases Worldwide: October 31st, 2024

#2024 #35 #AmericanMetal #DarkAmbient #DeathDyingVolII #DepecheMode #Gothic #HoursOfWorship #JoyDivision #None #NotMetal #Oct24 #Review #Reviews #WorshipTheDead

40 Watt Sun – Little Weight Review

By GardensTale

“If [Warning’s Watching from a Distance] was the act of capturing a funeral march, and The Inside Room was the first few hours of sadness that lingers after the wake wraps up, then Wider is the first year of longing and sadness that follows.” This is how Grymm characterized the trajectory of Patrick Walker’s projects in his review of 40 Watt Sun’s sophomore album. The metaphor has stuck with me ever since, as great metaphors tend to do. 2022’s Perfect Light, then, slotted in beautifully as the first hope that the grief may pass, a first feeble ray of sunlight through a blanket of grey clouds. It appears Mr. Walker’s mental state has been improving, but how does that affect his music?

Little Weight continues the progression toward the light in true 40 Watt Sun fashion, with slow and thoughtful deliberation rendered in a blend of shoegaze and doom that has been stripped of almost all distortion. But after a career built on music about grief, pain and loss, this album is at last fully about love, gratitude and healing. Instead of a feeble ray, now the sunlight pours in through the open window, mites of dust twinkling in the beams on a blissful autumn afternoon. ‘Who am I to feel so strong?’ Walker croons across the opening chords of “Closer to Life.” Opener “Pour Your Love” revels in a newfound sense of affection, as does the tender “Feather” with its repeated stanza ‘If I could reach these arms, winding out forever, I will.’ Walker’s voice remains a study in the dissemination of emotion, not beautiful from a technical standpoint but wrought with such heartfelt honesty I buy his every word and every feeling completely and utterly.

The shift in lyrical tone is accompanied by an appropriate shift in the music. 40 Watt Sun always played with empty space and silence as a means to deepen the sense of loss and absence befitting its themes. Little Weight is richer, warmer, and textured more thickly with stacked layers of guitars forming a gently lapping ocean surf of melancholic comfort. Though its pace remains patient and deliberate, the tracks are notably less protracted than before, moving away from the compositional emptiness expressed on the predecessors and toward a sort of relative conciseness.1 This conciseness makes Little Weight both the most diverse and accessible album in the band’s discography. Subtle backing vocals emphasize the love in the opener; a melancholic twang pervades “Astoria”; “Half a World Away” makes its mark through a beautiful, breathtaking piece of guitar. The individual identity of each track is much stronger than it’s ever been, and the album is all the better for it.

There are no particular weak points on Little Weight in my view; at least, not more than nitpicks. Though the back half of “The Undivided Truth” is undeniably gorgeous, it takes a minute or two too long to get there, and some tracks lack a proper ending (“Pour Your Love” drops this ball in particular). Most of all, though, 40 Watt Sun is simply a very niche band. It asks for patience, to buy into the slow minimalism, and with Walker’s voice such a prominent feature, a lot hinges on whether his tear-stricken performance connects with you or not. This vocal-centric approach is a feature, not a bug, as the thoughtful production frequently emphasizes, but the full textures and warm sound are mastered perfectly across the entire running time.

If 40 Watt Sun hooks you the way it hooked me back in 2016, though, Little Weight is an experience unlike any other. It’s not metal, and it does not have a very metal attitude with its melancholic sense of contentment, but it’s a new evolution of an incredibly idiosyncratic outfit that forges its own path with serenity and wonder grown from pain and loss. It gives me a sense of spiritual fulfillment few records have achieved, with each of the 6 tracks a new emotional highlight. Patrick Walker and his crew demonstrate that when grief and loss fall behind, love and beauty can still ache just the same.

Rating: 4.0/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kb/s mp3
Label: Fisher’s Folly
Websites: 40wattsunmusic.bandcamp.com | 40wattsun.co.uk | facebook.com/40wattsun
Releases Worldwide: September 6th, 2024

#2024 #40 #40WattSun #BritishMetal #DoomMetal #FisherSFolly #LittleWeight #NotMetal #Review #Reviews #Sep24 #Shoegaze #Warning

The Mercury Impulse – Records of Human Behaviour Review

By Thus Spoke

Drone is an exceptionally difficult genre to analyse. By its very nature, it resists structure, memorability, and conciseness; its forms are indiscrete; monotony is a feature. Chicago duo The Mercury Impulse intensify and deepen this trait by channelling their drone through a noisy medium with a subtle undercurrent of dark ambient. Debut Records of Human Behaviour thus stands as a kind of mood music indifferent to musical norms and tangible emotions. A duo of musicians known for Wrekmeister Harmonies and BLOODYMINDED respectively, the pedigree behind The Mercury Impulse is one of harsh, uncompromisingly shrouded sound steeped in atmosphere. But here they take it to a whole new level, implementing compositional notions from ambient and post-metal worlds in a way that makes them almost unrecognisable as anything more tangible than amorphous smoke.

Records of Human Behaviour is so subtle that it’s hard to talk about, and hard even to listen to attentively. So hazy and indistinct throughout, that my partner thought I was listening to some trendy binaural white noise when he walked in on one occasion. So monotonous that it borders on the truly hypnotic (in the sense of being sleep-inducing). Relatively long track lengths, and a predisposition to recurring, simplistic patterns give the impression of infinity, only further enhanced by the extreme levels of ebbing, flowing feedback. An ideal backdrop for focusing at work perhaps; a nightmare to deliver your full attention to. Noise and drone aren’t typically known for being exciting, so I won’t use the “b”-word. Yet the album delivers so little in the way of anything that even my notes are sparse after many drawn-out, toneless listens.

This is not to say that there are zero things to praise here. Sometimes the quiescence provides a stage for beauty, as agonisingly soft chords of synth play a delicate, muffled refrain over a trembling, bassy ground (“Remanded to the Back of a Mirror,” “Infinite Repetition”). Sometimes also, the burr of omnipresent noise allows the spectres of dissonant notes to jab and ring to genuinely unsettling effect (“Keeping My Second Self Invisible,” “I Heard the Earth Falling”). And close listening at several points will be rewarded by a powerful sense of dread, (“Keeping…,” “Remanded…”) closer in its gut-clenching grip to dissonant death metal than anything in the realm of electronica. In this vein, one can see how cuts like “Primitive Instincts” with its clipped, inaudible voice samples, and aggressively cold and buzzing “Miles of Smouldering Trash” cleave closer to an extreme metal template in many respects. Inherently dense and suffocating, the music is brought to new depth by a relatively spacious master which deepens the already abyssal lows, and brightens albeit without sharpening into clarity the jarring, uncomfortable highs.

But despite its dark, painfully cool aesthetic, Records of Human Behaviour as a whole is a mass that swallows its distinctive passages and ultimately leaves an inappropriately light impact. “Keeping my Second Self Invisible” and “Primitive Instincts” are both unsettling, but while the former has just enough edge to be interesting, the latter is almost instantly grating. Other cuts prove themselves to be quite aptly titled as their immobility (even relative to their peers) is suffocatingly tedious (“Behind Dull Glass,” “Lessons Of Apathy”). It’s easier to view the album favourably if one imagines it to be the soundtrack to a modern psychological horror. Then at least the crescendoing waves of dissonant synth (“Remanded…” “Lessons of Apathy”) and flickering hums of feedback (“Keeping…,” “I Heard…”) could associate themselves with brutal revelations and creeping tension. As a drone album, this might even be a fairer way to assess it. But ultimately, the music does not come with an accompanying film.

Tolerance for drone varies widely, and appreciation for Records of Human Behaviour will extend about as far as one’s patience for its stubborn understatedness. When even the most interesting tracks (“Remanded to the Back of a Mirror” and “Infinite Repetition”) grow a little stale before their time, there’s little to motivate repeated listens. If you’re a massive fan of drone, or want something to help you sleep, give it a spin, but this probably won’t be creating any converts for the genre, eerie though it can be.

Rating: Mixed
DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320kbps
Label: Self-Release
Website: Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: August 23rd, 2024

#25 #2024 #Ambient #AmericanMetal #Aug24 #Drone #Noise #NotMetal #RecordsOfHumanBehaviour #Review #Reviews #SelfReleases #TheMercuryImpulse

Lord Buffalo – Holus Bolus Review

By Cherd

Four long years ago, just at the onset of the Great Plague, in the face of uncertainty and anxious hand-wringing, I found myself agreeably distracted for the briefest of moments by Lord Buffalo’s sophomore LP Tohu Wa Bohu. These Austin, Texas boys culled fruit from the darker corners of Americana music and spat out an oaky mélange of gothic country-psych rock that spoke to the sullen farm boy in me. The Plague has since waned to a sniffle, but there’s still plenty of uncertainty and anxious hand-wringing when one surveys the news headlines. Can Lord Buffalo once again pull me away from doom scrolling long enough to fall under their Middle American spell? I’ll say this for them, they have a way with album titles. Tohu Wa Bohu is the Hebrew for the phrase “formless and empty” found in the book of Genesis. Meanwhile, Holus Bolus1 is an antiquated term that means “all at once.” Thankfully, the band is consistent in more than just obscure rhymes.

Many of the same influences from their earlier albums are still embedded on Holus Bolus. There’s the obligatory burnt offering at the altar of David Eugene Edwards, particularly his Wovenhand iteration, as well as Nick Cave, both for his work with the Bad Seeds and his excellent film scores with Warren Ellis. I noted in my review of Tohu Wa Bohu that one could hear hints of Timber Timbre in a song or two. That aspect of their sound has expanded on Holus Bolus, especially in the vocals of Daniel Jesse Pruitt. That said, Lord Buffalo has landed on a more cohesive sound on this outing, pruning the occasional rabbit trails down in favor of a compact compositional range and tying it all together with a warm but close-sounding production job absolutely saturated with off-kilter reverb of both instruments and vocals.

In my review four years ago, I expressed hope that Lord Buffalo’s next record would see them surpass the sum of their influences and hit on their own unique perspective. I’d say they’ve done so. They’ve leaned hard into the atmospheric side of their approach, upping both the Americana earthiness and trippy psychedelia. Case in point is the deceptively majestic “Malpaisano,” which starts as a languid, haunted country elegy before a heavily distorted keyboard and horn section elevates it to an otherworldly plane. Two songs later, a natural companion piece presents itself in “Cracks in the Vermeer.”2 Where the latter was almost a vignette of stately sadness, “Cracks in the Vermeer” is fleshed out into a full song, with a first half deeply depressive, yet gentle, giving way to a funereal chant and the darkest stretch of the album. It’s not all dolor and ennui on Holus Bolus, tho. The leadoff title track is a propulsive rock song full of banally apocalyptic imagery, from empty strip malls to prairie fire kindling. Meanwhile, second advance single “I Wait On the Door Slab” gathers the various threads of the album and binds them into six minutes of twisting gothic folk and doom rock. Each of these songs is a complete thought, as well as a brick in the lyrical wall Lord Buffalo builds across the album.

So far, so great, but as good as all this material is, I have a niggling issue with the overall album composition. This is a slight album, at just under 40 minutes. Not a problem in itself, but the two longest tracks are instrumentals. The first one, “Slow Drug,” fits the album’s mood and style wonderfully, with an odd swagger and heavily distorted vocal humming that integrates well with Holus Bolus’ other affectations. The problem is that it falls second in the track listing, derailing the momentum set by the fantastic opener. It would flow better later in the runtime. With one instrumental, and a good one, already under their belt, Lord Buffalo close with the seven-plus minute “Rowing In Eden,” which is unfortunately the one throwaway track on an otherwise stellar set of songs. It’s not bad on its own, tapping into the same haunted atmosphere as the rest of the album, but the time could have been better spent expanding the lyrical content of this missive on the American landscape at the twenty-first-quarter-century mark.

Lord Buffalo have taken a significant step forward forging their own take on the gothic Americana sound with Holus Bolus. That said, the album composition holds this back from becoming the jaw-dropping statement I’m now convinced they have in them. They remain an exciting contemporary of acts such as Wailin’ Storms and All Them Witches, and I’ll happily follow them wherever they go next.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Blues Funeral Recordings
Websites: lord-buffalo.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/lord.buffalo.band
Releases Worldwide: July 12th, 2024

#2024 #35 #AllThemWitches #AmericanFolkRock #Americana #BluesFuneralRecordings #DavidEugeneEdwards #FolkRock #GothicAmericana #HolusBolus #Jul24 #LordBuffalo #NickCave #NotMetal #Review #Reviews #TimberTimbre #WailinStorms #Wovenhand

Haunted Plasma – I Review

By Thus Spoke

There was something about Haunted Plasma’s debut, I, that just drew me in. Partly that art, which literally draws one’s eye inward towards its centre, a square of bright, unnatural light, the exit from a tunnel of clouds of similarly strange hue. Partly also its constituents—a trio of members from Oranssi Pazuzu, K-X-P, and Aavikko, plus guest vocalists—and blurb, promising music that would play upon the genres of krautrock, techno, and more, for a psychedelic and novel twist on electronica. This is not metal. But in its unusual, genre-defying progressiveness, it could be said to embody the spirit of the genre’s avant-garde offshoots, refusing to remain precisely one thing. It doesn’t really matter what you call it; what matters is how it feels to listen to. And I provides one with a lot to say in that regard.

Across five movements, I shapeshifts through a series of interpretations, within and between cuts. Moody electro-rock (“Reverse Engineer,”), gaze-y ambience (“Echoes”), synthwave techno (“Machines Like Us”), almost-noise, krautrock (“Haunted Plasma”). Not post-metal or post-rock, but post-everything, with an ethereal unreality to every passage, a dreamlike quality that’s discomfiting and pleasantly vibey in equal measure. It turns out that the album’s artwork is not the only vaguely mesmerising thing about it, as no matter how upbeat, groovy, or sinister it becomes, it remains hypnotically easy to listen to, and difficult to ignore despite its pretensions to fade into a soundscape of your new normal, at the extremes of its structurelessness. If there is a true common thread, its this sense of being inside I; as though one has stepped through the bizarre orange portal and is free-falling, carelessly, through whatever exists on the other side.

Through gracefully subtle evolution, Haunted Plasma pull in the listener irrecoverably. Each song builds layers of noise, synth, vocals, guitars. Ringing, distorted refrains blur the lines between physical and synthetic instrumentation, just as the echo of a once prominent voice, or note makes indistinct the true leader of the piece, and heightens tension to a anticipatory hum. Opener “Reverse Engineer” entices with a gradually manifesting canvas of enigmatic droning, ringing, mournful notes, and the ever-more assertive voice of Mat McNerney (Hexvessel, Grave Pleasures), rising to the oddly affecting “tell us what we want//give us what want” and falling back on the repeated threat of “technology of power.” This layered slow-burn is in an incredible way to set the stage for what follows, immersing its audience in its obscure, moody world of vibrating suspense, bleeding with eerie groove. This expectation is met in full. “Machines Like Us” smashes any idea of continued slow, stalking smokiness in favour of a spiralling voyage of glittering synths, flickering like light from every direction. “Echoes” is almost painfully pure, ethereally shoegazey beside its more violent, effortlessly efficient partner “Spectral Embrace,” but the two nonetheless belong to the same realm. The latter reflects, in the most “metal” vocal performance of barbed, dissonantly-pitching vocals, paired with an uncomfortably irresistible drum pattern, that bubble up in “Machines Like Us” and “Haunted Plasma”, just as “Echoes” echoes the endlessly shrouded pulse of the opener, and which emanates from every second of every song.

It is because I is just that compelling that it becomes difficult to find meaningful criticism—so easy is it to fall into its weird, pacifying embrace. Closer, “Haunted Plasma,” at just under thirteen minutes, is a behemoth that like its brothers builds until it’s an undulating series of circling noise, strange female vocals (Ringer Manner of The Hearing), and clipped, buzzing guitar lines, each a part of the tapestry, so slick it happens as much behind your back as in front of your ears and eyes. And I can’t decide whether it’s genius or not, to end what is not a very long album with a fully instrumental track that is so long, and yet, so confidently executed and just as immersive as anything that came before. Part of me wants to think I just don’t “get it,” while just as big a part feels just a little nonplussed. Disappointed that the finale fully gave in to the freeform non-conformity, and almost fizzles away in its eventual whistling synths, rather than going out with a bang. But maybe this was the only way I could end.

Whatever my feelings, or as the promo blurb puts it, “[w]hether you want to give in […] or not,” Haunted Plasma have created something that I couldn’t ignore even if I wanted to. Drawing me back incessantly, I had better be what it implies, the first of many expressions from the avant-garde trio. Because they’re haunting me now; and I kind of love it.

Rating: Great
DR: 5 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Svart Records
Websites: Bandcamp | Facebook
Released Worldwide: May 31st, 2024

#2024 #40 #ElectroRock #HauntedPlasma #I #Krautrock #May24 #NotMetal #PsychedelicMetal #Review #Reviews #SvartRecords

Kati Rán – Sála Review

By Twelve

Neofolk is a special style of art. It encompasses the achingly simple to portray stunning complexity. Everything is done with earnest emotion, and often the onus is on the artist not to simply entertain, but to transport the listener, through time, through places, and through very states of being. When I first learned of Kati Rán and her debut full-length release Sála, I was heartened by a single line in its promo copy: “Recorded in a barn in Húsafell, Iceland”—and I didn’t read further. Authenticity is at the heart of every excellent neofolk album, and “recorded in a barn in Iceland” is arguably as authentic as it gets. How does Sála deliver on this promising foundation?

Sála is an expansive album, both in size and scope, which allows Kati Rán plenty of opportunity to showcase her exceptional abilities as a musician and songwriter. Dense layers of traditional instrumentation (I’m aware of a cello, nyckelharpa, and kravik lyre, but there is surely more than that) make way for soaring vocals and choruses, while rhythmic percussion propels the listener forward into its oceanic tales based in Norse mythology. Certainly, this is the case for the album opener and title track, a seven-minute foray that’s almost cinematic in its vision, thanks in no small part to exceptional choral singing, a feature that will be a recurring theme throughout the album. Sála also sees several guest appearances, including members from Gaahls Wyrd, Heilung, Gealdýr, and Völuspá. The result is an album that is incredibly ambitious, but again, with a very promising foundation.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the best moments of Sála are the most emotional ones, and it’s here that Kati Rán’s vocal performance shines. In particular, “Himinglæva” is a stunningly beautiful showcase of her talent, both when singing in English and Icelandic. It treads the fine line between “too slow” and “too emotional” expertly, and acts as an album highlight. On the slightly speedier side of things, “Kólga | 16” uses phenomenal acoustic touches to augment another cinematic performance that takes the listener straight into the stories that inspired it. At its fastest pace, “Segið Mér” chants, pounds, and orchestrates its way into some of the most memorable moments of Sála, at times reminding of Eluveitie’s Evocation albums. Across the album, Kati Rán demonstrates more and more sides to her sound, keeping the listener guessing and alert right through to the last song.

I’ve talked a lot about how Sála is brilliant and expansive in its scope, but its size is another story. With thirteen tracks, there is already a lot to digest here, but the fact that the album clocks in at eighty minutes makes it a lot to take in, and unfortunately prone to wandering. In particular, “Blodbylgje” slams the brakes on Sála’s exceptional start—sixteen minutes long and slow, the song itself is lovely, but awkwardly placed in terms of the album’s flow. The ten-minute-long “Unnr | Mindbeach” is less of a culprit, but does have some meandering moments as a result of its similarly comparatively slow pace. There is a truly exceptional album inside Sála, but as it is presented, it’s hard not to think that there was an opportunity for a leaner, more focused journey here.

I cannot stress enough, however, that there are no bad songs or moments on Sála—or, indeed, that this is one of the strongest debuts I can remember hearing in a while. Kati Rán absolutely delivers in creating a moving, powerful, and memorable album that stands among those of her most talented contemporaries. It is clear that this is the result of a long effort of care and devotion, and I can only hope that the journey does not end here. I need more of this music in my life.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 8 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Svart Records
Websites: kati-ran.com | ranarvegr.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/ran.musician
Releases Worldwide: May 24th, 2024

#2024 #35 #DutchMetal #Eluveitie #GaahlsWYRD #Gealdýr #Heilung #IcelandicMetal #KatiRán #May24 #Neofolk #NotMetal #Review #Reviews #Sála #SvartRecords #Völuspá

Jean-Michel Jarre: Starmus - Bridge from the Future

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GzjG95rB96Q

#NotMetal

The Dread Crew of Oddwood – Rust & Glory Review

By Twelve

We’re no strangers to “pirate metal” ’round these parts, are we? There’s just something about the enduring and relatable ideals of pirate-themed music that we at Angry Metal Guy universally love, commenters, readers, and writers alike. I’ve opened my review with this entirely uncontroversial statement as a way to share with you my own excitement when I received the promo copy for Rust & Glory, the fifth full-length release for the U.S.-based pirate musicians that make up The Dread Crew of Oddwood. As was the case with Lawful Evil, you’ll find no metal here, but rather an acoustic delight designed to appeal to metal fans… and appeal it does.

The core of Rust & Glory’s appeal—apart from the obvious pirate theme—is just how rich it is1 in its composition. It would be easy enough to pick up a couple of acoustic guitars and start jamming about piracy, but instead, The Dread Crew of Oddwood augment their fantastical tales with mandolins, banjo, concertina (Deckard Cordwain), tin whistles, bouzouki (Stark Cordwain), piano, harpsichord, accordion, flutes (Wolfbeard O’Brady), and a hurdy-gurdy (Anny Murhpy of Cellar Darling and formerly Eluveitie, in a guest spot). The result is incredibly lush instrumentation that does a stellar job making up for the “missing” metal elements. Behind the drumkit, Pistol(s) Pete clearly wasn’t told—or doesn’t care—that the band isn’t actually playing metal and does a fantastic job of tying everything together in that style. It would remind of The Gentle Storm, especially in its terrific mix and master, except, of course, that Arjen Lucassen never wrote that he’ll “kick Poseidon in the balls and be forever free” (“Leather Ship”). So there is that.

Yes, the pirate influence is everywhere, and it’s in that Alestorm-y style of adventure, misadventure, and drinking. “Give Me Your Beer” is a prime example, with its exceptionally straightforward chorus that Steel Druhm would undoubtedly approve of (“Hey, you! Give me your beer!”), though the use of whistles and flutes is what really sells the song for me. Then there’s “The Apple,” a gloriously upbeat ode to adventure, contrasting the tragically funny “Lost Comrades,” a call-and-repeat tavern ballad that shows off the vocal skills and styles of, well, everyone. That’s another superbly pirate-y thing The Dread Crew of Oddwood has going for them—everyone contributes vocals, including most of the guest musicians. Whether in the form of hoarse growls, in the style of Alestorm, singing, or choral singing/shouting, everyone is joining in, giving the impression of a crew of pals singing sea shanties together to pass the time. In this way, the acoustic nature of the band is perfectly on-theme.

One of the most interesting elements of Rust & Glory is something I’ve already mentioned—that the album is almost certainly written to appeal to fans of folk metal. Album opener “Lawful Evil” hits the ground running in this way, with a fast-paced tune and a catchy chorus in the vein of Ensiferum—big and memorable and shouting “Lawful evil!” a lot. It’s almost too metal, highlighting the “missing” electric elements, which is a funny thing to say because The Dread Crew of Oddwood really don’t need them. “Squall of Death” handles this a bit better by making the folk instruments the focus atop a speedy series of really fun themes, but there’s still an occasional sense of something missing. It’s a funny critique to offer born purely from my own musical tastes and subsequent expectations, but it’s also one of the only critiques I have.

Rust & Glory is a fun album. The Dread Crew of Oddwood show no signs of slowing down on album five, and instead seem to be creeping closer and closer to perfecting their “heavy mahogany” style of music. This is an album that will worm its way into your head and get stuck there, one that keeps you smiling to yourself and getting kicked off of trains because you keep shouting the lyrics aloud by accident. If you’re here looking for serious music, you’ll have to go somewhere else—preferably to grab a beer, come straight back, and start singing along.

Rating: 3.5/5.0
DR: 9 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3
Label: Self-Released
Websites: thedreadcrewofoddwood.com | thedreadcrewofoddwood.bandcamp.com | facebook.com/thedreadcrewofoddwood
Releases Worldwide: March 15th, 2024

#2024 #35 #Acoustic #Alestorm #AmericanMetal #CellarDarling #Eluveitie #Ensiferum #FolkMetal #NotMetal #Review #Reviews #RustGlory #SelfReleased #TheDreadCrewOfOddwood #TheGentleStorm

Cloud People – Simulacra Review

By Iceberg

One thing I really admire about The Administration here at AMG is their willingness to allow us writers to explore what exists on the fringes of metal. Some of my most memorable finds over the years—before the onset of my indentured servitude—have carried tags like not-metal, folk, or synth wave. Norwegian musical collective Cloud People claim to draw inspiration from jazz, electronica, and metal, and have decided to submit their album Simulacra to these hallowed halls for mild praise or summary execution. I generally approve of genre-bending in my music, but the danger lies in making sure that the end result feels cohesive and not simply a mashup for mashup’s sake. A word to the wise: what follows is neither angry nor particularly metal. If this doesn’t send you running for the door I invite you to don a tinfoil hat and keep an eye on the skies with Simulacra.

Simulacra is an instrumental album for all intents and purposes; the only credited vocals are wordless harmonies on “Area 91” and a series of samples—of unconfirmed authenticity—contributing to the overall theme of conspiracies and UFO lore. Jazz fusion and synthwave are the primary styles herein, but the latter forms the backbone of the music. Boasting two different synth players and a keyboardist who doubles on saxophone—essentially a trve instrument these days—the majority of the musical material here is delivered via waves and swells. There are echoes of Vangelis and Tangerine Dream in the patch choices; buzzy, distending tones that threaten to overpower the texture before receding into the background (“Intro,” “Chemtrails”). Notably, there is no credited bass player, as the rhythm section seems to consist of drummer Fredrik Mekki Widerøe, guitarist Morten Olsen, and the odd synth player whose left hand is free to add some low end to the riff. This is no discredit to the band, indeed the opposite; the driving, pulsating grooves of the drum kit and low synths provide propulsion for practically the entire album.

For what seems to be a debut album, there are a lot of elements clicking for Cloud People. The aforementioned rhythm section delivers funk-inflected grooves and washy half-time rhythms that keep the music prickly and vibrant (“Chemtrails,” “Area 91,” “Project Blue Beam”). A couple of these tracks even veer into a sonic territory I can only describe as Flight of the Conchords sans vocals, which I think is more a compliment than a detraction (“Pandora’s Hoax,” “Element 115”). Cloud People do an admirable job of sticking to their conceit; this album leans hard into conspiracy theories from UFO coverup (“Area 91”), to one-world religion (“Project Blue Beam”), and the always entertaining lizard-people (“Pandora’s Hoax”). Add that to the ubiquitous synths and the funky jam-band rhythm section, Simulacra is a chimera of a musical experience that makes for an entertaining, tongue-in-cheek listen.

While the opening two tracks prove Cloud People can find a deep pocket to work their magic, subsequent tunes fail to provide variety, and this is Simulacra’s downfall. For a band with multiple keyboardists, it seemed I was hearing synth patches from the same family over and over again. I felt the same about the drum parts as well; professionally executed—these are great grooves—but consistently staying in the same, safe zone. Except closer “Cover Up,” a refreshingly uptempo number, Simulacra exists in this mid-tempo trance that blurs the definition between it’s individual parts. Tracks whose repetitive riffs should evoke hypnosis end up sounding more jam band than fusion (“Hollow Moon,” “Element 115”). The spoken word samples do a nice job of breaking up the homogeneity—“Project Blue Beam” especially—but one can’t help but think more vocals or different lead instruments may have brought more depth to the picture. Normally a 44-minute LP should land right in the runtime sweet spot, but without differentiation in instrumentation, tempo or song construction the album feels like it’s run out of ideas well before it’s finished.

I’ve come away from Simulacra with a lot of hope for Cloud People. They’re competent musicians capable of constructing infectious rhythm-driven compositions, with a clear vision of their desired sound world. The next step is broadening that world and bolstering their musical toolbox; throwing in some metal wouldn’t hurt either. Until then, fans of synthwave, jazz fusion, or those needing a break from croaks and brees might take a look into this album, you may be surprised at what you find.

Rating: 2.5/5.0
DR: 7 | Format Reviewed: 256 kb/s mp3
Label: Apollon Records | Bandcamp
Websites: facebook.com | Bandcamp
Releases Worldwide: March 1, 2024

#25 #2024 #ApollonRecords #CloudPeople #Electronica #FlightOfTheConchords #JazzFusion #Mar24 #NorwegianMetal #NotMetal #Review #Reviews #Simulacra #Synthwave #TangerineDream #Vangelis

#NotMetal but what I needed this morning.
#ElectronicMusic #KarlCasey

New EP from Karl Casey

https://songwhip.com/karlcasey/army-of-darkness