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Listen: Meshuggah – I

Now, I’ve heard some heavy songs.

The first time I heard Metallica’s ‘One’ on headphones as a kid, I felt I was literally inVietnam, frenzied and overwhelmed.

In my first experience with The Beatles’ ‘I Want You (She’s So Heavy),’ I was nearly comatose in the absorption of apocalyptic drone and the fuzzed out march of death (though the brownies might have aided in that).

But as this decade comes to a close, I’ve got to say that Meshuggah’s track (and EP of the same name) ‘I’ takes the cake as not only the heaviest song ever recorded, but perhaps the heaviest song that can be recorded. If you haven’t heard it yet, throw on your headphones, hit the LaLa button above, and sit back. You’re in for a ride.

‘I’ is the sound of everything going haywire. It is a journey through the forthcoming era of machine dominance, when man transcends his own biology and merges with technology. And ‘I’ is when it all goes wrong.

Not only that, but the song is practically self-aware. Just when you think a section within it’s 21 minutes are getting slightly dull, it blindsides you over the head with a drop deeper into the chasm. The floor falls out from under you, and the 8 string guitar pummels you into a bouncing pit. ‘I’ knows your thoughts, and how to fuck directly with them.

The song is unquestionably a studio piece. There was never any intention of performing this behemoth live, and it likely wouldn’t even be possible. The sheer force of this thing lies in the production itself.

Now there are certainly other kinds of heavy. High on Fire, Electric Wizard, and Ufomammut come from a completely different world of heaviness, and are totally badass for doing so. But for my pick of heaviest song possible, I’m the technology of production in mind. Meshuggah know how to produce modern metal (few do, it seems…), created for the listener.

And for the observant listener, they stuck little easter eggs in the track too.

The intro is exactly 1:32 of pummeling drums and chugging riffs. Not 1:30. Not even 1:31. But 1:32. That’s the nature of the Swedish sense of ironic and absurd humor.
Look at your music players little ball to see that they placed the very heaviest riff at exactly halfway through the song.
The song is 21 minutes long. 20 would be too easy. 22 is right out.
Have a listen.

But just know that if you can’t make it all the way through, Meshuggah wins.

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Maybe I’ve been to too many death metal shows.

Maybe I’ve been too funked by to much funk.

But when I see a band completely killing it, throwing their all into their music, the sound actually moving, I need to move myself.

That’s why I was completely flummoxed to see the four guys in Baroness exude more energy than the entire crowd at last night’s Clutch / Baroness show at the Regency Ballroom in San Francisco.

Granted, Baroness’ brand of progressive stoner metal (a bit of an oxymoron, yes) isn’t geared toward the uninitiated. Their syncopated grooves, shifting hits of time signature, and hoarse bellows from the more scenic areas of the underworld aren’t exactly crafted for your average rock and roll booze hound.

But it was still a shock to barely see any movement in the crowd for John Dyer Baizley’s poppy scented rock band, considering that Clutch’s terminally obsessed fans came out that night for big guitars, loud drums, and big balled howling.

Which, to be sure, Clutch later brought in spades. From the two vintage Marshall half stacks on the guitar side, to the giant kick drums and massive groove of Jean-Paul Gaster’s drum kit, Clutch screamed rock and roll, and the crowd adored their no nonsense jam.

I, on the other hand, need a bit of nonsense to keep my attention, which Clutch soon didn’t. I couldn’t help but thinking that if I owned my own bar, Clutch would be my perfect Saturday night house band. Or at least a good chunk of my jukebox would slosh in the beer soaked grooves they were throwing at the crowd.

But I’ve always had trouble sitting down to listen to a Clutch album. As good a singer as Neil Fallon is (and he most certainly is a fantastic wordsmith and howler), very rarely does he actually sing a real melody. And as good as a riff monster Tim Sult is (and he most certainly is a riff monster), he rarely plays anything that really piques my interest. He’s not a Tony or a Jimmy; he lays down a fat groove, but he doesn’t do it with the soul burning fire that a rock band this capable, this potent, should be secreting from every pore.

The mighty Baroness however, perhaps with that essential intensity of a young, talented upstart, threw out their all and probably won some new fans. But it’s going to take a little dulling of their musical razor if they want to really win over Clutch’s sycophantic obsessives.

Hopefully there’ll be an open bar at the next Clutch show.

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Yes, I’ve already written a little dP blast about the Ozric Tentacles, and for good measure.  They’ve been consistently swirly for over 25 years now, and eternally fueled by hallucinogenic globs of mind stuff, will probably keep up their long trip for years to come.

Last night was their second show of their newest tour in support of The Yum Yum Tree, and while the crowd was notably sparser than their last stays in San Francisco, it was nonetheless a joyful one.  An encore was demanded by the crowd with a furor I haven’t heard in years.

While the band is led by the “man, the myth,” Ed Wynne, it is really Ed’s wife Brandi Wynne who, in managing the low end and sound spirals, is the head honcho (in poncho).  Her exuberant grins when the music spirals into infinity, and her jubilant jumping when drummer Ollie Seagle is on a roll (which he was at many times last night), fuel the fire and keep the music beaming.

Though it is still Ed that keeps the music ablaze.  With his unlabeled Marshall stack pointed directly at him, and his litany of keythings to his side, he is an unabashed musical control center, guiding his band through colors unimaginable, into worlds unknown.  The bits between the bits, indeed.

This is psychedelic, hallucinogenic music.  While the experience is certainly enhanced by the consumption of leafy greens, smelly fruits, or a chemical supplement, the music essentially provides this itself.  A great deal of audience members had their eyes closed and their heads tilted back while the Ozric Tentacles shredded their heads away.

Many bands combine dub, electronic, techno, trance and psych (Younger Brother, EOTO, Shpongle, to name a few), but the Ozrics have always had the wild card of Ed Wynne’s complete mastery over the electric guitar.  Had Frank Zappa actually done drugs, he would have very likely come up with something like the Ozric Tentacles.  You can see the same smile of Ed’s face when everything is going to plan as Zappa had when his band was on a roll and it was time to take a blast into solo land.

I do need to point out one hilarious moment of the gig.  After snapping a string on his Ibanez JEM, he had to replace it for his trusty Artist at one point in the night.  However, later in the set, he went to pick up his guitar for the next song, and grabbing the JEM, forgetting what had happened.  It took about 20 seconds and a knowing glance from his wife before he noticed the guitar was crippled.  It was a hilarious moment for all, but just goes to show you that a quarter decade of living in the ether can take it’s toll.

This current group of the family Wynne and friends is certainly a psychdelic squad of the swirly, and, even after 26 albums, has no end in sight.  I raise a glass of soma, and toast the 25 anniversary of the Ozrics!

The Ozric Tentacles new album, The Yum Yum Tree, is now available.

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Since the first time I saw Grails, opening for Neurosis, I’ve been smitten. It could easily be said that I celebrate their entire catalog. Over the years, the band has engaged in a fair deal of label hopping, with releases on Neurot, Important, Southern (Latitudes Series), and most recently Temporary Residence.  Acid Rain serves as a nice retrospective of their career, including highlights from their hazy 2004 tour of Europe, CMJ performance in 2006 and a full NYC set from 2007.

 The real highlight though are the six original videos, edited by drummer extraordinaire Emil Amos. Basically a cross of 70’s cult cinema and cosmic imagery, these moving images provide the perfect accompaniment to Grails spacey sounds. I don’t know when Mr. Amos had the time to put this together, as the man is constantly involving himself in various duties. When not manning the drums for Grails, he’s behind the kit alongside Al Cisneros in ritual drone outfit Om. And since that’s not enough to keep a person busy, Emil also records solo projects under the moniker Holy Sons. Not a dud among all his works. 

But enough with the idol worship.  Medicate, check out the teaser below, and feed your brain Grails.

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This year’s Bay to Breakers event was an experiment. We didn’t quite know if floats were legit; we didn’t quit know if drinking in public was legit; we didn’t know if general good times were legit.

Fortunately for everyone involved, the party was legit, and we all raged like Paul Baloff would have wanted.

The song that was blasting throughout my brain throughout was Ozric Tentacles’ trance masterpiece, ‘Waterfall Cities’. Goddamn, I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face listening to this one, blasting through town on my bike on my way up to the Panhandle to party.

The Ozric Tentacles are a unique band – they go from the most minimal ambient swirly psychedelic jams to the highest grade slammin dub blast party bombs you’ve ever wanted to hear, all in a live band. Forget vocals, the Ozrics don’t waste their time in providing exactly what your dome needs to hear. Waterfall Cities is one of the best comps they’ve brought to us in their 29 album career (and yes, they’re all good).

The title track on Waterfall Cities kicked my ass on my way to Bay to Breakers and kept my bouncing all day. It was an epic event this year for me, and I can imagine it was for you too. In fact, if it’s Sunday and you’re reading this, then you haven’t quite broken the bay yourself, haven’t you?

Check Ozric Tentacles new album “The Yum Yum Tree” out now, but really catch them at ‘The Independent’ in San Francisco on May 27th.

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These days music gets pigeon-holed into ever shifting and newly created genres that have no underlying meaning.  Every band is tagged post and hyphens abound. What was once just metal, became black metal, then blackened something. Are they atmospheric too (a fancy way of saying has keyboards). Oh yes, let’s also create US and “true” European factions. Corpse paint or not? Defining a metal band’s genre has now become more difficult than buying a car.

I’m going to skip all that nonsense for Velnias. The band has its roots firmly planted in black metal, but have evolved into something far greater. Their demo “Pacing The Cyclic” was pretty straight forward an uneventful; A satisfying listen that presented nothing new. The full length debut “Sovereign Nocturnal,” on God is myth records, is a different beast all together.

The album contains three tracks, and runs over 40 minutes.  Even though they are only a three piece, there are long brooding passages, evoking a sense of a moonlit forest, and the spirits within. The easiest comparisons would be Wolves in the Throne Room and Agalloch. Its certainly a challenging listen, but very rewarding. The album clearly invokes the underlying message of the band; that we are temporary. Everything we have built will eventually crumble, and we will be returned to the soil. In this track based society, not many bands spend the effort to craft an album. This is not the case here, and those who spend the time with the album will certainly reap the rewards.  When asked what the phrase “Sovereign Nocturnal” meant to him, singer/guitarist P.J.V. replied:

“Aside from an homage to the majesty of the all consuming nocturnal hours it is an outlook on the state of things. It is a personal feeling that the falling of night– the coming of dark times is inevitable and absolute. Our lives entrusted to this fragile way of being shall soon fall cold as things collapse. If it is not by physical destruction on some scale then it shall come through our fixation on this industrialized and globalized way of life. We lose sight of the things that matter, forget the struggles of our past, and spit in the face of the natural world for misguided goals and beliefs. We are left stabbing each other in the back, climbing over brother and sister, with complete disregard for true strength, honor, or virtue. The incestuous orgy of greed and corruption breeds corporate titans of calculated efficiency racing, full force towards inevitable death in the material wasteland we have created for ourselves.”

Amen. I had the privilege of catching the band live at the Hemlock Tavern with about 20 other people, and I was well impressed. Their set lasted around an hour, without pause or break. Much like the album the songs all intertwined and created something much greater. I am told the band will soon be moving from Chicago to Colorado, to be closer to nature. May they continue to draw strength from the forest and build off of this release.

P.S. In Slavic mythology, Velnias is the God of evil, and the brother of the creator God Dievas…

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Samothrace is an island off the coast of Greece most famous for the ruins of its temple complex, commonly known as The Sanctuary of the Gods. At this site a whole cult of mystery was born, complete with rituals, an annual fest, and sacred dramas involving the gods of the underworld. Sounds like the original Wacken Open Air Festival.

Greece is a long way from Lawrence, Kansas home of dooooooooomsters Samothrace. My original intention was to poke fun at Lawrence, but turns it’s a college town (University of Kansas), and is the only city in Kansas that prohibits discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation. Seems like a pretty reasonable city in a sea of corn.

It would be unfair to label these guys as just another doom band. There are touches of post-rock flair,  Midwestern blues riffs, funeral doom tempos (think Asunder), and the desolation of “The Eye of Every Storm” era Neurosis. “Circle” by Esoteric also came to mind while listening as there are clear similarities (thanks for the tip Mr. Rocco). I can’t help but feel that they are true fans, filling a void and crafting songs that they want to hear.

Their debut, “Life’s Trade” is essentially one sprawling work, 4 songs covering nearly 50 minutes, with no clear boundaries between. If I had to choose, I would say that “Cacophony” is the strongest track, particularly the build and dual guitar release at the tail end. Throw in some amazing art courtesy of the official pen of doom, David D’Andrea, and this album was one of the finest of 2008.

20 Buck Spin has found another winner, showing once again their ear for the great. We will at some point have reviews of the entire catalog posted, so stay tuned. It rare to hear such a remarkable debut, and I do not hesitate to say that this is a band I will be watching closely. Now excuse me while I get back to my Greek mythology while I anxiously await a follow-up.

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The internet has been a godsend to artists obscure and freaky.  Once relegated to the dustbins of the macabre music stores, they’ve been released and vindicated by the fans they’ve always potentially had, but have never been exposed to.

But there are downsides to this digital web we weave.  The luster of picking up the the newest or most interesting looking record from the shelf, flipping through the sprawling gate-fold sleeve, beholden to the artists whim as you’re guided upon an unexpected journey has been lost upon the download generation.

It’s too easy to p2p a leak, distracted as you skip around through tracks and playlists.  The original artistic ideal of the creator is lost upon many, if not most of today’s listeners.

This very sentiment has been expressed in numerous ways in the music and direction of Steven Wilson.  His monolithic releases though his flagship band Porcupine Tree, and through his numerous, more experimentally tinged side-projects like Bass Communion, No-Man, and The Incredible Expanding Mindfuck, have always been meant to be taken as one complete deluxe package.  He has written anti-isolationist concept records, blissful dream pop, and all-encompassing sonic assaults.  But it’s his newest record, Insurgentes, the first to be released under his own name, that finally encompasses everything Steven Wilson is.

Unfortunately for this adventure, Insurgentes starts off rather blandly.  Harmony Korine, a non-tribute to the abstract surrealist film director, isn’t quite as abstract or surrealist one would hope.  As the most Porcupine Tree-like song on the album, it does serve to draw in the casual listener or semi-fan, but other than that, it’s lack of dynamics and sonic interest don’t do much to whet the whistle.

Things get more interesting just as Steven decides to be.  Abandoner and Salvaging both start off rather meekly and open, drifting the listener on sonic worlds both unexpected and terrifying.  Venemo Para Las Hadas, in giving homage The Sky moves Sideways, a former release of Porcupine Tree, keeps to the ethereal in vocal loops and colorful textures.

The highlight of the record is easily the penultimate track, Get All You Deserve.  It’s harrowing buildup from heartless desolation to obscene breakdown is not for the faint of heart.  It makes me even wonder if Steven Wilson needs a hug.

These descents from beauty to madness characterize much of Insurgentes, which truly is Steven’s all-encompassing homage to the schizophrenic and ADD-addled generation of todays youth, who cannot and will not sit still and enjoy.  By varying the sonic palate of the record and then typically destroying it, Steven Wilson not only welcomes their arrival, but forces them to sit down, shut up, and listen to music again.

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Before there was punk, there were The Monks. Before there was noise, there were The Monks. Before there was drone, there were The Monks. Before there were dudes onstage in robes, there were The Monks. Get the point? Basically these five GI’s altered the course of music, in the ugliest and most amazing manner possible, all without the use of heavy psychedelics! How influential were the monks? Well, they “discovered” feedback while practicing and decided that it was going to be a central part of their sound. Club owners were not pleased.

 

Keep in mind this is 1964, while the beatles are still wearing matching suits, crooning “I Want To Hold Your Hand” and prancing and preening like a bunch of poncy hairdressers. These gents are crafting ear-fucking tunes like “Shut Up” and “I Hate You.” It is said that the mighty Hendrix himself first saw the wah pedal in use during a Monks show. And if all this wasn’t enough, they were also the first band crafting anti-military jams before it was the easiest way to score poontang outside of alcohol. But like all good things, they were paved over and we’re stuck with the Rolling Stones. Burn your “History of Punk” books, folks listen to this record Your perceptions of how heavy, loud, ugly music came to be may never be the same.

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I hate drum circles.  Which doesn’t make sense, because I really dig all the ingredients.  I love drums.  I love pot.  I love circles.  So it doesn’t make sense that I’m so annoyed by groups of stoners sitting in circles banging on drums.

Along comes Savannah, Georgia’s Kylesa, taking the circle out of the drum circle and replacing it with their own private blend of blunt forced sludge.  Paying homage to both King Crimson and King Buzzo, Static Tensions, the fourth LP by these deeply fried southerners, is their most realized and solid slab of slate so far.

The two drummer attack is the first thing you’ll notice when rocking this album on the cans, as you must, since this album was built be listened to in a hazy headphon’d state of mind.  Kylesa want you to think of them as the psychonauts of sludge, and they’re going to do what they can to pull you deep into their damp domain.  They’re not trying to attack you from all angles at once; Kylesa want to knead your dome downward into the soggy psychedelic swamp.

And they really hit you hard on this one.  The hard panned stereo drumming is only one part of the mix – the other concerns not just the heaviness of the rhythm guitars and bass, but also the three vocalists who deliver soft-edged bellowing on the frailty of life, the nature of synchronicity, and other surreal essences of time and space.  These are the existential pontifications that keep sane men insane at night, so it’s a good thing Kylesa provides a soundtrack worthy of thinking these goddamned lunatic thoughts they’re forcing on me.

There are some serious vibrations here on Static Tensions, the album that really define Kylesa as the badass group of badasses they’d been hinting at for years.  And it’s a good thing too, because otherwise, they’d just be moving in circles.

Drum on, metal hippies.  Drum on.

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