REVIEW: WASTER - PREY FOR US

Continuing my crusade for Canadian readership and also shouting out to my Twitter followers, I bring you Prey For Us, a two-song EP from Waster. Waster was one of the first bands to follow me on Twitter and I’ve been excited to cover this morsel o’ metal from the grand, icy North.

Based in Winnipeg, Waster play bearded, denim-clad metal for people who have never felt a hangover because they’ve never stopped drinking. While their previous release Thunder Pit had heavy doses of Nashville Pussy’s raw-dogging punk and southern-fried sludge, the two songs on Prey For Us focus slightly more on meaty, metallic riffing. Truth be told, Waster’s two newest tracks could fool lifelong fans of Pantera that these were lost cuts from The Great Southern Trendkill. Nick Wiebe is Phil Anselmo’s vocal doppleganger, attacking the mic with a brilliant performance. The Michael Fardoe/Harley Watt guitar tag-team keep the songs storming forward with serious momentum, apart from a slightly too-long harmonized bit of technical wizardry in the second minute of the title track. “At War” rages from the seething opening seconds to the final unaccompanied raspy scream, sneaking in bluesy flourishes and anthemic melody. It’s the perfect closing track for an EP: Concise, polished, and absolutely leaves the listener thirsty for more beer-drenched metal. I’m definitely looking forward to their next release, slated to kick our eager asses sometime in 2013.

I did notice that the Prey For Us album cover has American dollars flapping around the horned disciple, not Canadian. Not sure what they’re trying to say about the money in my pocket, but open your own wallets over at their Bandcamp, as they have both of their releases available as “Name Your Price” downloads:  http://waster.bandcamp.com/album/prey-for-us

And follow them on Facebook over at:  https://www.facebook.com/WASTERofficial

I also wanted to say this review was also inspired by a friend from Winnipeg who I met at the annual NYC Zombiecon. She’s currently hanging out with medicine men and becoming enlightened and all that hippie shit, but she laughs at my awful jokes sometimes so she’s not so bad I guess. Hope you’re doing well over there, zombie comrade.

REVIEW: BEYOND CREATION - THE AURA

I try not to obsess over traffic statistics for this site even though I am a numbers junkie, caused by years of playing Strat-O-Matic Baseball with my father and perusing obscure career stats from New York Mets bench players. That being said, I can’t help but notice that my readership in Canada is lower than my readership in Germany, despite the fact that I’ve covered bands across the great North while I’ve yet to review a German release. Enter Montreal’s Beyond Creation, who I’m relying on to make my Canadian readership EXPLODE and make me as popular as maple syrup, or whatever stereotypical treat my ignorant American ass relates to Canada.

Beyond Creation’s new album from Season of Mist, The Aura, is a fresh pulse of time-warping progressive death metal that should probably be traded person to person through a media format that hasn’t been invented yet, like transferrable brain chips or spinal download disks, which slide between vertebrae and fuse music directly with your neural system. Beyond Creation’s brand of next century’s technical death displays virtuosity without distracting from the songs, allowing ample room for exploration while the structures keep each track contained in its own definite universe. The music on The Aura is elastic and borderline aquatic in nature, swimming naturally from extra-terrestrial djent to finger-blurring death metal riffing to what I like to call “progressive space jams.” No, they do not feature the most dynamic basketball players of the 90s and WB cartoons, but they do have passages of radar-pinging guitars and a bass tone that sounds like the bellow of some intergalactic worm-whale while  resourceful drumming slyly twists beneath. But these are only brief escapes from Beyond Creation’s sinister pummel and mathematic trickery, brought to life through vastly impressive performances from the entire band. From Dominic 'Forest' Lapointe’s nimble bass work (which calls forth memories of Roger Patterson’s best work in Atheist) to Simon Girard’s on-point vocal attack to the Kevin Chartré/Girard tag-team guitar assault, this is top notch progressive death metal executed with spit, sweat, and whatever fluid will replace blood a thousand years in the future.

The only song that felt uninspired was “Omnipresent,” which shifts from mid-tempo chugging to a bastardized “Snakes For the Divine” riff. This is the only song that doesn’t hold up under multiple listens, as The Aura rips through uncharted territory by achieving oxymoronic herky-jerky groove. Considering how many tempo shifts alter the path of each song the catchy nature of the music is, as Wallace Shawn would say, inconceivable. The instrumental track “Chromatic Horizon” rampages beautifully in my headphones while the title track manipulates my brain into head nodding motions, growing more violent as the song progresses. The album's centerpiece, “The Deported,” winds through outer space like one of those intergalactic worm-whales I mentioned earlier, surprisingly elusive for such a powerful beast. It’s rare to find death metal so cunning, so difficult to trap into a corner and identify before it bites your throat out.

Decibel Magazine revealed that Beyond Creation will be playing several dates of the magazine’s tour, opening for the three-headed killing machine that will be Cannibal Corpse, Napalm Death, and Immolation. If you’re able to catch them on the May 21st - June 2nd leg of the tour DO IT. I need you to report to me if they’re actually playing instruments light-beamed here from a distant planet populated with tentacled metalheads, because considering some of the rhythms and sounds on this album, that’s about all that makes sense.

Seek more Beyond Creation data here:  http://www.season-of-mist.com/bands/beyond-creation

The Aura releases in the United States on May 14th. Order this madness here:  http://e-shop.season-of-mist.com/en/items/beyond-creation/the-aura/cd/34199

REVIEW: ANCIIENTS - HEART OF OAK

Sometimes potential legal battles over band names lead to the addition of “B.C.” or maybe the simple precursor “The.” In the case of Anciients it was an additional “I” smack-dab in the middle, assisting the logo’s symmetry. It was a worth-while modification for a band eager to avoid future conflict, especially when their material is so god damn good that anyone eager to suck the teet of the black-hearted cash cow might come running when this band explodes in the rock world. I don’t often think of albums in terms of future “Top Ten” list rankings but after finishing Anciient’s first full-length, Heart of Oak, I can say with as much confidence as a perpetually self-deprecating pessimist can muster that this album will be on a slew of end-of-year lists.

Heart of Oak is destined to be a word-of-mouth metal phenomenon, shared fan-to-fan with countless excited listeners anxious to blast this album into a friend’s ear with the opening plug, “If you dig [Insert Band Here] you are going to love this shit.” All band references within this review are not meant to say that Anciients are riding on coat-tails, impersonating, or even receiving inspiration from the mentioned acts, they are just the convenient reference points, the kind used when hyping a new album conversationally when you’re shoulder-to-shoulder at a bar, eager to talk about THAT album that kicked your butthole into a blackhole in the past month.

Anciients have brewed up a wily batch of songs on Heart of Oak that combine the earthy harmonies of Baroness, the slippery, progressive leanings of Opeth, and a meaty layer of metallic sludge like the blue-collar please-hold-the-horseshit crunch of Howl. Kenny Paul Cook’s clean singing sounds a bit sweeter than Baroness’ Baizley, like he gargles with honey straight from the comb. But when he screams it feels like his voice is a leaf curling in a fire, becoming this seared, gnarled pile of ash and organic membranes. He’s a fitting narrator for the expeditions detailed in Heart of Oak, where flanked by ominous acoustic passages and nimble aggression Anciients creates a world with inspiring vistas and lethal wastelands.

Between the doom-drenched lurch of “Falling in Line” and the suitably winding nine-minute highlight “The Longest River,” Anciients initiate you into the kaleidoscopic nature of their music and all the shifting shapes and colors it includes. Despite having a firm grasp on the enchanting power of melody they rarely stay in one place long, building and sustaining suspense, sort of like the movie monster who hides out of frame as long as possible as the body count grows. From the jagged black metal of “Faith and Oath” to the dope-smoking Summer of Love jam “For Lisa” (which totally sounds like they hail from Alabama instead of Vancouver), Anciients cover a lot of musical ground on Heart of Oak, and all of it with a natural, organic quality that feels excavated directly from the soil of some long-forgotten mass grave, now covered in poisonous mushrooms and moss. The energy does dip a bit in the second half of this album, but there is still so much technical prowess and songwriting skill from start to finish that this is a minor complaint. Not everything can be as symmetrical as that logo with those two gorgeous I’s.

This is the time to buy into Anciients. Support the band by seeing them on tour (on tour now, actually, on the DEATH TO ALL bill), purchasing their music and some of their beautiful merch (I’m seriously crushing on this album cover). Then, in a couple years when the trust-fund kids with hundred dollar haircuts are digging the band too, you can own the right to be smug about the fact you knew they were awesome first.

Listen to Heart of Oak over here at Bandcamp and see for yourself:  http://anciientriffs.bandcamp.com/

Then visit their page at Season of Mist and put some of your rainy day money down, ‘cause it’s raining somewhere:  http://season-of-mist.com/bands/anciients

REVIEW: KEN mode - ENTRENCH

 

 

I was already excited to review this album, but after reading Patrick Lyons’ article about “hipster metal” I had to step in and make this post a priority today. The article examines the shrinking gap between indie rock and heavy metal and how this has resulted in numerous bands who may be shunned by the metal community for their questionable influences. The point of the piece is somewhat difficult to identify, as it reads like a meandering endorsement of KEN mode’s newest album, Entrench, while playing devil’s advocate, suggesting that “true” metal fans are weary of an “indie-friendly sound.” If snarky Brooklynites are tickled silly by abrasive, jagged, brain-bruising heaviness, then yes, this is “indie-friendly.”

According to the social scientists over at Reader’s Digest, Canada is the third most polite country in the world. KEN mode’s music is one of the chief reasons Canada didn’t land the top spot. If there was ever a soundtrack for a post-traumatic stress breakdown followed by a multi-territory baseball bat rampage this is it. KEN mode has been a model of intense consistency and this album still achieves an even more dynamic and barbed sound than previous releases.

From the opening, quivering strings of “Counter Culture Complex” there’s an uneasy, unhinged quality to this collection of songs that immediately engages the listener. “No; I’m In Control” delivers Entrench’s most lethal breakdown, threatening to smash the album itself under the weight of it’s own power. At its most ferocious the album compares favorably to pre-Relapse Dillinger Escape Plan; the songs twist just enough that you can’t fully identify what sort of animal is ripping you apart, but it’s working on its third limb. Other highlights include “The Promises of God” and “Why Don’t You Just Quit,” which both snarl and stare you down with a glare that could gouge eyes.

There are also moments of restrained anger on this album, from the slimy, Deadguy-esque crawl of “The Terror Pulse,” to the whispered electro-goth charm of “Romeo Must Never Know.” KEN mode also weave unexpected sounds into these songs (like the subtle MicroKorg hum leading into “Figure Your Life Out” and splashes of shoegaze) to build inspiring moments of contrast, which is the whole reason the album closer “Monomyth” works. The bleak, elegiac string arrangement feels like it’s tucking the album into its coffin and kissing it goodnight. it’s a surprisingly gentle conclusion to such a punishing album, and it also allows me to consider the word “monomyth” while feeling like an accomplished English minor with my Joyce VS. Campbell deconstruction of the word’s purpose. Wait, did name-dropping James Joyce just make me a hipster?

I’ve never understood the need to separate metal fans into different factions or bands into a million sub-genres. If there are talented people playing heavy music (as the Matthewson brothers and Andrew LaCour are doing so well in KEN mode) then I won’t hold it against them if a few skinny-jeaned Williamsburg residents watch with folded arms at one of their shows. The fan base does not define the band, and a small sample of the fan base especially does not. This is vicious, complex music that transcends post-(insert genre here) classification and kills everything, now.

Listen to the album to form your own opinion and purchase it here:  http://kenmode.bandcamp.com/album/entrench

(Their whole discography is available on Bandcamp. Say goodbye to your afternoon.)

Or head over to Season of Mist, their stellar record label, and check out tour dates and merch:  http://www.season-of-mist.com/bands/ken-mode

And check out their official website over at:  http://www.ken-mode.com/

REVIEW: BISON B.C. - LOVELESSNESS

Bison B.C.’s “Primal Emptiness of Outer Space,” the opening track on their album Quiet Earth, is a song that I could still listen to everyday, regardless of the scenario. Pumping myself up before a job interview, dicing peppers to make sloppy joe sauce, inspirational music for a  kickboxing training montage... there just isn’t a situation where that song wouldn’t make the moment appropriately bad ass. I saw them play at Saint Vitus in Brooklyn when the venue was still a plump, delicious little newborn and they had absolutely contagious energy, flashing grins and splashing sweat all over the monitors while playing for a modest crowd. It was the type of performance with less-than-ideal attendance that shows you that a band would be having this much fun even if it was just them and a few forties in a cellar somewhere.

The Vancouver band’s newest release, Lovelessness, was their final album before being released by Metal Blade Records this past January. It’s truly unfortunate that they ended their relationship on this note, as this release is a step backwards, mildly retreating from the energy and immediacy that sent me flapping madly towards their music like a drunken moth to a boiler-lighting Zippo.

Thematically the album definitely departs from the pulpy sci-f/fantasy adventure territory of previous releases, where no fewer than three songs were written about the Wendigo. The songs all burn with familiar rage heard in prior Bison B.C. material, but this time around the music seems weighed down by it, as opposed to unleashing the songs to breathe and explore. While some fans may champion this as a more “mature” approach to songwriting, one that tries to milk the most out of each gargantuan riff and patiently constructs songs approaching ten minutes in length, I never felt that Bison B.C. needed ten minutes to work out their ideas. With James Farwell and Dan And’s ferocious guitar work driving the great Bison forward they always wrote concise, brawny songs that punch holes through prison walls and incite jail breaks. There really isn’t a bad performance to be found on this album, as Matt Wood remains one of my favorite (and criminally unheralded) drummers. But whatever this “mature” direction is, I want to spray it with silly string and tell it poop jokes to bring it back down to my level of stunted growth.

“Clozapine Dream” feels like vintage Bison B.C., snarling and rampaging across frozen tundra in a four-person herd. Still, even that song would rank among the least memorable on any of their prior albums. Here it’s a reminder of the more confrontational rock foundation they built their sound on. This album still boasts a collection of meaty riffs, from the fuzzy, stampeding gallop in the middle of “Last and First Things” (which sounds like Orange Goblin playing at their fastest), to the dirty-jeans classic rock jamming closing out the album on “Finally Asleep.” The real problem for me was just the relentless sorrow in this album. When Bison B.C. thrives it’s while they’re smiling through the aggression, not “desperately puking out psalms of suffering” as they wrote in their promotional material. I just want to give Lovelessness-era Bison B.C. a collective bear hug and take them out to a titty bar to get them out of their funk.

I have to say that Bison B.C. seemed like great dudes when I briefly met them at their merch table and it bums me out that they’re dealing with this change. That said, they did offer an optimistic press release after receiving the news, ending with, “Thanks to everyone at Metal Blade for trying to help us polish this turd." If that closing phrase is any indication, hopefully Bison B.C. can abandon some of the maturity while retaining their considerable songwriting-chops and trample us with a stronger release next time around, because there’s no denying the talent is there.

Check out the album streaming over at Bandcamp here:  http://bison.bandcamp.com/

And follow their post-Metal Blade journey over on their Facebook page at:   https://www.facebook.com/bisonbc

REVIEW: DOPETHRONE - III

Dopethrone’s third release, III, may not drop your jaw with album title creativity, but would you rather that time go into an album moniker or conjuring up a nasty batch of inebriated riffs heavier than a frozen mammoth? III is the exact number of times I lost control during my preliminary listen in my office and started headbanging at my desk. My co-workers are conditioned to ignore this by now.

I’ll admit I haven’t visited Montréal since the Expos were still in town, but if this music is any indication the city has become the feeding ground for some renegade demon who smokes cursed hash out of the skulls of god-fearing Christians. Dopethrone must rehearse their impossibly infectious sludge in a prehistoric cave somewhere barely out of the demon’s reach, war-painted with the black resin scraped from the shotgun barrels they resourcefully use as lethal bongs. They almost named this album “Hooked,” and for good reason. Not only is ”Hooked,” the opening track, one of the very best stoner songs I’ve ever heard, but this album will also have you twitching in withdrawal if significant times passes without Vince Houde’s riffs oozing into your ear holes.

Dopethrone’s brand of muddy, sinister doom laced with bluesy grooves rooted in denim-clad classic rock has never been more focused. These songs swagger and stomp with monstrous confidence, drooling beer and exhaling purple smoke in stride. While Houd’s vocals may send those unaccustomed to the harshest snarls scrambling for sanctuary, I delight in their putridity. It sounds like he pours moonshine on his breakfast cereal, sweetens it with basement-cooked meth, then washes it down with a pint of rusty razors. I feel like every hellish creature from the Spawn animated series should have been voiced by this dude. This music will grow a beard on a newborn baby.

There is also a recognizable sense of joy on this album; from the tongue-in-cheek audio samples to the grin-inducing song title “Devil’s Dandruff,” this is a band that wants you in on the joke. That doesn’t mean the songwriting lacks discipline, because each track earns its length (especially the colossal ten minute cut “Reverb Deep”). Just sometimes it takes a band like Dopethrone to remind us that some of the best heavy music is created by friends enjoying a six-pack or five, writing songs to amuse themselves and each other. Doom does not necessarily need to include gloom. Dopethrone’s III will make you happily groove to the sound of your own soul being ripped from your gaping pie-hole.

I must also state that as a completely DIY entity I have a huge amount of respect for Dopethrone. They will be at The Acheron in Brooklyn on March 30th and are well-worth the venture into Bushwick, where the sidewalks are perpetually littered with broken glass and dog shit. Hell, if there’s a way to smoke whatever you bring in on the bottom of your boots I’m sure these guys can teach you a trick or two.

Listen to Dopethrone immediately and purchase this amazing album for $6.66 at:  http://dopethrone.bandcamp.com/

And become their favoritest Facebook follower over at:  https://www.facebook.com/pages/Dopethrone/201732593171312