EP Review: Wizard Bloody Wizard by Wizard Bloody Wizard

Heavy fuzzed doom metal spews forth from Iowa’s Sleep/Sabbath worshipping Wizard Bloody Wizard on their three-track self-titled EP, with a dark mix of horror film sound-bites, slow chugging deep riffs, and enough bass riffs to knock you off your feet.

The EP is woven with themes of the occult, witchcraft, horror films, and cannabis that sees the short record showcase three quite different tracks. Opener ‘In The Depths…’ is a slow doom-heavy track that menaces along with muffled vocals stalking its prey, sending shivers down your spine. ‘Children of the Night’ steps up the tempo, and volume, as the riffs come in crushing and heavily, and the vocals become more audible with a more worn-out approach to their sound. Wizard Bloody Wizard like to keep their riffs heavy on the fuzz, but still cutting like a knife to your core, a sound akin to their peers in Electric Wizard and Sleep alike. Closing track ‘Nocturnus Sainturnus’ is an instrumental sludging metal track which is littered with film sound-bites echoing desperation and haunting overtones, the perfect way to end this statement EP.

Wizard Bloody Wizard’s self-titled EP is a dark, heavy warning of things to come, so prepare 

Bandcamp

Band Submission: Spheronaut-Stoner Rock/ Doom Metal From Germany

Band Name: Spheronaut
Genre: Stoner Rock / Doom Metal
Location: Düsseldorf, Germany
Brief Bio/Description: Spheronaut is four-piece Stoner Rock / Doom Metal band from Northrhine-Westphalia, Germany. With former Members of Sludge-Rockers Massive Thunderfuck and Thrash-Kickers Deadly Chaos, Spheronaut comes with a whole bunch of different influences on the one hand, but trying to have it´s outcome as tight and riff-focused as possible on the other.
Having started in fall 2015, the first EP ´The Doombringer´s Blues´ was recorded with the help of Thomas Sladek (Grey Season) and released with D.I.Y ethics, having all set and brought up for themselves. If you are into stuff like slow played riffs and dirty stuff, you may have a listen.
Band Members:
Dennis de Buhr - Vocals, Bass
Dennis Hüttner - Guitar
Jan Schmidtke - Guitar
Marco Gier - Drums
Links: Bandcamp | YouTube | Facebook

Band Submission: Warsnake-Doom Metal, Stoner Rock, Hardcore From Toronto, Canada

Band Name: Warsnake
Genre: Doom Metal, Stoner Rock, Hardcore
Location: Toronto, Canada
Brief Bio/Description: Warsnake is a Doom Metal, Stoner Rock, Hardcore band from Toronto Canada. New projects for 2016 include: full length album, music video, video game soundtrack and music featured on the hit series Motorcycle Wars.
Band Members:
Matt
Jay
Links: Website | Bandcamp | Facebook

LP Review: Throneless - 'Throneless'

Sweden - a hot-bed of doom metal - have spawned another band determined to deliver monolithic slabs of heavy. Throneless, a 3-piece who hail from Malmö, are the latest signing by Italian imprint Heavy Psyche Sounds whose roster includes Black Rainbows, Karma To Burn & Ape Machine. Their self-titled debut recorded by the band themselves features 4 tracks of slow BPM, head-banging, down-tuned drones, that leaves you hypnotised and beaten into submission by the sheer power of their sound. 

Sonically, Throneless here sound fucking huge and you’d be mistaken to think this is a three guitar attack, with such dense, chewy fuzz and layered guitars. There’s a great organic ‘live' feel to the record too which puts you inside the room with the band, most probably alone, and in the dark... 

They’ve captured a real brooding menace that seeps its presence across every track, epitomised by the distant howls of the vocals. Like a long, dark, cold Scandinavian winter, there’s a gloomy shadow which casts long over this record. There are moments when I wanted to hear a bit more of the drop-out parts where the clean sounds build again to drown you in a huge wave of sound, but that’s a minor quibble. 

This is a solid debut which will earn Throneless fans into the likes of Ufomammut, Bongripper, Conan and Yob, and offers enough to suggest that they will explore new ground in the future for the genre. But it can’t get any heavier than this, can it...? 

Throneless are:

Johan Burman - drums

Johan Sundén - guitar

Patrik Sundberg - bass

Check them on Facebook | Bandcamp

Song of the Day-Iron Void-"Lost Faith"

"Lost Faith" is taken off of the upcoming full-length "Doomsday" due out October 5, 2015 on Doomanoid Records. Amazing new album from Iron Void is set to be released and this guy couldn't be happier. Combining NWOBHM elements and a raw approach this band channels their riff-worshipping spirit to create a very straightforward and classic doom metal record. For more information, please check out the following links: Facebook | Bandcamp | Website

Sunday Sludge: Primitive Man - "Home Is Where The Hatred Is"

Much of the so-labeled doom we chew on is swollen with the promise of pain, an ominous descent into... well, something. Bands can reach the pit and the wolf at the door, as promised, busts through. Others present a threat and rely solely on those shadowy unknowns. I guess those sounds have their place. But sometimes, I just want a band to get to the fucking point.

By now we know Denver's Primitive Man to fall into neither camp. Since the trio's 2013 introduction of the brutal, excellent Scorn, they've set their own standard of blatant bludgeoning. Through various splits over the past two years, Primitive Man have all-at-once announced their presence, delivered their rust-fisted blows, and asserted their dominance by keeping a heel to our throats. Here, with the four tracks of Home Is Where The Hatred Is, they show no sign of relent.

The EP's half-hour of screeches and hovering spite begins with Loathe, tormenting behind sustained malevolence. Ethan McCarthy still gives zero fucks who may be in his way, and Spy's encircling drum work may as well be a hostile Korowai tribe for all the anxiety it catalyzes. This blackened sludge buries us so low that it's near-impossible to sense even a sliver of hope. The cavernous, all-encompassing infliction is parted by an icy wind that carries answers further out of our reach. And as doom timbers collapse in slow-motion, the jagged squalls only augment our misery.

Downfall finds a quick groove and laughs at restraints, later shifting blackened pitches but never escaping the mire. As McCarthy chokes out brutal truths, the supporting tapestry remains wholly caustic. Tone and mood are exceedingly bleak here, but isn't that consistent with PM's catalog? Over and over, we're dragged into a horrifying meld of loose dirt, hot tar, and spiking licks piercing the sludge glaze. It's a filthy, anguished roll in the hay. If hay were fucking razor wire.

In keeping with themes of doling calculated evil, the EP's closing tandem fails to let down. Double kicks head a charge on Bag Man, rolling into itself amid a cloud of soot. The steady escalation of ire is staggering, even for these guys. And when the tracks shift to introduce the closing A Marriage with Nothingness, we're simply ill-prepared. Pain and discord are reflected in a swirling, scraping, trippy mindfuck. As static gradually hazes, everything about this release grows more terrifying.

Buzzing throughout with equal parts callous disregard and deafening feedback, Home Is Where The Hatred Is marks another triumphant blow to our perceptions of the human condition. Ugly truths are never easy to swallow, and here there's no safe alternative. Primitive Man have snatched the torch and thrust it into our gleaming smiles. So what's it really sound like? I'd imagine slowly dying alone would look, feel, and sound something like this.

Pre-Order | Site | Facebook | Bandcamp | Relapse

Sunday Sludge: Koza

Ah, gettin' back to our Sunday Sludge roots... This whole thing began in 2011 and repeatedly seemed to circle South, as if every detour just above Mason-Dixon resulted in a magnetic bitch slap from Georgia, Arkansas, or Louisiana. Labels are broad, misleading, and generally unfair to bands and listeners, but Southern metal has its own hue. The family tree is tight, unwavering, and generally impenetrable from an outsider's perspective. So here I go again, worming my way to the table for loose scraps.

Served hot and violent this morning is Chattanooga's Koza and their 8-track self-titled EP. Their hue is distinctly Southern, but their sludge sets itself apart in being more to the point, never exhausting the listener and always lacing a scornful thread between tracks. It's hard to enjoy sweet tea when you're stuck in a thorny thicket, so take a hard swallow and do your best to endure Koza's spiked, hard-charged blend of heaviness.

Take Up the Serpent introduces a foreign guitar buzzing like flies, dropping a buoyant sludge gait under a dynamic veiled vocal. As this opener bulldozes through its choppy, stuttered thorax, the band's cyclical approach reveals itself and stomps back to brass tacks. Quickly and relentlessly, listeners have their comfort clipped and gnawed away. The quick-footed stoner cruise of Hoof is an abrupt juxtaposition, leaking Buzzov*en malevolence. For as amped as it gets, though, the track is somehow sticky. And now the unease has taken full grip.

The EP's midsection is an exercise in broad vision, never committing to a single rhythm or riff and shifting between doom, shoegaze, groove, and boggy stoner-sludge. Perhaps that sounds messy, but these songs have way too much to chew on for just one listen. You'll need multiple screenings, and Koza's push to grind you into powder is tense, tight, and strangely satisfying. Slow plucks on March of the Snails are merely a harbinger of fuzzy, columned doom. Death Rattle's wet cobblestone tip-toe wrings nerves like shadows in a greasy alley, fully cementing a cold, uneasy mood. At least, until an outward rip of the seams explodes into unhinged brutality. And when The Silent Bleed The Same drags guitar barbs across weathered skin, we realize we're in too deep.

While Tsunami's marriage of swarming hornets and thick sludge grooves stomps with more density, Koza set aside their crowning achievement as the EP's closer. Stench of Desire is immediately horrifying, breathing slow and opaque just behind your neck. Nodding toward Rwake and channeling the pragmatic narratives of Phil Anselmo, the track's quietest moments are its most unsettling. We're worn thin by the repeated slugs to our senses. The stylistic shifts are permeated by matted fur, and the final ceaseless stoner metal push is our last gasp.

Clocking just over twenty minutes, this goat's varied attack weighs like a lifetime of bruising. The jagged guitars, spiked tempos, and misty morning sludge crawls hardly begin to illustrate all this sound delivers. Koza drag us to a steamy swamp on a journey that's part judgment, part ostracism, and wholly taxing on our brittle frames. This EP hits all points to remind us there's still no fuckin' around down South.

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Seth's 2014 Year In Review

I needed every second of 2014 to craft a list of favorites. Saying goodbye to the year and its bearded buoyancy (weren't beards the rage lately?), I left behind a trail of hard-earned dollars and dodged awkward gay-bar glances as things grew real foggy. I've scratched and scribbled in hopes of trimming down an impartial litany of the most-spun releases from the last twelve months. The task is daunting, so I'll work to keep things simple and clean.

Sunday's Best

I've got two stacks. One toppled by the bands served on silver platter Sundays. The other towering with records I wasn't smart enough to write about. Regardless, these lists are little more than a refresher on a year in which the best sounds blasted down Highway 251 as I ran out of colorful descriptors. Here are the Sunday smokers that lifted our heads highest.

Possessor - Electric Hell

I had a brief obsession with Vince Bugliosi's Helter Skelter years ago. Something about these nine grinders immediately took me back there (that album art surely played a role). From cavernous doom to rat-rod drudge, Possessor gripped my fuckin' nuts and beat me into compliance. Oozing sweat and sex and handshakes with Satan, Electric Hell immediately became my favorite album of 2014.

Disastroid - Missiles

It's always fun to say an album's sound defied categorization, but this was the year's best example. Missiles struck a chord and nestled into my frontal cortex, forming memories I didn't realize existed. Steady and damn-near perfect, the shifts are never forced and the 90's morning wood never kills my buzz. It's sonic anesthesia peppered with sobering stoner-sludge, and every minute is devastating.

Godhunter - City of Dust

I knew Godhunter would deliver the goods before I even heard this 8-track crusher. What was staggering was the message, and the caviling delivery of rebellion's impetus is Godhunter's true trophy here. City of Dust marked an assured stomp toward this band not only cementing their name, but more importantly fisting convention and never caving to blind acquiescence. If only we could all be so bold.

Druglord - Enter Venus

There was no prepping for this brand of heaviness. The doom crushes, yes. But the psychedelia and doped-out howls leave a glaze on your fingers and the crushing blows are relentless. Crashing timbers couldn't shake the Earth like these four tracks. This album is just one step too far in that bad trip. Point of no return? Shit, man... Your best bet is to own it, become it. (Just stay off your neighbor's lawn).

No Way - Sing Praises

The NYC edge hardly goes wasted here. No Way's violent blend of smoke, sludge, and noise put me on my back and never offered help getting up. The sonic deception can't cloud the album's smoothest moments, but Sing Praises is at its best when it's at its most rough. Savage for being so harmonic and sprawling for being so brief, these are four tracks I'll endorse over and over.

Lotus Ash - The Word of God

The post-metal marriage composed of members of two of Milwaukee's finest bands cultivates a bullied cadence that aches gorgeously. Lotus Ash offer metal of a more acute order, grooving with violent permutations and balancing prospect with cold, concrete realizations. Whether you're a thinker or a stumbling stomper, The Word of God holds plenty for you to fall in love with.

Ancient Altar - Self-titled

Twisted slabs of filthy dregs wriggle with strange, hot psychedelia on Ancient Altar's sludgy spiral into madness. Buoyant and laced with whispers of smoke, this debut offers four tracks promising more doomy wisdom than newcomers should have any right to. Balancing those sounds of the 70's with the ugliest, grimiest assertions of tomorrow, this album hits the nail on the head. Repeatedly.

MotherSloth - Moribund Star

Sullen complexity takes its time on MotherSloth's sophomore opus. Moribund Star sprawls with precision and sprays with abandon, hoping and deflating and completing a cycle of life that you'll have on repeat. Stoner-sludge rhythms never club you, but they leave just enough burn to slug your senses numb. Instrumental outfits appear to work just a bit harder, and this is the progressive payoff.

The Powder Room - Curtains

The swagger strapped to this noise is refreshing and unmatched. The Powder Room blow smoke in your face and get real punchy real fast. If you develop a stutter, you may need to step back and pass on this one. Curtains is that asshole at work who has the dirt on management and can do as much or as little as he wants. Luckily, we're still on his good side. These tracks are way too cool for guys like us.

Giza - I Am The Ocean, I Am The Sea

Instrumental swells and hovers slammed me through Giza's sludgy atmospherics, strangely prophetic considering not a damn word is spoken here. Slow, patient boulder tosses span these five depth-charging tracks and result in 2014's most accomplished marriage of brawn and brains. Giza here boast they're only getting better with age.

And the others?

The number of submissions we receive is ever-increasing and wholly humbling. Even more difficult than working through them all is actually enjoying the music NOT sent our way. So whether I was spoon-fed the sweetest sludge this side of the bayou or had to do some crate-digging, here are ten other 2014 releases that shouldn't go unmentioned.

Yob - Clearing the Path to Ascend

Point blank, this is the best record I heard in 2014. Yob are peaking, but it's difficult to imagine this band hitting a plateau of any kind. The musicianship has never been better, and the expanses crafted within these four songs are progressive, profound, and encompassing. Each listen reveals something new, and under each layer is another mouth-breathing moment I can't wrap my head around. Yet again, this trio fails to disappoint.

Monolord - Empress Rising

Relentlessly lumbering fuzz-doom that hovers, staggers, and resonates. Empress Rising took me by surprise with its gloom and unmatched gravity. Monolord's riffs spun a web in my skull and I haven't bothered mounting an escape. This is heavy, tasty, and worth every fucking cent. Ribboned with stoner repetition, this timber drops long and sits fat. Delicious.

Lightsabres - Spitting Blood

It's easy to be impressed, knowing this is just one man. But the true accolade should be tossed toward what that one man has shaped with the sound. Spitting Blood's lo-fi, muffled, point-on-a-spinning-globe approach sounds fresher than the bulk of bullshit dealt our way this year. There's something timely and beautifully unsettling about these songs, and I can say my biggest 2014 regret is not giving this release the Sunday treatment. You'll love this record.

Swans - To Be Kind

A year in review generally results in me flipping open my wallet as album copies run out. THIS album fucking blew me away! Is this the backlash against the backlash? Hipsters LOVE this album. Wait! Hipsters HATE this album. Dude, I just had my mind raped by Swans, so I don't give a good fuck where you think these sounds fall. My torso evolved into a littered cemetery as I listened. Essentially, To Be Kind is a mindfuck of an album and Swans remain patient, experimental royalty.

Electric Citizen - Sateen

Electric Citizen toured with Fu Manchu and made no haste in stealing the bill. Four decades of influence, no shortage of guitar fuzz, and Laura Dolan's witchy presence combine to make Sateen doom's sexiest response to Sabbath. The band's dark majesty is more substance than hype, trust me. The psychedelia buzzes and chops at comparisons, carving little option but to embrace Electric Citizen as your new favorite band.

Ogre - The Last Neanderthal

I've loved Ogre since they served a strange hearken of classic predecessors in 2010, but here they cement their meld of doom and stoner metal in a hurried, focused fashion. This latest is honed and pared, resonating with the good-feel of brothers reunited. Fuzz-headed doom needn't overthink things, but Ogre find smarts when they find restraint. 70's influence saturates recent releases, and Ogre may be the most backboned of the lot.

Greenleaf - Trails & Passes

To which Keith alluded, these sounds vary and sprawl. The stoner supergroup that is Greenleaf has yet to stumble, and despite their loveseat haze, they still offer a bit o' heart. Not a damn one of these nine songs mimics the inflated horseshit of their imitators, yet none manage to posture in the shadows of the members' other bands. Greenleaf burn their own path, and every detour is just as delicious as the last.

Rodha - Welter Through The Ashes

I've finally found a Rodha ally in Pete. These boys pack emotion into every corner and the gravity injected into every note just fucking amazes me. Channeling sludge violence and (incredibly) funneling feeling under stoner-doom cadence is nothing short of miraculous. How the FUCK is this band not conquering the world right now?! Good GODDAMN this is gorgeous!



Indian - From All Purity

Indian opened up 2014 without a glimpse of hope. This is flat-out fucking violent and vile, six scorching sludgers that can't find relent. From All Purity is abrasive and scornful, so much so that I'm shocked I can even return to the bloodied corpse of last winter. Indian ensure you'll feel every barbed note and forget about enjoying your dinner. Sludge? Doom? Noise? Fuck. This album sounds like murder.

Floor - Oblation

Roaring over beautiful 'scapes and cascading melodies, Oblation is that devastating pull between hope and lament. The chewy sweetness complements the fuzziest of tones, structured underneath a shiny psychedelia rarely found. It's as if stoner-doom took the day off to spend some time under palm trees. Then again, the screeches and crushes remind us where to plant our feet.

Sunday Smoke:Doctor Smoke-"The Witching Hour"

I've grown into this, you could say. When I took this gig, it was all sandy descriptors, Sabbath nods, riff worship, and clouds of smoke that should've gotten me evicted. The journey's been littered with thorns, the expanded consciousness clouded by genre tags and limitations I've placed upon myself. Fuck. Tonight my wife tried dissecting my anxiety. She's no mental health professional, but she's also no stranger to my perks. These limitations, these rules... they're all self-imposed. They're all also quite fucking meaningless. You may have noticed these Sundays are lately more than just sludge. Today's feature is a perfect example of why I can't limit myself.

When Heavy Planet featured Ohio's Doctor Smoke last October, we met a quartet of stoner occultists going thick on soiled riffs and channeling an inner Bobby Liebling. Just a year later, the band offers not only an expanded tracklist, but an overall improved approach to the craft. The Witching Hour's nine tracks (six of them entirely new) illustrate Doctor Smoke's stomp into their own skin, shedding their reliance on doomy fuzz and trusting themselves more as songwriters and musicians.

We know three of these tracks. And rather than serving to fluff the run-time, they actually create a broader scope when sidled next to the newer tracks. Relentless and baleful, The Willow kicks off the immediately punchy, rollicking backwoods descent. Blood and Whiskey is still a smoker, sweat-soaked and groove-smacked. And those rhythms still flirt with evil and never get old. When The Seeker pops through before the album's final push, it's of course slow, dirt-caked, and the album's rawest offering.

Most notable on the new tracks are the self-realized, perfectly-structured lyrics. Evil Man is mossy doom, swaying and split with chafed licks, ultimately exploding into revved groove and guitar-pissing in all directions. But the plunge of the slow, murky vocal veil traps every-Goddamn-thing beneath it. The Toll emerges from soggy earth to find a torrid clip, pacing unpredictably and matching the erratic lyrical accusations. The whole of the album's thorax is a trip through a thorny, overgrown pass. Choppy, jostled, and pushing ever-deeper, these spilt-swill snags hardly heel the quick-twisted, punchy cruises. Doctor Smoke now have a hook in your lip.

Where the band's amped proficiency is most notable, however, is on the closing tandem of This Final Hour and Permanent Night. The former boasts as a heavy-hearted trench throttle, rattling you back to clarity with tempo shifts and sweaty rock-n-roll. The track progressively expands under a rueful mood, gently wheeling the track into pensive plucks. And by the time Permanent Night's bleak subject combines with the collection's deepest, grainiest groove, you won't know which elemental showcase takes the blue ribbon. The licks are more than just a sidecar, the throwback is more than just creepy, and the balance is more than you could ever want.

And The Witching Hour as a whole is so much more than a steel-toed stride. Eerie, distant malaise has never had such a pull. These songs creep among a thick timber until rhythmic deviations introduce a gleeful, punch-drunk vertigo. Guitars, vocals, lyrics, those low rhythms... ALL have their moment of showboated flexing. But where posturing would murder lesser bands, Doctor Smoke manage to make one another sound better. Collectively, the sounds never stumble. We're not sure exactly what corner of the woods we'll end up in. More importantly, we don't care. Hit me with another, drag me where you will... "My masters, pull my strings."

Bandcamp | Facebook

Sunday Sludge: Jucifer - District of Dystopia

So that walk home really sucked. I'm not terribly fond of interacting with law enforcement, so those flashing lights interrupting my route evoked that fight-or-flight retort. Fuck it. I'll take the long way home. And fuck them.

Oh, these new Jucifer sounds... It's not only unfair to scream "departure," it's also categorically inaccurate. The ever-ambulant duo have never allowed particular descriptors to stick, so calling their nine-track thrasher District of Dystopia a change of pace isn't fair. But it also doesn't fit their sticky-flogged mold of gigantic, expansive noise-doom. The largest head-turn here results not from the sound, but from the message. The duo would roll over in their roving bunks if they knew you'd given a listen and failed on realizing the larger fucking point. Turns out they care less about amped cabinets and more about what's just.

From the quickly disjointed onset of Non Gratum Anus Rodentum through the blackened grindcrust of the swamp-ridden The Object of Power, Jucifer exercise a legislative muckrake from the bottom up. A soldier's misfortune, though partly pinned on his own poor judgment, also points to higher powers recruiting, promising, lying, and never giving a single fuck about the boys in queue. With honesty comes pain, and the band's brutal, scabby pace sets sights on capturing lo-fi consciousness with the hope that this audience digs deeper and pays attention to more than rattling speakers. More than metal, this is rebellion.

Quick, low-slung filth immediately puts light years between these sounds and the droning marriage of metropolitan doubt and teen angst lacing their previous work. It's as if these two intentionally gave a fistfuck to production and hope these runes get marquee billing. Utilizing no shortage of fuzz and Edgar Livengood's intermittent but never absent drummed violence, stop-start chops form swarms of hornets that encase the senses. Sure, the fur gets as saturated as you'd expect. But we're in trouble... When Jucifer pull a burlap sack over our heads and a breaching hammer makes its blows, we know this flaming gaze has a purpose. More importantly, though, it has a heartbeat.

Gazelle Valentine's vocal remains, at times, breathy as you'd expect. But these wheels come off quick, essentially gnawing with an overt aggression directed at D.C.'s representatives. The unrelenting spite is wholly infectious, so perhaps the duo's objective remains more clear and accessible than the sounds. Oh, you weren't expecting this? Did you hear Jucifer's LAST release?! The shifted tempos hide the lyrical depth, but there's a LOT to absorb here. And that this couple finds its mark in well-under thirty minutes is their exercise in hazy, shrouded brilliance.

District Of Dystopia will remind you of those demos your buddy handed you in ninth grade. More raw than the sound, though, is the sense that something's not right. Jucifer take that sense, smack it sober, and shove it in your face. It's revved and uncompromised, devoid of restraint and any second guess. Don't bother getting uncomfortable when your uncle brings up political incompetence as you're chewing Virginia Christmas fat. For those with any virtue, this album is little more than an adjunct argument. For the uninitiated, this sludge-thrash exercise is Insurgency 101. It's also one of 2014's most compelling releases, front to back.

Site | Facebook | Twitter | iTunes

Sunday Sludge: Lotus Ash - "The Word of God"

I remember when Audioslave formed. I fucking loved Soundgarden as a teen, and Rage Against The Machine was extreme for the mainstream, so I was hooked. But you take Chris Cornell minus Kim Thayil's licks (and Matt's drums, let's be serious) and RATM minus Zach's spits, and who gives a shit? Audioslave was so bland I could barely stomach the term "supergroup," just a couple o' radio-friendly singles and foam filler for the uninitiated.

Heavy Planet alums Maidens and Northless may not boast such an inflated pedigree, but their members aren't foreign to sculpting dynamic post-sludge sounds leaning toward the year's best. Rarely does the sum outperform the parts, but today's feature is an exercise highlighting growth, and egos won't stiffen the sound this time. Lotus Ash's The Word of God is five walled progressions of post-sludge perfection saturated in a groove that's both infectious and proficient.

Redemption's epic rush of sound is immediate, revealing waves and layers that immerse the listener and nail down the mood. The isolation is countered by a strange sense of belonging (compliments of vocal drapery) and elements steadily meld and forge a staggering post-sludge statement. Heavy as this opener is, though, we also catch glimpses of vulnerability. The pensive progressions give way to hopeful elevation, challenging any of contemporary sludge's pedestrian, downtrodden stomp.

The buzzing transition into Soul of Man is near-apocalyptic, forcing us into a corner with the juxtaposition of cascading drumwork, murky rhythms, and majestic vocals. The ambition on display could kill lesser acts, but Lotus Ash's stone wall is cold, desolate, painful, and ultimately extraordinary. The buzz grows abrasive on the slow-rolling collapse and rise of the title track. The song expands upon itself and never relents as incredible post-metal beacons emerge to snatch marquee billing. Evolving, churning, swelling... But never willing to abandon a core of slow-simmered sludge. Awesome.

And about that sludge, Open Arms is the album's best example of caked aggression. Violent and antagonistic with a groove that won't be neglected, the grind is peppered with doubt. Drums get primitive, guitars screech, and the slugs find no pause. It's almost a harbinger for Scourge's devastation, aiming to dominate without prejudice. Metered and measured perfectly, this closer aims and stings with heavy swells, ignoring convention and painting a faint haunt with strange and calculated evolution.

Singing praises for The Word of God should hardly detract from what Maidens and Northless have given us, so perhaps I shouldn't make the comparisons. But Lotus Ash have abruptly thrust themselves into the discussions of 2014's best sounds. These five tracks are fluid and bulky, despondent yet at times glazed with hope. Throughout though, this record is very, very smart. It's not so easy to remain ignorant, and this release assures that ignorance won't be comfortable, if it's even permitted at all. You might believe you're losing yourself for thirty-two minutes. What you're really losing is an interest in shitty music. This is how it's done.

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Sunday Sludge: Sunken - "Recoil"

Eleven months ago, I lamented "We only get five tracks, guys?" after submerging myself in Sunken's hypnotic, swollen demo. It was, of course, entirely complimentary, as those five songs collectively imposed a residual thickness that's still protecting my skull from lesser, boring releases sent my way. Sunken seamlessly hover, cool off, hit pause, and ultimately explode with more power than any two-piece has a right to. But what another bass/drum duo might reveal as weakness only serves as Sunken's spooky, chest-caving catalyst.

These Belgians lugged those swollen tracks and squeezed four more just behind them, wasting not an inch of air space and filling a sonic void that, again, we never knew existed. Thirty minutes expand and improve on the litany of the band's accomplishments, teetering between wholly encompassing and distantly foreboding. On Recoil, Sunken have found their static-sludge stride, slowly rolling out elements both adjacent and obtuse.

The new sounds are bookended by two massive nine-minute haunts that perfectly define their sound and their dynamic. On Sunken, the slow swell of A.'s smooth bass returns, graduating to a crashing storm of static. J.'s drums encircle with cool progression as rhythms worm and poke around corners. The marriage of drum and bass finds Sunken nailing their mark here, with low thumbings taking the lead only to withdraw as the burn deepens. The devastation here is subtle, dealt slowly and even calmly. Amid the haunt, however, is a gorgeous, flattened scene.

Damaged is immediately loose and abrupt, juxtaposing what we've just tread. Stop-start noise is chaotic, attributed to stringy, buoyant bass that breaks for stomping statements. You'll detect a nod toward space, approaching a shipyard on a foggy fadeout. So the transition to Downwards is a smooth one, a midnight stroll that's deceptive and captivating. A. guides our steps, but J. never trails by much. We're pulled blindly into alleys and can't seem to commit to one route, dodging the gradual approach of danger. When paces lift, a blanket of fuzz descends and a strong, ever-increasing groove offers no escape. Our vessels begin to pop.

Perhaps everything has led to the closing title track, offering trademarks and undaunted patience. The patches of enormity drizzled over long, numbing stretches are certainly highlights, but simply MASSIVE doom crashes emerge at the midpoint. The denouement buzzes and swarms upon itself, staying true to form but huffing in a whole new level of buzz. The crashes craft an incredible burn, and these final moments make for a sticky experience.

Sunken's great triumph is their lack of predictability. Listening to Recoil, I can't pinpoint where the sounds are headed, whether I'll be crushed by the weight or lifted from the soil. There's much to sift through, and the largest compliment I can give this release is that it'll require multiple spins. One bass. One drum. Hell, you won't even notice there's no vocal. Each progression is a statement, each shift is another nervous tick you've now developed. The deeper you go, the more you want. Junkie.

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