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: Northless - "World Keeps Sinking"

I woke up enjoying a bowl o' crow this morning. Actually, this foot in my mouth has its origins around August 1st, when I had trouble deciding which of four Chicago shows I'd be attending. After spending months complaining that the scene in the Midwest was pale and elusive compared to other corners of the country, here were four of my favorite bands playing the same fucking city on the same fucking night. Three weeks later and here we are in the second of consecutive features on Milwaukee's finest sludge thickness.

Milwaukee's abrasive but well-centered Northless released World Keeps Sinking on Friday, meaning we've already wasted two days and countless opportunities to adopt a soiled perspective. Containing seven substantial strokes of sludgy disenchantment, this release is more about stern observation than violent assurances. Northless exercise plenty of down-tuned and downtrodden calculation, but they never insult our intelligence by merely clubbing our skulls. There's a thinking man inside you, young automaton.

Any of these fifty-nine minutes could attest we're watching a world deteriorate. From the slow lumber of Last of Your Kind to the title track's abrupt chaos, we're dragged through reality by a heaving beast riddled with arrows. Rhythm shifts and jarring blasts are just one facet. Tolerance is long forgotten and intensity permeates even the album's restrained passages. Slow crunches of doom direct us, but the destination isn't likely one we'll want to discover.

Kuru is a lurk of grinding static that gasps between riffs and sways like a drunken giant. Imagine driving iron fists into thick earth on a reach for hell, only to discover something even darker. The EYEHATEGOD abrasion is packaged in sandpaper and tied together by John Gleisner's dizzying drumwork. We've already begun unraveling, but Northless here begin to deconstruct, spitting and shitting on a stumble of absolutely gargantuan volume. In fact, not a note on the disc reaches justice when you plan to respect your neighbors. Listen loud, please.

The molasses underlayment finds its truest form of filth-based sludge metal on Communion, an eleven-minute slab of shifts that stays low and dirty as it pulls off its blinders and cuts away fake smiles. The gorgeously erratic atmospheres arrive and depart in every direction before breaking into a somber lakeside reflection that fades like the sun. This highlight bridges into Passage, an even longer epic of echoed memories and slow-drawn post-metal elements. Fifteen-plus minutes of surges and pullbacks threaded with Jerry Hauppa's loose low-end is completely exhausting and completely fucking awesome. If World Keeps Sinking still had a working heart, this would be it.

The disc's back end provides some straight-forward sludge dejection on Wither and Escape, a quick roll through steaming bogs. Erik Stenglein's vocal here is a tad more accessible than on the previous tracks, but that's hardly a comfort. This guy's pipes are to-the-point and wait until the song's final bark to flatten your chest. Leading directly into the shaky Returnless, this collection closes on blackened doom and collapsing villages. Rising and falling rhythms marry Stenglein's encircling throat-cloak to assure us there's no looking back. Warbled and murky, the chug-fade at the album's end is less death rattle and more slow snuff. Shudder.

You may not like the message, but you needed to hear this. I'm sorry, son. Your future is broken. Northless stamp our minds with the realization that we fucked up. World Keeps Sinking is an expansive, itchy shuffle that'll leave you scratching at your skin, twitching on yesterday's promises that never emerged. The muddled, nebulous rhythms perfectly ensnare the falling hope, while ambitious guitars are perfectly snatched mid-air and snapped on complacency's knee. It all paints a pretty bleak landscape. And it all sounds heavier than hell-on-earth.

For fans of: Crowbar, Soilent Green, Rwake

Pair with: St. Peter's Cream Stout, St. Peter's Brewery

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Sunday Sludge: Maidens - "Eve of Absolution"

In an age of pressed flesh and force-fed singles, it's a comfort to find there are still bands and sub-genres dedicated to crafting entire expansive albums. Once you stop looking for that hook or a gimmicky harmony that'll sell your soul for shock 'n roll, you're left with bare-bones musicianship and songwriting. Sink or swim, eh? Turning a single idea into thirty minutes of relevant material is no small task, so you'd better have your chops honed and your focus clear.

The problem with blanket moods and atmospheres that thread through an entire LP is that I can enjoy the first half and then have to break back into reality for fifteen fucking seconds to flip the damn record. Small price to pay, sure. So Milwaukee's post-metal/sludge quartet Maidens are victims of their own prowess. The seven tracks on Eve of Absolution, their first full-length effort, may as well be presented as one. Luckily a pair of headphones and a streaming format via bandcamp are all any listener's gonna need to experience this tome from cover to cover, uninterrupted.

There's a tight grip on the back of our heads, sternly whispering in our ear that we need to face forward and remain silent. Promising doom, drone, post-metal, and the crunch of sludge could sound a tad ambitious for one single track; but on Beginnings: Rebirth, Maidens forge a whirr that soothes and saturates, while the abrasive dirge of sludge rhythms keeps things from getting too cozy. Teeming and flickering, this opener's atmospheric passages are contemplative and rueful, countering the intense, jarring vocal. Jettisoning into the choppy stutter of Our Splendor, Our Antiquity, Maidens showcase arachnid drum-chaos and burning guitar screeches, weaving together the two into a complex tapestry of post-metal emotional doubt. Instruments are mastered here, but the layers peeled back uncover some harsh family secrets. Oh, there's more to come.

You could expect the drone and doom to carry tracks to indulgent lengths, but Maidens only stretch things on the instrumental Discord: Storm on the Horizon. Fluttering with the static of approaching woe, a slow dawn can't break these dark clouds. The midpoint in the album is patient, pensive, and peppered with cosmic surprises. Terrain is littered with ash and slow-motion sickness crunching on bleached bones. Fanning upward into an opaque menace, the track brilliantly melds into the title track that follows. The mold is given time to set here; a delicious crunch meeting the focused and precise tandem of skin slaps and condensing riffs. Doom is prevalent in the form of shifted rhythms and archaic pendulum swings. Those dark realizations are setting in.

What's ominous and repetant is countered on Lands of the Blind, with a fuzzy cruise wrapped in stoner thickness that peeks into themes later realized on The Calm, The Silence. Cool winds ease us into splintering guitars that ooze ambition and confidence. Post-metal proficiency is on full-display in the track's progressive Pelican-influenced passages. The reflective acceptance on the closer is dulled yet wholly-permeating pain. Vocal pleas form a powerful denouement and an ultimate encapsulation of the existential trinity.

Don't worry too much about how to approach this one. Maidens fit into no single tag, but somehow they manage to smoothly change lanes between genres. What you experience only grows important when it has time to absorb. Eve of Absolution is one contemplation after another, at times littered with turmoil and at others laced with hope. The controlled chaos, the swirls of fret, and the icy breath heaved between sobs all funnel into an incredible journey, heartbreaking as it is.

For fans of: Pelican, Horn of the Rhino, Neurosis

Pair with: Rendezvous, Lakefront Brewery

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Zac's "Quik Drag": Sleestak

Sleestak: Book of Hours 

Sleestak is back! And I must say in a fresh and very experimental way. After dropping the phenomenal Fall of Altrusia in 2011, these Milwaukee natives released a lo-fi collection of space rock ditties, entitled Altrusian Moon in 2012, get yourself over to bandcamp to stream Altrusian Moon if you missed it. Further challenging themselves Sleestak have continued their yearly release with Book of Hours, earlier this year. Further challenging their listeners, Sleestak have taken one step away from their doom and stoner roots to quench the progressive fire blazing in their psyche. With that being said there are still loads distorted RIFF'ing and repetitive grooves. New to the Sleestak arsenal is a very operatic and Phantom of the Opera style ambiance, dark and authentic. Something that I, personally, am missing in Book of Hours is Matt Schmitz's tremendous gritty and vehement vocal delivery. Don't let that keep you away from Book of Hours though. Schmitz's cleans surface with a vibrant Jim Morrison vibe. Sleestak haven't only employed experimental song structures and timing in Book of Hours, they have also departed from their familar lengthy run times for a snappy and poppier form of psychedelic rock, this latest piece runs under the twenty-five minute mark. Be sure to spin my favorite track Lone Wolf, the regular version. This steady blues based track begins with a haunting spoken piece of poetry, which brings to my mind a deranged soul drenched in whiskey entertaining his thoughts of freedom. Lone Wolf takes a sudden turn to experimental region of the netherworld with a smooth transition from blues driven guitar RIFF'ing into an Jethro Tull and Opeth-ian inspired jazz measure. Don't miss it!

Members: 

Dan Bell - Bass 

Marcus Bartell - Drums 

Matt Schmitz - Guitar // Vocals // Keys

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