Showing posts with label collaboration. Show all posts
Showing posts with label collaboration. Show all posts

Sunday, 12 November 2017

52 Albums That Shaped My Life - #23

Shrinebuilder – Self-titled
(Neurot Recordings, 2009)
Buy the album here

Shrinebuilder are the perfect supergroup.  The band contains members of some of the most respected bands in stoner and doom.  Wino of Saint Vitus and The Obsessed, Dale Crover of Melvins, Al Cisneros of Sleep and Om, and Scott Kelly of Neurosis combine to create a record of such unity and breadth it would take any other band an entire career to come close.  While the members share common musical ground, there is a rich diversity of vision, tone, and experience that produces a new experience on each subsequent listen of this record.  In Wino and Kelly the band boasts two of the most distinct voices in contemporary heavy music.  Crover’s legendary drum sound has helped lay a doom blueprint, and Al Cisneros can lay claim to recording stoner rock’s defining albums with Sleep and having the most gloriously fuzzed out bass sound around. Shrinebuilder themselves have only produced one album to date, but perhaps with this near perfect record their work is done.

It is totemic music that inspires images of pagan celebration and worship, draws on natural and celestial symbols, and drives it all home with the full force of false gods.  In “Solar Benediction” and “Pyramid of the Moon” we are taken on a voyage through day and night as if watching the skies from the start of human civilisation.  Shrinebuilder ask us to imagine what these most omnipresent of celestial bodies would have meant to people at the earliest stage of development of our societies; the fear, awe, and war that would have ensued in our attempts to make sense of that which is out of reach.  “Solar Benediction” burns with the power of the sun.  The track channels the rage of a burning desert in to a beautiful contemplation of the birth of civilisation, religion, and war.  No time is wasted with Wino’s distinct wail giving way to the heavy riff and thick growl of Scott Kelly.  Al Cisneros’ beautiful high-pitched, fuzzed-out bass sound and Crover’s full, earthy drum tones keep the track grounded and natural feeling, but the overall sensation is one of endless power.  It finds its counterpoint in “Pyramid of the Moon” with its more Sleep-esque riff and almost spoken vocal bringing the temperature down.  Kelly’s sonorous tone will be familiar to fans of his solo acoustic work, but it finds a more fitting home here with the beautiful doom guitar sounds that he and Wino exchange throughout.  The paganist atmosphere escalates through the mid-section of the song with droned chanting, winding and ethereal solos, and heartbeat-like bass drum sounds that produce the effect of a pounding tribal mass. 

The light and dark of Shrinebuilder are equally compelling, but in “Blind for All to See” we are trapped in the contemplative slow-burn of a half-light dusk, reacting to the vibrations and squeals of experimental guitars but held in captive sway by its alluring bass sound.  Cisneros has the unmatched ability to create soothing, sensual, addictive basslines that once heard you hope will never end.  The unpredictable guitars, restrained drums, and deep vocals just glide over or bounce off this bassline as if it is the monolith towering over awe-inspired worshippers.  “The Architect” is much more immediate with an opening riff which seems to have inspired later era Mastodon.  Wino’s voice and incredible timing are on full display, patiently finding the perfect moment to accentuate the riff with an ascending wail or gentle word, and never attempting to dominate the song.  At under six minutes, “The Architect” is the most direct and deliberately catchy of the songs on Shrinebuilder but still carries the atmosphere of pagan worship that drives this album.  The bass solo at the end carries in to final track “Science of Anger” and its overlapping, squeezed guitar sounds and gentle vocals.  The slow riffing takes centre stage this time with Wino’s beautiful voice through the verses setting up the explosion of Scott Kelly’s huge chorus riff and verse.  Wino’s delivery of the line “Humbly I stand / Awestruck and numb” is an album highlight for me and cements “Science of Anger” as the most memorable track.  Inspired by Sleep’s stoner riffing, infused with Saint Vitus’ more delicate tones, and driven by Neurosis-like intensity this final song has all the elements that make this record so special. 


A darkly gentle exploration of the birth of civilisation and humanity’s attempts to understand where it belongs among it all, this record is testament to the strengths of each musician here.  It opens itself in waves, inviting further enquiries, always with something more to offer, another stone to overturn.  And while it may pay homage to innumerable influences, Shrinebuilder has become a benchmark for modern stoner and doom that may even surpass the best efforts of each member’s full-time band. 


Sunday, 13 August 2017

52 Albums That Shaped My Life - #36

Down - NOLA
(Elektra Records, 1995)
Buy the album here

I turned over the CD case of Down’s debut album in the old Virgin Megastore in Glasgow, and was met with an image that would burn itself in to my brain.  A thorn-crowned Jesus figure with a joint hanging casually from his lips with dark shadows for eyes, nearly drowned in monochrome roughness.  A relatively mainstream metal fan in those days, I found the extreme metal scene to be foreign, out of reach, and filled with noises my ears couldn’t understand.  I was intrigued by what I heard, but I didn’t know why, and ended up backing away from it for years.  While Down aren’t extreme metal, this picture on the back cover of their first album, NOLA, generated the same subconscious response.  This was not my usual fare.  It had an underground feel to it despite the familiar and influential names involved.  While Down was comprised of Pepper Keenan of Corrosion of Conformity, Kirk Windstein and Todd Strange of Crowbar, Jimmy Bower of Eyehategod, and Phil Anselmo of Pantera, something about the independent, DIY image that the artwork, logo, and track listing conveyed had me questioning if it was going to be something I could handle.  Problem was, I was hooked on the band already, I just didn’t know it.  I anxiously walked by the CD several times until my curiosity completely consumed me, and I ended up laying out £15 for it in 2000.  That’s £400 new money.  I had entered a new world.


As “Temptation’s Wings” filled my room with 60s and 70s-inspired, metal-edged hard rock and Phil Anselmo’s growl, I was simultaneously relieved, disappointed, and incredibly excited.  Relieved that this wasn’t some bizarre, experimental side project that I might have to pretend to like; disappointed that it wasn’t exactly that and a bit more; and excited that I had just found a band that represent everything I’ve ever wanted from music.  The riffs are big but aren’t trying to be heavier than they need to be.  The drums are concerned with feel and gentle details as much as getting your head banging.  The leads and harmonised guitar parts are about emotion and storytelling rather than showing off any technical prowess.  The vocals are aggressive but with a crooning quality to them that provides this stoner rock with punch and melody.  This is all wrapped in the swampy production that has become associated with the Nola scene in general, and more specifically with the self-generated lore of band production base, Nodferatu’s Lair, to create a sound that nods to influences but is stirringly unique. 

By the time the final riff of “Temptation’s Wings” blended into the sharper opening of “Lifer”, I was committed.  I remember nearly breaking my neck on first hearing this song.  Bower’s insistent percussion mandates ferocious headbanging, and to this day I consider “Lifer” a pit-starter with soul.  It’s familiar lyrical and thematic territory for Pantera fans, but with this Southern Rock setting the edges soften, the puffed-out chests deflate, and honest emotion starts to seep through.  It’s heavy metal that wants you to snap your neck, but look after your soul and the souls of those around you.


My memories of hearing these first two Down songs are so strong that I often struggle to look beyond them for my favourite tracks, but “Stone The Crow” steps right up and demands its place alongside these tracks.  If anything, it ups the Southern Rock vibe, gently caressing you with its lilting down home guitar, while simultaneously hitting you hard with lyrics that only hint at the strain in Anselmo’s heart regarding his Southern upbringing, identity, and his place in a culture that is inherently racist.  While Anselmo’s racist outbursts have tainted Down’s career, the band’s identity is not entirely caught up in false or blinded notions of the Good Ol’ South.  For some, it’s more about Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, guitar riffs, and a lot of weed.  While crushing odes like “Eyes of the South”, with its incredible jammed-out intro, gigantic bass sound, and unstoppable twin guitars, revel in imagery of the South and love of it what it offers to some of its inhabitants, Down’s true identity is found in “Hail to the Leaf” and Nola’s defining track, “Bury Me In Smoke”.  In the former, the sound of a bong bubbling away undercuts the heavy riff and more aggressive and direct drumming to intertwine with Anselmo’s tortured lyrics and create an atmosphere of clouded judgement and self-hatred.  In the latter, we find Down’s declaration of greatness.  “Bury Me In Smoke” is a huge and confident song fuelled by weed and driven by brilliant guitar riffs.  It brings together all the elements Down displayed in the preceding songs, but knows where this album’s, and this band’s, heart truly lies: In allowing the main riff to fade away then briefly reprising it before the album finishes, Down remind us that at its core, this is music for people who love heavy and honest guitars.  All the drugs, self-hatred, and ideas about the South can step to one side: Hail to the riff.

Monday, 22 May 2017

52 Albums That Shaped My Life - #48

Cult of Luna & Julie Christmas – Mariner
(Indie Recordings, 2016)
Buy the album here

Cult of Luna have changed so many members since their self-titled debut album in 2001 that I barely took notice when Julie Christmas was announced as guest vocalist on latest album Mariner. “Just another band member,” I thought, “won't make much of a difference.” But the performance of the former Battle of Mice and Made Out Of Babies vocalist is the very thing that makes this album Cult of Luna's most memorable and atmospheric. Salvation, Somewhere Along The Highway, Eternal Kingdom, and Vertikal are all incredible albums that blend huge post metal soundscapes, gentle passages of introspection, and powerful hardcore vocals, but it wasn't until Julie Christmas that the band could boast such insidious hooks and honest passion. They had created an air of plaid shirt pretension that Christmas' vocals have cut right through. In doing so she has opened up this album to the angry intensity of earlier work like The Beyond while giving it an identity all its own.


The eerie, horror-film-child quality of her clean singing voice is reminiscent of Aimee Echo of Human Waste Project (who?), but Christmas' insane screaming range and vocal control set her apart as one of the elite vocalists in metal. In almost every song of this album Christmas infects the listener with an addictive hook or an empowering and cathartic scream that burrows in to the brain like a Ceti Eel. Her and Johannes Persson's vocals wind in and out of each other, sometimes battling for space, but more often providing the perfect contrast or complement. In the opening track “A Greater Call”, a floating opening passage gives way to the tribal drumming of Thomas Hedlund which drives the song headlong in to the brutal scream of Persson backed by Christmas' delicate melody:

We are not conquerors
We float with the tide

The combination is perfect: the anger and frustration with modern society and city living that has informed much of Cult of Luna's work is balanced by the gentle passivity of Christmas' vocal and the openness to exploration without preconceptions or judgement that the lyrics suggest. The band have stated that Mariner represents a final thematic extension of their albums from Eternal Kingdom onwards: each album exploring a different part of life on earth, before Mariner takes us in to space. “A Greater Call” feels more like a transcendence than space travel with its steady build of interplaying keys and guitar, and the repetition of the vocal lines quoted above. “Chevron”, however, has more of the energy that space exploration would require. The heavy bass line throughout the song feels like propulsion pushing this journey in to deeper territory where, halfway through the song, it explodes with a riff that carries cosmic heaviness. The intensity is pushed even further with “The Wreck of S.S. Needle” where Christmas' full range is evident, and Cult of Luna's cascading guitars are made stratospheric with samples and keys that create an almost impenetrable wall of sound. Christmas' screams in the chorus are the most engaging vocals I have heard in the last year, but it's the repeated request to “Put me down where I can see you run” that will stick in your mind for days after hearing the song.



It's an incredible song that deserves the ambient space “Approaching Transition” provides. It's the only moment of this journey in to outer space that allows for rest, and has more in common with the patient wonderings of Somewhere Along The Highway than the intensity of more recent work like Vertikal and Vertikal II. It forms the perfect respite for the album's final passage: a fifteen minute epic built around tightly circling lead guitar work, Christmas' gentle storytelling, and riffs reminiscent of both Salvation and Eternal Kingdom. While “Cygnus” doesn't have the raw aggression or passion of “The Wreck...” it is a fitting end to an album about exploration, both physical and artistic. The final six minutes of “Cygnus” are the epitome of post metal: to some unbearable repetition, to others the most inspirational, transformative, and electrifying culmination of music that asks for your patience but rewards you with journeys to places you never thought you could go. Whether or not Cult of Luna and Julie Christmas work together again, this album represents where heavy music can go, and how good it can be, when bands are willing to put songwriting and experimentation ahead of expectations.