After the befuddled + disappointing farewell of the original cataclysmic Electric Wizard lineup, 2002's "Let Us Prey," sole remaining member Jus Oborn took a couple years off to assemble a new band. He ended up picking his bird Liz Buckingham (ex-Sourvein) as a second guitarist, Justin Greaves on drums, and Rob al-Issa on bass. Fans looked upon this lineup with trepidation, and rightly so. Compared to the deeply sinister syncopation of Mark Greening, Greaves sounded like an accountant. Al-Issa could certainly play the bass guitar, but completely lacked the Jamaican influence that defined original Tim Bagshaw's playing and made the classic EW platters so engrossing.
The record they came up with, 2004's "We Live," sounded like a joke compared to their earlier work, and EW fanatics put on sackcloth and ashes and sat around wreathed in bitter smoke as they mourned the former lords of doom.
And so it was with great surprise that I plopped 2007's "Witchcult Today" on the turntable and was enrapt less then a minute after the needle drop. As it happened, this record turned out to be what critics call a "return to form." Here's how :
Like "Dopethrone" years before it, "Witchcult Today" wastes no time in whomping the listener with music that is powerful, tectonic, and just terribly heavy. The opening title cut envelops the listener in a sly tarlike groove while Oborn plies his tale of modern cultcraft. I'll also say here that "Witchcult Today" is one of the great song / LP titles of all time. If anyone is selling subscriptions to that magazine, sign me up.
The punches don't let up, as after seven malevolent minutes of "Witchcult," EW launches into the groovy, hard-swinging, and highly sinister "Dunwich." This song somehow manages to sound doomy even at a fast tempo; Oborn throws a slurveball in this one by doing some cool-sounding vocal harmonies. "Dunwich" is wickedly fun and brings a taste of chaotic party vibe a la White Zombie.
Next up comes the unforgettable "Satanic Rites of Drugula," which (witch) is self-parodic, cartoonish, and wonderful. "Your dope-laced blood shows me new highs," indicates Oborn. One again detects the Zombie influence here, more in the lyrics and attitude than the music; the pace is doom molasses.
Next come a couple decent tunes, "Raptus" and "The Chosen Few," but these are really just a bridge to my favorite song on this disc, the horrifying and witty "Torquemada '71." If you're like me, anytime you hear the word "Torquemada", two things come immediately to mind : the awful ethnic violence that was the Spanish Inquisition, and Mel Brooks' uproarious portrayal of the torturer Torquemada in his ribsplitting "History of the World, pt.1," wherein he treats the Inquisition as Broadway to hootworthy effect. "Torquemada : Do not ask for mercy. You can't Torquemada anything!" THE WIZARD brings so much intensity and lumbering swagger to this song that it's impossible to resist its ridiculous pull. Oh, one more thing : in this song, Oborn has Torquemada getting it on with a revenant Countess Bathory. More than any other song, this one brings back the snarl, humor, and pulverizing weight that brought us into the Electric Wizard fold to begin with.
The record closes with the thunderous ambient doom instrumental "Black Magic Rituals and Perversions," which is kind of a cop-out, but it does sound pretty cool and, as Pauly Shore would say, "stoney."
One thing about this LP that you will undoubtedly notice is that most of the songs are a variation on the same groove-riff. The title cut, "...Drugula," "The Chosen Few," and "Torquemada '71" sound verrrry similar to each other. That's OK though -- THE WIZARD is going for a kind of AC/DC / Chuck Berry formal consistency here, where all the songs are more or less the same, but they all rock and rule. Suits me just fine -- I'd rather have a whole record of samey but excellent doom than one full of pointless, vibe-robbing experimentation. As I mentioned in my Doom Metal 093 class syllabus, doom is mostly about dire atmosphere.
What are the drawbacks of "Witchcult Today?" Well, the songwriting, while quite good, isn't at the staggering, unconscionably great level that characterizes "Dopethrone." Also unlike that monumental LP, the sound of "Witchcult Today" is warm and vintagey, probably thanks to the 70s-era equipment they used for recording and the new amps that Oborn employs. It sounds good, but it doesn't sound, you know, scary. It comes off like a really good 70s dirge record. "Dopethrone" sounds like a field recording of World War III.
That said, "Witchcult Today" is on par with 1997's "Come My Fanatics" -- that is, a truly great doom metal record. It brings the requisite oppressive atmosphere in vast dusty clouds of sweet lethargy. Miss it at your soul's own peril. (23,617)
In the world of doom metal, all knees bend to Black Sabbath. But the femurs tremble and the patellas shatter when the dread name of THE WIZARD is uttered. Electric Wizard.
The name of THE WIZARD strikes awe into the frail hearts ov every doom metaller on the globe. Why? Because THE WIZARD is responsible for the most soul-ravaging LP in doom history. "Dopethrone."
Released at the very height of $#!%-rock's reign, "Dopethrone" instantly obliterated warehouses full of "Creed" and "Staind" records and pinned back the ears of the metal demimonde. Perfect in conception, monumental in execution, and with a pencil drawing of Satan holding a bong on its cover, this LP changed everybody's idea of what exactly it meant to describe music as "heavy."
Beginning with a muted drum lick and foreboding, insistent bass line, the record wastes little time in maiming your psyche with the one-two evisceration of "Vinum Sabbathi / Funeralopolis." This dire diptych begins with the propulsive "Vinum," a song that turns a cliché note progression into a harrowing four minutes of headbanging pain. Then, a denouement comes in the form of a clean, loping bass lick overlaid by some quiet guitar filigree, which continues just long enough to lull you into complacency. Suddenly, an anguished scream cuts through the background and with a lacerating finality, immense mountains of molten-lead sound crash down and obliterate your heart with the desperately phlegmatic riffs of "Funeralopolis." By the time that pounding assault of nihilistic agony is over, you're left stunned and breathless.
There are plenty of great tracks after that initial salvo, but in reality, you're too beaten and psychologically altered to notice the particulars of them. One's about a witchfinder. One's about a barbarian. One's about a dopethrone and black amps tearing the sky. You get the idea.
The point is that this LP is a monolith of heavy atmosphere that you cannot prevent from altering your consciousness. It's like Massive Attack's "Mezzanine" in that and other respects (including the unbelievable opening song sequence that leaves you gasping), and is probably influenced by that landmark record. But "Dopethone" exceeds "Mezzanine" in a couple of ways. One is that there is no sliver of angelic light to give hope in the endless steppe of brutality that is "Dopethrone." The other is that Massive didn't have a devil with a bong on the cover of "Mezzanine."
There is consensus in the music community that "Dopethrone" wasn't written by Electric Wizard. Instead, Satan, feeling sorry for the three stoned kids stuck in a grimy basement in Dorset with little but a cheap guitar, crummy old amps, and a few bags of Doritos, composed and notated out the entire album, then personally appeared to them in the middle of a reefer session to hand over the black manuscript.
That's really the only reasonable explanation for the reality of "Dopethrone." There is no album more crushing, terrifying, wrenching, convincing. Many of THE WIZARD's other LPs are outstanding, especially the, uh, seminal "Come My Fanatics" from 1997 and the smug but wonderful "Witchcult Today" from 2007. But none of them can match teh flawless evil assault on your mind that is "Dopethrone."
The formula for this album, Sabbath riifs + dub feel + adolescent horror / drug / fantasy lyrics, sounds (at best) chuckleworthy on paper. But lay this platter down, drop the needle, and you will be harmed by the relentless gravity and violence that is embodied therein.
THE WIZARD produced a followup, "Let Us Prey," which was pretty good but nothing like the demonic wonder of its predecessor. The band probably knew this and broke up soon after. Which is too bad, because when they re-formed a bit later without Mark Greening on drums and Tim Bagshaw on bass, THE WIZARD turned into a precise, satisfying purveyor of doom music rather than a tectonic force from the nether regions. Greening's drumming, which has a backbeat feel reminiscent of '60s soul records, IS doom metal. And the PiL / dub / dancehall influences brought by Bagshaw lent the music an authoritative heft that hasn't yet been recaptured.
That said, "Witchcult Today" is tied with "Come My Fanatics" for their 2nd best overall, with horosho songwriting and a very good retro doom sound. The new lineup with 2nd guitarist Liz Buckingham sounds tight but not uptight on this disc, and they're dripping with bad vibes to harsh your mellow. It's got a grip of astounding cuts : the sinister title track, the surprising upbeat "Dunwich," the hilarious but cool "Satanic Rites of Drugula," and the Mel Brooks-conjuring stroke of genius "Torquemada '71." It's a must-acquire.
"Black Masses," from 2010, is much more in the deliberate '70s stoner-rock vein and doesn't really pack the visceral power of their earlier releases. Plus, Oborn's vocals, usually buried in the mix, are distractingly upfront. It works fine as ambient music, but make sure that your mind is already pummeled (or, as Oborn would say, "turn off your mind") before popping this one in.
Check this out : the original lineup of Electric Wizard playing "Supercoven" from the EP of the same name in 2002, for a miniscule audience. This is before they became lionized and a little complacent. Look at the intensity of the performance and how lead howler Jus Oborn utterly commits to laying a brutish trip on the witless witnesses. He visibly channels Kurt Cobain here, but it doesn't detract from the weight of this brilliant show.
Well, we've had some inquiries about the most righteous doom group Witchsorrow since posting the doom metal primer. For those too lazy and / or stoned to go to Youtube themselves, here's the lead "single" from the self-titled disc of dementia, "The Agony." If you don't think that this is some of the best leaden music of the year, you are a plone.
After the below video, be dead sure to go the the next link, where you can stream the entire new Krallice LP, "Diotima," for @#$%ing free. NYC ambient black metallers Krallice are the new cause celebre of the hipster fixed-gear cappuccino-metal set, but they're also one of the most creative bands in underground music. It's a must.
Click below to stream the new Krallice LP. From NPR. C'mon just take a sip of your fair-trade chai, don't let your greasy metal friends see what URL you're on, and click :
OK, serial novella, LW-style. Finish this one up for me, cro-mags.
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I had a horrible toothache, so I made an appointment to see the dentist. The rest of my work day was a living hell, as I tried to keep my face from screwing up into a mask of agony during meetings and snapped inappropriately at people on the phone. I heard that the boss was mad about my behavior but managed to sneak out of the office before he could chew my face off. My drive home was pockmarked with near-misses and roiling road rage as the tooth beagle kept gnawing away at my nerve. When I got home, my wife gave me a kiss on the cheek which sent swords of pain through my jaw and into my cranium. I took a bunch of Ibuprofen, cursed the fact that I hadn't saved any Vicodin that I had left over from my foot operation, and headed to to bed. Of course, sleep was impossible until sheer exhaustion overtook the machete sensation and I passed out.
When I woke up I was starving, but I forewent my customary bowl of "Kashi" brand cereal due to the blinding pain in my head. At this point, I was totally unfit to drive and couldn't even really speak, so my wife took the morning off from her job and drove me to the dentist. I signed my pathetic name on the sign-in sheet and sat twitching in the waiting room until the nurse called me.
I walked into the white room and sat down on a dentist chair so high-tech that I'm surprised it was declassified. Even through the pain I could tell it was really cool and was barely able to suppress an urge to bark Picard-style space commands. The nurse came back in and took my blood pressure, which I thought was odd for a tooth extraction, but whatever. The nurse looked pretty hot; her "Spongebob" scrubs were about a size too small and her short hair was tinted a kinky purple. This didn't really help ease my blinding discomfort, however.
The doctor came in, looking very much like a thinner Gene Hackman. He had a big bluish birthmark on the side of his cheek and I remember that he smelled like Tabasco.
"Hi, I'm Doctor Cartwright. Looks like you're in some pain, huh?"
I nodded gingerly.
"OK, Hank, you just hang in there. We're going to get you all fixed up. Edie, let's get Hank set up -- administer the anesthetic and get him secured."
The nurse, Edie, said "You'll feel a pinch" and inserted an IV of clear fluid into my arm and began to manipulate some apparatus behind my chair. Within a few seconds, the murderous pain had dulled to a throb and I was feeling more relaxed. Edie swivelled some metal pieces out from behind the chair and snapped them in place at the side of my head, locking it in place.
"Hey!" I drawled.
"Don't worry, Hank," Edie said with a wink. "This is just to immobilize your head so it doesn't move while we're working." In my peripheral vision, I could see that she was doing something with the IV.
Shortly thereafter, I felt a metallic chill and started to hear things in a weird, crunchy, amplified way, like as if I was listening to the world through a paper cup.
The doctor popped back into my frame of vision. He looked different. He said, "How we doing, Hank?" and his mouth curled in a sickening, inhuman smile. Behind his eyes I could see a bonfire of hate, and I would have screamed. But in fact, I couldn't speak at all.
The pop-critic establishment is already busy disparaging th' new release from Massive Attack, the English group responsible for welding R+B, dub, and pure burning hopeless doom into a mesmeric sound that rips lives out of living humans. The previous release under the Massive Attack name, "100th Window" was a grody platter of hot sleep garbage, so my hopes weren't all that high for this record, th' geographically-named "Heligoland." However, after listening to this joint on repeat for the past week, I can say with confidence that the critics hating on it either haven't listened to it (I'm looking at you, Pitchfork) or have no idea what Massive Attack are supposed to be about (hey bloggers!). The raw fact is that this record is exactly what a Massive Attack record is supposed to be : adventurous, unpredictable, and capable of sending the listener into a melancholic reverie.
Pitchfork's review goon intones that Massive Attack fail to 'engage current music' with this release, rattling off a list of recent genres like 'dubstep' and 'UK funky' in an attempt to sound hip and asking why th' band doesn't do something in relation to those styles. This is silly. Massive Attack has never been interested in following or 'engaging' current music trends, they are in the business of creating fresh music styles. Suggesting that the band should have incorporated obvious dubstep references into this album is like saying that "Blue Lines" should have had acid house splashed all over it.
While it wouldn't be fair to say that this is a retro album, the 90s do creep up pretty big here. The vocal spots by Blur's Damon Albarn and Tricky's Martina Topley-Bird, th' recklessly unpolished beats, th' wild assemblage of genres. In fact, th' record that sounds most like "Heligoland" is Tricky's own "Nearly God," wherein th' mush-mouthed master of paranoia explored all kinds of new craggy musical forms in underproduced, rough, and totally enveloping tunes. That same kind of punchy excitement is here on "Heligoland" as well.
It kicks off with "Pray for Rain," a number sung by that guy from TV On The Radio. This tune is strongly reminiscent of "Remain in Light" era Talking Heads or classic Peter Gabriel. A vaguely witch-doctor midtempo loop prods Tunde Adebimpe along in his lyrics which evoke some kind of weird tribal ritual. The climax of this tune has a cache of lyrical gems like "Drops on rocks fall fast and fleeting… hidden laws unleash their meaning." The vibe is tense and anticipatory, rather than tense and paranoid. Some complain that this tune is overlong, but in fact, it's just right for sending you zoning into a harsh rude daydream.
Th' next cut, "Babel" is a little jarring with its fast straight drum-and-bass loop and more Talking Heads guitars, but then Topley-Bird's sly, streetworn voice floats in and recalls in tempo and knowing authority her performance of "Black Steel in The Hour of Chaos" from 1995. The skittering drums might be distracting for some (they're certainly quicker than anything else Massive Attack has done), but it's no cookie-cutter Metalheadz beat, and the twitchy speed creates an ill mood.
The sole vocal appearance by much-needed Daddy G follows, on posse mope "Splitting the Atom." This is a crypto-rocksteady tune that is just glum enough while also grooving steadily. Horace Andy thankfully reappears for the first time on this track.
No lead-in could prepare the listener for "Girl I Love You," a generically-titled song that is by any measure, the equal of any other Massive Attack tune. With Horace Andy's plaintive voice floating over an urgent-sounding rock bass and terrifying horn chart, this tune immediately ensnarls you like a barbed wire tumbleweed. Th' uncertianty and fear in Andy's voice is almost unbearable, and this tune has the kind of dynamics that are bound to blow an addled mind.
Next up is th' unfairly-maligned "Psyche," a tune so minimalist that it borders on Minimalism. Again, Topley-Bird mics it here, with good lyrics and her characteristic after-hours tone. Some folks find this jam overly simplistic or boring, but if you ask me, it's kind of fresh and has a deep structure that really sneaks up on you.
The "Flat of the Blade" is next, wherein some guy from a band called Elbow proceeds to maximally creep out over a very Bjorky percussion and drone track. I'm not a fan of this individual's singing, but the track gets gold (or is it grey?) stars for spooky atmosphere.
Two of th' remaining tracks, "Rush Minute" and "Atlas Air" are showcases for Robert "3D" Del Naja, who as on "100th Window" abandons rapping for a strange kind of flat-toned singing. The difference between these tracks and the mess that is "100th Window" is that the actual music here has a lot more ideas to offer and is not pandering. Both of these cuts are heavy on synth elements and have a kind of weary New Wave feel. The fact is that 3D sounds better rapping after all and is kind of stiff and unswinging in his production, but the tunes are still worth listening to.
The other two tracks, "Paradise Circus" and "Saturday Come Slow" are stone brilliant. The former is a ghostly exercise in chills featuring Goth poster girl Hope Sandoval. This jam has the kind of shifting, spare, slow beat that really gets those mope juices flowing. "Saturday Come Slow" is a love dirge right at the cusp of bleak sentiment like "Dissolved Girl." Damon Albarn lets loose some of the most sorrowful wails he's done since "Tender" dropped; this limey is hurting! People tend to associate Albarn with puckish Britpop pogoing and general punkitude, but anyone who's seen him do "This is a Low" or "No Distance Left to Run" will know that he can really tear up that sad mic thing. His ragged voice telegraphs profound heartbreak better than nearly anyone else.
I think that the bitter mistake all these reviewers make is in trying to compare this joint to "Mezzanine." "Mezzanine" isn't an album, it's a giant shard of volcanic glass that plunges straight into the soul of anyone who dares to listen to it. It's monolithic, oppressive, and non-reproducible. Comparing anything to "Mezzanine" is like saying "Oh well this roadside ditch isn't as cool as th' Marianas Trench." Stupid. "Mezzanine" is an artifact of its time that could not be any other way or from another time; any attempt to recreate or follow it now would result in abject self-parody. People tend to forget now, but Massive Attack's other two classic albums -- "Blue Lines" from 1991 and "Protection" from 1994 -- were totally different from each other and from "Mezzanine," and took a lot of getting used to. i remember how people would talk smack about "Protection" when they bought it after having loved and crumbled to th' narcobludgeon of "Mezzanine," only to come back two months later and crow about how brilliant it was when they finally 'got' it. So, like those other two classic albums, give this one some time and repeat listens late at night, and I think then that all th' irrelevant comparisons will drop away and you'll be able to soak in this record properly. It's funny, just today I was rapping with my pal and CERN inhabitant monster -- he said "I've listened to 'Mezzanine' hundreds of times, but can't really name a favorite song." It's just not possible to cleave up that LP -- it's a complete and matchless monument of psychedelia.
"Heligoland" is something different but equally needed : a collection of diverse fresh tunes, fearlessly chosen and correctly sung. Massive Attack have refused to try to replicate the hazy druglike syrup of of 1998 and instead are exploring a quicker-stepping, more raw style that demonstrates how unsettling sounds don't always come at plodding molasses tempos. I strongly recommend that all freaks, goths, and sad pandas obtain a copy of this; it's adventuresome, worth your brainspace, and an antidote to the stale. Wait until 2 or 3am, sit back with spooky lights on, and devolve to th' destructive sounds of this joint. Now, if only it came with a reason to get out of bed th' next day.. (49,211)
In a completely unexpected turn of events, the 'yes we can have hope and change' president has vetoed hope and issued an executive order against change. Obama has apparently lied about not enforcing the federal ban on marijuana in otherwise legal situations. As Obama pays populist lip-service to medical marijuana, his minions at the DEA are continuing to raid medical marijuana growers. Some of them may never live outside of a prison cell again. If this were done on a lower level, the claim that he would not enforce certain laws and giving the go-ahead to violate them may be considered entrapment.
"Yes I can!... Be a Machiavellian despot!"--Barack "The Prince" Obama (132,988)
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In a completely unexpected turn of events, the 'yes we can have hope and change' president has vetoed hope and issued an executive order against change. Obama has 
