We're the good kind
March is normally when I celebrate the worst two months of the year being over, but this year's feeling like it's got much worse in store, though I hope I'm mistaken. Here are some new-to-me and perhaps under-the-radar and other-hyphenated-descriptor records that've taken the edge off the last few weeks.
Black Curse, Burning in Celestial Poison LP (Sepulchral Voice)
Second LP from this blackened death unit, venturing out further into madness and landing where Teitanblood, Pissgrave and Destruction Ritual-era Krieg roam. It's no small feat to push a sound as hard as Black Curse do, spittle from gnashing teeth practically splattering out of the speakers, while writing genuinely memorable songs that hold up to repeat listens. No perverse complexity, no esoteric lore, no melodies or washed attempts at psychedelia; Black Curse are rooted in the terror that is Life, "the world in fire." It opens with the awkwardly titled "Spleen Girt With Serpent," disparate movements all working individually (that slow riff about eight minutes in, whew) but one or two airy breaks or clunky transitions sap some of the momentum. From there though, the band locks in, the longer tracks gliding from gurgling death metal to blistering blastbeats, occasionally allowing the listener to catch up with circular headbanging riffs and crushing, lumbering doom. The way that a track like "Ruinous Paths..." splinters apart and twists together over and over, is sort of an ideal for this type of music, its immediacy and will to chaos holding the listener rapt for the duration. I'd also like to shout out the thousand foot depths in the middle of "Flowers of Gethsemane," disembodied voices howling inside the wall of noise created by the drums and guitars. Ferocious and manic, pedal pushed ever harder toward Valhalla. A towering pillar of death metal execution.
DAR, A Slightly Larger Head LP (Sophomore Lounge)
Yet another tip of the hat to Repressed Records' social media presence, one of the only reasons to even log onto Instagram anymore, and most of their staff shortlisting DAR's A Slightly Larger Head on their respective year-end lists. There's certain labels you should just automatically check out whatever they release, and Sophomore Lounge is one of 'em, but for whatever reason this slipped under my radar. DAR is the work of Chicagoan Aaron Osbourne, and he's backed by Jim Marlowe, Jenny Rose & Ryan Davis here, creating an unabashedly bold, deceptively simple rock record. Its crunchy riffs are well-suited for clear skies and wiping away near-constant depression for a few minutes. For some, the lyrics will be a little too earnest, or a little too personal to Osbourne, two things that are sort of the same in that they make it hard for certain listeners to find their own meaning. For the majority, though, Osbourne finds perfect ways to describe the minutiae and quiet despair of modern living: "Trying to find closure/just dying to be alive" from "Fourth of July" is one of many choice lines that start in darkness but ultimately communicate a communal desire. As bleak as things can get across A Slightly Larger Head, the music is as punchy and bright, likely due in some part to Jim Marlowe's recording and production. When Osbourne sings "We're the good kind" as a summation on the title track, the record's outed as a panacea for the small unspoken anxieties and doubts plaguing modern life. Fans of Beat Happening or those two Bed Wettin' Bad Boys LPs should check in here, as should anyone looking for a bright, brainy rock record to put the last few months to rest. Tip!
Gaoled, Bestial Hardcore LP (Iron Lung/Televised Suicide)
Big-time debut from Gaoled (pronounced "jailed," like the Scapegoat song) after a number of cassette and flexi releases, and it smokes. They take hardcore, powerviolence and death metal and feed 'em through the meat grinder, the purplish swollen goo flecked with electronics. They do the "fast part careens into devastatingly slow part" as well as anyone, but the sound here's beefed up to sandblast away any questions of their sincerity. Not that anyone's making grinding metallized hardcore for fashion, but they absolutely level you with the intensity and anger on display. The drums, bass and guitar are remarkably clear; while it's easy to latch onto the chugging riffs on "Relax," repeat listens reveal the intricacy of the blistering, blink-and-miss parts. The vocals are barked and reverberated around, filling any voids and sometimes used to augment the big riffs ("Waiting," "Feed"). There's a noted death metal influence on tracks like "Tempt" and the bulldozing closer "Khanate," the band stretching out their sound, a good look for an LP's worth of something as abrasive as Gaoled. The end result of Bestial Hardcore is energizing, not exhausting, a grit blast eardrum cleansing, needed now more than ever.
Oïmiakon, Comptoir Des Vanités LP (Bruit Direct Disques)
Got a backlog of Bruit Direct Disques releases that I regrettably did not feature here, but I'm gonna start with the most obtuse and opaque one, of course. Philémon Girouard is behind Oïmiakon, a self-described "electroacoustic/noise composer," though for Comptoir Des Vanités he flirts with grim, corroded techno for a good bit of the duration. The glitchy beats of the first few minutes give way to the 10-minute "Viande de Race," a skipping rhythm and muffled club sounds, heard from the bathroom or outside or maybe just in your head, threatening to swell or break free and making for a strangely captivating departure. The restraint on "Viande de Race" collapses on the B-side: noise swells and scratches across "M.Lube," "Turbo Silence" sounds like Lolina jumped on a Joe Colley track, and the transforming, panic-inducing beats on "Master Audition" rise to a fever pitch to bring it on home. While the write-up references Gaspar Noé's Irreversible, I tend to associate Comptoir Des Vanités with Climax, but in both cases the throbbing, pulsing chaos is at a distance, viewed through a screen, or right behind you, breathing down your neck. Sticks long after it's over. Another gem from Bruit Direct Disques, this.
