Drums thumped harder than a banged up nonce; vocals with the dash n verve of rusted bolts. What else to expect from ex-Electric Wizard rhythmists n former Lord of Putrefaction cantillation? Stacks. Churning enormo-riffs n portentous song titles diddling with diabolic intent (Vinho Dos Mortos; Black Hash Mass; Hand of Glory; Baptism of the Walking Dead). But lo, there be smarts n diversity. 'Frinstance, check cover: no standard issue pentagrammed runic folderol but Fucking Hell, Jake n Dinos Chapman's irony serrated Nazi diorama. So, anchored around trudge sludge riffing prowl sinister black metal buzz, melancholy deep psych ur-folk melody, hypnotick Sabbath bass drone n drum echo. Nous, never samey - except where it counts - and craves, nay, demands your attention.
Jackie-O siren provenance and title suggest Weyes Blood / Bluhd is for busting some outsider freak zone moves. Well, all that and more as withal Ms. Weyes has gone and produced arguably the unprettiest feminine album since Nico's Desert Shore. Shades of Ms. Päffgen's beloved "Jeem" prowl from the get go on Storms That Breed's steamy Manzarek carnival organ swirls. Dunno who Dark Juices are perxackly but they make latterly Bad Seeds sound like sissy boys. Thereafter, it's all creaking ambient melody droning death folk lament. Mesmerizing and swooning like heavily narcotized Cocteaus / Galaxie 500. Classy, subtle and haunted.
Top drawer ambient doom metal. No Satanic nonsense from the mysterious Swiss trio. Instead a spacy, bleak vortex of pealing emptiness. Strangely enervating.
Oh my. Down-tuned, grinding, monolithic doom metal, achieving unprecedented depths, Pandaemonium, uncompromising worship of weed, malevolence, dirge, dense walls of sound, extended planet-sized riff-monsters, never exceeding a snail's pace, somehow managing to build in intensity, from single note guitar lines to huge power chords with deliberate maddening certainty.