Psycho Las Vegas 2019 has announced it’s first lineup announcement and the fans are sure to go crazy for these bands. Uncle Acid And The Deadbeats, High On Fire, Glassjaw, YOB, Perturbator, Kadavar, and Oranssi Pazuzu are booked with many more to be announced soon. Early bird tickets are already on sale, with the event moving to Mandalay Bay Resort And Casino, this coming August 16th – 18th. Continue reading
Philadelphia bred heavy rockers Ecstatic Vision are releasing a new album Raw Rock Fury via Relapse Records on April 7th. You can hear the first single ‘You Got It (Or You Don’t)’ below:Continue reading
When it comes to after parties Desertfest is certainly no Roadburn, where shenanigans are abound after the bands finish, but the brilliant cocktail bar outside, and rum n coke’s so strong you can see right through them in the venue itself, do get the party started, even if it takes a while. And by three in the morning, as venue security tries to sweep us out the door, most want to linger for a bit more dancing.
The Desertfest franchise is a well-known concept throughout the heavy stoner scene in Europe, having started in London and spread to other major cities like Berlin, Athens, and the last two years to Antwerp in Belgium as well. This year the line-up is incredible, and even the sad loss of Graveyard as a headliner can’t stop the momentum this fest will have. Continue reading
The best European rock festival of the fall, Desertfest Belgium is just under a month away. Headed up by Red Fang, YOB, Electric Wizard, and Goat, the fest takes place at Trix, Antwerp October 14th to 16th.Continue reading
Part II
Saturday at Psycho Las Vegas was no less impressive and perhaps the best single day of the fest band for band, especially if you were still able to stand after the first few days. Starting off with the public première of the Melvins documentary, The Colossus Of Destiny, followed by a Q & A by the director, Bob Hannam; this set the tone for the day.Continue reading
The eponymous debut album from London-based quartet Elephant Tree (Magnetic Eye Records) is graced by a sitar, no less, and is a bewitching amalgam of crushing weight and heartfelt melody. Its riffs akin to having both an elephant and a tree dropped upon you simultaneously, it nevertheless possesses a light dexterity which allows them to sashay gracefully through your ears.
‘Wither’ sees said riff growl, moan and howl along a wicked, lazy groove. The beauty here is in the decoration, the Low-end melancholy garnished with wistful, dreamy overlays: a solo oscillating through the mind, the Psychedelic vocals and atmosphere introducing Jar of Flies-era Alice in Chains to San Francisco trippers Sleepy Sun. Lead release ‘Dawn’, meanwhile, allies a filthy Stoner element to a Jon Davis-like scream.
The variety of the early stages is an absolute joy to behold: the hippy acoustic whimsy of ‘Circles’ sends those of us who grew up cocooned in Americana right back to the late 60s we yearn for. The riff of the ensuing ‘Aphotic Blues’ is so encompassing, pulverising, that this pleasant reverie is squashed like a bug: the crushing Sabbath-esque stomp still possessing enough cosmic, acid-drenched languor to keep the remains floating on air toward a vicious, pulsating close. ‘Echoes’, meanwhile, lends a 10CC mellowness to the bluesy notes and warm production before exploding in an Uncle Acid-like fuzz, its gentle mid-section bubbling beautifully.
It’s the juxtaposition between power and dreamy insouciance which is the real hallmark of this enthralling set. The titanic, warbling riff of ‘Fracture’ growls and crawls along like a sated behemoth while indolent, sleepy vocals caress its wounds. It’s a glorious feel, a heady atmosphere reeking of both patchouli oil and Kula:Shaker’s eastern melodies and rhythms, yet full of an easy vitality. This is all wonderfully brought together in the monolithic, drifting closer ‘Surma’, its moving, driving solos riding a trammelling riff toward a delicate coda of piano.
Fresh as a breeze, heavy as a mountain troll, and bloody addictive, even at this early stage Elephant Tree will sit atop a few weighty lists come the end of the year.
8.0/10.0
PAUL QUINN
Come no closer if you like God or happiness, as the very antithesis is available in this remarkably-packaged ‘split’, Endsville (Battleground), from Tucson quintet Godhunter and their Austin Doom counterparts Destroyer of Light.
The Arizona mob kick us off, their acoustic-toned ‘End Time Blues’ and ‘The Emptiness That is Left’ bookending four tracks of angry, raw Stoner. There’s a basic, Punk vibe to the minimalist style of ‘Divided States’ and ‘Anthropophobia’. The throaty squeal coursing through them is, however, somewhat inept, and accompanied by prosaic, unimaginative riffs and rhythm. Sadly this rather uninspiring, stodgy template continues throughout Godhunter’s offering; the Kylesa-lite ‘Cassandra Complex’ occasionally loads colossal weight upon the shoulders and is the standout track of their inferior set, but the slovenly growl and lacklustre riffs fail to stir the blood sufficiently. The closing coda of ‘…Emptiness…’, a diseased version of ‘Something in the Way’, desecrates Nirvana’s original whilst paradoxically landing a long-overdue significant punch.
Thankfully the rollicking, NWOBHM-infused Psych-Occult of Destroyer of Light fares much better. Opener ‘Electric Shadows’ finds ground between Moss and Uncle Acid and the Deadbeats; the steady, cantering pace graced by Steve Colca’s dramatic holler, subtle samples and eerie chanting which add melody to pummeling riffs and Jeff Klein’s pounding bass. Some electrifying solo work to the track’s coda, meanwhile, helps to banish the memory of what has gone before. The dirty, monolithic chords of ‘Coffin Hunter’, Colca’s vocal tolling over them, are reminiscent of Iommi at his evil, crushing best, while devilish roars from the three-quarter point are utterly terrifying and offer more than Godhunter’s whole portion.
And here’s the issue: this is a ‘split’ in the real sense of the word, an immense second half in real danger of being overshadowed by the shambolic pointlessness of the first. The dazzling leadwork of the morose, pulsing ‘Forever My Queen’ proves the Texan outfit’s name to be misleading, lighting the path to sinister, bone-crushing closer ‘Valley Of The Dead’, and affirms the belief that Destroyer of Light should not suffer the sins of their undeserving co-contributors. Give the Trad Doom boys your time at the very least.
6.0/10
PAUL QUINN
Mysterious Cambridge based quartet Uncle Acid and The Deadbeats have ridden a wave of growing popularity which peaked late last year when the group was granted the accolade of opening for Metal Godfathers Black Sabbath. Prior to the main event however Leeds based doom act Black Moth impressed with a storming set showing that female fronted acts don’t need a folk aspect nor drown out their singer in order to make an impression. Harriet Bevan’s lush vocals provide a compelling foil to the colossal riffs of tracks like ‘The Articulate Dead’ and forthcoming single ‘Tumbleweave’ leaving an extremely favourable impression on the packed audience.
“This song goes out to Charlie Manson” is how Uncle Acid elect to introduce ‘Poison Apple’ following the stomping ‘Death’s Door’. Maryland groove machine Clutch are plying their trade just down the road which makes tonight attendance all the more astounding although surely some promoters have missed a trick. Blighted by a technical glitch at the beginning of their set which delayed the commencement of their psychedelic ceremony enraptures the audience with the atmosphere akin to a love in before some idiot at the front is escorted from the building following a fight breaking out during the last number. Never the less `The Deadbeats seventies horror inspired romps inspire much dancing and unbridled revelry. Even slower numbers such as ’13 Candles’ inspires much movement in the crowd who encompass people of three different generations, no mean feat considering the fickle, media driven trappings of the modern music scene. Heady and enthralling guitar work mixed with a compelling mystique tonight Uncle Acid’s swagger and cocksure attitude full justified the hype and praise heaped upon them.
Uncle Acid and the Deadbeats on Facebook
ROSS BAKER
Sunday
The soreness had began to set in by this time, yet my body had no say in preventing further torture. There was yet more on the plate for this exercise session from hell. Luckily for my muscles, a one-two-three heavy handed slap of stoner/doom in the form of Windhand, Bongripper and Graves At Sea was how the Sabbath day was to begin. Wouldn’t it be hilarious if the former two bands practiced and recorded stoned and played sober?
Theorising.
My next gym coaches in Misery Index, however, demanded a few proverbial pushups, despite the lack of shade. How cruel of them to play ‘Traitors’ when they know that it’s impossible for me to stand still during such a thing.
The new track(s) from the newest opus The Killing Gods (Season of Mist) were business as usual; brutalising politically conscious death/grind the way Misery Index has delivered it to their hometown of Baltimore and the world for 13 lucky years. I’m assuming they all walked home after Deathfest, since they probably live up the street.
Pseudogod, they existed, and Wrathprayer from Chile played Blackened Death Metal that was surprisingly not too generic, though little stuck out in particular from their performance. The wizardly dissonance of Colombia’s (now based in Seattle, WA) Inquisition was much needed following these two noble, if not uninspiring acts.
Dagon’s trademark croaks take some getting used to if you’re not already into that thing, which I found out some years ago when I first heard ‘Those Of The Night’. I thought, “How the fuck are these Black Metal vocals? Weak shit, kid”, and fell in with the camp that didn’t enjoy the Popeye With Throat Cancer treatment. However, with time, I came to see them as an integral part of their sound, as important as the spiraling, dark melodies and atmospheres that blanket their deceptively simple aural landscapes. The tastefully militant blasting and appropriately placed groove sections provided by drummer Incubus are done well enough to the point that variety is not of great concern. Dagon even had the foresight to have two mics set up so he wouldn’t simply stand in one place the entire time, and that somehow made it a lot less likely to be bored while watching their ministrations. Clandestinely keeping you titillated since 1989.
A smorgasbord of Louisiana’s most metal featuring members of Goatwhore, Crowbar, and Eyehategod; Soilent Green are an unexpectedly well-done mixture of blues-tinged sludge metal and blasting deathgrind. I’d go so far as to say they’re one of my ‘favourites’ among bands I had gone in not expecting to be good, much less pretty darn good. Makes for good BBQ eating soundtracks. Because, y’know, the South. Following them were the band voted least likely to have anything to do with gore or guts, Gorguts, who are equal parts surrealist staircase-to-nowhere artists and death metal.
Reanimating ‘Orphans Of Sickness’ from The Erosion Of Sanity (complete with slamdown) and ‘Inverted’ from From Wisdom To Hate, Gorguts shows that they’ve not gone entirely soft on us. That is, if you consider the fact that they’ve run with the avant-garde angle from Obscura onward going ‘soft’. Opening with two songs from Coloured Sands (Season of Mist) as if to say “now that we’ve got that out the way”, they proceeded to blow some minds the way they have been for a quarter century. Damn, they’re old. Luc Lemay’s stage banter will tell you that much. Why isn’t he my uncle?
Yet another fuzzy treat for my unaware ears were Uncle Acid & The Deadbeats, who got my vote this year for the category of “Why Is This Band Playing Deathfest?” in the same way Anvil did two years ago. Good old fashioned psychedelic doom rock worship aside, they should seriously consider changing their name to Sharp Dressed Man: The Band. Sure beats the hell out of Ghost and Bigelf as far as semi-metal 70s hard rock goes. Just out of curiosity: why do none of these bands ever wear ‘normal’ clothes?
And now came the apex of sadness: Having to abandon the truest Sabbath worshippers in Sweden’s Candlemass after their opening song, ‘Mirror, Mirror’ to go catch Japan’s legally insane grind outfit Unholy Grave at the Soundstage. Mats Levén of Therion fame handling vocals and the fact that I missed ‘At Gallows’ End’ just makes me want to cry forever. Ancient dreams of an alternate reality where this was an easier choice. Almost makes me wonder; was it worth it? I don’t like to ask myself these questions, because regret is an unproductive state of being.
The misery continued with the U.K.’s masters of the maudlin, My Dying Bride, with front man Aaron Stainethorpe sporting a newly shaved dome after my only having ever known him with perpetually soggy lachrymose locks. Sadly (word choice?), ‘Deeper Down’ and ‘My Body, A Funeral’ didn’t make it onto their set list, and I’m woefully (word choice?) unacquainted with much of their discography, though ‘The Dreadful Hours’ and ‘Turn Loose The Swans’ rang somewhat familiar. Hymns to never ending grief, complete with the mourning, sobering sound of a violin, though unfortunately (word choice?) no rain to complete the ambiance. If it can rain during Neurosis, Electric Wizard, and even Pelican, why no appropriate weather this year? You sicken me, skies. To compound my consternation, I noticed the beginning sign of an oncoming suckfest; that sensation of having a patch of permanently dry skin at the back of your throat, the messenger of death, the common cold. It only got worse from there.
All sordid business with the Edison Lot now done, I had a hot date with the Soundstage and Ratos de Porão, who play fucking fast.
Brazil’s Ratos don’t play no bossa nova, fool. It’s balls-to-the-wall with no breaks at all crossover thrash meets the rawer (or rawwwwwwrrrrrr) sounds of 80s hardcore. Think Suicidal Tendencies in their Join The Army days if they took more cues from Charged G.B.H.’s City Baby Attacked By Rats, and you’ve got an approximation of how this beast sounds. Pure energy and speed, but always on the right track, like a studded train full of crusties hitting you with a fist made of metalheads. Someone eventually decided that a trash can would have more fun near the pit, and the result was a lot of beer cans and empty food containers on the floor that was once just covered in beer and sweat.
Perfect way to cap off the Soundstage skullduggery.
Meanwhile at Ram’s Head the progressive death metal Kiwis in Ulcerate serenaded all present with uplifting tunes such as ‘Confronting Entropy’ and ‘Clutching Revulsion’ from their newest opus Vermis (Relapse). Packed full of enough angular riffs to make your head spin, and heavy enough to make it flatten itself, they and Immolation provided an ideal closing combo for this year’s Maryland Deathfest. Emphasis being on the death, Yonkers’ Immolation packs a firestorm of riffs that haven’t died down in over 28 years as a band. From their debut Dawn Of Possession to their most recent Kingdom Of Conspiracy, all eras were covered as they burnt the fest to ashes.
Post-Deathfest Shenanigans
Yours truly got kicked out of a hotel (rather, kicked himself out) because someone decided smoking a cigarette in the hallway was a good idea. To be fair, I tried to help them by putting it out, but what’s common sense? Some people just can’t hang, and those people are hotel security. Oops.
Then on the walk ‘home’ I found some people being obnoxious and singing random metal songs at the top of their lungs on the front porch of a hotel. Naturally I go over and join them. I found some beers and a girl that’s sexually attracted to snakes or someshit, and she stole the inflatable dinosaur that the guy dressed as a doctor during Impaled’s set gave me. Presumably to fuck it.
Then I drank with said doctor and he showed me the horror show that was his hotel bathtub. Thing was a mess of fake blood and empty beer cans. We drank some whiskey for our faces and peaced out. He had a D.R.I. cigarette case, which was rad.
Thrashers, meet your king, passed out on the steps of said hotel at 6 in the morning. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s still hungover to this very day, because that kid was literally drunk the entire weekend. And I saw him a lot (he was in just about every pit at Edison), so you know I’m not bullshitting.
Then, just in time for me to get onto a cold 4 hour bus to New York and a subsequently cold 4 hour bus to Boston, my cold reaches fruition, and I die in my seat. Somehow I came back to life to write this review, and all I can say after this glorious headbanging, circlepitting, beer drinking, weed smoking, not-drug-doing, skirt-wearing, awkward-socialising weekend is: Fuck the common cold. Maybe I’ll do this again next year.
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Maryland Deathfest on Facebook
WORDS BY SEAN PIERRE-ANTOINE
CONCERT PHOTOS BY HILLARIE JASON
