Decibel #238 - August 2024 by Red Flag Media

KHANATE LIVE REVIEW ROUND-UP ROTTING CHRIST KHANATE HALL OF FAME

NORTHWEST TERROR FEST & INFERNO METAL FEST

HISTORICAL SIGNIFICANCE

REFUSE/RESIST

B O R N

F O R A

INCLUDED Don’t see it? Then subscribe!

J U L I E C HRI STMAS 2 0 0 STAB WOU ND S ALC EST THOU CANDY WO RMW I TC H AKHLYS

AUGUST 2024 // No. 238

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August 2024 [R 238] decibelmagazine.com

upfront 8

obituary: steve albini Beyond 1,000 hurts

10 metal muthas Historically loved 12 live review:

inferno metal fest 2024 Quartered pounder

14 live review:

northwest terror fest 2024 Up from the underground

16 low culture Gimme shelter 17 kill screen:

thou

Productivity report

20 alcest Cry now, cry later 22 scarcity Banding together 24 brume All employees must carve “Slayer” into forearm before returning to work 26 wormwitch The stuff of myths 28 candy Sex and... 30 vígljós See what the buzz is abou... no, too easy 32 akhlys Atmospheric pressures

18 in the studio:

teeth

Willed into existence

features

reviews

34 200 stab wounds Public executions

65 lead review Do you have what it takes to survive 200 Stab Wounds’ Manual Manic Procedures?

36 rotting christ Rotting in a free world 38 q&a: julie christmas The reluctant royal finds the world in a ridiculous state 42 the decibel

hall of fame Khanate’s supergroup mythos belies their humble beginnings as observed on their debut self-titled LP

66 album reviews Records from bands that won’t be laughing this summer, including Cavalera, Umbra Vitae and Wormed 72 damage ink Keep it like a secret

Pierced From Within COVER STORY COVER AND CONTENTS PHOTOS BY HRISTO SHINDOV

Decibel (ISSN 1557-2137) is published monthly by Red Flag Media, Inc., P.O. Box 36818, Philadelphia, PA 19107. Annual subscription price is $34.95. Periodical postage, paid at Philadelphia, PA, and other mailing offices. Submission of manuscripts, illustrations and/or photographs must be accompanied by a stamped, self-addressed envelope. The publisher assumes no responsibility for unsolicited materials. Postmaster send changes of address for Decibel to Red Flag Media, P.O. Box 36818, Philadelphia, PA 19107. © 2024 by Red Flag Media, Inc. All rights reserved. ISSN 1557-2137 | USPS 023142 Reproduction in whole or in part without written permission of the publisher is strictly prohibited.

2 : AUGUST 2024 : DECIBEL

www.decibelmagazine.com

REFUSE/RESIST

August 2024 [T238] PUBLISHER

Alex Mulcahy

alex@redflagmedia.com

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Albert Mudrian

albert@decibelmagazine.com AD SALES

James Lewis

james@decibelmagazine.com DIRECTOR OF MARKETING AND SALES

Twenty years ago next month, I

boarded a plane from Philly to Chicago en route to the even-then legendary Electrical Audio. The thoughtful folks at Relapse Records flew me out to document the recording of what would become High on Fire’s second LP for the label, Blessed Black Wings. It sounds like a crazy extravagance now, but back when a few people in the music industry still made money, record labels would fly magazine contributors to conduct studio reports. What’s truly insane, however, is the fact that issue No. 1 of Decibel hadn’t even been released before I showed up on Steve Albini’s doorstep. My only real bona fides were the fact that I’d previously interviewed Albini a couple times, most recently in 1999 for a lengthy story on Neurosis’ Times of Grace, the first recording he engineered for the band. As you might expect, he didn’t pretend to remember. Nevertheless, while I was representing a still imaginary magazine, he not only allowed me to spend hours with him and the band as they tracked, but invited me to crash at the studio. It was literally just a mattress on the floor of a weird almost crawlspace, but he could have easily sent me to the nearest Greyhound station to sleep next to Urge Overkill. I don’t have any eyewitness accounts of rock ‘n’ roll studio debauchery, unless you count the fifth of Jack that traveled most everywhere in the building with Matt Pike, or Albini mercilessly ripping farts in the airtight control room of Studio A. The next morning, while most everyone else was still asleep, Albini and I sat in the lounge and watched an episode of Baseball Tonight that he TiVo-ed the previous evening. As he exclaimed “shut up” and fast-forwarded any moment that co-host John Kruk opened his mouth, it was a not-so-subtle reminder that—whether you were a music industry stooge or a sports talking head—Steve Albini did not suffer fools. Ever. Not long after I returned, at the behest of fellow Electrical Audio engineer Greg Norman, I comped the studio a Decibel subscription. Years later, our intrepid customer service manager Patty Moran received a call from a studio employee who was looking for a copy of the May 2011 issue. Apparently one of the bands recording at the studio nicked the magazine before Albini could read the Pentagram cover story. The caller went on to adorably overexplain who Steve Albini was, which was unnecessary for Patty or virtually anyone reading this. There’s irony in that my lasting memory of Albini was his own twilight discovery of who he was (or at least had been). His unsolicited public reckoning with his “role in inspiring ‘edgelord’ shit” of the ’80s, expressing regret and admitting his ignorance—while not asking for grace—embodied the relentless ethics he practiced throughout his musical career. His job was capturing his and countless others’ music, and he afforded that task more care than most people will ever understand. It’s the legacy he would be most comfortable with. albert mudrian, Editor-in-Chief

ART DIRECTOR

Aaron Salsbury

aaron@decibelmagazine.com

Michael Wohlberg

michael@decibelmagazine.com CUSTOMER SERVICE

Patty Moran

COPY EDITOR

Andrew Bonazelli

BOOKCREEPER

Tim Mulcahy

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tim@redflagmedia.com CONTRIBUTING ARTISTS

Chuck BB, Ed Luce Mark Rudolph

Online DECIBEL WEB EDITOR

Albert Mudrian

DECIBEL WEB AD SALES

James Lewis

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CONTRIBUTING WRITERS

Anthony Bartkewicz Emily Bellino Adrien Begrand J. Bennett Dean Brown Ian Christe Liz Ciavarella-Brenner Chris Dick Sean Frasier Nick Green Raoul Hernandez Addison Herron-Wheeler John Hill Jonathan Horsley Neill Jameson Kim Kelly Sarah Kitteringham Daniel Lake Cosmo Lee Jamie Ludwig Shane Mehling Tim Mudd Justin M. Norton Dutch Pearce Forrest Pitts Brad Sanders José Carlos Santos Joseph Schafer Kevin Stewart-Panko Eugene S. Robinson Adem Tepedelen Jeff Treppel J Andrew Zalucky CONTRIBUTING PHOTOGRAPHERS

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To order by phone: 1.215.625.9850 (10 a.m. – 5 p.m. EST) To order by fax: 1.215.625.9967 To order online: www.decibelmagazine.com Decibel (ISSN 1557-2137) is published monthly by Red Flag Media, Inc., P.O. Box 36818, Philadelphia, PA 19107. Annual subscription price is $34.95. Periodical postage, paid at Philadelphia, PA, and other mailing offices. Submission of manuscripts, illustrations and/or photographs must be accompanied by a stamped, self-addressed envelope. The publisher assumes no responsibility for unsolicited materials. Postmaster send changes of address for Decibel to Red Flag Media, P.O. Box 36818, Philadelphia PA 19107. Copyright ©2024 by Red Flag Media, Inc. All rights reserved. Reproduction in whole or in part without written permission of the publisher is strictly prohibited. PRINTED IN USA

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READER OF THE

MONTH some slower stuff as well from time to time. One of my favorite bands of all time is Bell Witch. It really depends on my mood. I’m typically a pretty high-energy guy, though.

Sam Greer

Eugene/Springfield, OR

You’re originally from Houston, but you’ve also lived in Cairo, Stavanger (Norway), New Orleans, Monroe, UT, and now you’re in Eugene/Springfield, OR. What’s the most metal city of the bunch and why?

Although Houston has a great metal scene and has produced some great bands like Insect Warfare and Malignant Altar—[combined with] the fact that I got to regularly see bands like Power Trip and Kublai Khan in their early days—I’ve gotta go with Stavanger. I mean, it’s in Norway! I lived there from the ages of 7-10, so I wasn’t really able to appreciate it in that sense because I had yet to discover black metal. I do have a random memory of running into some guys wearing corpsepaint in the woods standing around a bonfire. I was terrified and ran back home as quickly as I could.

6 : AUGUST 2024 : DECIBEL

You became a dad in January. Has that altered your outlook on being an extreme metal fan in any measurable way?

I feel like I appreciate it even more because I’m able to introduce it to my son and bond with him over it. He really seems to love metal when I put it on. He especially likes the new Hulder album, Verses in Oath. If he’s ever inconsolable, I’ll put that album on and it usually gets him to stop crying and soothes him to sleep. Nails are on the cover of this issue and Khanate’s self-titled debut is our Hall of Fame induction. Generally, which side of the tempo spectrum that these two acts occupy do you gravitate toward?

Generally, I would say I’m more of a fan of the fast-paced stuff like Nails, but I definitely enjoy

I do have a random memory of running into some guys wearing corpsepaint in the woods standing around a bonfire. I was terrified and ran back home as quickly as I could. You are a wise man who avoids social media. Do you feel that impacts your ability to discover new music?

Absolutely. That’s one of the main drawbacks, I would say. It also kind of sucks because I’ll find out super last-minute about shows in my area. The pros outweigh the cons, though. My mental health has been so much better since I removed myself from it, so I’ll take it.

ChuckBB.com / Instagram: @chuckbb_art

OBITUARIES

8 :: AAU UG GU USSTT 22002241 :: DDEECCIIBBEELL

STEVE

ALBINI 19 6 2 - 2 0 2 4

THE

universe further snuffed any human feelings of per-

manence on May 7, when Steve Albini fell victim to a heart attack. As a musician, record producer and writer, Albini had been a vociferous fixture in all forms of independent music and media for over 40 years. His sixth album with Shellac, To All Trains, the band’s first in a decade, was due for release on May 17. ¶ Newly transplanted from Montana to the cold, dirty wastes of Chicago in 1981, Albini gave voice to his poison pen with his band Big Black. The band specialized in brutal, violent noir realism painted by ugly sheets of guitar, riding the back of a punishing drum machine. They were the bridge between Killing Joke and Godflesh, were certainly an influence on local new wave act Ministry, and were later covered by Fear Factory and Burn the Priest/Lamb of God. From the selfreleased Lungs EP (1982) through Songs About Fucking (1987), Big Black readjusted the palette of the decade towards awkward tones of blood, rust and desperate mania.

While Big Black blotted out the sun in the 1980s, Albini’s persona attained terrifying underground status through savage writing in mags including Forced Exposure. Whether on-point music criticism, hilariously bleak tour diaries or soul-shattering fiction, the force of his mind reigned. He could be sadistic in his dismissal of personalities, bands or entire genres of music. On the other hand, he championed the diamonds in the ash—praising Die Kreuzen’s debut in Matter in 1985: “Attention all puny photocopy punk bands: go fuck yourselves. This is it. The definitive ’80s American punk record…” Weighing all of 70 lbs. in an angry buzzcut, nerd glasses and white T-shirt, Albini flattened audiences, and Big Black’s masterpiece Atomizer (1986) expanded the parameters of popular music. He dabbled in industrial subculture, but

his bands rocked, explored American themes and maintained a wiseass edge. Big Black’s record covers were disgusting enough to be sold inside black plastic bags. And when the band had run its course, the Headache EP (1987), released weeks before the final show, featured a sticker that read: “Not as good as Atomizer, so don’t get your hopes up, cheese.” By then, Albini’s experience producing his own albums led to offers to record other bands, including Urge Overkill, Naked Raygun and the Pixies, all in 1988. His work on Head of David’s Dustbowl (1988) is a pure Albini trademark with pummeling rhythms, decapitated vocals and trebly walls of gravel guitars. Justin Broadrick played on the record before forming Godflesh. Fear Factory later covered Dustbowl’s “Dog Day Sunrise.”

In 1988, Albini’s new trio Rapeman released the fantastic Two Nuns and a Pack Mule. The group could not survive the offensiveness of its name. Sure, those were different times, but not really. And Albini’s generation of noisy American rock bands, including Sonic Youth, were no longer flying under the radar. In the 1990s, Albini’s recordings for Boss Hog, the Breeders, Helmet, Fugazi and Nirvana minted a reputation as a record producer that led to work with Jimmy Page and Robert Plant. His approach remained analog and hands-off, capturing the sounds of bands as they sounded naturally. He also famously charged on a sliding scale, raking in larger fees for well-funded careerist bands versus his inspired personal favorites. He continued to write, too. His 1993 battle cry in The Baffler, “The Problem With Music,” took a deep dive into major label burnthe-band accounting that concluded with the crushing line: “Some of your friends are probably already this fucked.” And yes, over the course of hundreds of records—the sweet spot was noisy, challenging outings by the likes of Oxbow and KEN Mode— Albini recorded a mountain of game-changing metal albums including High on Fire’s Blessed Black Wings (2005); several albums for Neurosis including Times of Grace (1999); the crushing Towers… (1996) by pre-Goatsnake/Khanate/Sunn 0))) band Burning Witch; plus Dysrhythmia’s Pretest (2003); two records for Weedeater; two for Om; Sunn 0)))’s Life Metal (2019); and the debut EP by Sweden’s harrowing documentary specialists Horndal. Steve Albini leaves behind his wife, Heather Whinna, and a world and a music scene struggling with reality. —IAN CHRISTE DECIBEL : AUGUST 2024 : 9

NOW SLAYING Wonder what Decibel world HQ has been rocking for the past month? Well, here are the records that we spun most while watching middle-aged men (not us) loudly complain about Dismember performing “Casket Garden” like it was fucking “Cherry Orchards.”

Because not all of us were spawned in the darkest recesses of hell

This Month’s Mutha: Paula Ortiz Mutha of Brian Ortiz of Tzompantli/Xibalba

Tell us a little about yourself.

I was born and raised in California. My family traveled throughout the western states because my dad was a horse jockey. I settled here in Southern California in 1969, graduated high school in 1975, met my husband of 45 years and had five kids, Brian being number three. Yes, he is the middle child! Brian credits his father for turning him on to music at a young age. Did you have any influence on his tastes as well?

No, I cannot even carry a tune to save my life! If anything, I think he got his sense of adventure from me to see what’s outside of California and experience this big, beautiful world we live in. There is so much to see and experience by seeing other cultures. Your son’s band Tzompantli focuses on indigenous Mexican mythology. Did Brian express an interest in folklore and history growing up?

To be honest, I don’t remember if he did or not. I was busy with five kids. Family history was always a fun topic because Brian has large families on both sides who came from Mexico and southern Texas. So, I’m sure he has heard a lot of stories from his uncles and my dad. He’s also taught himself a variety of Mesoamerican folk instruments for this 10 : A U G U S T 2 0 2 4 : D E C I B E L

project. Was he always a motivated independent learner?

I believe he was pretty much an independent learner. He had a good imagination, and with that you can learn a lot and do what you enjoy. What do you remember about Xibalba playing in your garage at the beginning of their career?

The LOUD noise they called songs! It did take a while to appreciate what they were about. But with time I totally get it and am so very proud of where their hard work and perseverance has taken them. I love all those boys who I call my adopted sons! Did Brian always want to be a musician or did he have a different career path in mind?

He liked playing sports, especially basketball; he played in middle and high school until his sophomore year. His dad coached a team that he played for at the Boys & Girls Club here in Pomona. He also enjoyed his reptiles, he used to catch lizards and he had a pet snake for a long time named Snakezilla. Tell us something that Brian’s fans would never suspect about him.

Well, besides his love of dinosaurs and Ninja Turtles, he is my big teddy bear with a heart of gold. I love him to the moon and back. —ANDREW BONAZELLI

Albert Mudrian : e d i t o r i n c h i e f  Nails, Every Bridge Burning  Primordial, To the Nameless Dead  L7, Bricks Are Heavy  Nirvana, Nevermind  Judas Priest, Screaming for Vengeance ---------------------------------Patty Moran : c u s t o m e r s e r v i c e  Ufomammut, Hidden  Egypt, Egypt  Laughing Hyenas, You Can’t Pray a Lie  The Kings of Frog Island, II  Fu Manchu, In Search of… ---------------------------------James Lewis : a d s a l e s  Nails, Every Bridge Burning  200 Stab Wounds, Manual Manic Procedures  Wormed, Omegon  Agalloch, The Serpent & the Sphere  Dismember, Like an Everflowing Stream ---------------------------------Mike Wohlberg : a r t d i r e c t o r  Thou, Umbilical  Nails, Every Bridge Burning  Marmalade butcher, Onomatomani[a]kus  Knocked Loose, You Won’t Go Before You’re Supposed To  Wormed, Omegon ---------------------------------Aaron Salsbury : m a r k e t i n g a n d s a l e s  The Red Chord, Fused Together In Revolving Doors  Crypt Sermon, The Stygian Rose  Orchid, Totality  Black Sabbath, Live Evil  Gatecreeper, Dark Superstition

GUEST SLAYER

---------------------------------Dustin Boltjes : f l e s h e r  Gost, Prophecy  Skeletal Remains, Fragments of the Ageless  One of Nine, Eternal Sorcery  Brodequin, Harbinger of Woe  The Chameleons, Strange Times

INFERNO METAL FESTIVAL 2024

Black massive  Gorgoroth (l) and Dimmu Borgir proudly practice the black arts in and for their homeland

INFERNO

METAL FESTIVAL 2024

orway’s inferno is four festivals in one. Nestled at the start is the Inferno Music Conference, a two-day event housWHEN: March 28–31 ing industry Illuminati, disruptors, PHOTOS BY ALLAN LARSEN panels and politely pontificating Q&As. Inferno, supported by Music Norway, an official organ of the Royal Norwegian Ministry of Culture, ushered 270 delegates from 35 countries into the Clarion—the Hub hotel in quaint downtown Oslo in 2023. This year, the population, which included Decibel (me), authors Dayal Patterson (The Cult Never Dies) and Harald Fossberg (666 Shades of Black), YouTubers (A&P- REACTS), festivals (Fire in the Mountains), actress/singer Jessica Pimentel (Orange Is the New Black) and a host of other notables, was as prodigious. WHERE:

Oslo, Norway (Rockefeller complex, etc.)

Betwixt the symposium (of sickness), Inferno affixes a separate but complementary Art Exhibition, this time featuring such illustrious luminaries as Jannicke Wiese-Hansen, Zbigniew Bielak, Kim Diaz Holm, Costin Chioreanu and many others. The Tattoo Fair is yet another element of Inferno that feels about right. If three days of aural anguish weren’t enough, the pain of expert needling by artists Alex “Impaler” Friberg, Ida Morbida, Kevin Hellmaniac and more filled the masochistic gap. The Art Exhibition was sanely placed at the hotel, while the tattoo artists plied their pens in an off room of the everinfamous Rockefeller, the main Inferno venue. 12 : AUGUST 2024 : DECIBEL

Inferno Metal Festival is a multi-venue spectacle. If staying at the hotel, all nine—yes, nine!—venues are walkable; taxi prices are eyewateringly exorbitant. Most live action occurred at Rockefeller and its underling, John Dee. The challenge isn’t what to see, though. Rather, it’s the horror of what I knew I’d miss. Celestial Scourge or hunting Peter Nicolai Arbo paintings at the National Museum; Madder Mortem or Attila Csihar’s wild Void ov Voices; Misþyrming or a refill at Dronningens Kebab; Candlemass or Crypta. Your bank account isn’t the only thing you’ll sacrifice in Norway. Thankfully, the weekend schedule is less hectic, and by Friday

evening, it all settled comfortably. Let’s call it extreme metal hygge. Obviously, the headliners mainlined the event. Taake, Kampfar and Gorgoroth, who replaced At the Gates, flew the Norwegian flag proudly. Black metal is art, and 30-plus years on, the spirit of the genre felt sincere, if commercially viable. Remember, the Norwegian government—as powered by the Church—once vilified black metal, only to now revere it as a culturally significant export. Stranger than fiction, really. The big daddy of Inferno was Dimmu Borgir, who celebrated a best-of setlist that included “The Insight and the Catharsis.” Seeing ICS Vortex, Mustis and Tjodalv onstage was a rare (and welcome) sight, but having them not perform topper “Progenies of the Great Apocalypse” felt off. They were also outfired by compatriots Nordjevel, whose mini volcanoes scorched the eyebrows off the Rockefeller front row. Other highlights included Cynic, performing Focus for the very last time, Nordic cowboys Sólstafir and Anders Odden’s Black Metal Bus Sightseeing, which, on the cusp of things, could’ve been campy, but was an absolute education by one of the guys who saw it all go down. Inferno’s got a fan in me. If only the NOK-todollar exchange rate was better, but then again, the Scandi brekky reigns supreme, and I trust in the Scandi brekky. —CHRIS DICK

NORTHWEST TERROR FEST 2024  Out of the shadows Mother of Graves crush Seattle with their brand of death/doom

NORTHWEST TERROR FEST 2024 BY TIM MUDD AND CODY DAVIS

early may—leaving no cross unturned—Seattle’s diverse Capitol WHEN: May 9–11, 2024 Hill neighborhood got another PHOTOS BY JOHN DONOVAN MALLEY rancid shot of chaos as the corpse of Northwest Terror Fest rose to feast and thrash for its sixth iteration. Over three days, 35 acts scorched the iconic Neumos and Barboza stages, reinforcing the festival’s status as a crucial pilgrimage for underground aficionados. WHERE:

Seattle, WA (Neumos and Barboza)

DAY 1: THURSDAY – BITTER SUITE SYMPHONY

Nox Novacula set a formidable tone as their gothic post-punk swept Neumos with compelling melodies and brooding energy. Opening the Barboza stage, Primitive Man’s Ethan McCarthy showcased his cinematic drone project Spiritual Poison amid improvisational flair with support from Andy Nelson and Brian Laude of Weekend Nachos. Body Void caved the Neumos atmosphere under soulcrushing doom; their plodding, noise-soaked riffs reverberated the festival’s darker, heavier themes. Brat injected a burst of punk energy, bringing a dynamic lift to the early evening atmosphere at Barboza. Opening with a sample of Madonna’s “Hung Up” and featuring bites of Britney Spears’ “... Baby One More Time,” Shania Twain’s “Man! I Feel Like a Woman!” and Cascada’s “Everytime We Touch,” the ferocity of their self-proclaimed Bimboviolence carried into the chaos magick about to transpire upstairs. 14 : AUGUS T 2024 : DECIBEL

An explosive mix of black and thrash metal by Daeva stirred the crowd into a frenzy, deliver-

ing one of the night’s most memorable performances. Following them, Atrae Bilis showcased their technical prowess with intricately captivating death metal compositions. Blackwater Holylight shifted the mood with their hypnotic stoner metal, weaving a spell of heavy riffs and ethereal vocals that mesmerized the Neumos audience. Slow Crush offered a gentle respite with their ethereal shoegaze, softening the mood further before Primitive Man plunged the audience back to tortuous depths with their oppressive, heavy doom. Ulthar maintained relentless energy with a fierce mix of black and death metal, a brutal prelude to the night’s climactic acts. Nostalgic and refreshingly innovative, the reunion of Giant Squid was a focal point of the evening. Hypnotizing fans with a classic set of complex, narrative-driven progressive metal, singer/guitarist Aaron Gregory reciprocated the

audience’s voracious support midway through their set: “Thank you for giving a fuck about songs we wrote when we were kids.” Accentuated by an evocative series of black-and-white video sequences, the day concluded with deeply atmospheric post-metal, courtesy of Amenra. Singer Colin H. van Eeckhout led the audience to emotional catharsis through a catalog-spanning set that included “TerZiele.Tottedood,” “Am Kreuz,” “Boden,” “Razoreater,” “De Evenmens” and “Diaken”—a stunning finale to the festival’s ferocious opening night.

DAY 2: FRIDAY – MURDER ON THE DANCEFLOOR Melodic blackened death fired Friday’s starting gun at Barboza with Undulation vocalist The Executioner—left arm adorned with a gleaming steel gauntlet—directing the hoards in a ritual fit for the gallows. Sharply contrasted by a raw burst of thrash and hardcore punk, Colony Drop electrified the Neumos crowd with vigorous energy, showcasing their latest unreleased twinlead Gatling gun, “Assassination Overdrive.” The mech-enthusiasts took kindly, starting mosh pits at the main stage early and setting the tone for the rest of the day. Physical Wash introduced a coldwave chill to the afternoon, quickly shattered by explosive crust punk fury from Habak. The Tijuana quintet blistered through one of the festival’s best sets aboard lyrical themes of

Tongue tied  Undergang (l) and Deathgrave let it all out during the final night of Northwest Terror Fest 2024

mental anguish, isolation and hopelessness, viscerally exorcized by mononymous singer Alex. If you haven’t already, see this band. The day continued with an oscillating array of genres: cavernous death metal from the hands of Abyssal filled Barboza with tectonic rumbling before Italy’s Messa enchanted Neumos with their soulfully blended doom-jazz, spinning haunting melody webs around lush instrumentation. The return of Crypt Sermon was a highly anticipated moment. Philadelphia’s epic doom metal force showcased singles from their upcoming album, The Stygian Rose, and fan favorites from their first two albums. Brooks Wilson channeled Ronnie James Dio, commanding a sea of banging heads and devil horns. Unfiltered death metal from Grave Infestation assaulted Barboza with intensity before Sumerlands—the “meat” in the Neumos Philly cheesesteak—brought a nostalgic air with their retro-future heavy metal. Dark electronic beats by Mvtant quaked Barboza’s subterranea as, in a surprising twist, With President Biden in town on a fund-raising swing during days one and two of the festival, off-duty members of his security detail made an appearance to catch fellow Pennsylvania brethren Eternal Champion, because— their words, not ours—“This is the kind of malarky POTUS can get behind.” As they tend to do, EC rallied the mighty as festivalgoers wielded plastic swords amid inflatable beach balls and giant inflatable orcas.

Forbidden closed the night performing their 1988 debut Forbidden Evil in its entirety and a couple of delightful morsels from follow-up Twisted Into Form. Their dynamic presence and compelling musicianship celebrated a storied past, highlighting their ongoing relevance to thrash.

DAY 3: SATURDAY – EVIL WAYS

Hemorrhoid kicked off NWTF’s final day with blistering grindcore, setting a fierce pace for Kömmand to incinerate the collective adrenaline into blackened themes before Mother of Graves pressurized Neumos with melodeath doom. Diabolic Oath continued conducting high energy with their innovative metal fusions before Rae Amitay of Immortal Bird upped the ante in the frontperson stakes, with their band delivering an immersive and spellbinding performance— one of the festival’s best—unveiling new, untitled music and revisiting modern classics such as “Anger Breeds Contempt” and “Vestigial Warnings” as night descended. Cystic introduced grindcore chaos, and Foie Gras juxtaposed minimal guitar-voice enchantment against an experimental doom dance party. Kaiju-themed thrash from Oxygen Destroyer set the stage for Undergang to brutalize Neumos with a festival-defining set of sewer death metal, leading one writer to wonder, “Where the hell can you go after that insane performance of ‘Efter obduktionen’? In response, Deathgrave

answered with an inspired set of savage grindcore that won Andre Cornejo the festival’s frontperson crown for his zombie-mime genius. Repulsion showcased a grindcore masterclass without forgetting to pay tribute to fallen comrades Steve Albini and Blake Harrison before Weekend Nachos’ powerviolence encapsulated the communal spirit of the event—and by that, we mean winning the festival’s Widest Circle Pit Award—in front of a carousel of promotional imagery from the film Titanic. The prominence of Leo and Kate’s faces behind the band’s alladrenaline social commentary underlined their hilariously cutting satire that hasn’t missed a beat in over 20 years. Singer John Hoffman was visibly moved by the crowd participation. “It means a lot to me that you know the words to these songs,” he confessed before finally saying what everyone else in the room was thinking: “I’m gonna say this 20 more times unless I forget after this time: NWTF might be the best festival in the U.S. Every single person who works here is a fucking dream.” As Weekend Nachos’ final echoes floated into the Aurora Borealis that hung over Seattle that night, NWTF’s legacy of unity through extremity burned brighter than ever. A testament to the passion and dedication of its organizers and attendees alike, the festival’s 2024 edition proved once more why it is a beacon for the passionate and—if you’ve never been—why it’s a destination that should be on your bucket list. DECIBEL : AUGUS T 2024 : 15

The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom [NINTENDO]

Trailing Thoughts With Neill From Krieg was the night before deadline and

all through the house… and I’ve already lost it. But it’s true: I’m sitting here about 12 hours from when this is expected to be in Albert’s inbox per my agreement with the Make-A-Wish Foundation, with multiple tabs open, including the one with the setlist for Decibel’s 20th Anniversary Show in August, as well as an interview I did with a website in 2014 and an empty tab, a tab full of promise and hope. I closed that one. Fuck ’em. I’m having multiple conversations that intersect—at least philosophically—which have held my attention as best as they can since I’ve smoked and had very little sleep. I stop in the middle of a thought to go pick out a record. I moved into my house last September, yet I’ve never finished setting up my office/record collection depository, so nothing is in order. Having a specific one in mind takes 10 minutes of hunting until I say fuck it and just put a on Gorgoroth record—again. My continued procrastination of setting up the one place in my home that isn’t full of toys and children’s books with mashed-in crayon dotting the carpet is also probably a topic for my therapist. But first, those conversations. One is how the chronological order of music you hear from a band determines your level of enjoyment and/or interest in them, which, no shit, but are there records you heard much later that, if you heard them earlier, would have completely changed your mind on the band? I’m pretty sure everyone involved is high. Another is about comfort music, the equivalent to a hot bowl of soup and fresh bread on a cold night; Celtic Frost and Venom, in case you were editing my Wikipedia bio. Again, pretty sure everyone is high. What does this have to do with anything? Well, in the interview I mentioned earlier, my then 35-year-old self discusses my future self 16 : AUGUST 2024 : DECIBEL

(45 to be exact; eerie shit, right?) possibly giving up and giving in, purchasing a copy of Rumours and finding contentment in that fate. Did I become that which I most feared? The only thing that’s changed in those 10 years was that I said if I ever became that person, you’d find me with a gun in my mouth. Nowadays I would have said I’d eat a bullet. I’ve become more concise with age, able to reach completion much quicker. I think that the fact I can be engaging in multiple conversations at all hours of the live long fucking day about music and ideas means that I’ve continued to be restless and searching for music, a continued progression from my youth. So, why can’t I bring myself to finish organizing my records and decorate my office? I have framed posters just leaning against stillunpacked boxes. And I think I just figured it out, so we’re going to work this one out together. Over the last two decades I’ve lost my home and moved into my friend’s closet after living in my car for a bit. The places I’ve lived in since moving to Richmond have either been in shit areas or shit buildings. It’s been a nomadic cycle of searching for a little piece of sanity and instead having the landlord shove a full curbside trash can straight up my ass without even separating the recycling. There is a barrier in my head preventing me from making this house my home because I feel like the moment I do, something terrible will happen. I haven’t lived anywhere nice in years; even before I lost my house in 2010, I’d basically turned it into a squat. It’s this inherent fear that everything positive in my life will be taken from me. And since I’m able to see this logic now, that means I might be able to work through the irrational. So, thank you, person looking at this while shitting, for being my sounding board and giving me something to talk to my therapist about next time besides being molested.

ANDY GIBBS OF

THOU

ON THE WORK OF LEISURE one can accuse sludge outfit Thou of being

idle. In their nearly two decades of existence, the band’s discography has eclipsed even longstanding pillars of the metal community with a bevy of recorded material across a swath of albums, EPs, splits and singles. Latest long-player Umbilical marks the longest gap between solo releases of their career, but that time saw companion collaborative records with Emma Ruth Rundle (2020’s May Our Chambers Be Full and 2021’s The Helm of Sorrow) as well as 2022’s Myopia, a Top 40 Albums of the Year-certified surprise release with Mizmor. This impressive body of work still doesn’t offer enough laurels upon which to rest for guitarist Andy Gibbs. Though Nintendo plays a crucial role in the history of the founding members’ friendship (more on that in our extended online interview), Gibbs expresses anxiety when it comes to how his downtime is spent and shares the compromise made to ensure he can yet enjoy our mutual digital pastime.

When I’m playing video games, I’m just so aware of how unproductive I’m being.

AND I DO FEEL GUILTY. Now that you’ve had the experience of owning a console and being able to spend some leisure time with video games, has it brought some sense of relief knowing that you can participate in this and also make music? Do you still have concerns about time management?

The jury’s still out on the effect of time management. It’s going to sound crazy, but I’m just one of those people that, like, I just do what I want to do whenever I want to do it, whenever that’s possible, basically. If I’m really in the mood to fire up the Switch and go play, I’m not going to be like, No, I must work on music because I am an artist. Maybe if we had a show and we were going to play a song I hadn’t played, maybe I’d be like, All right, I have to make time to do that. But as far as creative work, that’s one of those things where I feel like you just have to have the perfect storm and wait for lightning to strike, and then you seize upon it. I’ll quit whatever I’m doing if the mood strikes me and jump on the laptop and start fiddling with whatever I need to fiddle with. I think I’m pretty good at that. I’m either doing music, playing video games or watching TV with my partner—unless it’s nighttime, in which I’m out with my friends having a social life, hopefully. It hasn’t been too much of a challenge. Maybe this is me being raised Catholic, but when I’m playing video games, I’m just so aware

of how unproductive I’m being. And I do feel guilty. I’ll start being like, Damn, it’s been, like, two and a half, three hours? Dude, you haven’t done anything. You’re just playing this game. I had to get over a little bit of that when I got back into video games, because when you’re a kid, what else do you need? But now as an adult, I have to overcome some of that guilt of not being a hyperproductive person. Not that there’s not any benefits to playing games. Lately I’ve been doubling up by listening to podcasts while I’m gaming, too, sometimes, depending on the game. Some games you really need the audio, but for other ones, I’m listening to a music podcast or I’m listening to something that’s actually going to stimulate some inspiration in my brain while I’m doing the idle activity of playing games. I’m not going to do that with Tears of the Kingdom, for instance, something that really requires you to focus and listen and be present. I think it’s actually made to encourage that because of the exploratory nature and the very serene outdoor setting. You’re supposed to be in a sort of meditative state when you play it. Other than that, though, I like having another something to get the neurons firing so it’s not just completely shutting down while I’m playing and I’m not just going numb looking at the screen. [Laughs]

CONTINUE AT DECIBELMAGAZINE.COM PHOTO BY HILLARIE JASON

DECIBEL : AUGUS T 2024 : 17

TEETH

STUDIO REPORT

TEETH ALBUM TITLE

The Will of Hate STUDIO

Bright Lights Basement, Los Angeles, CA RECORDING DATES

February 2024 ENGINEER

Erol Ulug LABEL

Translation Loss RELEASE DATE

August 30

18 : A U G U S T 2 0 2 4 : D E C I B E L

IT’S

been a decade since Los Angeles-based tech-death outfit Teeth formed, and guitarist, vocalist and engineer Erol Ulug knows exactly what the band should sound like. On their new album, which is slated for release via Translation Loss later this year, the quartet zeroes in on the sound, trimming the fat for a record as potent as possible. “I think this time around it’s a bit more distilled and focused,” Ulug says, halfway through the recording process. “Interestingly, I didn’t even realize this until way later after these songs were written: A lot of these songs end up being three-and-a-half minutes long, right in the bell curve of a perfect pop song length.” Just because the songs are within that bell curve doesn’t mean Teeth have gone soft. Ulug describes the album as the most manic, hateful and angry collection that Teeth have ever recorded, just reined in. In the writing and preproduction process, Ulug says the band wasn’t shy about cutting riffs, or even entire songs, if they didn’t add something to the overall sound. It slows down the frequency with which Teeth can release albums, but keeps standards high. “We’ve never been a quantity band; quality is much more important to us,” Ulug explains. “We want to put out songs and a record that we’re going to be stoked to perform live for a while. That’s also on the table when coming up with new material; it’s got to be good enough and exciting enough for us to want to play it for a while after we’re done with it.” The Will of Hate is not only the most concise record Teeth have made, but the most collaborative. Ulug and guitarist/vocalist Justin Moore worked together on nearly every new song, which the former says reins in his tendency to incorporate as many “ridiculous or novel” ideas as possible; instead, Teeth decided to repeat ideas or lyrics they would’ve brushed past previously. As the person in charge of recording, mixing and mastering, Ulug enters the studio not only knowing what Teeth sound like, but with the benefit of an extensive pre-production process. One thing he’s stoked about is the drum performance Alejandro Aranda put down—Ulug says the drummer nailed his performance and requires minimal sample replacements, which establishes a more organic base for the album. “I’m stoked about it because I don’t want it to sound like just another gridded, stock, modern death metal record. That shit’s been done. In the end, it makes it feel more like the death metal records we grew up on instead of the modern ultra-slick stuff.” —EMILY BELLINO

ALCEST

Neige turns on the waterworks, uncovers more souvenirs from another world

THE

first song is super uplifting,” says Stéphane “Neige” Paut of the way this year’s Alcest record, Les chants de l’aurore, sets the mood for the following 40 minutes of new music. “It’s my favorite song, actually. The whole song is like some kind of ecstatic, euphoric feeling. My best friend’s kids are singing [punctuating vocal accents throughout]. I know some metal people are going to think it’s too weird, but I don’t mind.” ¶ Any of those aforementioned “metal people” who come to Alcest in 2024 expecting a sound that Paut calls “fucking badass” have been living under a Gojira-sized rock for the past 20 years. After one demo’s worth of flirtation with the raw black metal sound that hooked him at 14 years old, Paut properly founded Alcest with a 2005 EP that began exploring the spiritual world he so vividly experienced as a young man. ¶ “I realized that I couldn’t speak only about this experience for 20 : AUGUST 2024 : DECIBEL

every album that we released, because it would be redundant,” he explains. “So, for every album I try to have a little different approach: Écailles de lune was more melancholy; Shelter was a shoegaze album; Kodama was more inspired by Japanese scripture; Spiritual Instinct was a dark album. It felt amazing to write the new album because it brought me back to the early days of Alcest when I really wanted to make something otherworldly and magical and as far away from our reality as I could, something that really transports the listener to another place. I’ve been living my life here for 39 years, and I still feel a little bit alone and disconnected. I feel like I have one foot here and one still in this otherworldly place. Alcest is basically my diary, as someone who doesn’t feel completely at home here.”

Paut describes himself as a songwriter first and says that he has always felt less comfortable onstage: “I’m quite an introvert and I don’t have a whole lot of self-confidence, so to be in the middle of the stage with everyone looking at me… I don’t like it so much. But I still love to do it because I see the look in the eyes of the people in the audience— all this happiness and enthusiasm that they have watching us. I’m playing live for the fans.” Often, those fans are seeking a unique experience in the world of extreme music. “A lot of people cry at our shows. It’s really intense. The best feeling is when you can reach some people in a way you wouldn’t expect—when a toughlooking guy with a beard is bursting into tears. It’s not the type of reaction you would see at a Slayer show.” —DANIEL LAKE

PHOTO BY ANDY JULIA

ALCEST

SCARCITY

Experimental black metallers offer something human amidst sonic chaos

carcity’s 2022 debut, aveilut, was a purging of raw grief for composer and multi-instrumentalist Brendon Randall-Myers. Written in the abject grimness of the early pandemic, his fiendishly complex microtonal black metal piece was never meant to be played live. “It was an involuntary thing I had to exorcize,” Randall-Myers explains. ¶ Before Aveilut even came out, the parameters of Scarcity began to shift. The first collaborator to come onboard was Pyrrhon’s Doug Moore, who wrote the album’s lyrics and draped his scabrous vocals over Randall-Myers’ thorny symphony. (Moore’s first take, which he intended to be the demo, ended up on the album.) Next came a full lineup, which performed the entire 45-minute composition at a pair of NYC record release shows. Unexpectedly, Scarcity was now a band. ¶ “It was a very cathartic experience,” Randall-Myers says of those gigs. “It brought that music full circle for me because it was conceived and executed largely in isolation, and it reflected such a period of personal isolation for me. To finally be able to embody it 22 : AUGUST 2024 : DECIBEL

with a group of people, and for an audience, was a really powerful feeling.” That lineup—Randall-Myers on guitar and synths, Moore on vocals, Dylan DiLella on guitar, Tristan Kasten-Krause on bass and Lev Weinstein on drums—served as the starting point for The Promise of Rain, a sophomore album that builds on and ultimately transcends Aveilut. Because Aveilut wasn’t written to be replicable onstage, Randall-Myers used a tuning system that required six simultaneous tracks of guitar, with the denser sections swelling to as many as 14. For The Promise of Rain, he found a tuning that ensured everything he wrote could be performed live in the room. “I think all of us enjoyed the sicko challenge of playing [Aveilut], but [this time] I was like, ‘It’s cool to write things that are five to eight minutes, and at a little bit more of a human scale,’” he says.

“This time, when I was composing the vocals, it was in a way that was meant to be catchier, more intelligible to the human ear, and therefore easier to perform,” Moore concurs. “So much of what the vocals do in a band like this is provide something human for the audience to latch onto, that provides a little bit of shape to the music. The vocals are much more designed to do that on this new record.” That means The Promise of Rain, unlike a lot of microtonal music, hits you in the gut before the brain. (“It’s not meant to be quite as alien and abstracted,” Moore says.) A lot of pre-work, much of it rendered invisible by the band’s superb playing, went into creating that effect. “I did a lot of math beforehand,” Randall-Myers says. “I developed the toolset for this. I built the instruments so I could do something that was more intuitive.” —BRAD SANDERS

BRUME

Bay area spellcasters reflect the beauty and grimness of their surroundings

usie mcmullan comes by her doom naturally—natively. Louisiana capital Baton Rouge bears the full brunt of its state’s psychic gravity. Down on the Mississippi, its Southern gothic manifests as thick as humidity itself. ¶ “I grew up with Crowbar, Goatwhore, Dixie Witch, Suplecs,” she writes from San Francisco. ¶ The singer’s far west haunt shelters her decade-long endeavor into the void. A threesome turned quartet for fourth release Marten, the group also transitions from Birmingham bombast and chamber metal to post-rock ambiance. Following 2015 EP Donkey, debut fulllength Rooster two years later crowed biggest, hardest, spookiest—unquestionably metal. 2019’s Rabbits sat a fluffy white bunbun on its cover. ¶ “[San Francisco is] equal parts beauty and frustration,” admits McMullan, “a tug-of-war between creatives and the richest people in the country.” ¶ Glenn Close couldn’t boil those Rabbits, however: Sinéad O’Connor meets Windhand, with deep woodwinds getting primordial. If 4AD rosters a metal band, let it be Brume. Goth-rock spellcasting as led by 24 : AUGUST 2024 : DECIBEL

our Gulf Coast correspondent, a clarion by any measure, Marten now doubles down on less metallurgy and more bella grotesque. Bristol axe extortionist Jamie McCathie, drum dramaturgist Jordan Perkins-Lewis and bassblasting cap McMullan induct cellist Jackie Perez Gratz into the fold for sonic hemlock. New band member bowing the left channel, guitar sizzling the right, the album’s tone matches the weasel-like Marten photographed on the album front: sleek, agile, clawed. Brume trade their brawn for beauty. “Otto’s Song” builds from roots minimalism into a Floydian crescendo before revealing an a cappella pearl of folk rock. On “Heed Me,” McMullan’s clean croon contrasts her blackened counter hex. Closer “The Yearn” delivers a vocal conquest, its title functioning as the sound conjured through Dolly Parton-loving pipes (“have

you seen my hair?”) that promise a doom bluegrass LP next. Madame addresses another elephant in the room: “When Brume played a festival, Sauzipf Rocks, we met one of the staff who was strong and kind and helped us carry heavy items,” she begins. “We referred to him as ‘Slayer arm,’ because we didn’t know his name and he had a Slayer tattoo on his otherwise bare, but very, very muscular Austrian arm. For the rest of the tour, and really, anytime we wished we had support loading in or out, we cried out for Slayer Arm. “Fast forward to a few months before we recorded. Jordan and Jamie did an interview and mentioned the beloved Slayer Arm. When the interviewer asked, ‘Who is that?’ Jordan said, ‘We have no idea, but if anyone listening knows his name, we’ll [title] our next album after him.’ “Two days later, we got a Facebook message: ‘Hi, I’m Martin, I’m Slayer arm.’” —RAOUL HERNANDEZ

PHOTO BY JAMIE MACCATHIE

BRUME

WORMWITCH

Canadian Witchknights deliver multitudes on Profound Lore debut

anada’s finest vermis-infused melodic black thrash trio, Wormwitch, have a new album coming out this summer, and as guitarist Colby Hink explains, they kept things pretty loose this time. “Robin [Harris, bass/vocals] and I spent a lot of sessions together at my home studio just bullshitting and coming up with riffs and arranging them into the rough skeletons of songs,” he tells us. “We really didn’t practice or rehearse before going into the studio; we kind of just went in with open minds and sharp blades and did the best we could with what we had.” ¶ That down-and-dirty approach (plus the magic touch of engineer Michael Kraushaar) yielded an impressively polished result. Wormwitch is fiercely dynamic and cleverly constructed to highlight the band’s split allegiances to black metal, thrash, melodic death metal and grimy rock ‘n’ roll. ¶ The record is not so much a rebirth as a statement of intent; longtime fans will lap it up, and its straightforward ferocity feels primed to lure newer acolytes into the fold. It’s being released by fellow Canadians Profound Lore, which forged a partnership with the band 26 : AUGUST 2024 : DECIBEL

after Wormwich decided to part ways with Prosthetic. “Prosthetic was very kind to us, but we never really felt at home on their roster,” Hink tells Decibel. “They tend to work with these very modern, genre-bending and boundary-pushing bands, and I guess we’ve always looked at ourselves differently.” The new album also features some startlingly pretty moments on tracks like “Inner War” and “Salamander,” whose melodic focus and Eastern influence showcase the medieval overtones that have long characterized the band. “The way I play electric is completely different from the way I play acoustic, and it engages my mind, body and soul in a very different way,” Hink explains. The three band members—Hink, Harris and drummer Izzy Langlais—all collaborate on the music, but Harris takes the reins for Wormwitch’s lyrics, which flit between archaic tales, magickal horror and

fantastical imagery. According to Hink, Harris is heavily inspired by the Silmarillion and all of Tolkien’s work, but also finds inspiration in ancient Saxon, Germanic and Mesopotamian myths. (Like every writer worth their salt, he is also “quite clandestine with his lyrics and hates to explain himself!”) It’s not all swords and stars, though; as on their previous album, 2021’s Wolf Hex, Wormwitch tucked their tongues firmly in cheek when including a self-referential theme song—“Draconick Sorcerous Canadian Witchknights.” “We’re goofy guys, we like to joke around and we don’t take things too seriously,” Hink says. “We’re also spiritual people and our lives are irrevocably altered by esoteric wisdom and magical thought. We contain multitudes. There’s no switch that we flip to become one or the other—you can hold both at the same time.” —KIM KELLY

PHOTO BY LUCIEN CYR

WORMWITCH

CANDY

Hardcore envelope-pushers not afraid to add EDM to their DNA

IT’S

hard not to talk to candy about penetration. The band’s third full-length, It’s Inside You, doesn’t do itself any favors with its name. Nor does their song title referencing psychosexual horror icon David Cronenberg’s underappreciated 1999 film eXistenZ, where Jude Law memorably quips, “I have this phobia about having my body penetrated.” ¶ Sex has always been a part of the geographically spread hardcore crew’s DNA to some extent—look no further than the cover of their debut EP, Candy Says, for something to shock your mom. However, singer Zak Quiram and guitarist/programmer Michael “Cheddar” Quick, are after a different kind of physicality. “One day, I wrote a song called ‘It’s Inside You,’ and I wanted to lean into its motivational aspect, mixing aggression with positivity,” Quiram says. “But then I started sharing it with others, and they took it as different things, one of those being a sexual innuendo. Our drummer told me, ‘This is too much, we can’t do it.’” ¶ Thankfully, the band went for it in every direction. From the start,

28 : AUGUST 2024 : DECIBEL

Candy have been driven to innovate hardcore, incorporating breakbeats and industrial textures. Instead of viewing hardcore solely as a subgenre of rock music, they see it as a permutation of dance music. “That’s exactly our entire theory,” says Quick. “At this point, everyone knows what a two-step part is; there are parts [in hardcore] like EDM drops.” The shared DIY ethos of electronic’s early days in Detroit warehouses and hardcore’s Lower East Side flophouses manifests on the frontlines of It’s Inside You. Songs like “You Will Never Get Me” fold in 808 hi-hats and record scratches with riffs that make you want to beat someone’s ass while dancing off yours. It’s as though they’ve seen the matrix code of high-bpm music, where both genres become inseparable in their final form. “When we started messing with electronic

music, we wondered why there is such a distinction between that and rock music?” says Quick. “We don’t see ourselves as anything but a hardcore band, but it’s a missed opportunity with the ease of technology to not use electronics.” These electronic elements eventually transform the hardcore golem into a fully mechanical beast on the closer “Hypercore,” which, as a genre tag, neatly defines all the insanity they wish to pack into their take on the genre. There’s an innate sexiness throughout the record not heard typically in hardcore, which is a challenge the band relishes overcoming. “Hardcore will talk about everything, but always shies away from sex,” says Quick. “I don’t think there’s any reason why heavy music can’t be about love, sex, any of that. Same with electronics: Why can’t that be part of the DNA, too?” —JOHN HILL

VÍGLJÓS

Feel free to get abuzz about this new Swiss black metal trio

NOT

all black metal bands wear black robes. Vígljós, a new three-piece from Basel, Switzerland, for instance, wear off-white robes, tied at the waist with a length of rope. Their faces are hidden by round wicker masks, and they carry staffs like shepherds, with metal bees hanging on the staffs’ hooks. An altogether unique but fitting aesthetic for the creators of debut album Tome I: Apidae, which is all about bees. Honeybees, specifically. ¶ So, what’s black metal about beekeeping? “Seriously, what is not?” counters L., vocalist of Vígljós, who don their medieval beekeeper outfits (provided by Janja Fashion Label, by the way) for anonymity, but also as dedication to their inspiration. “The whole topic [of bees and beekeeping] is very much filled with interesting analogies to life and death, society and solitude,” L. explains. To Vígljós, beekeeping is a world filled with “great stories of desire, death and sacrifice. For example, isn’t it fascinating that every bee must die when it decides to sting someone? Does it know that? 30 : AUGUST 2024 : DECIBEL

Or will it realize it’s been betrayed by the nature of its existence while slowly fading away? There is endless poetry hidden between the combs.” Even beyond the band’s inspiration and locked-in aesthetics, their sound, while firmly affixed to a black metal structure, is sourced from a wide variety of What’s Out There. According to L., Vígljós “have a rather broad spectrum of music [we] enjoy, ranging from gaming soundtracks to blues, ambient, obscure folk and world music, metal, hip-hop and much more.” Tome I: Apidae has the sound of a record that’s been given the time to grow. Indeed, L. tells us, “the rough song structures have been around for longer than our final lineup.” Parts of the album were first written by the band’s guitarist during the COVID pandemic. “When our drummer joined and the band was formed, the basic structures of almost all the songs were done.”

Everything else, including the vocals and synth, came whenever L. joined: “The mellotron tracks and the last finishing stones came later on, or even as late as during the recording itself.” L. adds that the Vígljós “recipe” emphasizes “staying playful and only pinning things down in the very end.” Tome I: Apidae was recorded by Marc Obrist at Hutch Sounds in Oberwil, Switzerland, during the late summertime. L. describes the experience as “nothing short of beautiful.” As for Hutch Sounds during the time Vígljós were recording their debut, “Picture [Obrist’s] little hut in the countryside at the end of summer. Good food, sitting in the garden enjoying the last rays of sun while the bees and bugs are hastily preparing for the cold. It was exactly the mood we were trying to catch, and we think you’ll be able to hear that.” —DUTCH PEARCE

FROM THE GRAVEYARD TO YOUR FRONT DOOR... COMING SOON

OUT NOW

OBSCENE Agony & Wounds

ALTAR OF GORE Litanies of the Unceasing Agonies

THE LORD WEIRD SLOUGH FEG Radical Man

STILL AVAILABLE

TWISTED TOWER DIRE The Isle Of Hydra

NAMELESSGRAVERECORDS.COM

NEKROFILTH Nganga

ACERUS The Caliginous Serenade

HANDS OF GORO Hands Of Goro

NAMELESSGRAVERECORDS.COM

HOUKAGO GRIND TIME presents: Koncertos of Kawaiiness: Stealing Jon Chang’s Ideas, A Book by Andrew Lee

COMING 8/16/24 ON CD/DIGITAL LP COMING WINTER ‘24 WITNESS THE SPECTACLE LIVE THIS FALL: 9/9 - Newcastle, UK 9/10 - Edinburgh, UK 9/11 - Leeds, UK 9/12 - Chimpyfest, London, UK

AKHLYS

The Rockies stand in as an American Mt. Olympus on House of the Black Geminus

ttention, all you black metal knuckleheads: It’s masterclass time. Close up those Metal-Archives-pinned browser windows, put away your phones’ Spotify-curated “This Is Black Metal” playlists, get out your pencils and take some fucking notes. This is how you make black metal: ¶ “From my perspective,” begins Kyle “Naas Alcameth” Spanswick, the dedicated conduit for Akhlys (as well as his work in Aoratos and his contributions to Nightbringer, Bestia Arcana and others), “it is all about the atmosphere. It has to relay a spirit aligned with what black metal has always represented at its archetypal level: darkness, liminality, estrangement, mystery, melancholy, dread, death and so on. This is broad, which allows much room for artistic interpretation, personal signatures and what have you, which is a good thing overall. ¶ “However, there is also something more subtle and complex to articulate when speaking of this spirit. A piece can be composed with these elements in mind, but it still needs to include this more subtle and elusive aspect, which is tricky. What is the most significant to me when approaching composing black metal is a reliance on intuition, which, from my perspective, is synonymous with 32 : AUGUST 2024 : DECIBEL

the voice of the muse. Conceptually, Akhlys is specific to dreams and nightmares and their significance from an esoteric perspective. I like to cultivate an obsession with images and dialogues that are mentally invoked when thinking about these themes, and then let that guide the compositions and aesthetics.” Spanswick’s mention of “the muse” is particularly instructive regarding his intentions and process. Many of the project’s album and song references—and even the name Akhlys itself—come from ancient Greek metaphysical figures that inform the multiple conceptual layers of the music. “I am fascinated with all world mythologies, but Greek mythology really speaks to me, and I feel an intense magnetism with it. Figures such as Pan, Phobetor, Hypnos, Morpheus, the Oneiroi and the Gorgons are important figures with Akhlys due to their respective connections to the subject matter within the lyrics. There is a vital

element that delineates myth from mere stories, something living that speaks of timeless truths and crosses the bridge from the realm of the material and the discursive into the liminal and the divine. This is the lens through which the ancients intended these things to be viewed, with a spiritual or esoteric approach and understanding, and this is precisely how I apply and interpret these figures within my music.” This year’s House of the Black Geminus draws its potency from Spanswick’s physical relocation “into a very rural area in the Rocky Mountains with my family,” as well as a somewhat enhanced collaboration between him and his band members Evan “Eoghan” Knight (drums, bass) and Dustin “Nox Corvus” Selveen (guitars) while recording. During the writing process, he says, “I was focused on the album’s theme, those symbols of the ‘house’ and one’s ‘shadow self’ within the dream context as seen through an esoteric lens.” —DANIEL LAKE

Why Ohio death dealers

200 STAB WOUNDS are already a cut above story by

KEVIN STEWART-PANKO

photo by

BAILEY OLINGER

34 : A JU UN GE U S2T0 2240 2: 4D :E C DIEBCEI L BEL

didn’t even know I had interviews today!” exclaims Steve Buhl, guitar-

ist/vocalist in Ohio death metal debutantes 200 Stab Wounds. When Decibel tracks the band down, they’re whipping around North America in support of Dying Fetus and their forthcoming second album, Manual Manic Procedures. It’s also the band’s second tour of the year with only two (possibly three) more to follow before December descends. ¶ Today, however, a glorious day off coincides with the band being able to chill in Buhl’s hometown of Ashtabula, and you could forgive him for ignoring the string of interviews their label, Metal Blade, has lined up when he’d rather be lying in his own bed and seeing family and friends. You could also forgive him for the interview flub because 200 Stab Wounds—Buhl, bassist Ezra Cook, drummer Owen Pooley and guitarist Raymond Macdonald—are still adjusting to life on one of metal’s biggest independent labels and all the non-musical duties that come with being thrust into a bigger spotlight.

Buhl is very rapidly having his attitude of, “Honestly, the only thing we give a fuck about are playing the shows and writing music,” chipped away at by the reality of label life. “We care about doing interviews and videos and all that other stuff, but it’s not really our main focus. But we’ve definitely had a big reality check; if you’re with a label that’s putting time and money into your art, then you kind of have to do that stuff because it benefits all parties. That’s an adjustment we’ve had to make, but we’re getting better at it.” The band is also getting better at its craft; the reason they are where they are in the first place. Visualize their craggy-slime mountainous logo emerging from the center point of the triangle anchored by Stockholm, Tampa and Long Island. November 2021 saw the Maggot Stomp release of their debut full-length, Slave to the Scalpel. After a gig in L.A., at which Metal Blade had representatives in the crowd, the band inked a deal with the venerable label in early 2022 and sat on the news. And sat on it. And sat. And sat some more. They toured almost 10 months that year and made nary a peep of their association with the House That Brian Slagel Built (and that one of Metal Blade’s cutting instrument logos was going to be gracing the back of Manual Manic Procedures). Once the announcement was made, Buhl claims Metal Blade was direct about wanting new music. Despite not quite being ready, the band felt confident about their material once they were able to get into a writing groove. Buhl says that the pressure one would imagine looming in the background when a newish band is recording their debut for a legendary label wasn’t a consideration. Where they felt the pressure was when their new handlers attempted to subvert their established routine. “We didn’t feel any pressure when we were writing because the way we look at it is that they signed us off our material, and we’re always

naturally trying to step up every new thing we do anyway. Where we felt pressure was with certain things they wanted us to do. They really wanted us to go record with someone else, but we were more comfortable with Andy Nelson [Weekend Nachos, Jesus Piece], and they had a bigger budget than what we were used to. We told them we didn’t need that much time and money to record a record, and that the time

To this day I think,

‘People like this shit? That’s fucking weird!’ stEve BuHL and money could go elsewhere to benefit other realms of the band. I told them we only needed a week and a half to record, and their minds were blown. They were saying, ‘That’s not nearly enough time!’ It’s like, ‘Dude, we recorded our first album in four days.’ We went back and forth with them, and after we made our argument, I think they trust us to do our thing our way now because things are working out well.”

While those incidents might have 200 Stab Wounds coming across as rigid and unyielding, they’re aware there’s a lot to learn and that being open to input and new experience is an ongoing thing. One just needs to keep an open eye and mind and look to all sources for guidance. “We learned a lot from playing live as much as we have,” Buhl notes. “When we started touring and playing different cities, we’d see the reactions of people to certain parts. We’d write a song or part we thought was great, but the crowd wouldn’t be losing their mind as much as we were. Then, we’d play a song we hated and they’d love it! We’re always writing what we want to write, but we try to be conscious of the parts people like, so we can’t abandon those parts.” Even when the reactions are mixed or beholden to a certain region. “When we went to Europe for the first time, all the shows were great,” he continues, “but in the U.K., every single show was insane! Then we went to Berlin and the show was good, it was a good crowd, but they were just watching us and not reacting at all. It was weird because a day before it was insanity. It’s like that in different parts of the States, too.” Insane reactions or not, 200 Stab Wounds are feeling the love and feeling grateful for being in the position they’re in. Five years ago, they were a cobbled-together bunch of friends who recorded a bunch of songs without any definitive direction in mind; the band hadn’t even played a show by the time they recorded Slave to the Scalpel. These days… “The fact that people are coming to the shows and paying money to see us play is the trippy part,” Buhl concludes. “I still don’t even get it. To this day I think, ‘People like this shit? That’s fucking weird!’”

: JGU DEC DIEBCEI L B E: LA U UN SE T 2024 : 35

Hellenic metal hero SAKIS TOLIS renounces religious persecution even though

ROTTING CHRIST’s Pro Xristou feeds Christians to the lions STORY BY

RAOUL HERNANDEZ

PHOTO BY

CHANTIK PHOTOGRAPHY

formidable Grecian nose bum-rushes the camera—

then rolls left to reveal a hairy eyeball. Sakis? G-Chat goes black. Sakis? Earth to Athens. Transatlantic facetime many hours and days in the planning, Groundhog Day 2024 suddenly dips precariously into shadow. ¶ When the Rotting Christ carpenter reappears—briefly—count that as Decibel’s penultimate glimpse of the Hellenic hero. Leaving rehearsal this Friday night, the group flies out for Mexico City imminently. Founded MCMLXXXVII in the Greek capital, the black metal argonauts outpace their homeland’s millennia (3.4) with their decade count (3.5). Homebound, Sakis Tolis sighs. ¶ “Always before a long tour, I feel depressed,” laments the ever-jovial frontman. “I feel homesick because I leave my kids [ages 9 and 17]. As soon as I arrive at the destination, my mind changes completely, but at the moment I’m currently living a little bit of misery.” ¶ Duty calls in the form of 14th full-length Pro Xristou (Pre History), a bouldering meditation on mankind and its empires prior to Christianity. After the introductory title track, the album cracks open “The Apostate,” a.k.a. Flavius Claudius Julianus (331-363 A.D), identified in the credits as the last pagan emperor. “No wild beasts are so dangerous to men as Christians are to one another,” intones the singer/guitarist/sole compositionist and indeed, Pro Xristou breeds Christians-to-the-lions metal.

G IULS2T022012:4D: EDCEI B C IEBLE L 36 : AU PR

Banging its mane like every note since 1987, Rotting Christ’s latest campaign sandstorms an ancient sound that erases any line between rock—hard, classic, post—and metal: black, dark, gothic. Pulverizing the former while (s) melting the latter, brothers Sakis and Themis Tolis today traffic in a post-genre alloy of ageless Mediterranean metallurgy. Eons removed from legendary christening LP Thy Mighty Contract with its sunspot bulbousness, or the blistering Armageddon in analog that became the band’s trademark and motto, 1994’s Non Serviam, the Toli hone the one note. “I don’t know how long I will live to have more albums,” says Sakis, 51, out of our blackened screens, “but this album is a little bit of everything: some fast songs, a lot of guitar melodies, mysticism. For me, it’s a more epic album, something I have never done before. “[And yet], I don’t want to try something different anymore. I have tried a lot in my life. I have played so many different styles. I have searched a lot musically. I started without knowing how to play the guitar; now I can produce a whole album. “I said to myself, ‘Okay, Sakis, enough. Let’s leave the new generation to find new tricks and new concepts.’ Nowadays, I record music to touch

someone else’s soul, simple as that. I don’t want to change the world. I don’t want to create something unique. I just want to express myself by playing the music that comes from the experience of 35 years.” Themis Tolis, 50, weighs in. “Sakis and I started our steps in metal music from a young and innocent age,” he writes. “We never imagined this project would take 35 whole years. I won't hide from you that big battles have been fought and are still being fought. We are two different characters. “But when something very serious happens, and it has happened several times, we’re united as a fist! This power comes purely from being of the same blood! Non Serviam.” All 10 tracks on Pro Xristou lock arms and step. “Like Father, Like Son” follows “The Apostate” at a sacrificial tempo: heaving, beating, coagulating. Infantry bass and drums hoist a six-string standard—guitar lead of searing inevitably. Falling next—and, as most tracks— beginning with a narrative incantation—“The Sixth Day” dawns Tolis quoting Genesis: “And on the sixth day I created man.” Further on, “Pretty World, Pretty Dies” matches that same Old Testament pounding, this time starting at T.S Eliot: “This is the way the world ends: not with a bang, but a whimper.” Tolis then gives as good as he cites: “Mankind,

mankind, burn bright / In the greatness of the light / Pretty mortals, pretty die / On the earth, on the fly.” Maiden harmonies and samurai swords sound its—and the album’s—grave tone and relentlessness. “Nowadays, I don’t think religion is the worst thing in life,” opines the man whose very band moniker says otherwise. “I mean,

“Now, I don’t think that a band, after 35 years, wants to change the world. “Do you know that saying, ‘If you cannot change the world, change yourself’? So, we tried to change ourselves. We managed not to change the world, but we’ve changed ourselves. “The new album is about old religions before Christ, and we see a lot of philosophies out

I record music to touch someone else’s soul, simple as that.

I DON’T WANT TO CHANGE THE WORLD. SAKIS TOLIS

I don’t think it creates that many problems like in the past. People don’t care anymore about religion. “Still, we [as a group] don’t believe in it— religion—but now we are more skeptical. Now we are looking for more religions, more ideologies, more philosophies. In the past, we were destroying everything, wanting to destroy everything. We did our thing! We had our revolution.

there. This is how Rotting Christ reacts nowadays. Rotting Christ has done a lot of extreme things. We have been [canceled] by many religions, many people. We have had shows canceled and faced so many problems, but we did our thing.” Suddenly, Tolis appears onscreen, grinning at home, kids laughing around him. “Today, Rotting Christ is still revolutionary, but more, let’s say, sophisticated.”

D EDCEI B C IEBLE:LA:UAGPURSI L T 2024 1 : 37

interview by

QA j. bennett

WITH

Former MADE OUT OF BABIES/ BATTLE OF MICE vocalist returns with her first solo album in 14 years

38 : AUGUST 2024 : DECIBEL

don’t have any master plans!” That’s what Julie Christmas says when

we suggest that her second solo album, Ridiculous and Full of Blood, is the realization of a master plan to bring previous collaborators—Cult of Luna’s Johannes Persson, Candiria guitarist John LaMacchia and bassist/producer Andrew Schneider—together on one release. The former Made Out of Babies/ Battle of Mice vocalist also enlisted Spotlights drummer Chris Enriquez and keyboard whiz Tom Tierney for her long overdue follow-up to her 2010 solo debut, The Bad Wife. ¶ “The goal was to go to Roadburn,” she tells us from her home in Brooklyn. “We did it last year, but then it seemed like there was more. There was a desire to continue and see what other fun could be had and how we could create new things. We actually wrote three or four of these songs to get onto Roadburn in 2020, but that didn’t happen because of COVID. The rest of the songs were written in the last eight months.” ¶ Why did her second solo record take 14 years? Christmas had two kids during that time. “I also own five businesses and I’ve got a giant dog,” she says. “I’m trying to do everything. I wanna check every box.” I love the album title, which I understand is autobiographical to an extent. What inspired it?

The photo of you on the cover is kinda creepy, but it’s also very you. What was the inspiration?

I didn’t have to come up with that. I was driving somewhere, and the title just came into my head. I think I was listening to something we were working on for the album, and it just labeled itself. But I loved it, too. I didn’t decide then and there that it would be the title, but the words just popped into my head. It’s the right title, but I wouldn’t say that I chose it. This album named itself.

Thank you! We wanted a really strong single image. There was this old movie poster for The Hunger, which is a movie I really liked, but I haven’t seen it since the first time I saw it. When I was asked what I wanted to capture for the album cover, that’s what I thought of. It’s like you have this giant file cabinet in your brain, and it just popped up. This poster is a photo of Catherine Deneuve, and she’s on a chair in a dark room, and it’s a really strong noir image of her with blood on her face. We wanted to do a version of that. The makeup artist on our shoot was incredible, and she really captured it. But I’m not a serious, poised French woman like Catherine Deneuve. I could never be that. I’m the silly psycho version of this mature vampire.

Did it seem to fit with the lyrics you were writing for this record?

I think it fits with the way life is for me and for so many people I know. I’m aware all the time that you only get one ride, and I wanna do the absolute most I can with it—even when I’m beat and feel like I can’t do anymore. I’m driven because I don’t wanna miss anything. When you’re like that, lots of mistakes happen. You can be a fool—and that’s the “Ridiculous” part— because you shouldn’t take things so seriously anyway. You can laugh off some of the stupid shit you do. The “Full of Blood” part came from the images that Fred Gervais took for the cover in Montreal. He’s incredible, but he and his makeup artist and his assistant helped take our idea to another level. When you look at the album cover or any of those other images and insert a “metal reading” of the album title, it seems like it’s a reference to gore. But it’s not. It’s a reference to passion, to throwing yourself into the deep end and seeing what happens. I feel like my life is like that—I’m out of breath all the time. Sometimes I’m laughing, sometimes I’m kicking. And everyone I know seems to be in the same boat right now. P H O T O B Y F R E D G E R VA I S

The album has a ton of diversity among the songs. Was it planned that way?

It wasn’t planned. The people I play with in this band are all incredible. I’d never tell any of them what to do. It was a gift to work with these gentlemen—Johannes from Cult of Luna, John, Andrew, Chris and Tom Tierney. I’m lucky to be with these people. The whole vibe of the project is very friendly and “let’s get this done,” but there’s so much talent. These people are fulltime students of music and life, so their ideas come from so many different places. It’s not that we agreed on every single thing that should be done, but everyone could respect everyone else’s perspective. The way that the album skips around from thing to thing has more to do with collaborating with people who have their own ideas and letting those ideas lead the way than deciding beforehand on a direction. It was a very natural process. We didn’t try to force anything.

You mentioned earlier that you run five businesses. What kind of businesses?

I think that people have to watch out for kids a little bit more than we’re doing right now, so one of the ways I do that is by teaching science to kids. I really believe that we have to get people ready for the future, and I’m a giant nerd, so I spend time trying to figure out how to break down science concepts to kids. All of my businesses have to do with science for kids. It’s the kind of class that we should’ve had when we were younger. The design of the class is that each kid gets their own set of materials so there’s no sharing or watching somebody else do it. We limited talking to seven minutes, and the whole thing is hands-on right away. I’ve put a lot of work into it, and I’m very good at it. I want to change the way science education is viewed in this country. That’s awesome. Tell me a little bit about the lyrical direction of this album. It seems to speak of the duality of humans—the idea that all of us can be more than one thing at once. Why did that concept speak to you?

Because I think when you’re younger, you don’t have that perspective. I also think this is why I keep talking about getting older. People view that as a negative thing, but I don’t. When you’re younger, the boxes seem much more rigid. Maybe not now in terms of sexuality or identity—those things are breaking out a little bit more. But when you’re younger and you’re not getting a lot of guidance—I didn’t—you can get this idea that things are a certain way and there’s only one path and you’re either this or that. Everything feels oversimplified and fits into the right box and if you’re not doing that, you’re going in the wrong direction. You’re not focused, or you’re not driven. And none of that is true. You realize that when you get older. But when you’re younger, you lack that perspective. You think you can be either happy or sad, but you can actually be both. You’re not lazy or driven—you can be both. It would be helpful to know that when you’re younger. You’re gonna be on a path, and that path is definitely not a straight line. True story.

I think social media fucks with people, too, which is why I kinda stay away—except for the animal fails! Everyone’s life looks so fabulous, and if you know anyone who’s in their early 20s, they feel like losers if they’re just normal, if stuff isn’t a picture every five seconds. Seeing all these edited photos, you get this idea that everyone’s life is great. But it’s not like that. You have good times and then the next day DECIBEL : AUGUST 2024 : 39

 Reign with blood

The newly-crowned Queen is here to suffer the children

than you’d imagined. If you’re trying to learn about it, you read on and on, but it eventually boils down to religion and that makes you feel hopeless. I fully support science and the answers that people have in front of them. This senseless belief in the fantasy of religion and how it perpetually leads down the worst, most stained path… it shouldn’t be okay that people can just proselytize. Separation of church and state is supposed to be happening, and it is not. Climate deniers, anti-vaxxers, all that stuff. Organized religion isn’t to blame for every problem in the world, but it is such a convenient excuse for fuckers and bastards and real evil. It’ll take you under 30 seconds to come to that conclusion if you’re looking. I don’t know why it has to be hidden. I respect people’s individual decisions. I don’t tell anyone what to do, and I don’t want anyone telling me what to do. But you turn on the news, and you see millions of people suffering under this belief that’s just never gonna go away. I find that devastating. Why can’t these two things exist? Because half the people who believe in God are bullshit. It’s just an excuse. You sing in many different voices, from screams and yelps to what I think of as a little girl’s voice. Do you view that little girl voice as an inner child, or am I reading too much into that?

is shitty. It would’ve been helpful for me to hear that when I was younger. It’s not absolute happiness or absolute sadness. It’s not you’re a finance dude or you’re a loser. [Laughs] It’s not these two extremes. Most of us are trying different things and figuring it out as we go. Nothing is perfect and almost everything is gonna go wrong at least a little bit. You’re gonna have really high highs and really low lows and everything in between. 40 : AUGUST 2024 : DECIBEL

The album closer, “Seven Days,” has a refrain that goes, “There’s just no man upstairs, there’s just no god or heaven.” What inspired it, and is it directed at anyone?

It’s current events-inspired. I was looking at the history of the Gaza Strip, and I saw this timeline that went back so far. Trying to piece together the events that led to what’s happening there right now—and in Ukraine—you become aware that this has been happening for way longer

Does that tie in with the idea that we were talking about earlier—that we’re all not just one thing?

One hundred percent. And like I was saying earlier, when I was younger, I didn’t realize that. Now I know it’s true. We all have so many different voices. I was watching one of your clips online, and several commenters referred to you as “The Queen.” When did that start, and what do you think of it?

I have no idea when it started, but maybe it’s because I’ve been around as long as the Queen. [Laughs] I do feel like that sometimes when I’m onstage. But the title? I accept!

PHOTO BY FRED GERVAIS

When you’re younger, you lack perspective. You think you can be either happy or sad, but you can actually be both. You’re not lazy or driven—you can be both. It would be helpful to know that when you’re younger.

I think that’s how I really sound sometimes. My speaking voice sounds different from my singing voice, especially now because I just came from practice. So, some of that is how I really sound, and some of it is my take on the song. I think of the vocals as a translator of what’s happening in the music, and sometimes that’s the right translation.

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the

definitive stories

behind extreme music’s

definitive albums

Please Don’t Breathe the making of Khanate’s Khanate AUGUST 2024 : 4 2 : DECIBEL

nick green

ime and a dedicated body of work has helped to

facilitate digestion of Khanate’s unconventional and glacial approach to doom metal, drawing in elements of drone (recalling Earth’s own synthesis of pioneers La Monte Young) and diseased lyrics too unsettling for a black metal album. Suffice it to say, no one quite knew what to make of the New York City-based quartet when its self-titled debut was released in 2001. Except for musician/writer Julian Cope, who spotlighted the album on his Head Heritage site shortly after its release, and memorably described the band’s sound as an “orchestrated root canal.” Khanate is cold, unsettling, provocative, attuned to the idea of building tension without an equivalent amount of release, both suspenseful and horrific (particularly with Alan Dubin’s approach to lyrics), and challenging on approach. But no element was designed with torture in mind, and framing it that way suggests a level of intent that has never been part of the band’s ethos. “Khanate is not an artsy, intellectual pursuit as it sometimes gets portrayed,” observes drummer Tim Wyskida. “For me, it’s just this unconscious, primal, powerful force that’s linked more with the ‘ape mind’ than the intellect.” One of the alluring things about Khanate’s selftitled album is the primitive nature of the recording. Everything from the band’s early rehearsals was captured on guitarist Stephen O’Malley’s digital eight-track—credited on the album as “nekro-drone8negatives.” Bassist James Plotkin sliced and diced and wrestled the best passages into arrangements, which the band used to develop the songs further. Plotkin then recorded Dubin’s vocals in a closet, adding a claustrophobic dimension to the “extreme POV” of the snuff film-themed lyrics. Khanate offers proof that you can coax a transfixing sound and mood just by capturing the ambiance of a room. “Skin Coat” remains an obvious high point for a lot of fans, underscoring Khanate’s commitment to the unconventional with some frenetic, glitch-y parts that parallel Plotkin’s digital hardcore Atomsmasher/ Phantomsmasher project. But this album is really defined by its bookends. The 13-minute opener “Pieces of Quiet” paints a grotesque portrait of a human body being dismembered underneath a bed and applies squalls of feedback to simulating the sound of a saw scraping against bone. Meanwhile, the album’s asphyxiating closer “No Joy”—which was cut from the original LP release for length—slowly peels away elements of the band’s sound until the album collapses in on itself. Part of why Khanate felt so fresh upon its release—and why it continues to be ripe for exploration—is that all four members of this “supergroup” brought a level of musical sophistication to this new endeavor that still had to be adapted to Khanate’s more minimalist style. The journey of the listener directly mirrors the experience of each of the band members in making the album. It’s hard to escape the feeling that this is something that you should be grappling with. It’s hard to escape the feeling. It’s hard to escape. It’s hard. But the reward is discovering a work with incredible emotional resonance, albeit one that’s still too scary to listen to after dark.

DBHOF236

KHANATE Khanate

S OUT HERN LORD OCTOBER 3 0, 2001

Choke is it

DECIBEL : 4 3 : AUGUST 2024

DBHOF236

KHANATE khanate

The spark for Khanate happened when James Plotkin and Stephen O’Malley were introduced to each other at an Isis show in NYC. What do you remember about the initial conversations about shaping Khanate? STEPHEN O’MALLEY: Yeah, that’s the mythology. That’s the creation story. Dave Witte introduced the two of us, and James asked whether I was living in New York and if I wanted to get together and try to write something. I was excited because I knew of James from O.L.D., which was a pretty avant-garde band for the time. My memory of it was that it was a very casual encounter. I’d just moved to New York in ’99 and I was excited to have a new friend. It was so formative to be living in New York in my mid-20s at the turn of the century. I went through a lot of things there. I learned how to work. I learned how to have a career doing design. I learned how to, like, hustle in order to stay there. I also got to meet a lot of amazing creative people and artists and musicians. It allowed me to become more myself, and a big part of that was Khanate. JAMES PLOTKIN: Alan Dubin had given me the Burning Witch CD and I thought it was fuckin’ fantastic. The song structures were really great. I really loved the guitar tone. I thought they were such a good band. That’s the main reason I wanted to talk with Stephen about maybe doing something together. He had a bunch of riffs that he didn’t know what to do with, and the gears started turning. When he did start playing what he’d been working on, I didn’t hear any Burning Witch whatsoever. It kind of took off from there. There might have been some dialogue about how to shape songs once we were working on them, but I don’t ever remember discussing even a general direction for the music. It was obvious that we were interested in doing something sort of drawn-out and slower and more downtempo within the heavy realm of music. ALAN DUBIN: We all knew where we were coming from. At the time, I was really, really into doom metal. Obviously, Stephen was coming off Burning Witch and he’d already started Sunn O))). James and I were both into ferocious avantgarde stuff. We never really had a discussion; we just got into the rehearsal room. Stephen had some guitar riffs, and that’s the way the songs kinda came together. It just happened organically, from my memory. TIM WYSKIDA: I was actually at that same show that night, but I wasn’t in on that conversation. I remember James telling me later that night that he had talked to Stephen, and they’d discussed the possibility of starting a group together. Alan had played the Burning Witch record for me, and I thought it was great. So, I was very much into the idea of being a part of this group. When we started playing around

“I remember walking around in Midtown and listening to CD-Rs of the recordings on my CD Discman, then calling James [Plotkin] on my flip phone and talking through different things.”

ST E PHE N O ’MA LLEY with some of Stephen’s ideas, that was the basis for how we were going to go forward, really. I wish I could give you an answer that hinted at some grand, thought-out master plan. But there just wasn’t anything like that. Sometimes it just works better that way. You can achieve in 30 seconds of playing music what hours of conversation about playing music would lead to. Within a couple of weeks, the band members were meeting regularly at Tim’s rehearsal space in Jersey City. For songwriting, did you always start with improvisation, or did members of Khanate bring pieces and ideas into the rehearsal space? DUBIN: I wasn’t at every single rehearsal at the

beginning. I did hear recordings of those practices, especially when James took the recordings home with him and started arranging stuff. We were all friends and just hanging out with each other all the time, so I got to listen to what James was putting together at his place. I’d get recordings of different versions of those songs, and I’d write lyrics around them. Then the music would get chopped down or extended, and I’d have to figure out how to adapt. I think everyone was feeling each other out. The whole process of getting to know each other musically, at least to me, was tied into the experience of making the first album. Except for me and Jim, because we’d already been in bands for years and years. AUGUST 2024 : 4 4 : DECIBEL

PLOTKIN: From what I remember, it would start with Stephen playing one of his riffs over and over again. I had a pretty good idea of how to approach other instruments, because the riffs weren’t glued to a particular meter or tempo. It was more a case of, “What do we do with this stuff?” I hear certain things in his riffs—I guess you could call it a “landmark”—that sound like an appropriate point for something to happen. The first record had a few spots, here and there, that I guess you could consider tempodriven. But we basically started, right off the bat, by not sticking to that particular formula of songwriting. One thing I do remember about those early rehearsals is that I’d never really encountered Steve’s style of playing guitar. I found that kind of exciting, because you can do almost anything if you’re not glued to a time signature and just completely disregard tempo as a compositional tool. WYSKIDA: Stephen had some riffs that he had been working on already, and that was the starting point for some of the songs. I believe that James had a riff or two, and that was the basis for a couple other ideas. And then there was a little bit of improvising, which led the band in other directions. That was the case for the first record. For the subsequent records, since we had kind of established a rapport with each other, we were able to improvise even more in the moment and transform that into something valuable.

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O’MALLEY: A lot of the first Khanate album was based on riffs that I brought in. “No Joy” was based around James Plotkin’s guitar playing. He actually played guitar on the recording. Well, we both played guitar and bass. There was also eventually some writing together, where we met in the space to finish song ideas. We hadn’t yet developed the chemistry to improvise effectively; that came later. We were really trying to find our footing with that record, particularly with the meter and the tempo. It took some time to, you know, tune the tempo in; I remember that it was challenging, especially for Tim, to play very slow. I guess it was a bit strange to immediately start recording every rehearsal. I’d never done that in a band before. It always felt like a destination: You’d practice and then you’d record.

“Skin Coat” and “Under Rotting Sky” came together in a more conventional way. The rest of the songs were edited together by James Plotkin. How iterative was that process? How many versions were there of those songs? WYSKIDA: James did a lot of that process on his own, piecing things together on his computer. I remember going to his place a couple of times to listen to the tracks in progress and provide some comments. I’m not entirely sure how many different versions of the arrangements there were before he had an idea of what would work best. James kind of kept to himself and did his thing. When he landed on something he thought was cool, he’d let us hear it and we’d go from there. O’MALLEY: James was doing the work, but he was very open to feedback. I remember walking around in Midtown and listening to CD-Rs of the recordings on my CD Discman, then calling James on my flip phone and talking through different things. Very specific things, like the number of repetitions for certain parts. Even in “Under Rotting Sky.” I guess it was a more or less iterative process and that many of the songs had several versions that they went through while we were developing them. There’s a lot of CD-Rs in my archive from that period, labeled things like “Under Rotting Sky #5.” DUBIN: I think James pulled together the skeletons of the songs pretty quickly—he’s a great arranger. As far as placement of the parts, that probably came together somewhat quickly. Again, he is a natural. Things get really intricate when you consider some of the bridges in the songs. So, the big picture stuff came together quickly, followed by a lot of experimentation and noodling and, you know, surgery. I seem to remember that during the recording for the first album, the songs were recorded in the rehearsal space. I won’t call them “jams,” but they were mostly pieced together after the fact.

PLOTKIN: When Steve was writing those riffs, he probably had some idea of how they would fit together, and that became more apparent once things were actually being fleshed out and recorded. When a song only has a few parts in it, it’s not that hard to figure out what’s gonna work and what won’t. I’d already had ideas on how the tracks should sound, but it took so long to just get through certain parts that it wasn’t really possible to piece songs together in a twohour rehearsal. The composition for most tracks would start once I’d reviewed all of the material we’d recorded. It’s a fucking boring process having to listen to the same part for an hour straight, but it becomes much clearer when the magic is actually happening in the recording.

DUBIN: Jim lived right off of a highway in Jersey,

Alan’s vocals were recorded in a closet by James. How many takes did he do for each song? And how did the lyrics come together?

The material on Khanate was initially prepared as a demo. At what point did it get on the Southern Lord roster and what, if anything, changed before the album’s release?

PLOTKIN: Alan has always been really great about nailing his vocals on the first take. There’s a lot of pausing when he records, because when you’re using your voice like that, you need to take great care not to blow it out. I really don’t know how he does it. If I tried to do something like that, I’d be mute. It sounds like a cliché, but he is really in the moment when he is recording vocals. You don’t want to take something that is coming straight from the gut and just do it over and over again, thinking you’re going to improve. The opposite is true. The more you do something like that, the less honest it will be in the end. WYSKIDA: Whoa, I remember that apartment. James was living next to a tire shop on some highway in New Jersey. The walls were very thin. I was over there a lot. We used to hang out and listen to records. I wasn’t there when Alan did the vocals, though. For the most part, the lyrics are fully in Alan’s hands without too much commentary from us. Typically, he has an idea of where he would like his vocals to be within the music. But maybe James will move them around a bit to make the vocals fit in a way he feels would be better. That’s probably not a common approach for most bands. Once the vocals are recorded, that’s where they are left. But with the type of music we’re doing in Khanate, that doesn’t always work. O’MALLEY: The vocals were done after the basic arrangements were finished. It was Alan and James. The apartment James lived in wasn’t very big and it wasn’t very nice, either. His neighbors must have questioned what was going on because Alan is a loud screamer. I’ve never had any part in the lyrics, but I gained respect for Alan’s lyrics after having the experience of playing live concerts and re-learning and refining the songs. Really, after doing concerts, the lyrics started making sense to me. I could see where Alan was coming from, and how the music was structurally integrated in the phonetics or vice versa. I could see the relationship between the music and the text. AUGUST 2024 : 4 6 : DECIBEL

so there was a lot of car traffic. I guess the quietest place we could find was inside his closet. It got really hot in there. We had to dampen the sound inside the closet, so we piled a bunch of winter coats into it. I was really putting my lungs through the wringer. I’d pass out while we were recording. I broke blood vessels in my face. It was torture. I’d deliver five or six vocal lines and Jim would open the door and I’d be lying on the floor, in a pool of sweat. I’d drink some ice water and then scream my guts out again. I’d be in pain the next day; it felt like I’d just done an intense workout. I got a black eye once. I had a broken blood vessel in my eye once. At least that one didn’t hurt, but it looked pretty disgusting.

O’MALLEY: The demo we had made was presented in a yellow plastic CD-R holder—one of those circular cases with a hinge on the bottom. It was really something that we gave to a few friends. One thing that changed is that the song “Pieces of Quiet” was originally called “Quiet Time.” I think someone thought that “Pieces of Quiet” was a better title and that changing it would allow us to focus on something that was more artistic, more of a statement. The other change was that on the demo, the band was called “Ogedei.” Going from a historical figure’s name to “Khanate” allowed the band to have a bit more of its own identity. DUBIN: I will say right now that I don’t remember exactly what the difference was between the CD-R and the album. I assume that it was just the mastering. I don’t know if the songs actually changed. The album wasn’t a demo; it’s a real album, albeit one recorded by us in the rehearsal space. I think the CD-R ended up being the same thing as the album, with the same track order, minus the mastering. PLOTKIN: There was a lot of excitement about the mixes, and we wanted to keep pushing ahead. So, the only thing that was left was a really good mastering job and the art design. I remember being in discussions with a few labels. Lee Dorrian wanted to release it on Rise Above. I liked a lot of the stuff I’d heard on Rise Above and definitely respected Lee. But I think we were probably looking for something a little closer to home. There was a really good vibe going with Southern Lord at the time. Steve obviously knew Greg Anderson and was heavily involved with the design work with the label. It just seemed like the most supportive situation we could get at the time. WYSKIDA: I mean, Stephen had been working with Greg in various capacities prior to starting Khanate. So, right off the bat, when we were playing with Stephen and considering what

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we were going to do with the music, he brought up Southern Lord. As I remember, Greg loved the music and was fully into working with the band. There was nothing we really had to do to get it over the line. Which was good, because the personalities in Khanate are as such that there definitely isn’t much room for compromising. What was the reaction to the album when it was released, and how has that perception changed over time? DUBIN: I remember seeing people talking about

it in extreme music forums. People who were into sludgier stuff like Eyehategod and Burning Witch seemed to be really into it. I remember seeing comments like, “Oh my god, this doesn’t sound like anything else!” Then there were the haters—the people who were really into straightforward doomy stuff like Black Sabbath and would be like, “Uh, I just don’t like screaming.” But I think Khanate was accepted in our little niche world. Which was fantastic. PLOTKIN: We got a really good reaction to that record considering the music we were making. Extreme music recordings sounded warmer and more restrained at the time. Khanate was more of a shrieking mass of distortion. It’s hard to expect anything when you are involved in a new project and it’s your first release. But we got a really good response, which enabled us to sort of retain some faith that what we were doing actually made sense. The self-titled was probably more inadvertently targeted toward people that were into metal or extreme music, while subsequent Khanate records may have been more accessible to people with a broader range of tastes. WYSKIDA: Because the music is pretty extreme, our expectations were maybe a couple hundred people would get the record. As I remember, it started catching on pretty quickly. Not that it was a massive amount of sales. But it was pretty far beyond our expectations. Everyone in the band seems continually amazed at how much interest there is in Khanate to this day. This first record, there’s still quite a lot of people who hold it in the highest regard among all of the Khanate records. I think it might be because it’s a little more straightforward, in terms of having more of a set meter on the songs. We got more into time-stretching on subsequent records. For most people, I think they can relate to this album a bit more because it’s a little closer to traditional music. It might still be the favorite of most fans. O’MALLEY: In the late 1990s and early 2000s, internet forums were really important for bands like Khanate. I don’t know how we would’ve had any exposure otherwise. Southern Lord had a forum, and there were some other influential ones. That helped Khanate get some attention

in places like England, where people were really into it. Besides that, I can’t recall many press reviews from around that time. Well, I can think of a few that were pretty negative. But the way those reviews described the music was always accurate; the negative part was the “This is shit!” that followed. I don’t think we spent a lot of time thinking about any of that, though. We were unified in the idea that we were going to keep pursuing Khanate and those negative reactions didn’t really matter.

“The quietest place we could find [to record vocals] was inside [Plotkin’s] closet. It got really hot in there. We had to dampen the sound inside the closet, so we piled a bunch of winter coats into it. I was really putting my lungs through the wringer. I’d pass out while we were recording. I broke blood vessels in my face. It was torture.”

ALA N D UB IN At what point did you start thinking about the band as a live entity and how difficult was it to transition the material on the self-titled to stage? DUBIN: I couldn’t wait to play the stuff in a live

setting. Right after the album came together, we convened at a different rehearsal space in Times Square called the Music Building. A lot of bands practiced there. We actually took over the room that the Hives used to occupy. It was a total shithole dive, but it had a good atmosphere. It was somewhat difficult to get ready to play the songs live. For one, the songs are all long. But some people also think that the riffs are very simple, and they’re quite intricate. So, to remember where different parts are supposed to come in required a lot of signaling and coordination. When we play live, if you look closely enough, you’ll see a lot of head-nodding and eye contact between the band members. We had a lot of timing we had to get down. AUGUST 2024 : 4 8 : DECIBEL

PLOTKIN: There were a couple of weeklong or 10-show tours that we did for the first record, mainly around the U.S. and more towards the East Coast and then South. We’d do a couple of local shows in New York or maybe up in New England, then a month or two later, we’d do like a week of shows on the East Coast. The hardest part was keeping in sync with one another and making sure that we were transitioning properly. Things started to slow down almost immediately once we started playing those songs live. I listened to the first record recently because I had to put together masters for the reissue, and I was sort of shocked at how fast they sounded compared to how I’m used to them sounding when we play them live. WYSKIDA: I enjoyed recording all of the Khanate records, but I think the band shines most in the live arena. Just to be able to get that kind of volume, for me, it feels right in the live setting. So, we were looking to play live right away, but the options were more limited initially. For me, personally, it was a bit challenging because I’d never played music that was that minimal before. I remember having to try to relax in a way and not rush to the next hit, to let the music really breathe. Those early shows were an exercise in restraint. It wasn’t so hard to translate the songs to a live setting; it was almost a direct copy of the songs that evolved a bit over time. Playing live helped to fully develop the feel within the band, because we’d recorded everything so quickly after the ideas were hatched. O’MALLEY: Our first show was going to be at this place called the Continental on 3rd Avenue. We got to the day of the show, and after some phone calls among all of us, we determined that we weren’t ready. So, I called the booker up and canceled. She was so pissed. After all of these years, I realize that this is not the way that you plan and execute good relations in the music business. We did end up playing a lot of different places in New York, like Pianos, Northsix and Brownies. The first Khanate show might’ve been with Orthrelm at Brownies, actually. It’s also the club where I first met James. The first tour was something I set up with Thrones and Sigh. I don’t even know how I organized this, but I was friends with Mirai [Kawashima] from Sigh at the time. We drove around in a van with Joe Preston and all of Sigh. Most of the shows that Khanate played were pretty small, you know? Not many people would be in attendance, except for a couple of festival things like SXSW or if we were supporting Isis in Boston.

What is the story behind the album art, which Stephen O’Malley designed? DUBIN: Yeah, he was doing a lot of design work

back then, including work for Southern Lord and other bands. He also had a fanzine that he did a lot of the art for. And he was also doing graphic design for an advertising agency in New York.

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“I can’t recall many press reviews from around that time. Well, I can think of a few that were pretty negative. But the way those reviews described the music was always accurate; the negative part was the ‘This is shit!’ that followed.”

STE P H E N O ’ M A L L EY That logo that he made for Khanate, we all really liked it, and it was just something he came up with while he was fucking around. That was all him. The photo of us on the back of the album, where we are just walking away, is another story. We had a bunch of photo shoot locations that day. We went to a graveyard, which was pretty fucked-up, and just walked around Brooklyn. We always had a camera with us. WYSKIDA: It’s always a hard thing to figure out what to do for band photos. We always feel stupid just standing there, staring at the camera. You don’t want things to be too posed. That wouldn’t feel like Khanate’s music. When we play live, our backs are turned to the audience— mostly to get the timing right. There’s little to no acknowledgment of the audience. Alan doesn’t even speak between songs. I think all of us appreciate the fact that there are people who like our music and buy the records and show up to the shows. But this music is best made with us together in our own heads working through the intense process of making this music. We didn’t have too much of a set idea for the photo shoot, so a shot of us from behind was kind of perfect. PLOTKIN: Steve started experimenting with this type of architectural font work. He’d talk about wanting to smash words together to make, like, abstract structures. When he came up with that logo, I thought it was the perfect representation of our music and our idea of how we wanted to build things. The photo session was actually done by a then-girlfriend of mine, who was a photographer and used to live in an apartment above Hydra Head Records in Boston. It just seemed

like the obvious choice to have her photograph the band in Brooklyn. I crack a smile when I see all of the photos from that shoot because they depict us at the youngest point of the band and at a really good time in our lives. We were young people with a lot of fire, and we were just pushing things as hard as we could musically. O’MALLEY: The album art didn’t emerge until later, after we’d finished the demo. James called it the “crushed logo.” I called it the “sigil,” because I was very into Austin Spare at the time, and still am, and this idea of a word turned into a memory symbol. I was directly inspired by Nurse With Wound as well: There was a period where the band’s name was presented in a sans serif and compressed, so it had this kind of accordion-like, overlapping character to it. I tried to do that with a different typography, but eventually it got collapsed into this symbol, which was redrawn and became a main component of the aesthetic of Khanate. The rest of the guys were happy that I embraced the visual side of our records and contributed to that. The art can drive an impression or bring an entirely different language to something. With Khanate, this symbol has been very useful in communicating entire concepts over time. Do you have any regrets about this era? Do you recognize the person who played on this album? WYSKIDA: Listening back on it, I can’t believe how fast the songs sound. That might seem funny to some people, because it’s slow music. But we’ve played those songs live a lot and they continually got slower and slower. Because Khanate was so AUGUST 2024 : 50 : DECIBEL

new, we didn’t have a good grip on what we were doing, and you can hear that in the recording. There was some youthful naivete. The record was really in-your-face. There wasn’t a lot of reverb. I really like the presence we had on this record, where it sounds like it’s coming from the front of your speaker. We could re-record those songs right now with all of our experience playing this kind of music and it would be slower and the tone would be a little different. But not better. DUBIN: On the first album, I was feeling out what kind of band Khanate was. I wanted there to be an element of horror and I wanted the lyrics to be vicious. That’s how the serial killer theme emerged. The lyrics ended up being a little more tongue-in-cheek than on the Khanate albums that followed. But it is still representative of how I try to write lyrics now, where I’ll come up with a phrase and then try to write a whole song around it. I like to put myself within the song, and when I deliver the vocals live or in the studio, I’m always thinking about that storyline. Overall, I love the album. It seems like an evil monstrosity baby—if that makes sense. It was the birth of something completely new. O’MALLEY: Oren Ambarchi once gave me this quote: “Your music is like your postcard to the world.” I guess with my music, and where I’ve arrived now, there’s probably several things that didn’t need to come out as a record. None of the Khanate records would fall into the category of items that I think should not be out there. All the Khanate records are very interesting as pieces of art and music. The records are like landmarks in my life. The band was a big part of my formative adult period. I’m glad I met those guys and we were able to come together and make some really challenging music. Even the first riff on the first album is the seed that built the tree of how I write guitar parts. As time goes on, I’m more and more grateful that there was a place for Khanate in the underground and that it enabled us to play shows and make more albums. PLOTKIN: I think the biggest regret will always be not having better tools. We didn’t have any budget. I remain horrified by the actual mixes and how they were prepared. 16-bit, 44.1 KHz— just the lowest digital rate you can have. It wasn’t mixed properly by any means. By “properly,” I mean with meters or decent studio monitors or tuned rooms. The thing that makes me smile is that I do remember what we were like back then. There was a lot less responsibility. We had room to do whatever the hell we wanted to do. Everyone was down for the ride. Today, everyone’s got their own career or has something going on. We all have adult responsibilities, which can kind of put a damper on things. That era where we were working on the first record, we were all excited and unhinged and very impulsive. We didn’t spend too much time thinking about the consequences of what we’re doing. That’s always a good formula for making creative music.

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“When a sentence is made stronger, it usually becomes shorter. Thus, brevity is a by-product of vigor.” W I L L I A M

S T R U N K

odd Jones was arguably at the peak of his musical career in 2018

when something happened: He didn’t want to play guitar anymore. Nails was riding high from the band’s critical breakthrough album, You Will Never Be One of Us. This time, inspiration waned. “There is a pattern there,” Jones says from his home in southern California. “It’s cyclical. I was just burned out. I love Nails, and I’ve always loved doing Nails. But I love it so much that I never want to put out an album that isn’t up to expectations. So, yes, the band wasn’t in the news or on the tips of people’s tongues. We were pretty fucking popular in 2017. And then we weren’t.” ¶ Jones isn’t sure what caused the burnout, but says it happens every seven to eight years. In his late teens, he stopped wanting to play guitar. It happened again in his late 20s and his late 30s. “The reason the album didn’t happen is on my shoulders,” he says. “We only delivered a two-song 7-inch. The fact is that I was going through burnout. Nothing I played inspired me, and nothing seemed good enough for a Nails song. Whenever a band puts out one bad album, it’s almost like people take it personally. I didn’t think it was a good idea for Nails to force anything. So, we just didn’t put more out.” It’s been roughly eight years between You Will Never Be One of Us and the release of the fourth Nails album, Every Bridge Burning (out August 30 via Nuclear Blast). Many steps were needed to reach this point. First, Jones had to rediscover his love of playing, which happened gradually during the pandemic as he binge-listened to old rock albums from the ’70s and ’80s, as well as vintage hardcore. Second, he needed to find a new lineup, including replacements for longtime bassist John Gianelli and drummer Taylor Young. He then needed to work with his new bandmates on the

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Nails sound when the lineup was in place. The upside is that Every Bridge Burning is a Nails album in every way, from the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it riffs to the unmistakable power and catchiness. Every Bridge Burning also includes some of the best rhythm and lead guitar playing of Jones’s career. Every Bridge Burning isn’t a dig at departed bandmates or social media drama. “It’s really easy for things to get misunderstood,” Jones says. “I’d like to avoid being misunderstood and simply say we [Jones and his former bandmates] are still friends. We still have relationships. We

are all good, and there is no animosity.” Instead, the title refers to friends he lost during the pandemic. “These were people I’d been friends with, and they weren’t interested in being friends anymore. The title is all about that feeling.” The music combines sounds Jones has slowly perfected in the 17 years Nails have been a band and utilizes his new bandmate’s strengths. Jones said Every Bridge Burning came together organically, beginning with sessions with new drummer Carlos Cruz. “Every time I put a flag or a stake in the ground, it doesn’t work,” Jones says. “Nails is about what I’m stoked about at the time. It’s more about what is coming out of my hands and what is making me feel good. When I plan in a certain direction, it doesn’t work that way. I will say that there is always a difference in direction from album to album. But that is mainly dictated by what I’m stoked about at the moment. On this album, I was expressive in my guitar playing, listening to Van Halen and Motörhead.” The same things move Jones in his 40s that moved him decades ago. Nails are never pretty or quaint or too long. Jones says he has no interest in releasing music that doesn’t cause an almost instantaneous physical reaction. “It’s all emotion-based,” he says. “If I’m trying to put something together and it doesn’t make me want to move or give me a charge, I’m out. I need that feeling to feel like a song is good.” If Jones doesn’t feel a charge, the song isn’t good, and he moves on: “I have to feel like there is energy. Energy is what I related to in punk rock and what I took from Minor Threat. When I heard the first song [from the first Minor Threat 7-inch], ‘Filler’—with the guitar tone and how the drums come in—it was so energetic. That feeling is the basis of Nails. I’ve never been in a band that plays atmospheric music. I do have

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NAILS WAS BUILT TO BE AN AGGRESSIVE AND ENERGETIC BAND. I GET SOME PEOPLE DON’T FUCK WITH THIS STYLE OF MUSIC. I’VE BEEN ACCUSED OF BEING A JOCK SINCE I WAS A TEENAGER AT HARDCORE SHOWS.

T OD D JONES

some demos of atmospheric guitar riffs, but what attracts me is the energy. I try to make everything as energetic as possible.” Jones started looking for new bandmates in 2020. The pandemic hampered his plans, and he stuck to practicing. When it was finally possible to meet in person and play shows, he was busy working with his former Terror bandmates on the 2022 album Pain Into Power, a project he took on to get his mind off of Nails and have fun. “You can’t find bandmates when no one is doing anything or meeting,” Jones says. “I was in a lull, waiting for things to happen. Once that was finished, I started playing with some folks.” Nails came together as a new and complete band in September 2022. The group only had a little material written—two songs and a collection of riffs. Jones doesn’t sit down with the intent to write a song; inspiration happens, or it doesn’t. When he gathers 10 to 15 riffs, he’s ready to work on an album. Jones says Every Bridge Burning contains some of his most expressive guitar playing, but retains the trademark Nails sound despite drastic lineup changes. Nails traveled to GodCity Studio in Salem, MA, in October of 2023 to record Every Bridge Burning just as the Halloween tourist season picked up. New bassist Andrew Solis, also of Despise You, says Every Bridge Burning contains sounds listeners wouldn’t expect from Nails. But it’s still a Nails album at its core. “There are a lot of tracks that are out of left field,” Solis says. “But once Todd’s voice comes in, you realize it’s just as brutal as ever with faster and more gritty shit. I’m still seeing much of this as an outsider and a fan, but

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I think it’s easily some of the best music Nails has done. I said that about [2013’s] Abandon All Life when I wasn’t in the band. I love all of it.”

MARVE LOUS ECONOMY The better part of a decade is a long time to wait for less than 20 minutes of music. Nuclear Blast Entertainment president Monte Conner, who signed Nails based on the strength of Abandon All Life, says Jones has earned space and time. “I don’t care if he plays 10 gigs a year or 100,” Conner says. “I don’t care if he spends two years between albums or eight years. I am happy to be on Team Nails and will take whatever he has to give whenever he is inspired and ready to give it. Nails is a band that follows no rules. Much like Slipknot, they are the type of band that can disappear for five years and come back as big as before, if not bigger. That is because they have something unique, and what they offer does not age or have a sell-by date. If you love brutally heavy music born from struggle and passion, then Nails is your band. And they deliver it like no one else.” Conner first saw Nails perform in 2013 on YouTube via a clip from Philly’s This Is Hardcore festival. He knew the band was special. “My jaw was on the floor,” Conner says. “The audio and video were killer; it felt like being there. They were already a signed band, so I would not define that as ‘discovering’ them, but simply grabbing something already working and using Nuclear Blast’s reach and muscle to take it to a much bigger audience.

“I was surprised at how short most of the songs and the album were in general,” Conner adds. “I made it a point to push for the first Nails album on Nuclear Blast to be longer, and Todd did his best to accommodate me. Over time, I have realized that the length of a Nails album is not a factor. Todd simply has a vision and a mission statement, and neither is dictated by the album’s length. He is marvelous at economy. The shorter length makes for a much greater impact. It makes the punch in the face much more pinpointed and powerful.” Jones was the subject of much social media drama after the release of You Will Never Be One of Us. At one point, MetalSucks called him a “scene bully,” accused him of toxic masculinity and even compared him to Marilyn Manson (Jones was also defended in a Decibel editorial by Neill Jameson, then a relatively new contributor). The charges make no sense if you consider that Nails spent years grinding and supporting other bands at gigs with often just a handful of people. Aggression, also, isn’t a bad thing when paired with direction; some of metal’s best moments exist because of a fierce, almost violent inner fire. Nails’ ethos isn’t about gatekeeping or macho bullshit; it’s about hard work and community, and built on the same values that informed ’80s hardcore. Nails have made it a point to take new bands on the road, and plan to do the same now that they are back. Friends and bandmates say Jones is direct, opinionated and unflinchingly honest. They also say many took the title of the band’s last album far too literally.

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BEING ABLE TO COMMUNICATE WITH SOMEONE IN ANY RELATIONSHIP IS SO IMPORTANT. PEOPLE CAN DO MORE DAMAGE BY BEING PASSIVE. PEOPLE CAN BRUSH SOMEONE OFF AS AN ASSHOLE AND NOT EVEN KNOW THE WHOLE CONTEXT.

CA RLOS CRUZ “I think people love hot takes and take jabs when they can fit them in,” says Kurt Ballou, who produced Every Bridge Burning and has been Jones’ friend and collaborator for decades. “That album title isn’t referring to the audience. It doesn’t mean the audience won’t be one of us. It means everyone who isn’t in this community. Todd is very strong-willed, determined and doesn’t waver, which I support. Todd’s intensity also means that the burnout can be as intense as the fire, and I think that’s what happened. It took him a while to recharge and get the right group of people.” Stan Liszewski, the vocalist for Arkansas upstarts Terminal Nation, says he approached Jones about a guest spot on the song “Written by the Victor” on their new album Echoes of the Devil’s Den not long after Nails followed his band on Instagram. He said Jones agreed to participate and turned around his contributions almost overnight to meet the band’s four-day window. “I did not know what to expect going in,” Liszewski says. “We hit him up on a whim. He was direct and respectful, and had the track to us almost overnight. Todd was the best pick because of his connection to hardcore and metal. He has his feet firmly planted in both worlds. I just sent him a DM and told him his musical output was very important to me. I told him I grew up with

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the bands he started and that we had a guest vocal spot written. He was one of the most cordial, accommodating and responsive dudes I’ve met in metal and hardcore for a long time.” Liszewski says he’s been a Nails fan since the band’s infancy and adds that the band’s caustic live shows left an indelible impression on his music: “I’ve seen them in front of 500 people, and I’ve seen them with fewer than 20. They have always delivered. It’s always punishing and relentless and just as pissed-off regardless of the audience. I’ve always loved the faster side of hardcore and metal, and when Nails first came out with Unsilent Death, I was hooked. I was a fan of Todd’s work in Carry On and Terror, but Nails was a different take. I immediately thought it was the best stuff he’d ever done. “Nails is so ferocious and pissed off,” Liszewski continues. “When people see Terminal Nation, they say I look pissed off onstage; I look like I’m having a bad time. The music we are playing talks about a lot of negative subjects. Todd is similar—you know he is not phoning it in. He is as pissed as his music lets on. It isn’t phony or made-up or performative. He’s just mad. He was playing in a leather jacket in a 108-degree room. I was like, dude, this guy is a fucking maniac.”

Jones says he barely remembers the social media kerfuffle, although he now keeps posts to essentials about coming records or shows. If he doesn’t have something to say, he won’t say it. “I know people feel that way, and it doesn’t bother me,” he says. “Those people aren’t Nails fans. Look, I can be critical and judgmental and understand that other people are like that. I would worry about it if people didn’t connect with Nails. Nails was built to be an aggressive and energetic band. I get some people don’t fuck with this style of music. I’ve been accused of being a jock since I was a teenager at hardcore shows. Dude, I didn’t play sports in high school. “I won’t do social media posts about a record that isn’t coming,” Jones says. “The best thing is, ‘We did an album, and here it is.’ I don’t want to promise people something when we have nothing to give.”

NO SKIP TRACKS Jones loathes skip tracks—those eminently

forgettable songs that lengthen records, particularly records from the bloated excess that was the 1970s. Skip tracks have been an issue since the 1950s when labels padded albums with subpar songs between a few hits to get more products on the shelves. When punk emerged in the ’70s, the first thing it gifted listeners was albums without filler; think of the Ramones’ timeless debut or the Damned’s Machine Gun Etiquette. In the 21st century, skip tracks are an issue because home recording and digital tools allow seemingly infinite run times. In the past, budget and time constraints kept most albums under 40 minutes. In the 21st century, bands can record a three-hour album and put it right on Spotify. Even legendary bands have lost their grasp on economy; Iron Maiden’s classic early albums were all in the ballpark of 40 minutes. Their last album, Senjutsu, was a staggering 81 minutes. That’s even longer than the Who’s 74-minute rock opera Tommy, at one point the longest album in any boomer record collection. Nails, however, went completely in the other direction. What was refreshing about Nails when they emerged in the second decade of the 21st century was their brevity and vigor. There wasn’t a wasted second on any album. It was reminiscent of the glory days of crossover in the earlyto-mid-’80s when bands were judged not just by intensity, but their ability to make a point quickly. Much of this was the precedent set by classic hardcore and Slayer’s Reign in Blood, which famously repeated on the flip side of the cassette. Nails came at listeners with the same exacting standards, and were confident enough in the material that they never wasted time. Just like formative hardcore albums, Nails albums were meant to be played four or five times in a row. Jones can quickly describe the albums and bands that inspired the Nails ethos: Agnostic

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Front’s Victim in Pain, Minor’s Threat’s Out of Step, Youth of Today’s We’re Not in This Alone, the first albums released by Revelation Records, Gorilla Biscuits, Madball’s Set It Off, and, above all, Infest’s Slave. “Slave is just a masterwork in energy and songs that stand on their own; every song has its purpose on that album,” Jones says. What made Nails special was that they came long after the vast majority of albums on that list, and yet had the same qualities. While the human attention span has grown shorter with the rise of digital tools, there is doubtless more bullshit in the world, whether it’s too-long albums or endless blogs. What Nails did from their inception was the opposite: maximum expression and economy. Some of the albums on Jones’s no-skip track list are surprising: Nirvana’s breakthrough Nevermind and Metallica’s eponymous black album, which turned the band into a household name. Jones says he spent countless hours scrutinizing why both albums work. His conclusion: Each song was a statement and had intent. “That’s what made those albums so great and timeless,” Jones says. “There has to be something about each song on an album. I dissected those albums and how they sounded and asked what I liked about these albums and songs. The first two songs are uppers, and the next song might be a slow jam. If you hear the same thing repeatedly, you might check out. Energy and intent are important—and a big part of how an album flows.” Ballou says he’s talked to Jones about skip tracks, and Jones admitted he often skips right to track two when he listens to new records (Jones doesn’t recall this). “The reason behind this is that most bands always top-load albums with their best songs, and listeners get a better sense of the album from the second song,” Ballou says. Ballou adds that Jones always arrives at the studio with lean songs. “I can be a patient person and long-winded, but I enjoy the economy of songwriting—when you get in and get out. I’ve always thought it’s better to leave people wanting more; Todd is keenly aware of that. If you get through two-thirds of a record and turn it off, that’s not a good record. You want listeners to hear an album and put it on again. With Converge, we might have some longer songs, but there will be one-minute blazers. The 20-minute record is the formula that works for Nails.” Ballou has worked with Jones on refining that formula for nearly a quarter-century. He first met Jones in 2001 when Jones was the guitarist for Carry On. They kept in touch and played shows together when Jones was in Terror. When Nails formed, Ballou was the logical choice for production. He has stayed on as producer for the duration of the band’s existence. Ballou calls Every Bridge Burning a special album in the Nails

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catalog because Jones has continued to evolve as a guitar player and become more precise. “Todd is incredibly driven, and he cares deeply about what he does,” Ballou says. “He never half-asses anything. He is intense and won’t put out a record just because something is due. He doesn’t do things to meet a label’s schedule. I think he is one of the people who needs to love and believe what he is doing to put it out. I’m happy to see my friend back at it, continuing to add to his catalog and overall body of work.”

REBUILDING NAILS Finding a drummer up to the task of playing in

Nails was a challenge. Jones needed someone who could play both hardcore and double bass—a player capable of a hybrid of extremity. “If you are a punk drummer, you usually don’t have any ambitions to learn to play double bass,” Jones reasons. “And if you are a death metal drummer, you don’t have the ambition to play punk-flavored music. It was hard to find that person.” Nonetheless, Jones did find that person: Cruz, a drummer who has worked with a diverse range of heavy bands, including Warbringer, Ohm and Power Trip. Jones asked mutual friend Arthur Rizk for an introduction and then reached out. Cruz didn’t commit. But he didn’t say no, either. “I thought I wanted to play music with this guy and he has the chops to do it,” Jones says. “He’s a great musician, and people want to play with him because he is so talented.” Cruz says he was busy touring, but interested in working with Jones. Roughly half a year passed. Jones was prepared to move on when Cruz reached out. The pair started getting together in September 2022, rehearsing old Nails songs and working on new arrangements. “The first song we played was ‘Give Me the Painkiller,’ and it just worked,” Cruz says. “We have a lot of musical chemistry and it worked well. It was a big shift for Todd; he was looking for someone to learn all the music and be in a band at a certain level. We bonded through music and just had similar tastes. We bonded over music before we even talked about working together.” Cruz says he had been a fan of Nails since Unsilent Death, which he called “an unapologetic fist to the face compared to most things that happened at the time.” “When I heard someone that infused all this extreme music with that grind, it was fresh,” he says. “Plus, the artwork resembled classic Hellhammer with the old English-style logo. The greatest thing was that it was a fulllength album with less than 15 minutes. It made me want to play it again.” Once he teamed with Jones, Cruz was tasked with writing music with the same replay value. Cruz—who has worked with several progressive

metal bands—says he appreciated Jones’s clarity and purpose. “He cuts the fat on every track. It’s all killer and no filler,” Cruz stresses. “Whenever he showed me a song, I would think of third choruses. He’d say we would try it, but it might not be right for the song. I just let him lead because he knows what is best for Nails. He knows what is in the best interest of songs. We kept that short, sweet and intense direction of Nails, but maybe pushed a few things in a refreshing direction to show where he is now as a songwriter. There are some new dynamics and new depth. We both gave the fans what they wanted, expanded the sound and kept the ethos.” Cruz also values Jones’s straightforward working style. “People can be so passive,” Cruz says. “Being able to communicate with someone in any relationship is so important. People can do more damage by being passive. People can brush someone off as an asshole and not even know the whole context. Telling it like it is is the healthiest approach. That way, it will get resolved sooner or later. I kept an open mind and ears, letting him steer. He was open to my ideas, but I had his back with all the decisions. “From the get-go, he was personable and genuine,” Cruz continues. “He is honest about everything. There is power in the truth with him. If he doesn’t like something, he tells you. I come in with tools and my background into something he built. So, it was all about using my skill set to bring the best out of him. Once our relationship was built, it became seamless and smooth. The egos were left at the door, and whatever someone said in the press didn’t matter. I didn’t hear much about it or what happened with it anyway. I know there were member and personnel changes, and I am accustomed to that. Todd and I started building a songwriting core and then added to the band. It was all about planting seeds and helping them grow naturally.” Jones also added a new second guitarist, Shelby Lermo, most recently of the Bay Area OSDM band Vastum. Lermo and Jones first bonded over guitars in 2019 when Lermo’s Lovecraft-inspired death metal band Ulthar toured with Nails. Lermo brought a 1985 Gibson EXP 425 on tour, and Jones immediately identified the rare guitar. “I opened the case and he asked, ‘Is that an EXP 425?’ I knew then that he knew his shit,” Lermo recalls. “We are both fathers and have families. He is direct with his ideas, but I’d rather work with someone direct and upfront rather than someone who is passive-aggressive. He’s become a good friend. He is very easy to work with, and we understand each other. I’ve gotten to know his wife and kids. He is a good dude.” Lermo was an interesting pick for Nails; the guitarist was initially more familiar with black and death metal than economical extreme music. He grew to appreciate Jones’s power and delivery during that tour a half-decade ago.

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“I didn’t understand Nails until I toured with them,” Lermo says. “I got to experience the live entity, which translates in a live setting—the heaviness and the power. I made it a point to watch them every night because they were such a great and powerful live band.” Writing for Nails was a bigger challenge; Lermo admits he tends to write “complicated, weird, eccentric music.” During practice, Lermo showed Cruz the 14-page tab for an Ulthar song. The tab for a Nails song, meanwhile, was half a page. “I appreciate that this band is so concise,” Lermo says. “But some Nails songs, like a minute or two long, are harder to play than some prog or tech-death. The songs are so fast and precise, and it’s harder to play than weird tech jazzy shit. The fun part is translating my musical voice into a new framework. I don’t know how to describe this process outside of just saying it’s collaborative and about conversations.” Jones says Lermo was an obvious fit, even though there seemed to be a stylistic difference. He says Lermo’s more involved music was delivered with a similar intensity and purpose as Nails. “Vastum plays my favorite kind of death metal,” Jones laughs. “It’s caveman death metal, but it is well-thought-out. You want to crush and be heavy if you are in a death metal band. Vastum is one of those bands where a lot is going on under the hood. Yes, it’s a caveman death metal band, but there is also so much going on. When [Lermo] said he would play with me, it was like a light was shining on me. He is a monster player and writer.” “I’ve learned a lot about getting straight to the point from Todd,” says Solis, who was the final

new addition. “You don’t need any of the fancy stuff. One of the coolest things I’ve learned from him is that every song has to have its own identity. If every song doesn’t have its own identity, you are just rewriting the same song. Even on the older shit, all the songs seem to have their own theme. I also learned that it’s all about how you approach and play riffs rather than what the riffs are.” Ballou, who has worked with every iteration of Nails, says that all three members have grown into the band. At the same time, he says, Nails will always be Jones’s baby. “When Todd first formed the band and decided to be the singer, he didn’t want to be beholden to any other members for his band to continue. He didn’t want a band where the lifespan was determined by others. He didn’t want to be dependent.”

“IT SOUNDS JUST LI K E NAI L S TO M E” Jones’ burnout is firmly in the rearview. He’s enjoying playing guitar and is ready to get back on the road. Nails have a busy schedule and will tour for several weeks this year. At the same time, Jones is a father and husband; he will prioritize his home life and only do reasonable touring and festival dates. The upside of all this is that fans will once again experience Nails live. As much as Nails’ recorded legacy is worthy of replay, the chance to see them live is perhaps the biggest upside of Every Bridge Burning. Whether playing Gilman Street to a handful of people in 2010 or a full house at Decibel’s

Choosing Death Fest in 2016, the band delivers a wallop. Conner, meanwhile, is just happy to have Nails back. When he finally listened to Every Bridge Burning, he thought, “It sounds just like Nails to me.” And that’s a good thing. “The material always changes by shades only,” Conner says. “That said, the new album is overall more song-focused than past efforts, which is fine. Maybe you can even compare a few of the songs to Motörhead. I want songs with structure and hooks embedded in my brain to keep me returning. That excites me, and this album consistently has more than any Nails albums of the past, so I am thrilled with it. Vocally, Todd sounds slightly different on this album than on past albums. It is hard to quantify exactly how he sounds different. Not better or worse, just different.” “Nails is Todd, and whatever lineup he has will sound like Nails,” Conner says. “Who he chooses to help execute his vision does not concern me. I trust him to pick his soldiers. This is not meant to downplay the importance of some of Nails’ members.” Nails is a band with an entire catalog that runs roughly 60 minutes. Like Ernest Hemingway’s Old Man and the Sea or noir author James Sallis or memoirist Susanna Kaysen or Pig Destroyer’s J.R. Hayes, that small space contains universes. Todd Jones? He’s just happy to be back to work. “Even when we were inactive, I still heard that people wanted us back,” he says. “That was heartwarming and made me feel good. When we play shows, people are going crazy, and we connect with people through music. There has been some time away, but it will be the same as before.”

AND WHATEVER LINEUP HE HAS WILL SOUND LIKE NAILS. MON T E C O NNER N U C L E A R

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INSIDE ≥

66 BLEAKHEART Nought what you might expect 66 CAVALERA Back to the wall 67 FOUR STROKE BARON We couldn't even give 'em a four 68 PORTRAIT Get the picture 69 SEAR BLISS Stay Hungary

Choice Cuts 200 STAB WOUNDS

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Find people who think like you and stick with them

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hack ‘n’ slash their way to the upper echelon of modern death metal

T 9

here are certain frills and fundamentals that the gore metal fan is almost guaranteed to miss out on whenever they lend their waxy auricles to a new record. Among the qualities they can safely assume will be lacking are sophistication, 200 STAB dynamics and a proper album experience. After all, as good as a WOUNDS properly lurid goregrind record can be, it’s geared to offer subtle Manual Manic variations on a single theme at best. ¶ Now, a few bloody-minded Procedures M E TA L B L A D E shitheels have managed to navigate this ostensibly unnavigable impasse. Carcass nailed it on Necroticism (partially by tempering many of their more brutish impulses), and Exhumed, Aborted and Cattle Decapitation come to mind; but as a rule, turning to a band lurking within this particular subgenre for a rich audial experience is like seeking dramatic tension from a Pornhub video. And if your band’s named 200 Stab Wounds… well then, my expectations are about as low as my enthusiasm for this year’s presidential electoral cycle. ¶ Well, whaddaya know? Despite the band’s handle, it turns out that I’m the one that’s a fucking prick. 200 Stab Wounds’ 2021 debut LP

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BLEAKHEART

Silver Pulse SEEING RED

Give in, give up

Standing at land’s edge, overwrought at the brink of rational thought, the wind rips around you as the ocean pummels the rocks. Clouds strobe the moonlight as shallow breaths catch pace with your racing heart. Is the black beyond less terrifying than the fear that drove you here? A rogue wave seethes from the storm’s rage and 66 : AUGUST 2024 : DECIBEL

CAVALERA, Schizophrenia

The past reborns the storms | N U C L E A R B L A S T

The Cavalera brothers have gotta be living a couple of the best lives of their generation of metal musicians these days. Iggor’s making electronic music, DJing in Japan, not hitting his drums real weak on Relapse’s Integrity reissues. Max is pumping out the jams in Soulfly, doing side projects, being rad on Cameo. Periodically, they come together as Cavalera (née Cavalera Conspiracy), and last year they started re-recording Sepultura classics, first tackling the 1986 debut LP Morbid Visions, then Bestial Devastation, their half of a split with Overdose from the previous year. They went out on the road with these songs that have been beloved for decades by anyone who’s not a false, which has to be fun. And now they’ve Cavalera-fied Sepultura’s 1987 sophomore LP Schizophrenia. Is this re-recording necessary? Well, it’s louder. The guitars on “From the Past Comes the Storms” immediately bite harder than

won’t take no for an answer. Impossible to discern surface from floor as staggered light stabs the undertow’s grip and sirens falsetto their grievous lullaby. Saltwater chases the air in your chest without hope or fight, ushering calm where there was none. For one blissful moment, your final thought blooms into peaceful surrender; action never stood a chance against such force. Your lifeless vessel cartwheels slowly from the squall before one final breech leaves what you once were glistening beneath icy stars. Such is the imagery inspired by repeated late-night listens to Silver Pulse, the sophomore chamber doom outing by Denver’s Bleakheart. From the opening tempest of “All Hearts Desire” to the closing shimmer of “Falling Softly,” the band weaves raw, rich guitars— courtesy of J.P. Damron (Vermin Womb) and Mark Chronister—into a tapestry of string quartets, empathic bass and celestial keys that

on the somewhat muddy original. Schizophrenia was a transitional record for Sepultura, retaining some of the old morbid gloom while introducing new guitarist Andreas Kisser and clearly looking ahead to the pure thrash of Beneath the Remains. For the Cavalera version, Max and Iggor are joined by Pig Destroyer’s Travis Stone on lead guitar and Max’s son Igor Jr. on bass. The shroud of reverb on Max’s vocals conjures a little more of that proto-black metal vibe, which is cool. But that, and the extra oomph of crazed energy they inject into “Septic Schizo,” are the only new angles to songs that have been pretty well vetted for nearly 40 years. Fortunately, Cavalera have unearthed the previously unheard track “Nightmares of Delerium” for the rerecording. Otherwise, this is Schizophrenia, from the Psycho-referencing intro to the deranged circus music that closes out “Rest in Pain.” It’s just newer and louder. —ANTHONY BARTKEWICZ

lays beneath the ethereal vocals of Kelly Schilling (Dreadnought) and Kiki GaNun. Excellent drum work by Josh Quiñones (Oryx) cradles each mournful intricacy, even in moments where you’re sure the delicacy of it all could do nothing more but break apart. Produced by Pete de Boer of World Famous Studios, the all-analog affair amplifies the expansive sound and somber songwriting of their 2020 debut Dream Griever. While singles “Weeping Willow” and “Where I’m Disease” are both fantastic and benefit from the visual beauty in their forthcoming videos, “Sinking Sea” is a standout that will have fans of the Otolith and Messa rejoicing over a new entry for their bewitching doomgaze playlist. In a world where we typically define the extreme genre’s output in terms of fire and earth, Bleakheart represent the air and water that may appear less dangerous until they feed the flames, flood the land and claim your soul. —TIM MUDD

PHOTO BY KEVIN ESTRADA

was a surprisingly persuasive, thoughtfully assembled dose of sonic Adderall. That discovery alone should be humbling enough to solder my dumb, highfalutin mouth shut, but the blinding quality of Manual Manic Procedures is an out-ofleft-field phenomenon regardless. I’ll dispense with my one and only qualm regarding this record: Manual Manic Procedures is a somewhat antiseptic-sounding effort. The guitars in particular feel over-groomed and a little disconnected from the compositions themselves (picture the sheen of oil imperiously lolling atop a tub of hummus; they just don’t sound actively incorporated). Is this a flaw, per se? I don’t necessarily think so. I just happen to prefer the production of (say) any given Dead Infection record to anything that Carcass has released post Symphonies of Sickness. But as far as MMP’s content is concerned, I have zero (count ’em: zero) notes. In fact, though the album will certainly land with the Maggot Stomp crowd, it’s perhaps even more likely to appeal to us dried-up fogies who still rock Relapse’s Corporate Death sampler and emphatically maintain that pre-Chaos A.D. Sepultura hung the moon. In fact, though the Carcass influence is undeniably conspicuous, flattering allusions to early-’90s Sepultura also abound. Check “Hands of Eternity”’s brooding, cabbalistic introduction or the headfake to “Dead Embryonic Cells” at the 1:24 mark of “Defiled Gustation.” The record bleeds sophistication without sloughing off any of its native malice, neatly leading the listener from one ghoulish crime scene to another and providing a sense of actual progression. Hell, the final track (“Parricide”) feels righteously conclusory in the way that “Raining Blood” functions as an usher, guiding the listener out of its album’s immediate orbit. And yes, there are still a couple of blunt, easy-peasy bruisers positioned to maintain the album’s devastating momentum (“Gross Abuse,” “Ride the Flatline”), but novel flourishes and chilling, filmic movements worm from the overall experience. Manual Manic Procedures is the real shit. Everything else is just offal. —FORREST PITTS

CLOVEN HOOF

Heathen Cross HIGH ROLLER

Chewing the cud

NWOBHM underdogs Cloven Hoof occupy a liminal space in the British metal scene of the early ’80s. Their grand melodies skewed close to Diamond Head, but their lyrics and imagery were as blasphemous as Venom’s. Despite this, they didn’t earn the name recognition of either band, likely because their debut dropped even later than Grim Reaper’s. Forty years later, they’re treading the same line on their 10th LP, Heathen Cross, even though only bassist Lee Payne remains from the original lineup. Just because Cloven Hoof are one member shy of a Ship of Theseus doesn’t mean their lineup is anonymous. Harry Conklin of Jag Panzer stepped behind the mic for Heathen Cross, and his pedigree is on full display. He sounds much more accomplished than the band’s workmanlike classic vocalist, David Potter. That said, he’s less distinct than George Call, whose withering timbre makes their 2017 album, Who Mourns for the Morning Star?, my (controversial) personal favorite in their discography. Nor does the updated lineup diminish the band’s songwriting. NWOBHM bands put a premium on memorable riffs and choruses, and Cloven Hoof are no different. These tunes will stick in your head—maybe because you’ve nearly heard some of them in the past. “Vendetta” so intensely occupies the uncanny valley between “Aces High” and “The Trooper” that it feels like they owe Steve Harris a songwriting credit, even though he’s got more than enough cash. Cloven Hoof aren’t the first or worst to crib from Iron Maiden, but a band that often struggles to find its own identity ought to know better. —JOSEPH SCHAFER

DYSRHYTHMIA

Coffin of Conviction N I G H T F L O AT

Hill to die for

It’s a feat in and of itself for a band to make it 25 years without killing each other. It’s nothing short of a miracle for a band to spend that time deepening their chemistry with one another, all while becoming respective killers at what they do. Dysrhythmia’s Coffin of Conviction is a testament to all of that, showing age in the best way possible. The album’s cover gives a good idea of what to expect: a twisting labyrinth of sound. As technical and impressive as the playing on is (and, holy shit, will those off-time drum hits wow you), each song is far more interested in sonic narrative than sheer wankery.

As a completely instrumental act, the stories Dysrhythmia express are all fleshed out, mini-odysseys of mood and feeling. “Subliminal Order” starts with an anxious back-and-forth of machine-gun riffing until it crawls out from under the weight of a massive solo. Elsewhere, “All Faults” offers a deceptive serenity that sees its illusion shatter as a sinister riff takes the song in unexpected directions. This buildup leads to the final track, “Light From the Zenith,” which introduces a rarely heard synthesizer to the mix. The result: feeling like you’re ascending into heaven above while realizing the inherent sadness of an eternity that awaits you. Even in a song that sounds like an escape from the band’s many winding compositions, they complicate their narrative even further. There won’t be too much here to convert a math metal non-believer into angular riffing, but for the already initiated, it’s a worthy achievement of the band’s time spent. —JOHN HILL

FOUR STROKE BARON

Data Diamond PROSTHETIC

At the corner of “jump da” and “fuck up”

The signs are already discouraging when a threeminute intro track called “On Mute” refuses to spend a single second feeling muted, pensive, reserved or even just instrumental. The toddleron-amphetamines tendencies are apparent almost instantaneously, and the real problem is that this is Four Stroke Baron trying to sound quiet and thoughtful. That becomes clear as soon as “Monday” throws the switch on the stadium full of poorly coordinated strobe lights that is their, um, sound. And what does that sound entail? I wrote the phrase “Tears for Dub-shuggah,” and that fictional band name is only missing some orthogonal reference to Cali-punks the Offspring. Does that combo not feel fair or particularly descriptive? What if 2000s alt-pop gem Kenna had been born in a Nevada meth den instead of Ethiopia? Too obscure? Would you prefer if French instigator Igorrr were allowed to obsessively edit every Perturbator record for maximum suckage? If you’ve always wanted to hate so-called djent, but you’ve been consistently disappointed to find undeniable musical merit in most of that subgenre’s output, this album could put to rest all that cognitive dissonance. I have no doubt that malfunctioning AI samplers that achieved rudimentary sentience would find these songs catchy. This is a crypto-bro personality uploaded to the cloud and recoded for predatory streaming services.

Seriously, after decades of regularly listening to Xasthur and Silencer, I can honestly report that depressive suicidal black metal has never inspired me to make an end-of-life plan as detailed and immediate as Data Diamond does. Don’t fucking listen to this. —DANIEL LAKE

HYPERDONTIA

Harvest of Malevolence

DARK DESCENT

Don’t fear the reaper

For a band that started out as a side project whose personnel are separated by geography, Hyperdontia have done a fine job of turning themselves into one of the alpha predators in the contemporary death metal food chain. Some bands do it by buzzsaw necro guitar, others by vaporized low-end and Lovecraftian metaphysics. Hyperdontia’s sound rests upon the uneasy balance between action and dark vibes, between the technical stuff that fries the frontal lobe and the primal, targeting something instinctual and buried deep within our genealogy, something predating the anatomically modern human. A malevolent creation? Let’s call it Florida Death Metal Man. Not that Hyperdontia are from downtown Tampa, but you could imagine the title track from this, their flesh-ripping third LP, bouncing through the control room at Morrisound. We get all of the above in “Death’s Embrace,” a thrashing rager punctuated by bass fills à la Alex Webster and one of those gnarly mid-tempo breakdowns that could be traced back to Slayer. Those feel changes are expertly negotiated as to quicken the pulse of any hesher within earshot. There will be heavier records this year, more esoteric, more brutal. But Hyperdontia’s songwriting is watertight, pushing our buttons, accessible yet dark. Squealing guitars send thrills across the stereo spread. Harvest of Malevolence is lit up by moments that will resonate with edge monitor acrobat and chin-stroking genre purist alike. It is quite the achievement when you consider Hyperdontia tracked this remotely, each member of this Turkish/Danish outfit recording their own parts separately, with the venerable Greg Wilkinson (Autopsy/Static Abyss/Brainoil, etc.) mixing and mastering it all at Earhammer Studios. It sounds incredible. —JONATHAN HORSLEY

KRATER

Phrenesis EISENWALD

Succumb to madness

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that made black metal relevant in the first place. That can’t be said of German quintet Krater. Phrenesis feels dangerous. It’s not the danger of losing your soul to the dark or summoning too many unruly demons who will snap loose of their mystic collars and run rampant over this realm. Rather, the music feels forever in danger of losing itself in the frenzy of speed and volume, in danger of ambition overrunning aptitude, and that blurred edge between purpose and proficiency translates to the listener’s sense of unease. The recording is hairy, unkempt, wild, reminiscent of the destructive forces that reigned over the first few 1349 albums. The drum attack tattoos the air, constantly trying to outpace the distortion-bled rhythm guitar assault; never slipping, but rarely feeling fully under human control. Lead riffs and toothy solos scream through the mix. Abortio’s unhinged vocal caws fray and spark against all that flesh-mulching instrumental barbarism, but it’s his occasional descent into a clean baritone that adds color and character to these songs. Krater’s core members are on their fifth record under this particular banner, alongside more albums penned under other names. Their established fanbase will find a ton of worthy headbangery and air-guitarisms on Phrenesis. There’s nuance to be had in the details, and close inspection rewards the dedicated listener, even if the songs don’t particularly stand out from the general black metal background, feral as they might sound in the moment. —DANIEL LAKE

MOONBLADDER

Dark Sky Equilibrium CRUCIAL BLAST

Layers, motherfucker

In last year’s cover story about the return of Agalloch, we gushed sycophantically about Jason Walton’s omnivorous mind and creative drive. But that was a rave piece; this is the cold, hard reviews section, where the unforgiving light of reality leaves no room for fan-blinded sentimentality. What’s the straight dope on Walton’s actual recorded output? Verdict: We stand by every goddamned word. You might disagree. That’s fair. These 20-plus minutes primarily concern themselves with manipulated noise and industrialized ambience. Dark Sky Equilibrium is for Agalloch fans in the same way that Dark Sky Burial is for Napalm Death fans, which is to say that they have nothing in common except that the bassist has indulged his own compositional and improvisational instincts to make moody, amorphous sound sculptures. This MoonBladder piece is the 68 : AUGUST 2024 : DECIBEL

result of experiments and embellishments in a live setting. A complete list of “instruments” is available elsewhere; we don’t have the space here, and you wouldn’t be able to pick them out, anyway. Beginning like a cyborg-sung siren song descending from the starry Roswell sky (quickly accompanied by wind chimes and stalked by hooded, reverbed whispers), the strata of rumbling, throbbing waveforms build on each other fairly quickly for the first five minutes before the circuit breaks and everything descends into a vaporous chasm of quiet corrosions. Something hungry lurks down there in the deep, though it takes some time before the vocal-chant-led onslaught rises up to feed, culminating in a jittery, roaring cacophony. If you’re looking for sonic touchpoints, think of a highlight reel of ambiguous Lynchian murders, or a streamlined version of the third Fantômas record, Delìrivm Còrdia. But really, DSE is the unique vision of a man drawing from his own decades of experience. —DANIEL LAKE

ORANGE GOBLIN

Science, Not Fiction PEACEVILLE

Out of this world

Orange Goblin have been around far too long to give a fuck. The first words on their 10th studio album, Science, Not Fiction, are the same that Blue Öyster Cult used to justify their career of evil a half century ago: “I will not apologize.” And they shouldn’t. Every time they put out a new record, it serves as a reminder that these stoner metal menaces have been celebrating the golden age of leather at the highest level for nigh on 30 years now. Like with Motörhead, a lot of the pleasure of listening to these OGs comes from the consistent rumble of their busted muffler; also, like Motörhead, it’s fun when they branch off from the formula. In this case, second speedbump “(Not) Rocket Science” feels like their spin on the Hellacopters, down to the urgently plinking piano key in the background. Otherwise, not a lot of surprises, but a whole lot of rockin’. “Ascend the Negative” is an honest-to-Oz pep talk as given by the guy on top of the amplifier car in Mad Max: Fury Road, “The Justice Knife” poses a choice straight out of the first Saw, and “The Fire at the Centre of the Earth Is Mine” and “Cemetery Rats” deliver some of their finest deep-fried riffs to date. After this many years, this many albums and this many miles, the time-traveling blues can start to feel tired. Thankfully, that’s not the case here. It’s science fact. —JEFF TREPPEL

PORTRAIT

The Host

M E TA L B L A D E

Fatal if swallowed

Truth be told, Swedish heavy metal quintet Portait’s sixth album, The Host, is about 30 minutes longer than this reviewer prefers to spend with an album. Clocking in at a solid 75 minutes, it’s basically a “double album” in the parlance of the vinyl era. But, hey, we’ll give ’em a pass on that niggling criticism for a couple of reasons. First of all, this is meant to be a concept album about “an occult tale of sword and sorcery,” according to guitarist Christian Lindell. Second of all, Portrait have the good goddamn sense to offer up a dynamic mix of tempos, moods and general approaches to the music without sort of compromising what they’re about. And what they’re about is (primarily) ’80s metal—thrash, power, old-school, etc.—filtered through more modern extreme influences. So, yeah, you’ll definitely hear some early King Diamond (the band) in the vocals and progressive arrangements. There are thrashy tempos at times and solid galloping glimpses of Iron Maiden and Dio-era Sabbath. And, sure, maybe when the intensity amps up, you’ll get a snatch of blast beat or maybe some dissonant black metal shading. Not one to get too heavily invested in the lyrics and stories of concept albums, the appeal here is not so much that the songs are connected in some grandiose and well-constructed piece, but the fact that Portrait have put together a coherent and entertaining body of music filled with many peaks and valleys. And really, that’s about the best you can ask of any album. —ADEM TEPEDELEN

SARKE

Endo Feight SOULSELLER

Eccentric wizard

Black metal is an art form created by radicals and maniacs, but above all, eccentrics. Most of the key protagonists in the Norwegian scene would admit to this, and while it might be hard to get a handle on this when they are meting out pure hellfire at the frontier of extremity, you hear it plain as day when the pace is less frenzied and the musical horizons broadened. You hear it on Endo Feight. It traffics in haunting after-hours grooves that don’t yield to audience expectations, opening with the undulating “Phantom Recluse,” a track punctuated by the parp of synthesized horns. Nocturno Culto, one of our eccentrics, is the ever-reliable narrator of Sarke’s tales, vocals pitched perfectly.

—JONATHAN HORSLEY

SEAR BLISS

Heavenly Down HAMMERHEART

In my room practicing with my trumpet

Hungarian black metallers Sear Bliss simmer for years—an average of four-plus between albums since Forsaken Symphony in 2002—before, er, trumpeting out a new album. This holds for Heavenly Down, an album that has been sitting for over half a decade in mainman András Nagy’s pressure cooker. True to form, Sear Bliss return with high-end Eastern European ink, though without soloist Csaba Csejtey to shock and awe. That’s fine, since the first single off Heavenly Down, “The Upper World,” fares well against predecessors like “Shroud” and “Aeons of Desolation.” It indicates what the Westerners have done and continue to do well. Nagy, Zoltán Vigh and Márton Kertész’s swift coruscating riffs haunt subterranean croaks/

UMBRA VITAE, Light of Death

Meeting of minds, collision of craniums | D E AT H W I S H I N C .

Before dispensing with praise and plaudits, a word of warning: Umbra Vitae collate the talents of recognizable names from recognizable bands. Bands like Converge, the Red Chord, Twitching Tongues, Tsjuder, Uncle Acid & the Deadbeats and Hatebreed. With a pedigree like that, anyone would naturally surmise, “These crafty veterans know what they’re doing; this has gotta be good!” However, I once had the mainman of the C-187 project assert that their debut album “couldn’t suck because Tony Choy and Sean Reinert were involved.” Anyone who’s heard the

nü-metal disaster that was 2007’s Collision knows how incredibly wrong that estimation is, was and forever shall be. Light of Death, thankfully, does the exact opposite, and does it without resting on name laurels, even if you can hear who’s who and what’s what. And that’s A-OK with us because everyone is excelling at what they do best. “Anti-Spirit Machine” is all down-picked power-lifting cut with smidges of off-kilter rhythms and gang vox catchiness; “Reality in Retrograde” puts on a sub-minute grind clinic; “Cause & Effect” is a tempo rollercoaster;

empyrean howls as cornetist Zoltán Pál’s ominous yet regal declarations strike against the grain. This template is applied ably across Heavenly Down. Opener “Infinite Grey” has the malice of the single, but with added cosmic mystery. It smartly leads into “Watershed,” a murky, moody number with hang drums (likely a black metal first), brass and wellhoned mid-tempo devilry. Sear Bliss experiment with song structure, too. Gyula Csejtey’s drum intro in “The Winding Path” tricks the sped-up Cluster-like synths into thrashing submission. Then the middle splays outwardly like it’s channeling Ehsan Kalantarpour’s Atoma; the section from 2:24 to 4:01, replete with a riveting solo, is some kind of wonder. Count the Nobuo Uematsu-flavored instrumental “Forgotten Deities” as the ingress of that killer sequence. Nagy’s Sear Bliss might have had a few lows over the last 31 years, but the recent era has been remarkable. —CHRIS DICK

and it’s a toss-up as to which Red Chord member—bassist Greg Weeks or guitarist Mike McKenzie—wrote “Leave of Absence” and “Belief Is Obsolete.” Where Light of Death should also be saluted is in the area of Jacob Bannon’s vocal performance, this album being one of the most coherent and powerful of his storied career, as waves of inflection and bite-sized hooks are added to his ever-expanding, formerly monochromatic bark. A rack mount of effects still mask deficiencies, especially during the more cleanly sung “Velvet Black,” but he gets mad props for the combination of improvement and fearlessness. And overall, Umbra Vitae get mad props for their supergroup sum being a potent showcase of its working, moving parts. —KEVIN STEWART-PANKO

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PHOTO BY HILLARIE JASON

Sarke—a.k.a. Thomas Berglie—occupies the drum stool after Enslaved alumnus Cato Bekkevold sat in for 2021’s superlative Allsighr, and he plays bass here, too. Even through “Death Construction” and its staccato turns, he somehow holds it all together. Endo Feight is musically tricksy, but not distractingly so. Just because it’s weird doesn’t mean it doesn’t make perfect sense. You could call this avant metal, prog, maybe even black ‘n’ roll, whatever. Above all, it is musically adventurous, written and performed by a bunch of musicians with catholic tastes and a shared musical vocabulary rooted in second-wave darkness. Harsh elements inevitably work their way to the surface. “In Total Allegiance” is the most blackened, with blasts, spring-loaded rhythms and a riff reminiscent of Isa-era Enslaved. It sets the scene for the morbid Sabbath sounds and woozy slide guitar of “Macabre Embrace,” not to mention the haunting suspicion that you’ve bore witness to something uncanny and magical.

VEXING HEX

Solve Et Coagula W I S E B LO O D

Children of the corn

There is no mysterious evil sidling in Illinoian corn fields. Unless you count the infectious spells of Vexing Hex, who, on album deux, Solve Et Coagula, shed (albeit gently) their overt Ghostisms for a broader view of “heavy” metal. Vexing Hex’s cosmically unlikely niche between Exodus (“Besmirched”), the Bangles (“Revivified”) and Opeth (“Sarcophagus”) is undoubtedly distinctive. Note, the five-piece hasn’t forgotten to bow to Tobias Forge’s vintage all-in nontoxic waltzes, as warmly applied via bouncy slips (“Into Night”) and shaggy dips (“One Thousand Eyes”). The shirtless grooves (“Vviccaphobia”) and ’90s alt-revivalist fireworks (“Poison Apple”) are also joyous romps of nonSwedish origin. Solve Et Coagula’s plumb of rock’s sordid, sometimes fuzzy history for a North Star is commendable. Frontman/guitarist Chris Cadaverus has a honeyed voice, but is not the only songbird. Sideman Liminos, drummer Radament and bassist Hastur bring their talents to the fray, effervescent in their Scooby-Doo

harmonies; somehow, the Beatles’ moptops come to mind if they had originated in a cemetery instead of Allerton. The production of Solve Et Coagula is as clear and punchy as the music. Not sure who manned the nobs or where it all annealed, but there’s work in Klas Åhlund’s camp for the team responsible for bringing out the technicolor sonics. The only downside to Vexing Hex’s mad scientist experiments is the veil drops periodically. They sound like all things. Yet, like nothing. Coupled with an anodyne attack and Solve Et Coagula occasionally feels like jest. But! Reality strikes, and it’s not Marduk or Deathspell Omega here, but Vexing Hex masterfully playing harlequin while we desperately try to find the frown. —CHRIS DICK

WITHERFALL

Sounds of the Forgotten D E AT H W A V E

Bad thing to name your album

Jake Dreyer’s luck seems inversely proportional to his talent. He was slated to join Jag Panzer

WORMED, Omegon

Soul of an old machine | S E A S O N O F M I S T

Wormed are not a prolific band. The “Spanish sci-fi tech-death” quintet have been around over 25 years and are only releasing their fourth LP, eight years since the last one. But considering their impressive high-wire act of channeling Gorguts, Dying Fetus and Meshuggah, the band can be forgiven as long as they deliver. And Omegon absolutely delivers. Their artwork, along with song titles like “Pleoverse Omninertia” and “Gravitational

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Servo Matrix,” gives you a sense of the sci-fi that accompanies this tech-death, but it’s neither sterile nor soulless. For example, a winding, downcast guitar melody inhabits a song with the name “Virtual Teratogenesis.” But the majority of this album is either focused on blasting, slamming or pulling off mathematically confounding parts. The opening of “Aetheric Transdimenzionalization” alone should keep the time signature snobs busy for a while, and

right before they broke up; spent two years in White Wizzard before three-fifths of the lineup collapsed; and lost his Witherfall cofounder, Adam Sagan, to cancer at a tragically young age. It seemed like things finally turned around for him when he got conscripted into a wellrespected band and even got that act’s legendary guitarist/bandleader to produce Witherfall’s third album, Curse of Autumn. Then his benefactor decided to take an unauthorized tour of a government facility one cold January afternoon. Weirdly, of the glory-days Century Media artists Dreyer clearly worships, Sounds of the Forgotten only slightly resembles Iced Earth. Lots of Nevermore DNA in there, some Blind Guardian, Into Eternity, even Strapping Young Lad (the Hoglan-ized stomp at the beginning of “Insidious”). Singer Joseph Michael replaced late Nevermore vocalist Warrel Dane in Sanctuary. His spiked shrieks only highlight the obvious. Dreyer uses Nevermore’s melancholy progressive thrash sound as a blueprint, especially on tracks like “They Will Let You Down” and “Ceremony of Fire.” The Iced Earth influence comes out more in the ballads like “When It All Falls Away,” although that’s one of the stronger tunes here.

that is far from the only section that will need multiple listens to fully comprehend. If there’s a drawback, then, it’s that even for this genre it can be a challenge to listen through the first few times. Between the wild left turns and skronky riffs, new listeners hoping to grab onto something are gonna feel like they’re swimming in the Arctic and reaching out for chunks of iceberg. Some may not think Wormed is worth the effort. But for those willing to stick it out, or are already prepared, Omegon is a dense, brutal, complex, expertly executed death metal record. It just involves time-traveling androids or some shit. —SHANE MEHLING

RUMBLY RU MBLY THROUGH A SPEAKER THROUGH

Eagle-eyed readers may have noticed a bunch of name-checking. That’s because, for all of Dreyer and his bandmates’ considerable technical prowess (and even some decent hooks), Witherfall feel like an anonymous band you’d find on an Identity compilation circa 2003. Not bad; they just don’t establish their own, well, identity. —JEFF TREPPEL

WRAITH

Fueled by Fear PROSTHETIC

Fuel, fire, that by Wraith desire

Indiana thrashers Wraith fully embrace the adage, “I’ll slow down when I’m dead.” Eight years into their ascent, they boast two splits, two EPs, and now their fourth LP. Fueled by Fear is their first offering from Prosthetic Records and continues their campaign of gritty thrash and Midwestern violence. Heshers who have seen Wraith onstage recognize their inspiring everyman appeal. They are unequivocally about riffs over image. Black tees and baseball caps over bullet belts and executioner hoods. Opening track “Asylum” instantly relates to the album’s cover art by frequent Municipal Waste collaborator Andrei Bouzikov. Unfortunately, beginning with an instrumental delays the band’s full impact until the title track’s pummel. The mid-paced grooves invite some surface-level Power Trip comparisons. But Wraith have always leaned into being both blackened and blue-collar. Vocalist Matt Sokol skewers abusive institutions of every variety with his hellish, reverberating rasp. For better or worse, his delivery never angles for the spotlight. It’s a one-dimensional aspect of their sound, but not a deterrent from having a great fucking time. The album takes a few tracks to gain its stride. But once “Shame in Suffering” fires up, Wraith hit their full speedfreak sprint. It’s tough stuff, muscular but never macho. Most of the album’s 14 tracks flex a memorable hook to distinguish them from the other bangers: the snarl-along chorus of “Code Red,” the rumbling bass on album highlight “Warlord,” Sokol’s staccato vocal rhythm on “Truth Decay.” Guitarist Jason Schultz’s leads and solos are intoxicating, pouring gasoline on “Merchant of Death” and “Shattered Sorrow.” By the time atmospheric scorcher “The Breaking Wheel” rolls to a close, Wraith have blazed through 45 breathless minutes. There’s still a lot of fuel in this tank. —SEAN FRASIER

Add to Kvlt BY DUTCH PEARCE

VELVET SORROW

SEMATARY

LUCIFEROUS CRUOR

HAUNTED MOUND

USBM act Velvet Sorrow play black metal with imagination aplenty and little to no regard for modern conventions. Truly, a band that—in the most important ways—sounds like they’re from the last century. Talking thrash riffs, melodeath runs, death-doom sloughs, up-front and analog-sounding crystalline synth accompaniment: Demo I is an all-around unpredictable, but satisfying affair. Divine moments between guitars and keyboards abound, but this five-track tape is a compositional gem from the drums to the vocals and everything in-betwixt. So, don’t let the black-and-white cover fool you. This is extraordinary. Long sold out, though.

Bloody Angel, the latest album from Sematary, shows the California-based horrorcore rapper seeming to outgrow the overlydistorted trap-noise that was the hallmark of his breakthrough album, Rainbow Bridge 3. The noise still lingers in copious amounts, as do the black metal influences, but tracks like the zombified goth single “Wendigo,” the slow roller “Parking Lot Scarecrow” and the banger-of-bangers “Barrow Wights” prove not only Sematary’s versatility, but his burgeoning genius. Tracks like “Smoke Machine” and “Benadryl Angyl,” on the other hand, prove that Sematary’s lane is still dumbass, self-destructive anti-anthems.

Demo I

Bloody Angel

PERISHING

CORPUS OFFAL

CALIGARI

20 BUCK SPIN

Lutum

Tremolo-picking at a toostoned-to-be-operatingheavy-machinery tempo—like the slowest tremolo-picking I’ve ever heard. Like tremolo-picking was crawling to its grave after decades of abuse, misuse and all-around torture. So begins the Costa Rican quartet’s demo Lutum. Death-doom of this quality remains one of the most highly sought-after sounds by new bands. But bands like Perishing are one in a million. Throughout Lutum, a truculent pulse rumbles beneath these four megalithified compositions, keeping things more aligned with death than doom. But for the most part, Perishing’s brand of slow death is darkly brooding and inescapably heavy.

HEMORRHOID

Raw Materials of Decay HEADSPLIT

Leave it up to Mr. Headsplit himself, the one and only Disgustor, to form a new band and name it Hemorrhoid. Probably came to him while he was on the john. Anyway, Raw Materials of Decay, Decay, Hemorrhoid’s debut album, picks up right where the Portland, OR-based trio’s three-minute demo left off. Expect insane blast beats, noisy guitar solos and ruthless bludgeonings all in the name of shitfun, and excrement-centered goregrind sprayed and splattered in the old way. The kinda wellcomposed, but ultra-lowbrow brutal shit made infamous by bands like Haemorrhage, Impetigo and Carcass. If that’s your fixation, don’t miss Raw Materials of Decay. Decay.

Demo 2024

Cerebral Rot softened the blow of their untimely selfdisbandment by breaking the news as a means to introduce their new band’s demo. Sure, Corpus Offal are only half of Cerebral Rot, but that half is guitarist Clyle Lindstrom and guitarist/vocalist Ian Schwab. No offense to the rhythm section, but it’s the riffs and the fathomless growls that made Cerebral Rot and make Corpus Offal so irresistibly killer. I mean, Demo 2024 is only two tracks and it’s already one of my most played tapes of the year. We didn’t even know they were gone, but they’re back, baby!

ASIRATIC LITHOMANCY

Solitude Grotesqueness Ignorance ELF EGGS

Like a tape from the bygone era of the early 2010s, Solitude Grotesqueness Ignorance, Ignorance, the third demo from Asiratic Lithomancy, howls and blares in ways reminiscent of noisy, raw USBM tapes from acts like Durazis, early Black Cilice, even early Orgy of Carrion. In true form, one dude, known here as E., stands behind all the hellish, transgressive riffing, screaming and growling that is Asiratic Lithomancy. Battered by a constant barrage of primitive drum machine, cast beneath a haze of tape warble, Solitude Grotesqueness Ignorance is the work of a real maniac. Dig unhinged, filthy black noise? Here’s your next obsession. DECIBEL : AUGUST 2024 : 71

EUGENE S. ROBINSON

CAN YOU KEEP A SECRET?

PROBABLY NOT D

on’t tell the rest of the band about this.” I’m not the world’s biggest blabbermouth, but what helps this a lot of times is people knowing I’m a blabbermouth. So, who in their right mind would tell me anything? How this plays out then: No one tells me anything, but those who do? Well, firstly, I don’t have a lot to keep secret, so it’s easier to keep stuff secret; and mostly, since no one is asking, it’s easier just to forget. But asking me to not tell the rest of the band about “this” when the “this” is poorly defined? Probably not a final guarantor of success. But I headed over to a bar in Lower Manhattan to meet Julie Christmas. It’s a funny thing. I mean, people used to call her a female me. At least they did when we were on Neurot. It was a nice comparison, but not so nice in its attempts to set us against each other. Two singers who spit hellfire. Yeah, I get it. Meeting her for the first time in Williamsburg while Niko Wenner 72 : AUGUST 2024 : DECIBEL

and I played an OXBOW acoustic set—don’t laugh so hard, it killed— she and the guitarist from the band she was in, Made Out of Babies, were backstage chopping it up. She was quick-witted, profane and easy on the eyes, and I minded the comparison a whole hell of a lot less then. After the show she approached me, shaking her head. I think she was saying that she didn’t get it or was working on processing it. I didn’t hear anything because, in the grips of a failing marriage, I had ideas. “Meet me next time I’m here.” She agreed. But she agreed with the above proviso: Don’t tell the rest of the band about this. Made Out of Babies, I guess. OXBOW was well beyond giving a good goddamn what I did with my penis. But next time I was there, I was late. Which, as luck would have it, left an opening for Michael Imperioli, he of The Sopranos fame. She shined him, ran out of the bar and jumped into the cab that was headed back to my hotel.

On the way there, she proceeded to tell me a story. It was about an ex who wasn’t taking the ex part so well. Her father had come to visit and, at the perfect nexus of right time-right place, happened to hear a message being left on an answering machine. A message by the angry ex breaking wild like only ex’s can. Her father listened and rolled back out. He and her uncle paid the angry young man a visit from which, apparently, it would take him a long time to recover. I laughed at the story since revenge tales are my bread and butter, but more importantly, my laughter served to let Christmas know I had not gotten it. At all. So, she put a finer point on it. “I tell you this story for a reason…” And then I got it. A “nice” girl going up to a “strange” man’s room, specters of Mike Tyson dancing in her head, she wanted to make herself clear. If things went sideways for her, they’d also go sideways for me. “Hey! What kind of animal do you think I am?!”

I was righteously indignant, and in hushed tones, though I didn’t say it, I might as well have: “Well, I NEVER…” She laughed. But she didn’t stay. I guess if you make a career out of being a stone-cold lunatic, you shouldn’t be cranky when you must pay the bill for being a stone-cold lunatic. The one thing I did right, though? I never told anyone. Well, not before today, or right now. Now in my dotage, me, the father of four daughters, and Christmas, the mother of two kids, it all seems like a million years ago. Outside of one note of great significance: With her having a new record out and OXBOW having just finished our first post-Love’s Holiday record (and being out on the road with Mr. Bungle), we’re both still going. So, yeah… she just might be the female me, and I for sure would be perfectly fine being the male her. But let’s not tell the rest of the world about this. ILLUSTRATION BY ED LUCE

PRESENT

AUGUST 31, 2024 BROOKLYN BOWL PHILADELPHIA

FIRST PHILADELPHIA SHOW EVER

SPECIAL

SET

“FIRST 20 YEARS”

ECDYSIS

SPECIAL

THE STYGIAN ROSE SET