Black Sun - Twilight of the Gods

Have you ever taken a punch? Not the kind of punch in the shoulder you might get from your wife after making an inappropriate comment about her sister’s boobs, I mean a full on haymaker to the temple that sends a shooting pain through your head and literally forces you to see a flash of light!!! When this latest offering from Black Sun kicks in with the opening bars of “Code Black” it is the musical equivalent of that one punch. There’s no messing around with intros, scene setting or any of that bullshit. This kicks straight into a monster verse with a demolition ball of a riff and a full blooded obnoxious roaring vocal. From this point on there is no let up, Black Sun are out for blood and you can either give it up willingly or they will take it by force…and to be honest, even if you’re prepared to give it up willingly they’ll still take it by force!!!

Pigeonholing Black Sun is a thankless task. They fall loosely into the doom field but this isn’t the patchouli and flare wearing doom of Cathedral with a copy of Masters of Reality in one hand and a spliff in the other. Instead this is a nasty, dead eyed doom with a blackened crust, a bottle of PCP in one hand and a rusty blade in the other. From start to finish Black Sun fill every available space with monstrous huge riffs that range from a Melvins like dissonance to a St Vitus style pummel. “Crawling Saviour” comes across like early Cathedral being fisted by Satan himself as the dual vocal attack spreads from a belligerent bellow to a throat shredding shriek that has more than one foot in the black metal camp. “Terminal Velocity” however does manage to temper the barrage of grime with some subtle beauty that is vaguely choral and transcendental. Black Sun seem to understand that pure filth is more effective when you can see the occasional clean spot in the mire. “Gethsemane” raises its hands to Heaven with near religious fervour as the riffs spit and twist around a might central vocal figure whereas “Tabula Rasa” jerks spasmodically like the last dying twitches of a man beaten into final and fatal submission. The undercurrent of insanity never seems far away from the Black Sun sound…like an inmate finger painting with his own feces in a padded cell whilst listening to Slayer jamming with Voivod on 33 and a 3rd!!!!

Black Sun also know how to vary the levels of intensity. “Transcending the Mire” shows a level of restraint not seen so far in its psychedelic guitar drawl but the repeated vocal refrain of “Can’t take anymore” still seems to belch from the darkest corners of a tortured mind. At times listening to Black Sun is an emotionally harrowing experience that threatens to build pressure behind your eyes and make them bleed. Very few bands seem to attain this level of sheer intensity. Many try but invariably come across sounding like a cartoon version of pain and anger…maybe coming from Glasgow has certain benefits for tormented artists.

By contrast “Black Angel” seems almost perky…if it can be considered perky to have your balls kicked repeatedly by steel toe-capped boots. “The Soldier’s Prayer” also seems reasonably upbeat and approaches something similar to a groove but slits its own throat by delving back into Black Sun’s trick bag of psychotic doom to play out the song. Just as you think you’re beginning to get some sort of handle on the Black Sun sound they unleash “Baby Don’t Cry”. Here they pull Oxbow’s Eugene Robinson from his mother’s breast and throw him screaming, clad only in a soiled nappy to the middle of an empty room to vent whatever vile demons are plaguing his fevered mind. In many ways this is the standout track on the album. Not because of the musical content, which compared to the rest of the songs on offer is fairly weak; a collection of meandering discordant doom laden chords, rather it is Robinson’s schizophrenic delivery which ranges from a childlike cry to a full roar. “Because the hurt does not care” he shouts in the ultimate nihilistic statement of despair…there is no escape from pain. This is the sound of a man going through some major psychological cold turkey…utterly compelling but bordering on unlistenable in a voyeuristic kind of way, should we really be standing by and watching this happen?

Thank fuck then for “Warhead”, a pretty straight up belter of a song that rides on a kicking riff and a four to the floor rhythm. Not that this is a straight up rock and roll song by any means…no siree, Black Sun don’t play such games!!! This is still an abrasive slice of caustic rifferama and won’t see them breaking through to the mainstream any time soon!!! By this point we have one last test of musical endurance to go. The title track starts with a cleaner passage that is reminiscent of some the Amebix’s more delicate moments before delving into the pit of despair once more and delivering us to the land of the mighty riff to close the album in style.

Comparisons are far from easy. There is an air of Amebix throughout in the despairing nihilistic overtones, a touch of Melvins in the sheers down tuned heaviness, a little Voivod in the dissonant, jarring riffs, obviously a touch of Sabbath (isn’t there always?) in the fractured and changeable structures and maybe even a little early 90’s Quicksand meets Helmet for good measure...if they were black metal bands!!! It’s not an easy listen and the vocals may be an acquired taste for some but there is no denying that Black Sun have created an album full of brutal, monolithic power and painful emotional depth. Sometimes music needn’t be about beer and chicks, sometimes it’s a catharsis and not many albums succeed in purging the soul like this one. For a first release Head Of Crom Records have landed firmly on their feet here. Seek this out then play loud and scare your neighbours!!!


--Ollie

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Melvins – The Bride Screamed Murder

Prior to hearing The Bride Screamed Murder from Melvins, I knew very little about the group. Now, after listening to The Bride Screamed Murder several times back to back to back, I know even less about them. I can say this, though . . . Melvins approach the creation of music unique to their own perspective, a perspective forged from the fires in the bellies of stars in solar systems light years away from what we may perceive as normal. That’s not to say that the music is unlistenable or so avant that it won’t fit into the average persons everyday scheme of minutia, its more akin to working a logic problem where the solution to the puzzle isn’t directly in front of you or obvious. Listening to Melvins made me rethink the way I think about music, challenged my perception of logical sound flow, dared me to push the envelope on what I thought I already knew (or was confused by) in music. This album really should come with a condom . . . the raping that my mind took has me in living in fear on how I will listen to the next album submissions.

“The Water Glass” kicks off with a ballsy, detuned guitar riff . . . all sludge-y and fat, oppressive and overwhelming . . . but it’s not the tonal quality that makes me rethink what I thought I already knew. No . . . no, that would be coming from the odd time signature of the riff and how the flourishes that drums add to the mix. Then, the washes of feedback bathe my ears in waves of septic brilliance, drenching my audio receptors with dense and sticky sound.  All of this happening within the first minute and half before seamlessly shifting into a wild high school marching band tirade of beats and vocal chants. Are you kidding me with this?!?!? In-freaking-sane! Leave it to Melvins to push music to the fringes of reality! The majority of this tune is bereft of any instruments outside of the drums and vocals, yet it remains one of the heaviest tracks that have assaulted my headset in months. What any of this has to do with a water glass is beyond, but I’m okay with that. I like the mystery. It gives me something to come back to during those future listens when I need to have my mind impregnated by fresh ideas.

“Evil New War God” is another burly, dense onslaught of sludge toned guitars . . . all playing this massive riff that doesn’t make logical sense to me. Just go with the flow, friends, and the happy conclusion will show itself in time. Listen for the majestic ball crushing riff at the 1:38 mark. Crom! That’s the kind of sludgery that makes me think of St. Vitus. A massive wall of distortion with the capability of deflecting the blast from a nuclear bomb. Note the little flourish of cowbell that these guys mix in there. Awesome! And the vocals . . . again, the sinister quality and paranoid menace permeates from between the flurry of dense notes that barrage the listener. And just to make sure you’re paying attention, the band drop this beast of a tune down to a quasi-jazz beat, cymbal ride, and soft bass drum pattern, before the eerie keyboards add some texture. This entire composition has more in common with jazz than hardcore or punk or metal or whatever genre people lump Melvins in these days. Absolutely spectacular song!

The Bride Screamed Murder is a roller coaster ride for certain, but Melvins have created a thrill ride that’s more than just senseless left turns and corkscrew loops. They’ve composed an epic listen by weaving bizarre nuances in between solid riffs and straight forward ass kicking. “Electric Flower” is one such song as it incorporates a pseudo- surf vibe with a five finger formed fist and a crushing blow to the bridge of the nose. Mixed in all of this chaos, the band still works in portions of magnificent musical performances that highlight the individualism of the musicians at hand. These guys have one of the busiest drummers in all the land. Tons of rolls, little cymbal flourishes, crazy fills that defy reason . . . simply mad! Listen for the guitar solo as it cuts through the din of frenetic chaos with a touch of class. So much going, so much emotion, so much sonic violence . . . and all within three and a half minutes.

Then, as it should come as no surprise, the band throws in a psychedelic track in “Hospital Up,” filled with weaving and shimmering guitar lines, all of it making me feel like I’m bathing in a lava lamp. The guitar tones aren’t as dense as some of their more straight forward rockers and heavy tunes, but there’s still an imposing vibe fluttering throughout all of the music. The vocals have a gritty crooning quality to them, almost reminding me of moments from Farflung (fantastic psychedelic stoner doom band) and I’m digging how the nuance within the voice conveys an element of manic paranoia. Again, the band work well together to create a song that would fall to pieces if it were performed by any other group of musicians. The individualistic qualities of the players shines on and I go back to my earlier ascertainment that Melvins are more of a jazz band than anything else. Hell . . . listen to the end of the tune when all hell is breaking loose. The keys . . . the bass . . . the horns . . . jazz.

Finally, strap your asses in and assume a crash position. “Inhumanity and Death” is a hundred mile an hour death trip down a winding one lane deer path through oncoming traffic. Don’t look up, just pray that you’ll make it to the bottom of the hill in one piece . . . and alive. The opening bass line and subsequent vocal scream is enough to fill the most seasoned thrill seeker with terror, and as the song careens to its conclusion, there will undoubtedly be soiled shorts amongst the riders. I stink now, but I’m smiling . . . and I’m happy.

Dudes . . . and Dudettes . . . I simply love The Bride Screamed Murder. I can’t tell you if Melvins as a whole area good band, but based on this album alone, I’d call them gods. The musicianship is insane and the musical perspective is refreshing. I don’t suggest diving into this one head first without any previous understanding of what these guys are about. Busy yourself with something on your initial listen to familiarize yourself with the aural assault that is wrapped up in this disc before completely immersing yourself in the music. Once you do go back to giving it your full attention, it won’t hurt as much . . . well, at least, it shouldn’t. The Bride Screamed Murder is a brilliant execution of avant jazz metal that will surprise you every time you listen to it.  -  Pope

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