In that regard, one has to admire Schoorman for owning up to where he comes from musically. Belgium is a long way from the Californian desert, and in forming Naughty Mouse, the stated mission was to pay homage to desert rock. “The Escape” shouts out “Go with the Flow” from Songs for the Deaf and “The Mute” makes half a chorus out of the lines “I’ve got a secret I cannot say/Blame all the movement to give it away” from Rated R highlight “The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret,” so it’s not like Schoorman – credited with most of the compositions here, but joined in the band by Vandenberghe, Fardelli, Alex Leroy and Joy Heyne, as well as guests Renaud Wens, Ben Derycke (who’ve both since come aboard full-time), James de Backer and others – is trying to pull a fast one on anybody listening. Rather, he seems to be speaking to an audience on the inside, winking even as he arranges backing oohs and ahhs into the hard-strummed acoustic-led stomp of “Foot Boom.” Staring at the Sun is more charming than redundant, though, and cuts like the title-track and “Recovering” are a big part of that, the former following the course-setting fuzz of opener “New Path” with one of the record’s most massive grooves and a riff that’s simply undeniable. “Recovering” similarly pulls back on the pace somewhat to maximize groove – it almost has to after the “Millionaire”-esque rush of “Devil’s Mind” – but its thickened tones are convincing and engaging nonetheless. Both “Staring at the Sun” and “Recovering” are essentially built on one riff, but Naughty Mouse use that simplicity to offset some of the more complex structures surrounding, and it both works well and shows a mindfulness of construction and flow that the rest of the album bears out.

And although one could probably nitpick at the songwriting formulas at play (nine of the 13 tracks are in the 3:30-4:30 range), Staring at the Sun puts those formulas to good use and, passing 48 minutes long, doesn’t come off as an overly cumbersome listen. It has its lags, but as closer “Why?” injects a little last-minute Fatso Jetson-style surf punk into the overall sound – plus some pretty vicious screaming – Naughty Mouse, who’ve been nothing if not straightforward communicators of their intent all along, seem to be urging those hearing the album to stay tuned, because there’s more to come and that even self-imposed rules were made to be broken. Schoorman already proves substantial in his ability to craft this material, not to mention his performances on guitar and vocals, so the hope is that he can use this well-established base as a foundation from which to veer outward on Naughty Mouse’s subsequent offerings. Doubtless the band’s overall sound is subject to some shift as a result of exchanging Leroy and Heyne for Wens (bass) and Derycke (drums) in the rhythm section, but with the core of Schoorman’s desert influences and the diversity that Fardelli and Vandenberghe (not to mention the guest performers) add to the mix, Naughty Mouse could bridge the geography gap. Staring at the Sun is fascinating for how the job it does as it hones in on the desert rock style, but perhaps even more importantly, it’s a collection of well-composed and catchy songs that speak well for what Naughty Mouse could do next time around.

Naughty Mouse’s website

Fakto Records

Presented on a gorgeous purple platter, The Mission also comes with a CD version called MMIX-MMXI that includes Venomous Maximus’ two-song debut 7”, Give up the Witch/The Living Dead. Even so, the whole thing accounts for a little over 26 minutes and 17 of it belongs to The Mission proper, so it’s a quick listen and the band adhere to pretty straightforward metallic structures, making the songs accessible as well as fast. Stylistically new school in a kind of post-Mastodonic punk, the title-track launches with forward push on the upper end of mid-paced, like doom sped up and energized without losing sight of its bluesy base. The rhythm section of Trevi Biles (bass) and Bongo (drums; duh) do well behind Larson and Higgins’ guitars, setting a bed of groove for interjected leads and adding to the sometimes surprisingly darkened atmosphere. The artwork might be part of it, but something in Venomous Maximus feels darker than the music would be on its own otherwise. Higgins’ vocals play to it as well. He laughs in horrific and metallic triumph in “The Rider” and tops the solos with a drama that’s stylized without undercutting the seriousness of the music. His contributions in terms of singing – which still feel rudimentary in comparison to the potential they show for growth given subsequent studio experience – are the band’s closest tie to doom or traditional metal. While “The Gift” starts off with a bombast that reminds distinctly of Through the Eyes of Heathens-era Dozer, the verses don a different character entirely once the wind begins to blow in the first lines of the song. It’s Higgins’ best performance vocally, and probably the best cut on The Mission altogether, but still just a fraction of what Venomous Maximus seem to offer in terms of their creative range.

Rhode Island riffers Megasus come to mind as a modern comparison point, but Venomous Maximus — despite like-mindedly unabashed metal riffing — are somewhat less intense and more apt to lock in a heavy rock groove. The Mission closer “Wicked Ways” works well in that regard, capping the EP’s loose-but-not-uncontrolled feel with its most condensed, concise attack yet. A memorable chorus bodes well for songwriting to come, and a second-half build shows off some dynamics in the music, speaking to more than just killer soloing on the part of the band’s still burgeoning methods. On the CD, “Give up the Witch” and “The Living Dead” both prove more basic than The Mission’s material, and that’s a good sign too, since it means that in just a year, Venomous Maximus have undertaken some considerable growth. The process doesn’t feel ironed out yet, but that’s part of what makes these tracks exciting, and hopefully as the band explores further what they want to accomplish, they bring in elements that further enhance the atmosphere and classic horror mood. Either way, they’ve begun to nestle themselves into a niche that seems to fit them precisely, and that’s about the best beginning you can get. Given the sense of professionalism already shown with The Mission, it should be interesting to see how they capitalize on it. If they can strengthen some of these choruses and make the most of their structural capacity without sacrificing the energy present in these four songs – probably easier said than done, I know – Venomous Maximus could hit on an excellent balance of familiar and genre-defying, ultimately adding to their home state’s storied legacy of heavy. Recommended.

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Cutthroat Records

Germany being a hotbed of heavy psychedelia, one might expect those elements to show up in Bushfire’s sound, but they don’t. Even though a cut like “The Fiend” has a slower, groovier, more open feel to its verse, it’s grounded stylistically, and that current runs strong throughout Black Ash Sunday. That has its ups and downs as regards the overall listening experience, in that even a song like “Hundredsixtysix,” which has a break in the middle from the forward-pushed riffing, is back to it soon enough, and though Bushfire prove to work quite well within the formula – in that song in particular adding a kind of Helmet-style crunch to the overall sound without sacrificing melody in the chorus – it’s too easy as the record plays out to lose sight of which tracks stand out for what reasons. Fans of Washington D.C. heavy rockers Borracho will recognize a lot of what Bushfire are doing here, tonally and in terms of approach – though it’s worth noting that Borracho’s Splitting Sky was a 2011 release and this is 2010 – and ultimately, Black Ash Sunday falls prey to a similar first-album misstep as that record did: too much of a good thing. The ripping biker metal solo on “Little Man” wastes not one move in kicking as much ass as possible, and the late-album boogie of “Forget Regret” is a high point of the whole listening experience – one of the best riffs here, hands down – but getting there feels like twice the trip by the time you arrive. It’s not necessarily a question of songwriting as one of abundance.

Production is a part of it, in that even when Bushfire’s songs are dynamic – as “Forget Regret” and  “You Should Have Known” certainly are – they don’t sound it, but Black Ash Sunday is crisp and clear and for a band self-releasing their debut, I wouldn’t ask more of it than that. As the album is virtually broken in half by the aptly-titled “Interlude,” which is a minute-plus return to the humid climes of “Midsummer Porch View” nestled between “Little Man” and “Useless in So Many Ways” – itself the longest song on Black Ash Sunday and perhaps the most stylistically effective – it seems to make more sense to take Bushfire in the halves they present as a means of better getting to know the material. That’s easier on vinyl, but one finds with the LP version, four of the songs have been cut for time, and Bushfire, by all accounts, chose wisely the ones to leave off. If that even subconsciously speaks to some level of editorial thinking on the part of the band, it bodes well for the follow-up to Black Ash Sunday, which on has an unquestionable flow but gives up some of the impact of its individual songs to get it. There are all kinds of reasons that happens, particularly for a band making their first record with a collection of quality songs who are excited to get their material out there, who’ve just recorded and who are hungry to have as much heard as possible, but I wouldn’t be surprised if, with a vinyl release of Black Ash Sunday now under their collective belt, Bushfire didn’t emerge next time around with a tightness of presentation to match that which is already present in the performances here.

Bushfire’s website

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The effect Neal has on Sun Gods in Exile’s sound is to add melodic range and complement the riffs with long-sustained notes, as on a song like “Smoke and Fire” on the second half of the album, on which he fills out the verses behind Hitchcock’s lead vocals (everyone but D’Agostino provides backups), or “Since I’ve Been Home,” a classic road song in the same tradition with which labelmates Dixie Witch often align themselves. Despite its liberal soloing and guitar prominence, “Since I’ve Been Home” – as close as the 10-track Thanks for the Silver gets to a centerpiece – is a highlight more for Hitchcock’s vocals and those that back him for what’s probably the album’s most memorable chorus. Earlier cuts like the opening duo “Hammer Down” and “Moonshine” find D’Agostino and Hitchcock, as well as bassist JL (since replaced by his brother, Mark Lennon) and drummer John Kennedy, purposefully making room to account for Neal in the songwriting. The Hammond sounds add flourish to the riffs but are almost always in service to the guitar, as are the bulk of the rhythms, as are the structures, the vocals, and so on. If you’re someone who tunes out solos or thinks they’re needless wankery or if you’re even slightly unimpressed by scorching leads, Sun Gods in Exile simply is not the band for you. Their ballsy classicism – excellently balanced by Benny Grotto’s recording job and mix – won’t so much touch a nerve as get on one, and, frankly, you’ll miss the point of Thanks for the Silver, which if I haven’t yet made it clear, is all in the guitar.

Hell, I like riffs, and I like solos, and there were still parts of the album where I felt like I was being tested. Seven out of the 10 of these songs start with guitar, and only one begins with another instrument solo (that’d be “Moonshine,” and the drums), and most follow the same kind of structure and pacing so that, by the time the 55-minute album is over, it’s easy to feel like parts of it are a mash of boozy leads. Songs like “Climb Down” and the more grooving “Smoke and Fire” rock and rock hard, but Thanks for the Silver starts to feel samey after a while, and although the title-track is a Black Crowes-style ballad and a marked change of mood and tempo, it’s also the second to last song on the album in front of closer “I Buried My Bitch’s Car” and comes well after it should in the overall progression of the record. These songs flow – and the titular one easily has Neal’s best performance on keys; leaving behind the organ for genuine piano sounds – but are bloated at around 4:30-5:45 apiece (the first seven, anyway – “Nobody Knows” is a barn-burner at 3:17 and the last two are longer) and wind up detracting from Sun Gods in Exile’s obviously capable songwriting through methodological similarities and consistency in pace.

Add to that the feeling that the band is still adjusting to the inclusion of Neal to the lineup in terms of their craft, and Thanks for the Silver can seem off-balance as compared to the first album, which was nothing if not assured in its whiskey-breath swagger. That said, I think it’s also stronger from a songwriting standpoint, and an interesting beginning of a new era for the band, with added potential from the keys for sonic variety and more breadth of mood. They’re not there yet, though. Sun Gods in Exile still have some growing to do in terms of honing their Southern rock craft, but after two albums, I’m still pulling for them, and I still think there’s a lot of potential here. As it is, they’re good at what they do – if they weren’t, these solos would fall completely flat, and they don’t at all – but Thanks for the Silver comes off more as a collection of decent tracks than the cohesive whole one might want it to be. Still, one can’t argue with a killer riff, and there’s nothing to Sun Gods in Exile if there isn’t a steady supply of those.

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Small Stone Records

The album is released through Superhot Records, boasts a mix and master job by Tony Reed of Stone Axe, and finds Stubb aligning themselves to a rising tide of British heavy rock – that’s not to say “a new wave” – that includes such riff-happy clean-vocal acts as Grifter, Alunah, and indeed, Trippy Wicked, among many others. Fuzz abounds, but Dickinson, Holland and West do more than just follow the guitar through verses and choruses, touching on acoustic freak-folk and heavy rock classicism in a manner that does nothing to upset the overall flow of the album, which gradually reveals a strength of songwriting to complement the initial catchiness of the first couple tracks. Although it’s been six years since Dickinson started the project, one might think of Stubb as a new band, as his chemistry with Holland and West presents itself here for the first time. On either level, though, Stubb’s Stubb gleefully preaches to the choir of Heavy while showing the band has more to them than just riffs and grooves.

Even if that weren’t the case, with the engaging fuzz and ripping leads that open kickoff track “Road,” riffs and grooves would almost be enough. The nod-inducing stomp and Dickinson’s tone remind of when The Atomic Bitchwax took on Core’s “Kiss the Sun” for their own self-titled debut, but Stubb push a strong chorus all their own, Holland offering backing support for Dickinson’s lead vocal while West’s snare pops clearly and crisply, keeping the song upbeat but not too fast. Stubb wind up at their strongest in this middle pace, maximizing the impact of the riffs and still allowing for a laid back, stonerly feel. “Scale the Mountain,” which follows the opener, continues the momentum, making the first nine of Stubb’s total 35 minutes a powerful opening duo, and reeling back in its first second as if to steel itself for the five minutes of riffing to come.

Dickinson again works a solo into the intro as a precursor to the verse, but shifts the method some, stepping back to let Holland take the lead in singing the chorus. The two have enough variance in their diction that the shift is pretty clear, and as they move back and forth throughout Stubb, “Scale the Mountain” is a solid foreshadow of what’s to come. Holland’s vocal work in Trippy Wicked has left him more than prepared to tradeoff with Dickinson, who here adds backing “woo”s to the memorable title/chorus line. A brief break seems to be waiting for a guitar solo to come in, but one never does, and the chorus returns to lead the song to its flange-y finish and Holland’s bass intro to the somewhat more subdued “Flame.”

It’s here that Stubb begin to unveil the classic rock linearity of the album’s structure. They’ve opened strong with “Road” and “Scale the Mountain,” and with “Flame,” they shift the mood a bit – granted, not as much as if they’d put the folksy “Crosses You Bear” in that third spot, but still. A bluesy, winding riff gives Holland the chance to add some choice fills, and West times well his jumps from the hi-hat to the crash, giving way to the driving second half of the track and the combined Dickinson/Holland vocals that mindfully veer from the verse/chorus patterning so far established. Holland’s bass again burns tubes alongside Dickinson on “Soul Mover,” which ingrains the line, “Oh baby, I don’t know what you like/But I’ll keep you satisfied” on the brain like it was branding cattle or internet memes. The pace is faster, perhaps expectedly, but “Soul Mover”’s shuffle is a departure even from “Flame” and further confirmation of Stubb’s classic heavy affiliations.

Some showy leads, a deceptively metallic outro, and “Crosses You Bear” soon commences side B of Stubb with humble acoustics and a cascading chorus that, though the melody descends, doesn’t depress. Its two simple verses, two simple choruses and two-minute runtime do more work than is initially apparent, once again gradually moving expectations away from the charming, rocking familiarity of the record’s beginnings to something more emotionally complex and – dare I say it – contemplative. Like a lot of what Stubb does here, it’s not a new move, and Holland and West have certainly done their time with acoustics in Trippy Wicked (if you haven’t heard it, their ukulele-inclusive cover of Sleep’s “Dragonaut” is a must), but Dickinson’s voice turns out to be excellently suited to the form.

And as much as “Crosses You Bear” sets up Stubb to range as far as they please on the second half of their debut, it also lulls you into a false sense of security which leaves you (spoiler alert) unprepared for the turn back to heavy rock that “Hard Hearted Woman” brings about. The song is an immediate callback to the beginning of the album, tonally and in its tempo, and has a strong chorus to match those of “Road” and “Scale the Mountain,” while also breaking in its middle for some groovy Hendrixian jamming, West offering solid ground for the guitars and bass to wander where they will. There’s a subtly flubbed note at 3:52, which I point out only to commend Stubb for leaving it in, since it adds to the live feel of the track and the record overall, and gives personality to the improv-sounding lead guitar. Holland’s bass rumbles the song out, and “Crying River” revives the folkish vibe of “Crosses You Bear,” albeit plugged in, with a guest spot from Malin Dahlgren of Swedish boy/girl duo Polly Tones.

A correspondingly stripped-down feel pervades, though the song is coming from a more rock-based center than was “Crosses You Bear,” and Dahlgren’s vocal, while not as prevalent in the mix as Dickinson’s, is well met in a call and response with lead guitar that soon brings the song to its blues-drenched conclusion. This leaves the seven-plus-minute “Galloping Horses” with the considerable task of summarizing Stubb’s breadth, which it does with plenty of wah-heavy solos, thickened riffing and a hooky chorus. They get into a bit of cacophony at the midpoint as a precursor to the break and jammy build that climax with a slower riff and some lumbering, hard-hit crashes from West and last-second solo wails from Dickinson that soon cut Stubb off with all the sudden cruelty of the bartender who’s been pretending to be your friend all night. Given the raucousness preceding, though, perhaps it’s for the best. Any more of this stuff and someone’s bound to break a window.

Stubb’s Stubb does the work a demo or EP otherwise might in letting listeners know what the band is about at this stage in their development – heavy riffing, straightforward songs and touches of other classic-minded influences – but also has an album’s scope and progression between its tracks. Dickinson, Holland and West make an excellent trio, as each player’s work seems to add to the others, and the resulting whole is that much stronger for it. No doubt this is rock for rockers, but the rockers should be pleased, and if Stubb is to be the base from which the three-piece will look to expand their approach going forward, they’ve given themselves an excellent position to start from and shown they can be among the top fuzz contenders in the increasingly crowded British underground. Highly recommended.

[NOTE: Stubb were kind enough to let me premiere their test-pressing video for "Road," which you can enjoy on the YouTube embed below. Thanks to the band and to Superhot Records.]

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Superhot Records

Goldston’s cello, again, is in a featured role, and superficially, the two Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light albums don’t vary much in mood or overall tone. Earth’s patience is just as prominent throughout the centerpiece “Waltz (A Multiplicity of Doors)” as it was on “Father Midnight” on I. The drive toward juxtaposition in track titles – songs like “Descent to the Zenith” and “Hell’s Winter” – seems to have dissipated on Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light II, however, as “Sigil of Brass,” “His Teeth Did Brightly Shine” and “The Corascene Dog” are working, linguistically, in another vein. Perhaps it’s ironic or nitpicking to talk about language on an album that’s entirely instrumental, but titles and themes are an important part in how Earth sets the mood for a record or even a single track. One reads the minimalist interplay between Carlson and Blau differently as “Sigil of Brass” opens the album because of the track name. It’s also among the album’s moodiest pieces, and the shortest by nearly five minutes; the last could also lead to one seeing it as an introduction, but there’s enough substance to it to argue to the contrary as it gives way to the nine-minute “His Teeth Did Brightly Shine,” which, however “jammed” it might be – the quotes there to mark the distinction between what Earth are doing here and the usual ebb and flow of guitar-led jamming – still retains some clear compositional elements. If they’re improvising, they’re working from a base of prior construction – a starting point to get them going – and on “His Teeth Did Brightly Shine,” they’re doing so without Davies. As the song develops, that lack of clear drums can leave it feeling somewhat unhinged, but it’s hard to imagine that isn’t what Earth were going for, or at very least, that Carlson was pleased with the outcome when it was over.

By that standard, “Waltz (A Multiplicity of Doors)” is much more grounded. Slower, longer and immediate in its beginning – as opposed to developing gradually as Earth tracks often do – its 13-minute sprawl is perhaps most reminiscent of Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light I, but it also boasts some of Goldston’s best work on the album. Just past the halfway point, she brilliantly counteracts Carlson’s guitar and works off the descending melody there with a crisp and avant feel that winds up as one of the record’s peaks. Blau’s bass is also central for the warmth it adds in following Carlson, and with Davies lending the gravity she does with her bass drum (as ridiculous as the cliché seems to use in relation to Earth’s material, so serene and sedate), the band is firing on all cylinders – it’s just that the cylinders aren’t all that loud. What they are instead is encompassing, and “Waltz (A Multiplicity of Doors” is definitely that, as is “The Corascene Dog,” which follows and keeps the dirge progression going. The influencing concept of both Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light records, sonically, was acid folk, and those elements show up somewhat on “The Corascene Dog,” but really, it’s Earth being Earth, and nothing is so prevalent in the sound of these tracks as that. Carlson can’t help but lead his band in a direction purely his own at this point, whether they’re improvising their way there or not. As the closer, “The Rakehell” has a lot of pressure put on it in comparison to the totally-improvised, 20-minute “Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light” from the last installment, but at 11:51, it stands on its own and follows the semi-guided ethic that much of Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light II seems to be using.

It is consistent tonally and mood-wise with what’s come before it, but “The Rakehell” might just earn its name from the natural drone that Goldston enacts as she slowly draws her bow across the strings of her cello. Later into the song, she becomes a base layer on which Carlson, Blau and even Davies seem to be resting, Carlson finding room for a few injected lead notes around the halfway point. The overall motion of the song, though is similar to what Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light II has put on offer, and by and large, the album feels less like a sequel capitalizing on the ideas of the first installment than it does a completion of a whole single unit, or perhaps a collection of complementing remnants that strengthens the first by revealing more of the process that went into making it. However you choose to read it, Earth’s drive toward improvisation is important for what it might mean in terms of the band’s future work, and as Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light II remains in line with the preceding record, an overarching musical thematic does feel present, even if the album’s triumph might be more in the procedure or construction than in the expansion of the sonics themselves. In that way, the expectation of something different that Earth seem to set for themselves with each ensuing album holds them back here – since it’s largely the same approach – but it also makes having the two full-lengths as part of the same single unit that much more apt. In any case, as Earth has already lost Blau on bass, one hopes Carlson and Davies – the central duo – can keep Goldston contributing in the lineup at least for a while, because if nothing else, the sheer glut of material that occurs across the two Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light records speaks to the creative spark at work in the band at this point. With the increase in chemistry that road time brings and the experience at studio-based improvisation they’ve gained recording these songs, Earth could easily be marking the beginning of a new era.

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Southern Lord Recordings

By that I mean that even unto its title, Strippers, Mullets and Beer seems to be reaching for a specific idea of what boozy stoner-style rock and roll is, rather than focusing itself on crafting the songs and worrying about where they fit genre-wise after the fact. The beer I’ll give you, but the strippers and the mullets? Well, maybe, maybe not. In that regard, “Mindset” is actually the strongest of the songs here. Although it doesn’t come close to the infectious octane of “Forsaken Place,” Wilson positions the EP’s final statement lyrically as a kind of insider nod to the heavy rock scene – “You’ve got the time and the money/Ain’t got the mindset” – and placed with self-awareness in a genre looking out, it works better than “’72 Nova,” which seems to turn a blind eye to its unoriginality rather than acknowledge it. We all know it’s not the first song ever written about a car and a girl, and where “Mindset” offers some personality on the part of Caveman Voicebox by saying in effect, “we know exactly what we’re doing and it’s all on purpose,” the earlier cut wants to pretend that’s not the case. It’s a kind of anti-pretense pretense, and it’s only not more of an issue than it is because of the strength of Wilson’s songwriting. Joining Alfred Cruz and Mike McKnight’s guitars is a bluesy slide guest spot from Eric Dover (Slash’s Snakepit) that adds character to the already barn-burning energy, and though the Doug Carrion (Descendants) production doesn’t quite beef up the guitars as one might think, the added feeling of rawness winds up an asset working in the band’s favor.

Still, it’s on songs like “Forsaken Place” and “Mindset” that the band most shines and leaves a positive, memorable impression of itself. The penultimate “Banana” is perhaps the most straightforward of the cuts on Strippers, Mullets and Beer, with drummer Matt Merrow sounding almost mechanical, but it also offers some of the best guitar leads on the EP. Along with Caveman Voicebox’s well-reasoned balance of influence seems to be that kind of tradeoff; for every one thing that might strike as lacking individual presence, there’s a corresponding something either structurally or performance-wise to cover for it. Because of that and because, again, Wilson seems to have hooks to spare, I feel comfortable saying Caveman Voicebox’s first outing displays some marked potential for future growth. Naturally, I’d be more interested to hear more of their personality come out on whatever they do next, but Strippers, Mullets and Beer offers a few inarguable choruses and shows the four-piece as having a rudimentary grip on what they want to sound like, and for a band self-releasing their first EP, I wouldn’t ask anything more of it than that. Heavy rockers in L.A. might do well to check them out live if possible to get a fuller impression of what they’re about, but the songs here showcase a band aware of and working within genre as they begin to get a feel for what they want to do sonically, and that process continues to fascinate. Coupled with the fact that I’ve been unable to get “Forsaken Place” out of my head for the last three days, and it’s a recommendation well earned. They’ve definitely got the mindset.

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Caveman Voicebox on ReverbNation

As compares to the relatively jagged guitar sound of Écailles de Lune, Les Voyages de l’Âme seems to have more in common with Souvenirs d’un Autre Monde in terms of its production. Neige’s guitar, bass and keys come through clearly and smooth, and right away on opener “Autre Temps,” it’s apparent that Alcest had definite structural ideas going into this album. “Autre Temps” was chosen as the lead-off single/video cut, and rightly so with its balance of catchy wistfulness and gracefully unfolding melody. The vocals are prominent without being overbearing, and play a considerable role in making the chorus so ethereal. Guitars are layered in acoustics and electrics, and Winterhalter’s drumming maintains a metallic percussive edge without sounding out of place amid the song’s gradual build. As ever for Alcest, “Autre Temps” evokes a feeling of longing and a contemplative kind of classical sadness. “Là Où Naissent les Couleurs Nouvelles” follows and revives the black metal screams that “Percées De Lumière” from Écailles de Lune explored, in this context using them to complement the melody in the chorus and eventually take the fore. Winterhalter adds blasts, and were the guitars not so unabashedly gorgeous and the melody not still so prominent, “Là Où Naissent les Couleurs Nouvelles” would essentially be traditional black metal. It’s not, and the song’s later minutes emphasize a propulsive post-rock feel, capping the nine minutes with fading guitar that brings on the title-track’s headphone-worthy density. Squiggly guitars serve as a chorus amid more subdued, lower-register verse vocals, and the initial sway breaks after three minutes to embark on Les Voyages de l’Âme’s most effective musical and vocal build, on which both Neige and Winterhalter contribute to a vast, stirring sprawl. Side A wraps with the winding verses of “Nous Sommes l’Emeraude,” a fitting (if short addition) to Alcest’s worship of nature and the passage of time within it.

It’s mostly instrumental, but side B opener “Beings of Light” is also one of the most transcendent moments on the whole of Les Voyages de l’Âme. Driven forward by Winterhalter’s blasting, which kicks in following a wash of vocal melodies, the six minutes play out basically as a mood piece. Nonetheless, as a departure from the verse-based songwriting methodology around it, “Beings of Light” – its English title is inconsequential and if there are lyrics (I think there are), they’re indecipherable – works both to set up the second half of the album’s journeying feel and to distinguish itself from its surroundings and stand out on an individual level. The vocals are warbles – moaning, basically – and immediately contrasted by the screams and clean singing that balance out across “Faiseurs de Mondes.” Neige, whose screaming helped make the latest Lantlôs so powerful, isn’t fighting with himself here, but using both approaches to serve the interests of the song, which is the best-case scenario. “Faiseurs de Mondes” seems to rip through its first three minutes before an indulgent break leads to a subdued and acoustic-inclusive build that climaxes vocally first, then musically; sweet vocals counteracted by Winterhalter’s blast and pummel. The magic of Alcest is that these disparate elements work together, and “Faiseurs de Mondes” is a highlight in the band’s catalog because they do so well. “Havens” provides both time to digest the preceding track and an introduction to Les Voyages de l’Âme’s closer, “Summer’s Glory,” which echoes the latter minutes of “Là Où Naissent les Couleurs Nouvelles” in its post-rock-style pulsing, but sacrifices none of its melodic breadth. Because Alcest’s material is so lonely to start with, it’s easy to read a concluding feel into “Summer’s Glory” – as if the progressive theme of aging throughout the songs comes to a head with an appreciation for the fleeting nature of youth – but if that’s the case, then let it speak to how well the album’s final minutes serve the overall atmosphere created.

Perhaps for the first time ever in listening to an Alcest song, I’m also drawn specifically to the bass on “Summer’s Glory,” which veers ever so slightly from the path of the guitar. Neige commonly uses the bass to service the melodic wash – and well – but it actually stands out on Les Voyages de l’Âme’s finale, making both the beginning few minutes and the ending paean to melodicism that much richer. No surprise by now that the song’s strength is in its beauty; Alcest make something of an idol out of this kind of smoothness and immersive quality. It’s not until the song is over that the depth of the immersion is clear, both of the album as a whole and of “Summer’s Glory” in particular. Les Voyages de l’Âme seems to encompass you in its process, to wrap itself around you as you listen – again I’ll use the word “headphones” – and though that’s nothing new for Neige and Alcest, the degree to which the songs ingrain themselves on you while you listen is. More than anything the band has done before, the balance struck on Les Voyages de l’Âme of songcraft and ambience is essential to understanding what makes the record work. These tracks stand on their own as much as they stand together, and as Alcest increase their European and American touring presence, it’s hard to believe that’s not on purpose. They have their detractors among black metal traditionalists – a position that I, as someone with a passing-at-best interest in the genre, can respect if not hope to fully comprehend – but Alcest have earned their crossover appeal by legitimately breaking out of stylistic confines and forging something their own, and they continue to forge it on Les Voyages de l’Âme. If you’re not already won over by what they do, I don’t think your mind will change as a result of listening, but if you’ve yet to experience the band, the accessibility of this material makes it a great place to start.

Alcest’s website

Prophecy Productions

And if anything, it’s hard to pick a highlight from among We Have Landed’s fare. “Armageddon” certainly makes a case for itself, with its rudimentary chugging riff and live feel, as well as its lyrics, but “Old Guy Neil,” which recalls the moon landing and Neil Armstrong’s first steps out of the craft, starts the album off with a crisp (if somewhat misleading) aggressive bent and foretells a lot of the perspective to come. Drummer Konstantin Sosnin, the only member of Evil Cosmonaut without a nickname, is straightforward in his approach and well-suited to Kazachev’s riffs, which for the most part lead the way. The upbeat shuffle of “Marvin” – either an inside joke or a reference I don’t get to an old man who lives in a cave – features some of We Have Landed’s best fuzz, to be later complemented by closer “The Golden Apples of the Sun,” and maintains the forward motion of the opener, leading to the even more rocking “Big Super Mega Monsters,” which earns its chorus shout of the title line late in the track. The song can’t help but be memorable with a name like that, but the music stands up to it with a marked simplicity of approach and a cheeky self-awareness that matches Kazachev’s vocal. However simple the album might seem, Evil Cosmonaut have a clear mindfulness of structure, as “The Song We Will Never Play Again” shows by slowing down the momentum of “Big Super Mega Monsters” and giving way in turn to the middle-pacing of “Armageddon.” Given the tongue-in-cheek nature of most of the lyrics – here a drunken alien abduction is recounted – I’d doubt the veracity of the title “The Song We Will Never Play Again,” or at least hope it’s not true, since the song’s relatively lumbering groove is among the album’s most fascinating assets.

Specifically so because of the guitar tone. Take a cut like “The Song We Will Never Play Again” or “Armageddon,” put them in a different lyrical context – maybe slow them down a little – and either wouldn’t be out of place on a retro doom record. Kazachev’s guitar fuzz works in the various forms it shows up, but is more classic heavy than modern stoner, which places Evil Cosmonaut in a more individual position when it comes to the Russian scene around them. The fact that they probably know it and still choose to have fun singing about moustaches and giant ants and landing on the moon bodes well for their future individual development. Someone, be it Kazachev, Petrov – who’s given his highlight performance on “Armageddon” prior to “My Moustache” – or Sosnin, does a muppet vocal at the start of “Boris Yeltsin vs. Giant Ants,” and the air couldn’t be lighter, more unabashed fun. We Have Landed, given added contextual presence by the guitar tone, is foremost a good time. Lead notes and fervent crashes cut “Boris Yeltsin vs. Giant Ants” in half, giving way to a slower but more bluesy riff and groove over which Kazachev professes his love for the former Russian president’s smiling face (“when somebody dies”). The part feels cut short, and “Born Astronaut” more revives the shuffle of “Marvin” than adds anything to it stylistically, but if We Have Landed doesn’t already have you hooked on charm alone, you might as well give up; it’s just not going to happen. For me, the quick two and a half minutes is almost subsumed as a precursor to the closer’s loose-knit jamming and more doomed vibe.

Far removed from the no-frills punch of “Old Guy Neil,” “The Golden Apples of the Sun” results in Evil Cosmonaut’s most weighted riffing – particularly the last three minutes or so, in which a lurching progression marches We Have Landed to its conclusion. I don’t know if it’s a fitting conclusion musically, given all the good times preceding, but to analyze it on that level feels like overkill. Rather, We Have Landed seems to be asking for enjoyment on its own terms, which beg little indulgence and offer substance enough to hold up the jokes and the fun. Whether it’s the intricacy of tone or the rawness of presentation, Evil Cosmonaut balance creativity and familiarity in a natural way and however conscious of structure and overall flow they might be, they don’t make it obvious. The performances on We Have Landed could be tighter, but I almost think the album would lose some of its charm if they were, and since charm is so much of what it has going for it, my inclination is to leave it alone. Cool record, unassuming, unpretentious, heavy rocking. I’m not about to fuck with that formula. It probably won’t change your worldview, but its aims are nowhere near that lofty.

Evil Cosmonaut on Bandcamp

R.A.I.G.

What Hosoi Bros most have going for them is the energy in the material. Both “Wine Witch” and “Yellow Fever” teem with an unforced quickness of pace that only further highlights the excitement conveyed. The stuff is fairly basic stylistically, but that’s the point of it. Even with the two guitars, Hosoi Bros aren’t looking to make Wine Witch a prog record; they keep the formula simple and get right to the point. Bolstered by the humor in the lyrics – lines like “Merlot: Steals your soul” from “Wine Witch” – the songs are all the more memorable as a debut showing from the band. I don’t know if they’d be able to keep it up for a full-length without presenting some shift in sound, but a first 7” is certainly no time to worry about such things, when what Hosoi Bros are clearly trying to do is punk out and have a good time. They do it. Both “Wine Witch” and “Yellow Fever” – which is, near as I can tell, a variant on that of the jungle – are a lot of fun in their immature way, and delivered with a strength of performance from the band that shows they’re not just jokes. Crenshaw’s bass has its work cut out for it in keeping up with Apple and Allgood on guitar, but he more than manages, and Blasingame adds consistent snare rolls to “Wine Witch” while laying back more to ride the groove on “Yellow Fever” to show a bit of diversity and give a sense of adaptability. “Yellow Fever” borders on offensive, but stays on the side of cheeky, which is where it belongs, and its chorus of “I’m young/I’m ready/Yellow fever’s got the best of me” is undeniably catchy, while the verse – seemingly shouted by both Allgood and Apple – is harder to discern.

In any case, it opens with a riff that’s almost Southern rock in how it rolls out, but soon makes its pulse known. Crenshaw is more prevalent on bass throughout “Yellow Fever,” as the guitars ring out some in the break, but it’s still Allgood and Apple responsible for driving the song forward as they did harmonizing on “Wine Witch,” and they’re apparently up to the task. But it’s all over so quickly that you almost need to be through it multiple times to get a feel for what’s happening. Coming around to “Wine Witch” again, Allgood has a kind of early-thrash gruffness in his delivery of the verse, thinking of the first Metallica or Slayer outings, and I wouldn’t be surprised if that element shows up on whatever Hosoi Bros’ next offering might entail. For now, the roughly five-minute time investment that both these songs take (and I think that includes flipping the record over), the fact that the physical press of Wine Witch literally glows in the dark, and the utter effectiveness of the simplicity at play makes the band’s debut single more than just an unpretentious palette cleanser – however effective  it might be on that level as well – but a work of substance on its own. True to the purpose of any 7”, Wine Witch highlights a clear songwriting ability and makes me want to hear more from the band.

Hosoi Bros at Bandcamp

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