Thus begins the new series of Wino Wednesday posts celebrating the work of Scott “Wino” Weinrich on The Obelisk. I asked last week when I posted the new Premonition 13 clip if it should be a regular thing, and the response both on this site and Thee Facebooks was overwhelmingly yes, so here we are. I aim to please.

I probably could’ve gone back and found something older than the reunited Saint Vitus performing live earlier this year in Denver, Colorado, on the last night of the Metalliance Tour, but hell, the present is as good a place to start as anywhere, and “Born too Late” is one of doom’s greatest anthems. I figured no one would complain.

The song originally appeared on the 1986 album of the same name and was Wino‘s first album as Vitus‘ frontman, coming on following time in The Obsessed to replace Scott Reagers, who would later return to sing on 1995′s Die Healing. Note the Stone Axe shirt drummer Henry Vasquez is wearing in the video, because it rules.

Taking on a host of aesthetics for their third genre-bending album since their 2007 inception, Colorado duo The Flight of Sleipnir weave their way through blackened folk metal and a progressive-edged doom on Essence of Nine. With the rich (if often used) lore of Norse mythology as their lyrical inspiration, multi-instrumentalists Clayton Cushman (guitar, vocals, bass, keys) and David Csicsely (drums, vocals, guitar) provide a varied approach across Essence of Nine’s eight cuts, flowing smoothly from song to song despite a relatively lo-fi production and managing to affect a dark but still emotionally-communicated atmosphere – that is, they’re not just angry and blasting out – with switches between early Opethian clean singing and more blackened forest screams.

Their second offering through German imprint Eyes Like Snow, it’s hard to get an immediate read on Essence of Nine from opener “Transcendence,” since the song starts with a doomed riff and groove that – were the tone fuzzier – would be pure stoner rock, and moves before long into an acoustic part before giving way, in turn, to far-back screams and heavier guitars and drums. The Flight of Sleipnir do a lot of back and forth between heavy and mellow, but in the context of the songs themselves, it’s not redundant, since Cushman and Csicsely keep what they’re actually playing so varied. “Transcendence” has some repetition of parts, but the chorus isn’t hooky in a songwriting sense, and if the start of the record makes anything clear, it’s that The Flight of Sleipnir are concerned more with stylistic complexity and the contrast between musical light and dark than pop catchiness.

Still, the track gives only a cursory glance at the diversity Essence of Nine carries with it. “Upon This Path We Tread,” which follows, provides even smoother transitions and an effective inclusion of acoustics à la modern Negura Bunget, and the album proceeds from there to unfold with the engaging riffs of “A Thousand Stones” and an increasingly developed atmosphere. There’s something definitively European about the sound The Flight of Sleipnir elicit and the imagery these songs provoke, but for its doom elements and effective balance between the metal and folk in folk metal, I wouldn’t call Essence of Nine redundant. Even on “As the Ashes Rise (The Embrace of Dusk),” which arguably accounts for some of Cushman and Csicsely’s most raging moments, that metallic indulgence is complemented in the second half of the song by an acoustic-led wistfulness that leads gorgeously into the 7:31 centerpiece, “Nine Worlds,” the high point of the album.

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Rife with gorgeous melodic complexity and a depth of arrangement I’ve not heard matched this year, The Threshingfloor by Colorado doom folk troupe Wovenhand is probably my favorite work by the David Eugene Edwards-fronted outfit since their 2002 self-titled debut. Edwards, who started Wovenhand in the wake of his prior traditionalist ensemble, 16 Horsepower, is among his generation’s most underrated songwriters, and the richness of The Threshingfloor only bears that further out.

This was to be Wovenhand‘s worldliest offering yet, with Turkish instrumentation and the kind of minor key vibes we in the West call “Eastern,” but The Threshingfloor is every bit the piece of Americana anything helmed by Edwards has ever been. Cuts like the depressive “Singing Grass” or the more joyful coming-home ode “Denver City” don’t try to hide their American folk roots, but like the best of modernity, they refine these traditions and expand on them. Edwards‘ arrangements are unmistakable, and on the jamming and heavy “Orchard Gate,” it’s plain to hear he’s at the height of his prowess.

The Threshingfloor has been my go-to nighttime driving album since I bought it back in July, and I think it’s going to be some time yet before I let it leave my trusty CD wallet. Like until the next one comes out. Definitely one of my personal favorites of 2010 and a record that loses none of its potency for repeated exposure. Also, for newcomers to the band, it’s a good place to start.

I’ve heard the word sludge used to classify bands from Pro-Pain to Neurosis to Grand Funk Railroad, so let’s be clear right off the bat that when I talk about sludge, I mean ultra-aggressive, screaming doom, played slow, played angry. It’s a term as nebulous as any other, but going from that specific definition, and considering the bands I’m about to recommend who play it, we should have a pretty good basis to work from.

There are some acts who take sludge to vicious extremes — see Fistula or Sollubi — blending in elements of black metal or SunnO))) style drone minimalism, but I’m not talking about them either. Where to start with sludge is the root of the subgenre, the key formative groups who’ve made it possible for a new generation to pull the sound in the multiple directions they have.

Because I couldn’t narrow it down to five, here are seven killer sludge bands to start with:

Crowbar: Their later material actually has little in common with what’s currently thought of as sludge, but 1991′s Obedience thru Suffering and 1993′s Crowbar are essential to understanding what the sound has become. The latter (recently reissued) is a better starting point for its more memorable songs.

Eyehategod: As much an influence in lifestyle and persona as for their music, the New Orleans gods of sonic fuck-all have nonetheless produced some of sludge’s most classic material. Just not in the last decade. At all. Start with 1993′s Take as Needed for Pain.

Negative Reaction: Their early stuff was more geared to sci-fi, which made the long-running Long Island outfit unique among their viscous peers. 2000′s endofyourerror saw them start to veer away from that into more personal lyrical territory, but it’s a stunningly abrasive listen nonetheless.

Buzzov*en: Dude. To a Frown. Dude.

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Affected by thin Rocky Mountain air, Denver bashers Low Gravity come bursting out of the speakers with their self-titled, self-released five track EP. At 27 minutes, it’s more than a blip – I’ve heard shorter full-lengths – but its feel is less than a complete album, and I think the intent of the band was to give a sampling of what they’re about more than to execute an entire record, so we’ll go with that. EP it is.

They’re a two-guitar four-piece under the given monikers J. Ellis, A. Mullins, A. Williams, D. Ferguson, though who does what is a mystery. Listening to the Low Gravity EP, I keep thinking of Dozer’s first two records, how they took what Kyuss was doing in the desert and made it colder. Low Gravity seem to be doing something similar, though the vocals – mostly screamed, but not entirely without a sense of melody – are a point of departure between the two bands. Still, it’s a similar kind of guitar tone, groove and structure base, which isn’t a complaint at all. Interesting that a Kyuss influence would bounce off Sweden to get back to Colorado, like a cell phone signal going into space to get across a room, but stranger things have certainly happened.

“Manifesto” opens the EP in guitar-led fashion, though the drums and bass are more than just present in the mix, actively contributing to it. The production is clean and modern – I can see the tracks’ wave forms while I listen – but not unnatural. There’s nothing particularly complicated about the material, songs like “Two Queens” and the charmingly titled “Porklust” being straightforward fare that should be readily accessible for fans of stoner rock, but Low Gravity do it well and the angrier vocals give them an edge a lot of bands in their genre don’t have, lending an immediacy and urgency to the otherwise laid back and familiar vibes.

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The word that usually gets tossed around for the kind of music Denver, Colorado’s Black Sleep of Kali play is “apocalyptic,” and true enough, the first lyrics that show up on their Small Stone Records debut, Our Slow Decay, are “there is nothing to make it all better.” The crunching riffage and progressive angularity of the opening track, “There is Nothing” sets the tone to follow, and though we can all throw back our heads and exclaim how tired we are of post-metal, Black Sleep of Kali inject enough melody into their songwriting, particularly in the vocals of guitarist Taylor Williams, who founded the band after moving to Denver from Salt Lake City, to come out of it without sounding overly redundant.

If the phrases you picked out of that last paragraph were “Salt Lake City” and “Small Stone Records,” then you’re probably thinking of the band Iota, and indeed there is a connection. Andy Patterson from Iota recorded Our Slow Decay (he also recorded Iota’s excellent Small Stone debut, Tales), and Iota’s Joey Toscano donates a guitar solo to the Black Sleep of Kali cause. Joining Williams in the band are drummer Gordon Koch, heavy of hit, fleet of foot and large of sound, guitarist/backing vocalist Patrick Alberts, thick of tone, and bassist Austin Michel, lost of mix. Or lost in mix, rather. The guitars of Williams and Alberts, run though Orange heads, are practically a low end in and of themselves. As the bassist said when mixing, “More bass, please.”

Unlike a lot of today’s Orange-hued recordings, each twist and turn in the playing of Williams and Alberts is audible in the guitar, which makes me wonder just how much Patterson or Mad Oak Studios’ Benny Grotto, who mixed, had to compress them to make that possible. Nonetheless, the material on Our Slow Decay doesn’t sound unnatural, or at least anymore than it should for being what it is musically. For those looking for a comparison point within the label’s roster, Obiat is closer than Iota, though Black Sleep of Kali forgo any of Obiat’s quirky tendencies to keep their songs straightforward in a post-metal kind of way, the aforementioned vocal melody showing up quick in the style of Torche on “There is Nothing” and continuing through the album, making that track as well as “Eulogy” and “Big Sky” among the highlights of Our Slow Decay, although admittedly, the latter is much helped as well by a guitar solo rested on top of insistent Mastodon-type riffing that is a welcome change of pace late in the set.

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I’m not exactly awash in free shit, but with a backlog of promo discs and downloaded albums waiting to be reviewed, it wouldn’t be fair for me to take the time and effort away from people soliciting evaluation and grant it to stuff I bought just because I feel like talking about music I like. On the other hand, it wouldn’t be right for me to ignore good records just because I didn’t get them for free. Enter the happy medium.

Here are two records that’d be on top of the review pile had I not bought them instead:

Wovenhand, The Threshingfloor: I did an old school CD store search for this album. True, I could have bought it from Sounds Familyre, the label, but I wanted the satisfaction of finding it on a shelf and making the purchase. Only after calling and visiting more than five stores, including such heavy hitters as Vintage Vinyl and Generation Records did I finally come across a copy at Other Music in NYC. I knew they’d have it. They’re just that hip.

If you’ve never experienced David Eugene Edwards (formerly of 16 Horsepower), there are two things you need to know about him: he’s a genius and he’s super-Christian. Oh man, does he ever love him some Jesus. And it shows on the music, but if you let that bother you, you’re going to miss out. Michelangelo‘s Sistine Chapel is Christian too, doesn’t mean it’s not beautiful.

On The Threshingfloor, Edwards reminds that although he’s one of the most gifted songwriters and vocalists out there today, his true point of innovation and individuality is in arrangement. He brings in a variety of styles (from electronic drum beats and a New Order cover to Hungarian shepherd’s flute on a song about a town in Indiana) to these songs, and it might be his most accomplished collection yet. There are some downright rocking moments (“Denver City”), but Edwards is never really reigned into one genre or another. In short, I’m really, really glad I found this record, and I think when and if you hear it, you might be too.

Master Musicians of Bukkake, Totem Two: I actually bought this back in April at Roadburn, and I’ve been debating back and forth ever since whether or not to give it a full review. Helping the “no” side is laziness, since the seven-piece (plus guests) Master Musicians of Bukkake make music so complex it would literally take me days to describe every twist, turn and influence on Totem Two, their style harkening a ritualistic drone meshed with world music structures and instrumentation. Totem Two isn’t going to be for everyone, but man, there’s a small group of people out there who are going to worship at its proverbial feet.

The most recognizable figure in the band is Randall Dunn (producer for SunnO))), etc.), but Master Musicians of Bukkake isn’t the kind of outfit where one player really stands out. Rather, it’s an encompassing listening experience demanding attention, an open mind and patience. It is unrepentantly self-indulgent, unwaveringly pretentious and, in the shadow of its predecessor, Totem One (also on Important Records), so caked in complexity that you get tired just hearing it. Spiritually drained, but in a good way, as though you’ve been on some kind of auditory vision quest and glimpsed the horror of your own consuming insignificance.

…There. That’s a load off my mind. I hope you get to check out either of these records, and when you listen, I hope you dig them even half as much as I do.

It is no small thing to begin a stoner metal song in this day and age with a sample of a motorcycle engine revving. If there is one thing that’s going to make your audience say, “Alright, this better be the best riff I’ve ever heard,” it’s that. Not only has it been so done to death throughout this genre, but so often the engine noise has been accompanied by road-ready barn-burner guitar lines, that to expect anything else is pointless. Yet, somehow, “Ape Parade,” the second song on Invisible Orange’s debut full-length, Iron Mountain (Gary the “Landlord” Records), begins with such a sample and goes into a mellow groove before kicking in.

I will say that despite this egregious error on the part of the band (the song ends with the same noise), opener “Run” left a completely different impression the first time I heard it. I don’t recall to what I was listening prior, but there was an out-loud declaration of, “Yes, that sounds about right,” that came with hearing the opening riff of Iron Mountain, so within the first two tracks of the record, we can already see it works both ways. The Denver, Colorado, four-piece run through an expected 10 tracks of ‘90s-inspired stoner metal, bearing heavy riffage from guitarist Adrian Moore and the from-the-stomach Garcia/Hetfield-isms of vocalist Donovan Breazeale with abundant energy and a self-sustained feel that’s definitely reliant on 21st Century production methods, but comes off as reasonably natural nonetheless.

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