Releases like The Satanik Magiik always serve to underscore the differences in my mind between the American and European heavy rock markets. Where in the current American scene, the thing is heavy hipster swagger or post-rock-influenced psychedelia, the Night Tripper Records debut full-length from Swedish rockers El Camino reminds just how metal Europe can get and still be commercially relevant. El Camino don’t have much going for them in terms of originality; the double-guitar/stand-alone vocal five-piece hinge back and forth between straightforward stoner metal and screamy sludge, but what’s important to remember is that’s enough. That’s all they need to be doing. Cuts like “We are the Dark” and “Hail the Horns” are familiar in both theme and methodology almost to the point of cliché, but you can do that in Sweden and still offer a viable product. It must be amazing to witness, but that doesn’t help my American ears adjust to the record, the crux of which feels lost in translation (not literally, the songs are in English). To me, The Satanik Magiik – aside from reveling in its metallic imagery of snakes, horns, the devil, etc. – sits somewhere between its overly clean production and stoner rock influences. The songs follow a classic pop structure and vary the pacing enough, and will be easy for anyone who’s had even limited experience in the genre to grasp, but apart perhaps from the innuendo-riffic “Rise of the Snake” and the near-Weedeatery of “Family Values” which follows, they come in a wash of elemental riffing and rhythms.

The important distinction to make, though, is that they’re metal, which most (no rule is absolute) American heavy rock is not. El Camino – who keep their personal info limited to initials only; JS and NH on guitar, T on bass, M on drums and D on vocals – are a metal band, and The Satanik Magiik follows a metallic course immediately from the instrumental opener “Prelude to the Horns.” Perhaps to the album’s credit, it doesn’t get locked musically in the doomly tropes of modern occult metal, instead presenting Satan more as the dark overlord you want to have a beer with than who you want to overtake humanity in some grainy ‘70s horror film. That stylistic choice also speaks to the central issue with the album though, because although El Camino don’t worship Electric Wizard or Pagan Altar (at least not outwardly in their music), the clear-cut musical path they follow is one well if not overly trodden by other bands before them. Even the band’s name, which evokes images of Californian sands, Fu Manchu and party rock, runs in conflict with what the band is actually doing. Along with the burl of songs like “Mountain Man,” it’s an example of how El Camino are trying almost to do too much at the same time they’re trying to keep everything simple, which makes The Satanik Magiik even more confusing. Even as I groove out to that song, I can’t help but wonder what the hell is going on. Couple that with the fact that even at their most rocking – on that song, on “Rise of the Snake,” and on “Family Values” – the songs aren’t really about anything discernible (the chorus to “Rise of the Snake” is “Hellbound/Rise up” repeated), and it seems almost like El Camino have all the rock and none of the aesthetic.

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I noticed that I’ve picked up a couple records lately based on recommendations in the comments for this site, so this is the start of a new series of Buried Treasure posts about those albums. Hope you dig it.

A couple weeks ago when I did the Where to Start post on the Palm Desert scene, one of the responding comments was from Midwestern stoner rock luminary and all-around great guy Postman Dan (The Fallopian Dudes, Sow Belly, etc.), who said I should check out the album Gossamer by Solarfeast, which featured the guitar and vocals of Vic du Monte (AKA Chris Cockrell, Kyuss‘ first bassist), Tony Tornay (Fatso Jetson) on drums and was produced by Brant Bjork. Not the hard sell by any means, but it was enough.

There just happened to be a copy for sale on eBay at the time, so I nabbed that just before the auction ended an got the disc in the mail the other day. It’s dirty, it’s definitely of its era in the mid-’90s, and it’s plain to see why Brant Bjork didn’t make a career of producing bands, but what Solarfeast has in spades is charm. Gossamer has a lot more punk in it than I expected, but a song like “My Cradle, My Grave” goes a long way toward showing the influence the desert scene has had on the outside world.

I don’t know if I’d go as far as to pass the recommendation onto anyone just getting started with desert rock, but for those who’ve been around the music for a while, done the Kyuss thing, etc., Solarfeast‘s Gossamer is an interesting curio, and it’s cool to trace the links — Vic du Monte’s Idiot Prayer released two albums through Brant Bjork‘s Duna Records (now Low Desert Punk) and Cockrell‘s latest project, Vic du Monte’s Persona Non Grata, features Alfredo Hernandez (Yawning Man, ex-Kyuss) on drums — and see just how incestuous this scene is. Plus, it’s fun, and we all need that sometimes.