Swedish doomers Isole have a penchant for the epic. The Gävle four-piece will issue Born From Shadows — their third album for Napalm Records following two earlier full-lengths on their countryman imprint I Hate Records — on Oct. 25 in North America and Oct. 28 in Europe. The album follows the strong progressive Eurodoom of 2009′s Silent Ruins (review here) and continues a prolific streak for Isole, who’ve now put out five albums in six years.

More important than the number of releases, though, is the fact that Isole have carved an identity for themselves in the course of that time. Guitarist/vocalists Christer Olsson and Daniel Bryntse began playing together under the name Forlorn in 1990, and the clarity of vision and maturity they’ve gleaned in the time since shows itself in these songs. They bring in a few of the epic/Viking elements they also explore as members of Ereb Altor, but it’s Isole‘s careful handling of melody that really makes their material stand out.

At nine and a half minutes, there’s plenty of room for it to do so on the title-cut of Born From Shadows, which the label was kind enough to let me host for streaming. In the song, you’ll also find some growls and screams and heavier influences at play, which give the track even more heft. Check it out on the player below, followed by some bio info from Napalm‘s website. Hope you dig:

Isole’s fifth release Born From Shadows is the continuation of a story that began in 2005 with Moonstone on the debut album “Forevermore” and then “Shadowstone” on Bliss of Solitude. On Born From Shadows the two stones symbolize two opposites that finally come together to become one: darkness meets light, death meets life, and good meets evil.

With their first releases, Isole was able to secure an excellent reputation within the doom metal underground. They have now elevated their status even further with their last two albums, Bliss of Solitude and Silent Ruins. Their current work, Born From Shadows, impressively maintains their well-earned position and lays any doubts as to their superiority to rest. The Swedish quartet understands more than any other band how to effectively merge hypnotic melodies with viscous guitar lines. Once again the album was recorded and mixed by Isole at Apocalypse and Gustavo Sazes (Arch Enemy, Firewind) provided his artistic know-how to convey a feeling of mysticism and darkness through his symbolic artwork, while Jens Bogren (Opeth, Katatonia, Enslaved) took on the mastering responsibilities. 

Blues-rocking Norwegian four-piece Lonely Kamel make their debut on Napalm Records (who, with Monster Magnet, Karma to Burn and Brant Bjork already on their roster, are becoming quite the purveyors of the riffy arts) with Dust Devil. The name sounds like a handheld vacuum cleaner, it’s true. Contrary to such appliances though, Dust Devil doesn’t suck. Rather, Lonely Kamel come off like graduates from the University of Roadsaw (with a minor in Sixty Watt Shaman), infusing loud, driving heavy rock with a sensibility straight off the Delta.

There’s varying levels of that inflection throughout Dust Devil, but these veterans of Roadburn, Stoned From the Underground and Duna Jam — they clearly have their Eurofest credentials in order — handle it with smoothness and ease, right from the sliding ’70s classicism of opener “Grim Reefer” to the Clutch-esque fuzz groove of “Ragnarörkr.” The only real challenge in picking a track to stream was trying to find one that summed everything up.

In the end, I went with “The Prophet.” At about five and a half-minutes, you get the bluesy side of the band through guitarist Thomas Brenna‘s vocals and the heavy rock of the rhythm section of bassist Stian Helle and drummer Espen Nesset. Rounded out by Lukas Paulsen on guitar and backing vocals, Lonely Kamel impress right up to the song’s surprisingly noisy finale. Even there, though, the groove is paramount.

Lonely Kamel‘s Dust Devil is due out Oct. 28. Here’s “The Prophet,” followed by some bio info courtesy of Napalm Records‘ site:

Blues, grooves, and a bottle of booze! Stoner rock! Lonely Kamel‘s third album proves once again that it is absolutely not necessary to be surrounded by desert sands and cacti in order to produce genuine stoner rock. The four Norwegians are living proof of this fact, and don’t stop there. With the release of Dust Devil, they unquestionably provide the genre with a refreshing brand of unrelenting and passionate dedication. The opening two tracks, “Grim Reefer” and “Evil Man,” reveal the road on which Lonely Kamel will travel.

It offers much more than typical stoner riffs and captivating rhythms, adding sing-along choruses and hypnotic melodies to its winding course. Short trips to the world of blues and psychedelic round off this unforgettable journey by ensuring a welcomed change of pace. Dust Devil is the Nordic alternative to the desert sands, and for fans of the stoner rock genre a definite must-have!

I don’t get down that way as often as I used to, but once every year and a half or so, Asbury Park does me just right. Last night was one such occasion. I left the office a bit after 8PM, sloshed my way through the rain Southbound on the world famous Garden State Parkway, down to admirable Asbury mainstay The Saint, where West Virginian instrumental riffers were joined by Jersey‘s own The Atomic Bitchwax and The Ominous Order of Filthy Mongrels, who were about halfway through their set when I forked over my $12 and got in.

Despite having On the Radar-ized them as far back as last April, and despite my fandom of guitarist Mike Schwiegert and vocalist Kevin LeBlanc‘s prior bands (Lord Sterling and A Day of Pigs, respectively), and despite living a mere 90 minutes away, it was my first time catching The Ominous Order of Filthy Mongrels live, and I was glad to have the chance to do so. They’ve got some classic crossover in their sound that they offset with noisy crunch and thick tones, and with their first full-length reportedly in the can, there seems to be much more to look forward to.

The five-piece were something of a standout on the bill for how aggressive they were, but there was no denying the formidable presence they brought to the stage. LeBlanc is a natural frontman who plays to the strength of his screams, and Schwiegert — joined on guitar by Dave Anderson — excellently displays his hardcore roots without giving in to East Coast chest-thumping cliche. The material they played was pummeling, and it looked as though they were having fun finding out just how heavy they can be.

The Atomic Bitchwax, on the other hand, seemed just to be having fun. Not counting the couple minutes I saw at Roadburn, it was the first I’d seen them since the release of their latest album, The Local Fuzz (review here), and while they capped their set with about 20 minutes of that 42-minute instrumental riff-fest, they ran through a handful of other songs first, including “So Come On,” “Shitkicker” and the Core cover, “Kiss the Sun,” which served as a reminder of just how much a part of the Bitchwax guitarist/vocalist Finn Ryan has become since coming on board prior to the release of 3 in 2005.

Rightfully so since he used to be in Core, Ryan took lead vocal on that song as per usual, but bassist/vocalist Chris Kosnik seems to have stepped back on some of the material from 3 and 2009′s TAB4 as well — “Destroyer” from the former comes to mind — though both had smiles on their faces for “Gettin’ Old” from the band’s classic 1999 self-titled debut. The Atomic Bitchwax being rounded out by “Monster Bob” Pantella on drums, Kosnik is the only remaining founding member, but without hesitation, I’ll say their set at The Saint was among the tightest I’ve ever seen them, and I’ve seen them plenty.

Kosnik and Ryan were completely locked in on bass and guitar, their fingers rapidly making their way through the band’s signature winding riffs with speeds approaching Slayer levels at times during “The Local Fuzz.” That album probably took some flack for moving so far away from 4‘s pop-based songwriting modus — it’s easy to see it as a kind of “diarrhea of the riff” — but live, it made more sense, and it seemed almost as though the band were stripping everything down to the essential parts, and answering those who likewise denigrated 4‘s hyper-accessibility by saying, “Well, you want fuzzy riffs, here they are.” And there they were. For about 20 minutes solid.

And I guess if Karma to Burn is going to get a lead in, there probably isn’t one more appropriate than that. The trio’s anti-bullshit stance is long noted, most recently evinced on their second album for Napalm Records, V, but as they ran through a set of their numerically-titled instrumental pieces, it became increasingly clear that something was amiss, particularly with guitarist Will Mecum.

When drummer Rob Oswald (ex-Nebula) came around his kit early on to fix the foot of his bass drum, Mecum cursed audibly and with frustration. I don’t know what the situation is with the band, if he was pissed at Oswald for something or if he stubbed his toe — I refuse to speculate or spread rumors needlessly — but something had him off his game. He played much of the set like some men operate heavy machinery: with his ballcap pulled down over his eyes and his shoulders slumped in contempt.

And though he spent a significant amount of time facing the wall to the side of the stage, leaving Oswald‘s near-flatly-set toms high cymbals and bassist Rich Mullins with the task of acknowledging the audience in a manner not unlike someone trying to explain away a domestic disturbance to the cops the neighbors called, (prior to their going on, Mullins had told me the tour was, “a lot of work”), they sounded really good. It was almost in spite of themselves.

They’re clearly three very different individuals — Mecum with his grit and seemingly endless supply of riffs, Mullins with his gaunt rocker’s looks and stage presence, and Oswald the beardo wizard in back launching into impossible-looking fills — and again, I don’t know what the situation is in the band, but Karma to Burn has become so influential in heavy rock because there’s a special chemistry among the players, and that came through in the songs. They cut the set short, nixing “41″ from 2009′s Appalachian Incantation among others, and obviously it was a bad night for the band, but I didn’t leave The Saint disappointed.

The music was right on and I got to see a new band for the first time, a local staple who were mind-bogglingly tight, and an act who’ve left an indelible mark on their genre. It was a good night, I got to see some good people. For $12 on a rainy Tuesday, you can’t reasonably ask much more than that. It was a bummer that it was a bummer for Karma to Burn, but hopefully they’ll make it up on the rest of the tour, which hits Boston tonight (Sept. 7, with formidable locals Black Thai and Ichabod) and Brooklyn tomorrow, once again with The Atomic Bitchwax on the latter bill as a replacement for the apparently-defunct Black Pyramid.

More pics after the jump. Thanks to The Saint for being so brightly lit.

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Among the many routes to take, Karma to Burn has always been one of the most direct lines to the riff. The West Virginian trio’s instrumental approach is among the most bullshit-free in all of heavy rock, and that has remained the case following their reunion in 2009. With the release of Appalachian Incantation last year (review here), guitarist Will Mecum, bassist Rich Mullins and drummer Rob Oswald (ex-Nebula) joined forces with Napalm Records and successfully began to incorporate the vocals of Dan Davies of Year Long Disaster, in which Mullins also plays, essentially merging the two bands into one, pulling double duty on joint tours, etc. Appalachian Incantation marked a successful reunion, and the aptly-titled follow-up, V, which sure enough is Karma to Burn’s fifth album overall, takes on the weighty task of re-beginning a creative development on the part of the band.

It’s not an easy thing to do. One reunion album is hard enough to pull off, but by getting back together and releasing a second full-length, you’re more or less saying that this thing has stuck and you’re rolling with it. You’re no longer a reunion band, you’re just a band. The second return album completely does away with the novelty of the first, and you reopen yourself to judgment based not on the fact that people are glad you’re back together again, but based solely on the merit of the work itself.

I doubt it’s anything Karma to Burn has lost sleep over, and if V is any indication, they’re keener on affecting a decent presentation of their sound than doing anything outlandishly new with it. No question that V is the band’s most produced album to date. Recorded by John Lousteau (who’s previously worked on albums by Motörhead, Foo Fighters and Danko Jones) at Dave Grohl’s Studio 606, the songs are crisp and clear – Mullins’ tone in particular sounds better than it ever has on a Karma to Burn record – but still in possession of some measure of the band’s original grit. There’s enough separation to enjoy Mecum’s guitar and Mullins’ bass in equal measure, and Oswald’s drums may have been replaced digitally, but if they were, it’s not offensively synthesized sounding. His snare is low and deep and serves as excellent punctuation for many of the tracks, including the sort-of-centerpiece, “The Cynic,” which is one of the three songs included on V with Davies on vocals.

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When I’d called Starland Ballroom earlier in the evening to ask what time Monster Magnet went on, and been told 9:30PM, that was a dirty fucking lie. I rolled in at 9PM thinking I’d catch the tail end of Seventh Void, and instead, A Pale Horse Named Death — fronted by Life of Agony drummer Sal Abruscato on vocals and one of the total three guitars — was just starting up. Thanks a lot, box office girl. True, I didn’t want to risk a Sunday night DWI and I had to get up for work this morning, but there was a bit of spite added to my lack of drinking, to be sure.

It wasn’t crowded, but there were more people than I thought would be there. The least crowded I’ve ever seen Starland was for Candlemass — which was shameful, how empty it was — but by no means was it packed even by the time Monster Magnet took the stage. For A Pale Horse Named Death, there was a decent amount of people who’d shown up early or because they’d heard it was the LOA drummer’s band and maybe they’d play “Through and Through” or something. They didn’t. Instead it was a mediocre but passable kind of doom rock, topped off with the charm of Abruscato inviting everyone in the crowd back to his house after the show for sausage and peppers, which I can only imagine would have been delicious.

Johnny Kelly, drummer for Type O Negative and Seventh Void — which also features Type O guitarist Kenny Hickey — played in A Pale Horse Named Death, pulling double duty for the evening. I think it was their first show, but they were clearly enjoying themselves, and having grown up as a heavy metal Jersey boy, I have trouble begrudging them the good time they looked to be having. However, someone should really point out to Abruscato that it was Death riding the pale horse, and that the horse itself was not Death. Five dudes in the band, you’d think someone would have been on that already.

The first time I saw Seventh Void was at The Trash Bar in Brooklyn, and they weren’t nearly that good at Starland, but they put on a more than respectable show anyway, playing songs off their Heaven is Gone full-length and what sounded like some new material, Hickey of course shouting a song (“Last Walk in the Light”) out to departed Type O Negative bassist/vocalist Peter Steele. That was bound to happen, and Hickey has stepped into the frontman role nicely in Seventh Void, which is encouraging to see. I doubt they’ll hit the commercial heights of his and Kelly‘s former band — the shitbag musical climate having something to do with that as well — but at least they’re still working.

You have to understand, back in 1993, at the tender age of 12, I used to call Pure Rock Q104.3 every single day and request Type O Negative‘s “Black No. 1,” and they, Life of Agony and Monster Magnet were the local bands that made good. As a kid just really figuring out what I liked, it was a big deal to see their videos on MTV. I think everyone has those bands. So it’s not that I didn’t enjoy this show, and it’s not that I didn’t know what I was going to get, I just have my attachments to these dudes’ work (the fauxhawk bassist and girlie-shirt second guitarist of Seventh Void notwithstanding) already set, and that’s not about to change.

It was the first time Monster Magnet played New Jersey in years, and it was clear the varying camps of supporters present at the Starland Ballroom. There was the “Space Lord” contingent, who maybe got into them from their 1998 mega-hit, the local loyalists, who’d have shown up even if they were playing the pits of hell (or worse, Asbury Park — zing!), and the stoner rock heads hoping for some older material in the set list. I count myself a bit in the latter two camps, and to the band’s credit, they did their best to feed everyone — opening with “Nod Scene” was a nice touch — and still manage to push the songs from their latest album, 2010′s Mastermind.

My heart sank when I snapped a picture of their setlist and read that “Spine of God” wasn’t on it. I’d like to think maybe it’s because new guitarist Garrett Sweeny (also of Riotgod), who was brought in to fill the rather sizable shoes vacated by Ed Mundell, doesn’t know it yet, but it could just as easily have been some other reason. Any way you slice it, it was a bummer. That had more or less been the one song that got me off the couch, but I guess you can’t have everything. Gotta make room for “Tractor” and “Crop Circle.” “Dinosaur Vacume” was pretty good though.

They played several songs from Mastermind, including starting the encore with single “Gods and Punks” and “Bored with Sorcery,” but the high point of the new material was unquestionably “Dig that Hole,” even if Dave Wyndorf‘s quoting of the n-word does rest gratingly on my liberal sensibilities. Wyndorf basically had the show resting on his shoulders and he delivered a solid set, Sweeny and Phil Caivano working well together on guitar, Jim Baglino and Bob Pantella doing the same on bass and drums. Everything was tight, everyone played well, but it was pretty clearly a show, and by that I mean if you were looking for a raw outpouring of emotion or some kind of beastly psychedelic trip, you were probably elsewhere.

I will say this, however: It’s time for Dave Wyndorf to grow a beard. And not a little one. A big, honking beard. And he needs to let it go gray. And he needs to never be seen again in public without a Hawkwind t-shirt and some gnarly jeans on, and he needs to cut his hair just short enough so it can still be messy, and it’s time for him to put on some huge-ass mirror sunglasses and take the stage like the Rick Rubin-looking biker space rock  god we all know he is underneath. He might even need a bandanna. I’m completely serious.

He’s obviously not doing the “check me out, I’m on pills” thing anymore, right? But the stage show hasn’t really changed, it’s just become less believable. Time to adapt. Time to unleash the weirdo within. He could hit the jam band circuit and have these fucking hipsters eating out of his hands in no time flat and and start bringing a crowd again in the US, but it’s a change that needs to be made. Every time he threw his hands in the air singing, I couldn’t help think to myself, “Dude, it is time to get strange on these motherfuckers.” Also, “Play ‘Spine of God!’”

I was splitsville before they closed with “Powertrip” — some of us do, in fact, have to work another day in our lives — and I caught an easy Sunday night back north on 287 to get to the valley around 1:00. Easily worth the trip, but not necessarily ideal. You know how it goes. At least I wasn’t asleep at the wheel like after the Pentagram show in Brooklyn.

I took some extra photos, which you can see after the jump.

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Brant Bjork‘s ninth solo album in just over that many years, Gods and Goddesses saw him refine the fuzzy desert tones and grooves that have typified his work since the beginning. With cleaner, clearer, more professional production, the guitarist, vocalist, songwriter and legendary drummer for Kyuss and Fu Manchu displayed a commercial and classic rock awareness the likes of which his fanbase hadn’t yet seen from him. His prior album, Somera Sól (released under the Brant Bjork and the Bros. moniker) approached some of that sound, but the production value made all the difference.

Perhaps most notably, Gods and Goddesses found Bjork bringing in longtime-friend/bassist Billy Cordell (formerly of Yawning Man), who was able to match exquisitely the grooves Bjork was putting down. At the end of the slow-rolling album closer “Somewhere Some Woman,” Cordell helped bring an entirely new and decidedly darker dynamic out of the typical Brant Bjork desert-sun-affected rock. Between that, the twists of “Blowin’ up Shop” and opener “Dirty Bird” — which might be the most Brant Bjork-sounding Brant Bjork song ever — Gods and Goddesses was an easy highlight of 2010.

He said in our interview that he hoped Gods and Goddesses would help him bring some attention to his solo career, and it’s apparently worked out, as he announced just last week that he’s signed with Napalm Records for future Brant Bjork releases. It’s a smart move, given the response he’s been able to get at European festivals like Roadburn and Hellfest and that he’ll be touring next year as part of the semi-reunion act, Kyuss Lives. One just hopes it’s not too long before he issues a follow-up.

…Not claiming to be the first to do so, mind you. Yeah, I’m about a week behind on this, but screw it, here’s “Gods and Punks” from the recently-reviewed Monster Magnet album, Mastermind. Let the debate begin:

The reunion of Karma to Burn is a story The Obelisk has been following since it was announced, and now that the resulting Scott Reeder-produced album, Appalachian Incantation, is just a week away from release on Napalm Records and the band are gearing up for a tour culminating with a performance at Rocklahoma (really?), I’m more than happy to showcase the premiere video, “Waiting on the Western World,” which features the vocals of Dan Davies of Year Long Disaster. Here it is with some PR wire whathaveyou tossed in for good measure:

STROBE!!!

Produced by Scott Reeder (ex-Kyuss, Black Math Horseman producer), Appalachian Incantation is the band’s first studio album in eight years. Known as an instrumental outfit, Karma to Burn invited two vocalists to join them for the new album: Daniel Davies of Year Long Disaster lends vocals to “Waiting on the Western World” and legendary Kyuss singer John Garcia performs on “Two Times” (exclusive to the bonus disc included with the first 2,000 copies of Appalachian Incantation).

Karma to Burn on tour:
May 14 New York, NY The Knitting Factory
May 15 West Chester, PA The Note
May 16 Baltimore, MD Ottobar
May 17 Springfield, VA Jaxx
May 19 Pittsburgh, PA 31st Pub
May 20 Charleston, WV The Sound Factory
May 21 Huntington, WV V Club
May 22 Morgantown, WV 123 Pleasant St.
May 23 Columbus, OH Ravari Room
May 24 Cleveland, OH Nehmeth’s Lounge
May 25 Detroit, MI Magic Stick
May 26 Chicago, IL Double Door
May 27 Madison, WI High Noon Saloon
May 29 Wichita, KS Lizard Lounge
May 30 Oklahoma City, OK Rocklahoma

Normally, I’d post the live dates here, but since I received an email directing me to West Virginia instrumetallers Karma to Burn‘s brandy-new website, I figured I’d pass along the info that way and allow others to discover the wheres and whens of the reunited trio’s latest European jaunt as I did. In case you missed it, Karma to Burn‘s Live 2009 — Reunion Tour DVD is out now thanks to Napalm Records.

Karma to Burn on the series of tubes.

There is an entire contingent in front of whom you can’t even mention the words “stoner rock” without their immediately saying back, “Monster Magnet.” And for good reason. For two decades, the Red Bank outfit have blazed a trail through all things drugged-out and Satanic (you either would or wouldn’t understand), with ups and downs for sure, but the Monster Magnet brand of rock and roll seems as strong as ever, as this pilfered news from Blabbermouth proves:

Monster Magnet has inked a new worldwide deal with Austria‘s Napalm Records. The band will enter the studio in January with producer Matt Hyde to begin recording its new album for a summer 2010 release.

Commented frontman Dave Wyndorf: “I’m really looking forward to joining the roster at Napalm Records and working with them on future endeavors.” Markus Riedler, Napalm Records managing director, added, “It is an honor to cooperate with a scene icon such as Dave Wyndorf! He’s very enthusiastic, full of energy and together we want to rock through the coming years! The new album will be killer and fans should make sure to check out the high-energy live show of the band! 2010 will be the year of Monster Magnet!”

It was by only the slightest beard hair that I avoided hearing the nautically-bent Ahab when they made their debut with 2006′s Call of the Wretched Sea. It wasn’t that I had something against the German funeral doom four-piece, just that I knew once I exposed myself to the record (hello!), I’d have to buy it. And we couldn’t have that, right? It stayed on my Amazon wish list for a while as I waited for the price to drop, but it never did, so I took it off and that seemed to be that on Ahab.

Until I heard The Divinity of Oceans, Ahab‘s new, second album through Napalm Records. Now I’m in the hole for two of the band’s releases and wondering why I bothered to resist in the first place. The band hone their watery craft across seven lengthy tracks — the shortest is “O Father Sea” at 7:07 — of snail’s pace riffing and deathly growls. Sporadic melodic vocals pop up in various moans and croons throughout, as on closer “Nickerson’s Theme,” and the guitars late into “Tombstone Carousal” are almost hopeful sounding, but the compass is pointing to oppressive doom lethargy, and Ahab are clearly skilled navigators.

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It’s 2:00AM and the cops, as ever, are sitting in the parking lot of the firehouse across the street, waiting for nobody. Practically no one drives past this late — even the drunks are home by now on a Wednesday night. Something died outside and I can smell it comingling with the farts and sleepy dog stink in this room through the open window. Like Orange Goblin says, “Some you win, some you lose.” I promised myself I’d write this review before I went to bed today, so let’s do this thing:

Pop the top on Isole‘s fourth album in as many years (they had a seven inch in ’06 as well), Silent Ruins (Napalm Records), and the first word to appear in your mind is bound to be, “Sweden.” No other country in the EU or anywhere else for that matter could produce a band to successfully harness this kind of epic doom. Oh, there’s acts from elsewhere who’ll try, but usually they fall on their ass. Even if you hadn’t traced the four-piece through the first two albums they put out on I Hate Records, you’d know it right away.

So, Sweden it is, with fingers pointing vaguely in the classic direction of countrymen Candlemass (the track “Nightfall” could have been on the album of the same name) and the Viking-inspired days of black metal pioneers Bathory (pieces of opener “From the Dark” and follow-up “Forlorn” apply the style, admittedly without laying it on as thick as Ereb Altor), Isole lurches forth to leave a grandiose footprint in the international traditional doom marketplace, bringing in some Solitude Aeturnus-style riff and vocal power on “Soulscarred.” They do alright in pulling it off without sounding like a band totally copycatting their influences.

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