Naisian – Rejoinder

The Rejoinder EP is the first release from UK metallers Naisian after a five year hiatus; three imposing tracks which make up for ‘lost’ time with senses devouring ferocity amidst an imagination gripping trespass of sound and enterprise which only leave you wanting more.

Emerging over a decade ago, Sheffield’s Naisian went on that hiatus in 2012. Its quartet of members spent subsequent years touring and playing with their respective bands in Awooga, Air Force Chron, and pjaro as well as working other projects before reuniting as Naisian late 2017. A fair time in the making, Rejoinder sees the band’s sludge bred metal hungrier and arguably even more voracious than ever. Mastered by James Plotkin (Sunn O))), Cave In, Botch), the EP assaults, bullies, and entices with voracity in its touch and creative instincts. It may only be three songs but by its close, ears and senses feel like they have been ten rounds with a bear.

Opening track is 90ft. Stone and immediately it gnaws on the listener with predacious riffs as sonic tendrils sear their temptation into already tender senses. As quickly grooves from the guitars of James Borrowdale and Adam Zejma entangle the unrelenting threat of sound, the latter’s vocals a caustic animosity in the rapacious mix enticingly backed by the tones of Borrowdale and bassist Michael Aitken. Nuances and slight twists ignite across the incessant flow of heavy sound, sonic flickers and feral enterprise adding to and accentuating the crushing aggression.

The following Mantis Rising rises on a sonic spiral to quickly establish its own primitive but skilfully nurtured trespass. As within the first, the swinging beats of Jordan Garlic bite and resonate as they incite; ravenous grooves winding around the rhythmic animus with toxic yet infectious appeal. As vocals collude in their antagonism, the track twists and turns through contagion and malice; each moment magnetic, every move enjoyably voracious before the brief but thrilling encounter abruptly departs to allow Lefole to swing in. Featuring the scar throated vocals of Mike Shields (ninehertz and formerly of doomers Flatlands), the track swiftly got under the skin with its contagious air and tenacious exploits. Post punk like vines of guitar tease and taunt from within the song’s composed but still predatory climate; melody and atmosphere a tantalising intimation within the doom nurtured exploration. The track is superb, at times finding Killing Joke like hues to accentuate its voice and captivation.

Taking months to create and bring the EP’s short body of undoubted magnificence, we maybe cannot expect a bigger offering from Naisian for a while but whenever it appears anticipation will be immense simply because of Rejoinder alone.

The Rejoinder EP is out now, available @ https://naisian.bandcamp.com/

https://www.facebook.com/naisiansheff/

 Pete RingMaster 17/07/2018

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

Cancel – Dark Reveries

Dark Reveries is the new album from Swiss hardcore fury Cancel; a release which echoes its titles with tracks which savagely grab you from reality to immerse in rousingly, often carnally raucous dissonance. It makes no compromises in its assault and attitude loaded irritability but tempers the compelling causticity with flirtatious imagination whilst declaring the Luzern quintet ready to seize global attention.

Founded in 2011, Cancel has released a host of ear grabbing proposals around a richly received debut album in Circle of 2015. Their sound has evolved across each encounter and ventures a whole new plateau of enterprise and devilry within second full-length Dark Reveries. It is tagged as hardcore but freely ventures across the landscapes of noise, punk, metalcore, and post hardcore with each individual song.

It opens up with Mind Burial, instantly expressing raw vocals and sound upon the senses as rhythms closely prowl. Stalking the listener, the track soon hits a more urgent stride without losing all its restraints; captivating attention with every passing second of its Coilguns meets Red Tape like assault. An instinctive groove seizes its moment to enslave as rhythms continue to prey, all the while the band’s imagination brewing and taking a thicker hold on the album’s thrilling start.

The following Hysteria surges through ears with punk ‘n’ roll rancor, beats thumping with flirtatious violence as group shouts and urges accompany individual temptation. It is a seriously enjoyable and insatiable trespass emulated in its own way by successor Golden Rats but given a whole new web of twists and turns to become scorched by and addicted too. Both tracks reveal more of the bolder hunger and adventure in the band’s sound; exploration further stretched and exploited within the invasively mercurial Death Cab. As its punk heart bellows and ensnares like a malicious Shevils, the band’s rock ‘n’ roll instincts gains momentum, the great blend of vocals following the imaginative endeavour. Wiry grooves and the brooding growl of the bass only add to the unbridled magnetism brewed and devoured.

Poor Man’s Sermon is pure seduction from its first breath, the song slowly unwinding its unpredictable body note by note, clean syllable by alluring word until strolling through post punk/rock terrain courted by throat raw vocal toxicity. It is a fascinating affair and mix which only intensified its ire and hold by the second before the punk hostility of Chased Feelings ripped through ears. It too though embraced a mix of flavours and urgencies within its brief tenure, making way for the anthemic roar and challenging antipathy of Freedom On A Cross. As its predecessor, the track swiftly got under the skin with its predacious swing and inescapable curse of hooks and grooves.

The following minute and a half sees You`re Everything I`m Not ravage the senses, its Converge-esque punk feud colluding with rock ‘n’ roll arousal to manipulate and enslave while Human Machinery straight after sees Cancel spark the imagination more forcibly in its minute of instrumental darkness than many bands do in a ten minute plus flight of suggestion.

Dark Reveries finishes off with its title track, another song which is on the hunt from its opening seconds of sound and invention but with an eagerness which refuses a negative response. It is a swing and purpose which shuffles its attack but cores it with an infectious lure which never deviates from its intent and success.

It is a fine end to an album which just impresses further by the listen. Cancel might not grow to be one of Switzerland’s greatest exports but already they are definitely one of its most pleasurable and captivating.

Dark Reveries is available now @ https://cancel.bandcamp.com/

 http://cancelband.com/   https://www.facebook.com/CancelBandOfficial

Pete RingMaster 03/07/2018

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

Coilguns – Millennials

For all their striking projects and releases, of which there have been numerous, it is as Coilguns that the trio of vocalist/guitarist Louis Jucker, guitarist Jona Nido, and drummer Luc Hess has most lit our personal fires and inspired further our love for instinctive sounds and creativity. Their new album Millennials, with synth player Donatien Thiévent in the fold shows exactly why; the ten track exploration of manipulative noise and physical intimation a beautiful predacious trespass.

Written and recorded at the beginning of 2016, the self-engineered sonic invasion instantly overwhelms with the senses ravishing Anchorite. Guitars entwine ears in a devious, corrosive web as the rhythmic ingenuity of Hess stirs and ignites body and spirit. As arousing as his boldly thrown beats are the Jucker and Nido spawned grooves and noise bleeding tendrils are corrosive, all uniting in a hellacious virulence which strings the imagination and senses like a feral puppeteer; a manipulator simultaneously venting through the vocal squalls of Jucker. The track is immense, a visceral seduction which had us cowering as much as we were welcoming its abuse with greedy open arms.

The following Deletionism manages to breed an even more carnal tone and air; its carnivorous jaws littered with biting beats and caustic toxicity but just as infectiously persuasive as its predecessor in temptation and energy. The throaty bassline echoes in the senses as it courts the mercurial but ever invasive stroll of guitar; it all coming together with concussive majesty alongside the rapier swings of Hess and the throat and word scaring roar of Jucker.

The album’s title track is next, a sense charring blaze of rock ‘n’ roll with sonic lava in its breath and inescapable virulence in its rhythms. Hess is simply superb, stirring the track’s intent with ravenous dexterity allowing the calm in its midst to challenge before stirring up a confrontation as violent as it is invigorating. From pure infection the track leaves as a toxic raping of ears and wow did it excite. From start to finish, there are compelling suggestions of best track on the album, and maybe that from Coilguns in general, this one of the most persuasive.

Spectrogram takes the listener into a sonically incinerated landscape, its shadows and scenery a lure of white noise-esque suggestion before a suffocating wave of sound and intensity thickens the drama and the increasingly haunting and haunted climate. Thiévent’s synth flows over the incitement like melancholic mist but with a surf like teasing which captivates, ears moths to its flame in the oppressively infectious dark of the track.

For one minute and a handful of imposing seconds, Music Circus Clown Care has the senses harassed and swinging as if on a barb lined trapeze before cavernous jaws drag them into the torturously arousing grip of Ménière’s. Once again, Hess had us bouncing as the sonic trespass of his companions infested ears and psyche, the track a murderous swagger of craft and contemplation borne of the darkest deeds and times and moulded into one irresistible breathless incursion.

The brief, inhospitable and again inescapably addictive blast of Wind Machines For Company emulates its title in a typhoon of sonic voracity while Self Employment Scheme is an investigation cynical in tone and air niggling at and sucking on the senses like an argumentative tick; never relenting in its harassment but ebbing and flowing in its severity. Both tracks simply brought our lust levels higher as too the grievously writhing antics of Blackboxing, the glorious track ducking and diving with quick footed rhythms and tenaciously swerving noise until delivering a brutally blistering concussion.

The release ends with The Screening, a fascination examination carrying intrigue, captivation, and threat in every note, syllable, and rhythm cast over the senses. Its initial temptation loaded coaxing with Hess once more shaping the bait, grows and intensifies by the moment, simultaneously becoming a harsher imposition and addiction to leave by its departure its victim on their knees breathless and lusting for more.

There is no one like Coilguns and nothing in even their own repertoire to match the noise alchemy of Millennials. It is far too early to declare an album of the year but believe us when we say it will not be straying from those most vocal nominations come late December.

Millennials is available now via Hummus Records and through https://coilguns.bandcamp.com/

https://www.facebook.com/coilguns    https://twitter.com/COILGUNS

Pete RingMaster 27/03/2018

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

Hardcore Anal Hydrogen – Hypercut

When covering The Talas of Satan, the last album from Hardcore Anal Hydrogen we called a particular track a “beautiful meshuga.” It was a suggestion which undoubtedly applied to the whole release and is even more apt for the French outfit’s new wild adventure, Hypercut. Both halves of that description has been escalated within the new album, a release which it is best not to try and make sense of but one to just sit back before and immerse its crazed manna and manipulation.

Hardcore Anal Hydrogen is the manic creation of vocalist/programmer Sacha Mouk (Sacha Vanony) and guitarist/programmer Martyn Circus (Martyn Clement), a project emerging in 2009 and releasing debut album Fork you :​(​)​{ :​|​:​& };: that same year. Two years later, its successor Division Zero was unleashed with the band’s truly eclectic sound fully fledged but still growing and evolving as the mighty theatre of The Talas of Satan showed in 2014. As expected, things have not stood still since then, the pair’s imagination never taking a rest as they boldly breach another plateau in suggestive sound, diversity, and craziness with Hypercut, a release not so much schizophrenic as simply loco.

Everything from electro to rock, jazz to every shade of metal you can think of and more is entangled in Hypercut, much of which colluding to make album opener, Jean-Pierre, vigorously irresistible. Tenacious beats and electronic squirms grab ears first, guitars and rhythms swiftly involving their rapacious coaxing before the vocals of Mouk bounce in like a demented cartoon character. Raw metal trespasses burst as the song throws its self around dervish style; riffs, hooks, and grooves colliding like wayward atoms as keys conjure suggestion. Unsurprisingly twists and turns come at a rate of knots too, keeping the imagination dancing like a cat on a hot tin roof. It is a stunning start, prime but fresh Hardcore Anal Hydrogen offering up essences of artists such Pryapisme, Aphex Twin and Cryptopsy in varying degrees.

If the first is a tangled web, the following Coin coin is spaghetti of sonic wires all twisted up like the knack iPod headphones have when in the pocket if only for a few seconds. Circus’ guitar is a creative thrashing of enterprise yet with a composure and coherence which paints individual pictures as around it jazz flames and psych rock tendrils ignite and explore.  More progressive hues similarly escape the metal nurtured cage, Jean Michel Jarre-esque elegance honing an atmospheric landscape as wildlife voice their involvement before the track eventually drifts into the sunshine.

The Cajun opening of La roche et le rouleau is a deceitful prelude to rock ‘n roll time in the asylum;  a wacked out stomp again involving an array of flavours in its contagion and even managing to keep feet and hips involved as it slips into a sultry noir lit jazz detour, coming out the other side with even more certifiable zeal. It is a madness which is even lustier within Paul, a track which has fifties in its breath, dark gothic theatre in its air, and blackened dementia in its heart. Many bands weave a tapestry of diversity but as this track alone echoes, few can rival Hardcore Anal Hydrogen in the organic fluidity it comes in or the bedlamic mastery.

Next up, Blue Cuts provides a piano spun jazz saunter for a relatively ‘normal’ caress of the senses while Charme oriental creates a Mad Capsules Markets like sonic holler in a carnivorous extreme metal dissonance, but a fusion as infectious as it is invasive especially once Eastern hues join the musical curiosity. Both tracks simply enthral but are still eclipsed by Phillip. It is a sinister slice of musically and emotionally suggestive espionage; dark drama and deeds soaking every note in every twist and turn. In a moment in time where spying and death is headline, it manages to be a perfect echo yet has an intimacy of inner threat and turmoil just as potent. Its eight plus minutes conjures a cinematic tale in thoughts, no doubt one again sure to be individual to each listener but a rich one all the same.

Through the rhythmically tribal and aggressive spectacle of Murdoc and the glorious vocal and musical delusion of Entropie Maximum, one already lustful appetite just could not stop drooling; the second especially incendiary with its mischievously screwy, seriously catchy, unhinged romp. It has the body bouncing, spirit racing, and shoulders hunched in puzzlement; pure bliss.

In turn Sproutch savages the senses, electronics and metal at their carnivorous best and though only thirty seconds long leaves an unforgettable impact before the cosmic ingredients of Daube carotte unite with barbed hooks and hellacious metal in another rousing incitement, though it too has some intimation fuelled downtime where the imagination is even more stretched and pleasure overfilled.

Automne 1992 provides a slow prowl through rain drenched scenery and darkly shadowed threats. It did not quite grab the senses as its predecessors fair to say but has plenty for the imagination to weave with, 6:33 coming to mind once or twice while Bontemmieu brings the other side of climate with its summery charms and ethic festivities, though again there is just a tease of darker flirtation.

The album ends with Alain, l’homme télévitré, a track just epitomising Hardcore Anal Hydrogen eccentricity and their bizarre craft. Yet there is much more to it, as all tracks, a truly smart and inventive core which twists the listener around physically and emotionally whilst providing all the tools and ingredients for them to paint their own pictures and tales. It is not going to be for everyone but Hypercut is simply creative manna, the fullest sonic ambrosia yet from Hardcore Anal Hydrogen.

Hypercut is available now via Apathia Records @ https://hardcoreanalhydrogen.bandcamp.com/album/hypercut   or https://apathiarecords.com/en/releases/hypercut

http://hardcoreanalhydrogen.com    https://www.facebook.com/hardcoreanalhydrogen

Pete RingMaster 10/03/2018

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

Vantablack Warship – Abrasive Pulmonic Speak

Photo by Wayne William Archibald

Unapologetically harsh and uncompromising, arousingly irritable and voracious, Abrasive Pulmonic Speak is the debut album from Canadian fury Vantablack Warship; it is also one seriously addictive assault with as much swing and contagion as sonic violence.

Vantablack Warship is the coming together of various members from some of Montreal’s best bands including one of our favourites, Buffalo Theory Mtl.  2016 saw the release of a self-titled EP, a slab of hardcore fuelled extreme metal taking no prisoners and announcing a formidable new trespass to brave. Abrasive Pulmonic Speak builds on its potential and then wipes the floor with its sibling, the album eight chunks of barbarous punk ‘n’ metal virulent in sound and viciousness throughout, sludge thick and stiflingly suffocating when it leans back on its urgency but not its ferocity. With the rapacious tones of vocalist Yannick (Pil) Pilon (Arseniq33 / Buffalo Theory MTL) standing dead centre of the rhythmic barrage unleashed by bassist Kurt Clifford (Foreshadow) and drummer Pierre Pitre (Arseniq33 / Foreshadow) surrounded by a sonic tempest cast by guitarists Pat Gordon ( Ghoulunatics / Les Ekorchés / Leprocy / Buffalo Theory Mtl) and Thierry Hivon (Brutal Chérie / Sarkasm), Vantablack Warship go straight for the throat from the start with Abrasive Pulmonic Speak leaving the senses reeling and body rocking.

The album leaps upon ears with Another Dead Rockstar, the opener swiftly a severely infectious incursion with Pilon blasting the listener from its first to last breath. Thrash nurtured riffs and senses puncturing beats surround his raw and honest appraisal, lustfully swinging grooves soon adding to the already salacious temptation. Carrying a Society One meets Converge like scent the track is dirty, hateful punk ‘n’ roll at its best and an incursion which gets under the skin like a viral puppeteer.

The following Black Tongue Bertha is a carnal invasion of sound and enmity, riffs and rhythms crawling sharing pure animosity yet from their malevolence a glorious addiction spewing groove springs. Ebbing and flowing in its urgency of attack with increasing contagion, the song breeds additional flourishes of acidic melody and body rousing incitement but never relaxing in its antipathy, in fact accentuating it as it passes its victims over to the waiting chokehold of Blood on the Mat. A “graphic account of women in the UFC”, which can be transferred to the vileness of domestic violence, the track is another barbarous anthem pulling no punches or finding a relaxing its foot on the pedal of its persistently punishing attack. It is superb, an irresistible rile to attitude and spirit; the album after three tracks already drawing fevered praise.

Kill the Kid keeps things as forcibly stirring if maybe not quite offering the individualism of its predecessors though its subsequent predacious crawl from its incendiary start brings the thickest hues yet of the sludge/doom textures in the band’s sound. Equally it rocks and batters the senses like a cyclone, as too, and even more so next up Ruderalis. Grooves, riffs, and hooks escape every angle of band and sound, even the beats of Pitre getting the body bouncing as guitars weave their infernally invasive temptations. Again Pilon’s vocal squalls bring the ill intent each track constantly embraces, his rancor soaked syllables and bad blooded breath as compelling as anything aligning his intrusion.

The album’s title track bullies and stalks ears immediately after, but Abrasive Pulmonic Speak is equally loaded with manipulative grooves and tenaciously persuasive rhythms, the gnarly barbed throat of the bass just manna to these ears. It shuffles and swings like a bare knuckled fighter, again no reserve given to its physical and emotional trespass while The Blackhole, a song about ‘Raider Nation football fans’ takes a more considered though no less corrosive energy to its lead heavy gait; both tracks hitting the spot in their differing ways.

The album concludes with the thunderous tempest of Crisis, a tenebrific slow lumber churning the senses with vitriolic malevolence with just enough instinctive catchiness to have neck muscles keenly worked. More of a slow burner than those before, it makes a fine end to the release with grooves which just seduce heavy rock ‘n’ roll instincts.

Abrasive Pulmonic Speak leaves the senses reeling, lungs gasping, and pleasure spilling over as the wounds build. What could be better?

Abrasive Pulmonic Speak is released January 26th; available @ https://vantablackwarship.bandcamp.com/album/abrasive-pulmonic-speak

https://www.facebook.com/VantablackWarship

Pete RingMaster 24/01/2018

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

Concrete Lung – Fumes

There is no denying we have a major soft spot here for British industrial-doomer Concrete Lung though that pleasurable weakness might be as much from the concussion from listening to thementally devouring, physically punishing sounds spawn as any lustful inclinations. There is something about its dissonance soaked invention and vitriol fuelled imagination which gets under the skin and inflames our own emotive quarrels; a connection which has never been stronger than with the project’s new album Fumes. Like its title might suggest, it is a suffocating severely invasive affair, debilitating and cancerous, and oh so irresistible.

The successor to 2014 leviathan Tolerance & Dependency, the nerve shredding Fumes sees  Ed Oxime at his most sonically corrosive and emotively discordant yet but equally at his most destructively virulent to date. In their own ways, each of the seven tracks within the album stalk and hunt down the listener, devouring their light and feeding on their weaknesses but in turn sparking a cathartic release as potent as that you imagine the pair found giving birth to Fumes.

As its predecessors, Fumes does not want to be liked nor does it care the emotional waste its ruinous exploits cause but as opener The Harbinger proves, if it’s kind of raw attrition and toxic sufferance is your masochistic poison the rewards are exhilarating. It rumbles into view, like a distant portentous storm with swift sonic winds to the fore. Its cavernous air soon becomes a senses smothering cloud of mordant noise, industrial death knells clanging as the track nags and niggles its way into the psyche. Equally the vocals lay a caustic glaze on the infernal incursion, the pressure and animosity intense yet infectiously virulent.

Of course there is no respite as Spinning In The Grave prowls in straight after and it too gives no inch as it consumes the senses in sound as vocals and words unleash their antipathy. Equally though, it has its own death dealing swing, heavy rapacious grooves winding rather than swaying around ears but with a contagiousness which cannot help but infest song, vocals, and listener alike. It grinds the defences down, though admittedly a willing submission just waiting to grab the salacious manipulations on offer; they then asphyxiated by the tsunami of sonic jaundice brought by When The Blind Man Sees You. Its lumbering pestilence is equally addictive, preying on thoughts and emotions whilst seducing with its senses scarring funereal swing and though for over seven minutes it crawls over the listener, it just leaves too soon.

Dissension I is just a carnal schism uniting noise and fear in a sonic smog of dissent, softening up already wasted senses further for A Thousand Years to venomously scrutinize and erode layer by layer with its industrial acid before the wounds are further decomposed by the post punk entangled, doom spawned album title track. There is an early Killing Joke hue to the tenebrific skulk of the track’s climate and gait, its compelling echo adding to the sublimely lethal lure of a highly addictive consumption.

Ending on the starkly raw dissolution of, well everything with Dissension II, the perpetual scourge of Fumes is filthily primal, severely uncomfortable, and permanently scarring but one of the most exhilarating violations heard pretty much since Concrete Lung’s last intrusion. The band has become more creatively dangerous and sonically insightful so beware, be brave, and go enjoy.

Fumes is out now through Armalyte Industries; available @ https://concretelung.bandcamp.com/album/fumes

http://www.concretelung.com/      https://www.facebook.com/concrete.lung     https://twitter.com/concrete_lung

Pete RingMaster 01/12/2017

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

Baronen & Satan – Why Does The Blood Never Stick To Your Teeth? / Satan Is A Lady

As each year passes it seems harder to find something truly unique to feast upon so those encounters which do carry that special character make a most striking impact and hopefully temptation. The sound of Swedish outfit Baronen & Satan magnificently fits that claim and hope, its nature a psyche twisting trespass and voice a senses searing incitement which together go to make one glorious seduction on body and imagination.

Though formed in 2014 after guitarist Philippe Jean-Piere Dominique Sainz met vocalist Linda Rydelius, the pair uniting in love and creativity once meeting, our introduction to Gothenburg hailing Baronen & Satan is now through Dirty Water Records USA and their releasing of the band’s new EP, Why Does The Blood Never Stick To Your Teeth? in tandem with the re-release of 2016 album Satan Is A Lady. It is a long overdue meeting as hindsight shows the band has been teasing attention across a horde of tracks and years but one we like so many others are greedily devouring. Completed by bassist Marie Bergkvist and drummer Stefan Young Sik Olsson earlier this year, Baronen & Satan create what we assumed has been self-penned as “Garagedeath”.  Whatever you call it, the Baronen & Satan sound is a wonderfully invasive yet flirtatious trespass of reverb grafted adventure conjured from a mix of garage and psych rock, garage punk, noise, and punk rock with plenty more teasing away in its predacious and haunting swamp thick sonic psychosis.

Produced by Jim Diamond (White Stripes, Dirt Bombs), Baronen & Satan’s new EP greedily consumes the senses from its first breath. Why Does The Blood Never Stick To Your Teeth? opens up with new single Elisa and instantly consumes ears in a tide of riffs and rhythms entangled in spicily melodic tendrils. As a bass grumble teases, beats fly with fevered energy, Sainz’s guitar weaving away with salacious grooves as the distinct and unique tones of Rydelius deliciously ‘whine’. Her presence almost steals all attention but with the devilish textures and enterprise at play around her, the whole song seduces in equal measure to get things flying.

The following Buttermilk Sky has a similar but fully individual presence and sound, its psych and garage rock bred rock ‘n’ roll an incitement to appetite and hips as it dances provocatively in ears. Its citric melodic spicing is less kind in the second track compared to its predecessor but just as alluring; the song offering a beefier intrusion taken to darker temptation yet again in the EP’s title track. With the swinging biting beats of Olsson rampant and Bergkvist’s bass sound gnarly, seduction is swift from personal tastes; add the sonic squall of Sainz and Rydelius hellish beauty in voice  and submission to the track’s rapacious rock ‘n’ roll is welcome slavery which the melodic toxicity with its tinge of Echo and The Bunnymen compounds.

All three tracks unite for one unwavering increasing addictive proposal to have us reeled in hook line and sinker; a triumph equally matched by last year’s album, Satan Is A Lady. It similarly needs mere seconds to tempt and begin brewing up a tight grip as opener Lady Creature lies its initial sonic nagging upon ears. Quickly the boisterous beats of Olsson descend and romp; the track bouncing around with eager tenacity as Rydelius casts her riveting vocal antics into the stomping devilment of a proposal. At times Scottish trio The Creeping Ivies is provoked in thought by the track but a great spicing to something again as unique as all the subsequent essences and adventures across the album prove to be, all hues in viral sonic toxins particular to Baronen & Satan.

Next up is Catwalk, its feline prowl lively and predacious with Olsson’s swings marking every step with zeal. Always fuelled by a boisterous spirit, the song stalks the listener as vocals wrap their flirtatious clutches around psych and garage infestation. Magnetic drama, the song sublimely bewitches before the even more energetic exploits of Asskisser bound in. With shimmering sonic suggestion and more rhythmic rascality, a PiL-esque sheen invading its bold canter, the track commands the listener like a puppeteer, its noise nurtured tendrils veining its wonderful manipulation.

Headcuts lurks and taunts with an instantly open Cramps inspiration, continuing to size up its victim before launching into a rapacious garage punk stroll with fifties rockabilly spicing. As its predecessor, the track is glorious; caustic manna for ears and instincts which a fine line of sixties garage rock a la Cradle to add another twist.

Expanding and thickening its ravenous enterprise and character, Satan Is A Lady hits another sweet spot with the sonic buzz of The Projects, a minute and a breath of irresistible niggly punk rock which Comet emulates in success with its own demonic affair for ears and imagination. As most tracks, its core is a relentless nagging which gets right under the skin; heavy dark bait bred on rhythmic and sonic almost wanton dexterity honed into a cauldron of virulent temptation as carefully woven as it is rabidly unleashed.

The album’s title track swings in with muscles tensed next, a riveting PiL meets Siouxsie and the Banshees hook circling ears as once more the compelling tones of Rydelius grip the bold intrusion. Sainz’s initial bait swiftly develops a Buzzcocks spiced essence as the track flexes its animated imagination, every second a beguiling and infectious scheme to enslave.

Through the psychotic stomp of Pony and its sonic Cramps meets the Orson Family moonshine pleasure only escalates, the latter of those hues a bolder essence in the dark saunter of Sugarwalls which too only inflames an already greedy appetite for band and sound. Invasively ethereal and ravenously portentous, the song also gives a glimpse of what you might imagine bands like Blood Ceremony and Jess and the Ancient Ones could sound like if mutant off springs of Lux Interior and Jim Morrison.

The album ends with the invasively haunting Underwater Love, an immersion into a sonic sea of intrigue and unpredictable imagination steered by the alluring vocal ingenuity of Rydelius. It is dark, bordering on suffocating and a compelling end to a quite thrilling and refreshing album.

Uniqueness is rare but when it comes it should be devoured especially when it bears the dark discord and beauty of Baronen & Satan.

Both Why Does The Blood Never Stick To Your Teeth? and Satan Is A Lady are out now @ https://baronenandsatan.bandcamp.com/album/why-does-the-blood-never-stick-to-your-teeth  and https://baronenandsatan.bandcamp.com/album/satan-is-a-lady respectively.

https://www.facebook.com/baronenochsatan/

Pete RingMaster 07/11/2017

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright