Album Review: Mars Red Sky – Apex III (Praise For The Burning Soul)

There’s no doubt that Mars Red Sky write music for themselves alone. What other reason would they have for gathering all their eggs into one basket time after time. Each new track seems to come pre-loaded with the same familial qualities – that familial, otherworldly, psychedelic backline, overdriven buzzing bottom end, laconic multi-tracked vocal delivery and crunchy riffwork. However, here on Apex III, they have wrapped it all around a truly alien theme that dines out on a creepy, pervading sense of drama and a thoroughly dark tone.

There’s real tonal value in the amalgamated scene-setting introduction “(alien grounds)” and dark backstory of the title-track but, sitting proudly up top and riding on a single repeating riff that incessantly bores its way into your skull as it does, might irk a few into tuning out right there. I do urge you to persevere past that initial anomaly, however, because the Floydian wash and Hawkwind-esque crush soon envelops as tracks like “The Whinery”, “Mindreader” and “Prodigal Son” will undoubtedly attest to.

“Under The Hood” is the star track with a lush, bluesy underscore that gently sways around the ultra-light vocal arpeggios. There’s a sweet lyrical hook in there that draws you up and out of the misty surrounds – “those emerald eyes of yours” have a lot to answer for. On the flipside, the summery 60s vibe that characterises “Friendly Fires” struggles to make any impact and actually seems to work at odds to the vocal styling. Rather, the multiple-tracking and effects overwhelm and hide the upbeat melody.

Whereas 2014’s Stranded In Arcadia had a nagging inclination for analagous tracks, this takes that quality to a whole new level. Identifying where you are in the sonic wash of colours will require a tracklist to hand and an ability for deep concentration. But perhaps to do so would be missing the point. The tracks are, after all, merely subtle shifts in sound that exist across a single piece of art. Yes, perhaps less dead air and gentler segues might have assisted this thought process. It certainly feels like an album that requires a solitary journey. One of those that will give you a chance to curl up to, shut your eyes and ride on through the storm.

Also online @ Ave Noctum = http://www.avenoctum.com/2016/02/mars-red-sky-apex-iii-listenable/

Album Review: Arrakis – Ammu Dia

Instrumental metal isn’t necessarily everyone’s cup of tea but it’s most certainly a genre that lends itself to emotional abandonment. And with post-metal burgeoning, it seems everyone’s at it these days. Another for the melting pot, Greek three-piece Arrakis formed late in 2012 with the intention of creating the ultimate stoner experience. None of these messy lyricisms for them, just pure, pounding rhythms, heaps of distortion and cyclical riffs into which the listener can blithely stagger and drop out.

Recorded live in the studio, Ammu Dia shows promise but lacks punch. Roughly produced, its consequently loaded with honesty and raw power, yet is somewhat imbalanced and has plenty of niggling inaccuracies. Thematically lacking also, the album relies all too often on mere stringwork to discover the heart and soul of the tracks, rather than by using layering and soundscaping to dig into the emotional bedrock. Bands like Russian Circles or Red Sparowes are masters of both, whilst Arrakis attempt to fuel a different fire. They are more about the riff and the head-down groove. Only the final few tracks, and in particular, both “Noema” and the 12 paper-thin minutes of “Diplomacy?” even attempt to draw a little introspection from the listener.

With just the single lead guitar forging ahead to mingle with the battering kit and gutsy bass there’s little room for string interplay and, as a consequence, the big bloated monsters of one-dimensional “Audium” and the anomalous “Aztec” create nothing but a swathe of flat noise, losing what little craftwork there is in the muddy production and heaving dissonance. One recognisable touchstone lurks as “Oppose” tips its hat to the dark patterning and simplistic doom of both St. Vitus and Black Sabbath.

As a jam in a live setting with their chords blasting through chests, Arrakis have the tuneage to really make bonces bounce, but with so little to offer in this crudely-produced recorded format they are unfortunately just more of a racket.

Also online @ Ave Noctum = http://www.avenoctum.com/2015/10/arrakis-ammu-dia-sr/

Album Review: The Midnight Ghost Train – Cold Was The Ground

Where visual art can announce itself as everything from an explosion of different shapes, dimensions and hues or restrict itself to the most minimalist, one-dimensional, single-colour blocks, music can do much the same. This particular beard-toting Kansas trio find themselves at the latter end, pumping out an unfaltering combination of muffled fuzz bass and sludgy, rhythmic chugging. Essentially, they have taken what bands like Orange Goblin, Red Fang and Clutch have done before and refined it to something a little less expansive and a darn sight more punishing.

Cold Was The Ground marks their third foray into long-players and this one thunders along a similar path as its predecessors, crashing in on the listener as wave upon wave of sonic obliteration. Underpinning this dark, suffocating powerhouse of noisome groove, the smatterings of swampy delta blues, gnarly rock n’ roll and virulent stoner metal lie.

Gently ushering itself in with a warping, one-note crescendo, the introductory ‘Along The Chasm‘ suddenly kicks us into the hammering, rhythmic, mile-deep rut where The Midnight Ghost Train demand we remain for the majority of the album’s running time. As we speed on through tracks like the attack-and-release, riff-repeats of ‘Gladstone‘, the chilled-out Monster Magnet-esque drift and rapid wah-wah pedal pneumatics of instrumental ‘One Last Shelter‘ and the dull battery of ‘No. 227‘ we alight on the heart of the album where the band begin to find their soul.

There’s the ripped choral lick on ‘BC Trucker’, thick, dirty and moreishly addictive and ‘Arvonia‘ with its Fu Manchu wall of fuzz and dark, brooding undertones so reminiscent of All Hail The Yeti. Deeper in and there’s the sinister backwoods edge of ‘The Canfield’, the no-frills swagger and bluesy grunt of ‘Straight To The North‘ and creepy, energized panic that so engenders ‘Twin Souls‘. None of these though can compare to the simple, tender luminosity of ‘The Little Sparrow‘. It is the first true glimpse of what lies beneath the bluster – heartfelt emotion. In this case, that emotion is fear. Pure, cold sweat-inducing, neurotic fear.

Undoubtedly, there is a good helping of monotonous, atonal filler here and an infuriating paucity of texture or flavour in a scene so dependent upon small deviations in delivery. However, there is also a more subtle connection to the sordid underbelly that lurks beneath the glossy veneer of so much modern music. Here, you can taste the blood, sweat and tears.

Maybe, if Cold Was The Ground was a painting it would be a Rothko – probably one from his Black-Form series. And like Rothko’s minimalist art, it will have its admirers.

Also online @ Heavy Blog Is Heavy = http://www.heavyblogisheavy.com/2015/03/18/the-midnight-ghost-train-cold-was-the-ground/

Album Review: Mars Red Sky - Stranded In Arcadia

The "psychedelic stoner rock" description that this Bordelais trio have imposed upon themselves does little to actually describe their lightness of touch or just how inventive their songwriting can be.

Soon to be released in the US (Europe had it back in April), Stranded In Arcadia contains tracks that sound like they've simply drifted in from the desert with deeply stylized, sultry vocals that place you in amongst the buzzing swarm of rich, tripped-out instruments competing for space. The majority of songs here reside within the stoned triangle of Kylesa, Fu Manchu and Band Of Skulls as the band seek to draw inspiration from everything in between and beyond.

From the off, there are big hits of Kyuss and Electric Wizard as "The Light Beyond" sets off pumping out a voluminous, elephantine bassline supplemented by floor-shaking fuzz and wailing vocals. Very quickly you'll hit the volley of catchy choruses and cutting vocal hooks like those that punch forth powerfully from "Hovering Satellites", "Holy Mondays" and "Join The Race".

Do look out for the sharp, bluesy groover "Circles". It's a unique track that goads the sweet dual vocal of Julien Praz and Jimmy Kinast into suddenly mimicking duos like those that appeared in The Animals or 60s-afficionados Arlo. The end result is unbelievably rich in colour, insistently introspective and comes complete with a mile-deep groove and a timeless, sun-kissed vibe. Elsewhere, there is an abundance of warbling pedal effects, "Arcadia" and "Beyond The Light", and glitching electronic techniques employed, most probably in what would have been an intensive session of post-production. These are the tracks that reveal the most about the band's intentions. They are clearly invitations to release your shackles and travel as far along their emotional journey as you dare.

There is an elegant simplicity to so many of these structures. The cosmos-stretching cursive sections and the repeating motif certainly allow the listener to fully explore the variety of spaces into which they are thrown. To that end, there are those who may find the music to be a little too repetitious, unnecessarily twee or, at worst, agonisingly self-indulgent (the stomping "Seen A Ghost" is a particularly tiresome prospect), but persevere and there is far more to marvel than to sneer at. It is certainly the case that those who drink deepest will undoubtedly feel the soothing qualities of this one part-doom, two parts-psych soup best of all.

Also online @ Scratch The Surface = http://www.scratchthesurface-webzine.com/2014/06/mars-red-sky-stranded-in-arcadia-review.html

Festival Review: TechFest, near Peterborough, 13 July 2013

The Cambridgeshire Fens are certainly an interesting choice of venue for a festival. It’s not going to disturb the neighbours because there aren’t any, but it’s also nigh on impossible to get to other than by bike or car. This terminally flat countryside is captured best by the mighty band Fen whose name and music are influenced by the surroundings as they “draw the listener into a windswept landscape, bereft of hope”. And then there’s the brutal death grindcore scene in nearby Wisbech, epitomized by the delightful Beef Conspiracy whose seminal album “Hung, Drawn and Quarterpoundered” is the stuff of inspiration. But there are none of these esoteric offerings here this weekend. This is the place for progressive metal, metalcore and generally music with a technical and djenty slant, so if you thought that TechFest was some geek’s convention about computers, it’s probably best that you go back to your laptop and die prosaically.

With the boiling hot weather and the main and second stage situated next to each other for the purposes of continuity – as one set ended, another started in the tent next door – it all meant no respite for the spectators but endless metal on tap. This was typical of the excellent organization by promoter Simon, who rightly received accolades throughout the day from spectators and band members for the quality of organization and attention to detail at this friendly festival.

The first band to be hot and sweaty was Colours To Shame. The Glaswegians worked their way through unfamiliar climactic conditions and dished up the expected diet of technical prog djent. Constantly transforming, the changeovers were deliberately irregular but the control in the sections themselves was tight. The set ended well with “In Search of Sasquatch” which featured plenty of drama and passion to match all the technicality. The first victim of the weather was the drummer who blacked out for two minutes during the set, so credit to the band for getting through it. From what I heard here, Colours To Shame are a band worth investigating further. (AD)

I had looked forward to seeing Kartikeya from Russia as a fan of fellow Vedic metal band Rudra, with whom I learnt afterwards they have collaborated in the past. The look wasn’t Vedic metal – a distinctly Russian-looking drummer with a spoof McDo t-shirt, a hard case tom-tom player who had the air of a punk tattoo artist and a more conventional square-faced vocalist / guitar player. It transpired that there was no bass player, the vocalist was a stand-in, the tom-toms were inaudible and much reliance was placed on samples which, short of engaging an army of people, were necessary to generate the Eastern elements.

Kartikeya threw away all the obstacles and to the sounds of Indian restaurants and a mantra, the full forces of darkness were presented to us with “Sarva Mangalam”. An exotic energy flowed through the music. Deep and growly vocals and hypnotic drum runs led us into a series of exciting and dangerous patterns. Indian passages were never far away but, even with the carefully-controlled prog sections, the dominating factors were acrid power and crushing movement. I was as if we spectators had to be put in our place. The only bizarre aspect was the exaggerated gestures of the tom-tom player who reminded me of one of those backing artists who draw disproportionate attention to themselves in the Eurovision song contest. “Horrors of Home” was delivered with deliberate intent, each layer adding a further substructure and new sounds and imaginary smells. The clean vocal sections weren’t so convincing but when the vocalist screamed, he sounded like an angry god. The set ended with “Neverborn”. Finally the tom-toms became audible. The instrumental passages as ever were magical. Although there were too many vocal variations for me, Kartikeya’s performance was compelling and no-one was left in any doubt that they had brought war and dark atmospheres into our miserable lives. (AD)

One short hop next door took me from the world of Vedic warfare to the altogether cleaner progressive melodies of Shattered Skies from Ireland. It was evidently “no bassist” day today as Sean and his colleagues launched into “The End and the Rebirth” without one. Sean himself was looking more well-scrubbed than I remember – due perhaps to on-stage alcohol deprivation – but, superficial considerations apart, something wasn’t working. I wondered if it was the effect of going from the thundersome dark clouds of Kartikeya to this decidedly more commercial sound. The prog vocals didn’t harmonise with the steady rock-metal beat. Sean explained it: “I apologise for sounding completely flat”.

All was ok after that but what I witnessed overall was a softer and more polished performance than the 110% livewire energy I had seen before from the band. The ante was upped with “15 Minutes”; always an audience-friendly song mixing prog emotion and rhythmic punchiness. The crowd moved, and continued to do so when the band played a rocking version of the Pendulum track “Propane Nightmares” (thanks to Sean for identifying it to me afterwards). The rumbling and rolling flavour continued with “Saviours”. Again very commercial, it sounded a little tinny and lacked emotional depth, but did feature a splendid guitar solo. Sean’s cheeky smile at the end captured the audience-friendliness of this band. An overly long intro to “As The Sea Divides” created a mixed expectation of suspense and the concern that the set was going to finish with a whimper. In the end, it was both as the heavy framework built up the intensity while Sean struggled to pull at our heartstrings. Today it was a case of heatstrings. As always, this was an interesting performance from this talented prog metal band. (AD)

As the quartet of Red Seas Fire rolled onto the stage, the dry ice was pumped up another notch drowning the guitarist. The fact that he sported a beard as vast as something out of Norse mythology and a high-strapped guitar meant there was little left of him to spot. They quickly settled into a cajoling rhythm of Safety Fire-esque jack-hammering bass threaded with feisty chugs. On top of this backline, there was plenty of screams with some occasional quiet patches and cleans to allow for the builds back into more screaming. They did struggle to serve it all up with any real venom or intensity, but the stifling heat can’t have helped matters. Vocalist Robin Adams deep, scarred roars were excellent, but his singing was often a little over-emotional. Still, he had the frontman patter down a treat and was constantly pepping up his audience, all of which elicited a decent reaction from those pogoing in the centre. (JS)


I was drawn into the room like a magnetic attraction. A set had just started. Unbeknown to me until afterwards, Neosis had pulled out and had been replaced by Aeolist from Norwich on the second stage. This was a revelation. What I heard was utterly heavy but tightly controlled, riff-driven prog metal. 5 young men were in front of me. There were two guitarists, a bassist, drummer and a vocalist who showed the capability to rip our throats out. Their progress was smooth but the band was clearly not averse to going into multi-coloured technical passages. This was compelling and fun too. The bassist looked like he was practicing for a gurning competition. Such was the technicality that I too felt my mouth and eyebrows move. There was no widdling or wastage here. Mountainous passages swept through the room. The vocals were utterly hardcore and harsh amongst this progressive finery. But my goodness, it held together in perfect fusion.

“Raise your hands!” proposed hardcore man before he threw himself around the stage, whipping up anger and hysteria. This was just musical magnificence. A post-metal element emerged. A carefully executed dark, heavy and chunky musical display was being laid out before us. A little guitar-driven jazzy number introduced a fresh aspect. The drum beat featured funky mosaic-like patterns. The vocalist had his back to the audience, looking like he was throwing up in front of the drummer. The build-up of this un-named track was like the dawn rising. The sun came out – a dark one, mind – in all its glory. Hardcore man was now post-metal man. Instead of launching himself at us, he channeled his anguish and anger at us in an entirely emotional, gripping and powerful way. “Bang your fucking head”, he exhorted. This colourful explosion made me think of another UK band – Heights. Aeolist exhibited perfect musical and vocal harmony. The musicianship was exquisite in a progressive, post-metal and hardcore way. Sections could be moving, and even a little jazzy. The music came from the ether but also suggested a story of life and its realities. The drums tapped like the sound of impending battle. The set ended with one final progressive hardcore blast. There was such subtlety. I had witnessed a performance packed with intelligence and creativity. Aeolist came, conquered and disappeared into the night. I’m glad they came and would very much like to see them again. (AD)

A portly, geeky-looking type from the USA appeared on stage. It was time for Drewsif Stalin. After a bit of banter about poo and “glam flow”, Mr Stalin, as we shall call him, started and stopped. “Look at the person next to you. Would you be prepared to go to war with that person?” The person next to me was my eldest son. I’m not sure what the point of the question was as Mr Stalin fired off a monster riff … and stopped. “This one’s dedicated to those who say “that’s not metal””, he announced. “Deadly Serious” was a large, meaty chunk of irregular, hard and screwed-up metal. Great chorus: “de-de-de-de-de-de-de-de-de-de”. Taking the mickey maybe, but it was a laugh and the crowd loved it. Actually, what followed was some serious, deep and intensive heavy metal. Heads swung. The set went downhill when the lead vocalist from Red Seas Fire joined in for a couple of tracks. It wasn’t that fantastic to begin with but it had entertainment value. Now it got more progressive and serious. It also became anonymous. There was an attempt to restore the energy. The drummer told some jokes which no-one got. Mr Stalin’s wild eyes and his gestures outdid the music which was as heavy as hell but not overwhelming. Even then he didn’t win my unofficial “Facial Contortions” contest, which went to the bassist from Aeolist. At least Mr Stalin and friends didn’t play their One Direction cover song. (AD)

It looked like it was fancy dress time but no-one told us. The guitarist of Serbian pop-metallers Destiny Potato, who had swapped days to be here today, was wearing a crumpled old-fashioned Victorian-style top hat. Why? Do they have Dr Who in Serbia? Still more enigmatically, he stuck a potato in his mouth. I suppose the music had a ghostly flavour to it. I liked the music which had a progressive djent slant of course but interestingly it had Eastern rhythms running through it and even featured techno-pop. The petite female vocalist, Aleksandra Djelmas, looked about 15 but, more importantly, had a great, effortless voice which was well supported by the instrumental department. There was a good balance. Passages were smooth. The songs, especially in the vocals, had a child-like and eccentric quality but always returned to prog metal and solid ground. The singer seemed a little nervous spending her time apparently looking down at the lyrics in front of her. All of this belied her commanding performance. The range was good. Sometimes there was emotion, sometimes the singer belted out her words, sometimes it was very pop-orientated and then in the middle of it she would demonstrate an impressive set of lungs with awesome screams.


The band played nicely with all this and the music moved and grooved as their rock delivery, mixed with occasional rapping, expanded into heaviness and catchy choruses. But although this band didn’t smile very much, there was a fun element about it. I could liken this to In This Moment or Tristania even, but the mix here was special. Amid the depth of Meshuggah, Aleksandre moved across the stage mysteriously, reflecting the Eastern side of it. Thunderous progressions and big screams were countered by hypnotic and impressive rhythms. I know that Destiny Potato were not everyone’s cup of tea and were a bit pop-orientated for some, but I thought they were very interesting and I enjoyed what I heard and saw. (AD)

Disperse plunged straight into their set without ado. Their style of deep and chunky progressive metal recalled their fellow Polish progsters Riverside. Unfortunately the ambience wasn’t as intensive or mesmerising as that of Riverside. The keyboards were under-utilised and the vocalist struggled in the higher ranges. Was this an expression of vulnerability or just a case of a vocalist operating outside of his limits? This spoiled the “ambidjent” feel which accompanied the traditional prog fare which was on offer. Instrumentally it was another matter. The guitarist saved the day time after time with his dexterity and imagination. It was all a bit self-indulgent as Disperse just seemed to be going through a set of motions. The last song “Message From Atlantis” proved to be one last chance for the guitarist, who was the star of this performance, to thrill us with another spectacular solo. (AD)

As the second stage closed shop for the night, it really felt like we’d reached a turning point. As the fans had travelled from across Europe and, no doubt, beyond to be stood in this small field near Peterborough, these next three bands had journeyed hundreds of miles to play to them. The crowd swelled and excitement began to peak.  – they were all in now. First up, from France, Matthieu Romarin and his five chums from Uneven Structure. The setlist comprised the whole of the recently released EP “8” followed by a selection from their debut album, “Februus”. Displaying typical Gallic flair the band oozed enormity and breadth. “8”, as expected, proved darker and more complex with the bass sticking the bottom-end; defining the sound with a driven depth. With the three guitars interweaving over the top and the drummer pumping his legs it proved to be a truly powerful experience.

As emotion began to rule the performance, either raging or drifting, an electrifying sound began to ran through the background like a constant charge. It was “Februus”, a work defined by its backing soundtrack; the music contantly returning, often mid-song, to a singluar, specific tone. Here too was where much of the metalcore action lay, the parts where the charismatic Matthieu simply shined. The beats were flying as were the dreads of guitarist Aurélien Perreira. The music shifted and began to tell a developing story. As it did, so did Matthieu, moved seamlessly between plaintive cleans and fearsome growls; laying bare his impressive range. He became our guide, occasionally moving forward to touch the crowd while the operators of the giant switchgear continued their work behind him. As they hit their groove, the necksnapping crowd reaction was insane. One passage melted in the next. This was a gripping story. It was one not be missed. Impec, mes amis! (AD/JS)

Follow that Skyharbor. Having travelled all the way from India, and having spent £400+ solely on taxi fares, there was no chance that this lot weren’t going to hit the ground running. Their bass-driven angst and contrasting tones proved to be just the ticket on a sultry evening such as this. The whole project masterminded by guitarist/composer Keshav Dhar had been making waves ever since they brought ex-TesseracT UK vocalist Dan Tompkins on board and there were plenty of smiles in the crowd when that particular face stormed onto stage. He has proved to be the final piece Keshav needed to complete his wonderful puzzle and a UK show without him would have been exasperating. Sporting a dapper button-down waistcoat he set about blowing us away. The sound-desk finally got one right here as his vocal range vibrated when he hit his top-end, sending shivers down spines, and his deep booms hit you straight in the chest like a punch. His style of long notes coupled with his melodic tones, at times, were simply beautiful and, often, strangely effeminate. Alongside him, the stringwork of Keshav and Devesh Dayal covered both elegance and scathing power as they flicked between threaded, cascading riffs and tight, angry shreds. Nikhil Rufus, lightning strap and all, hit his funk button when he wasn’t thundering away, snapping his neck off with jerking thrusts.

With the moody backing track setting up the songs, we were soon being treated to the scathing “Catharsis”, then the floaty, super-emotional “Night”. Soon Dan was cautiously announcing the band’s tight time slot – “Time is so precious, so thankyou. Here’s Aurora”. Then, with a flourish and a run through the photo-pit for our frontman, we were onto the finishing straight with “Celestial” – their “song about freedom”. It hit to huge roars and featured an impressive fan singalong for each chorus. With the award-winning “Meava” to finish, during which Dan ended up wigging out, face-to-face with his fans, the band hit a euphoric peak even we didn’t think they could reach. Considering how little practice time together they must have had pre-show it had been an unqualified success. And the best news? The new album they’re working on is “insanely good” – and that’s from the mouth of the mastermind himself. (JS)

The massive hour-long wait for Chicago’s Veil Of Maya (huge in the US, about to be huge in the UK) was explained away once they hit the stage by the long-haired frontman Brandon Butler – “Our bassist nearly missed the show”. All eyes flicked right and there he stood, pretty-boy image, and my first thought was “too much time spent in the mirror?”. No matter. This quartet soon made up for lost time tossing out a series of battered, scathing vocals like they were going out of fashion. Their main selling point was immediately apparent – the unstoppable force of their unique, ceaseless, polyrhythmic underscore. Badda-bad-badda-badda, badda-bad-badda-ba-ba-bad-badda-badda…

Essentially, what they boiled down to was a ridiculously effective line in tight tech with strong death elements. Everything that had gone before was simply blown away by their lack of emotional complexity. This was just pure vitriol combined with devastating rhythmic intensity. The recorded underscore only popped up to briefly link between the songs. All our other senses were directed towards Brandon; focussing on his caged animal stage-pacing and his urgent demands for more crowd action. Eventually his audience conceded and the first circle-pit of the night opened up. Before long we were all slicked in sweat, the tent walls dripped and the air became unbearably clammy. Brandon became more yeti than man, as his hair began to stick to his face and body. He responded by sticking his tongue out and allowing a dastardly smirk to cross his lips – “I love you guys”. A bottle of whisky was passed around the band and then onwards backstage, presumably for the crew to begin the party. Quick as a flash, the cascading lead of “It’s Not Safe To Swim Today” indicated the final song and in response the pit doubled and the crowd went batshit crazy. Oh yes, Veil Of Maya proved to be the perfect band to finish the night. (JS)

We simply can’t remember having more fun in a field. Room for another 3-500 bodies maybe, but it did make for a roomier and more relaxing atmosphere. With security operating a hands-off approach and bands operating a hands-on approach (whole days spent intermingling with fans), it proved to be a set-up that could have withstood rain, hail, fire and brimstone and still gone ahead as planned. It all made for a large helping of excitement with lashes of freedom and plenty of cool beer on tap. I believe the word de rigueur is “epic”. Roll on TechFest 2014!

Words: Andrew Doherty + John Skibeat
Photos: John Skibeat

Also online @ Ave Noctum = http://www.avenoctum.com/2013/07/techfest-peterborough-13th-july-2013/

Album Review: Baroness – Yellow & Green

Only a visual artist would name his band’s opuses Red Album, then Blue Record, then have us all guessing as to what colour was to follow. Go on. We were all guessing, weren’t we? The artist in question, of course, is John Dyer Baizley. He’s the man responsible for his and so many other bands’ artwork so, following the thought process that a painter’s primary colours would be blue, red and yellow, I plumped for Yellow. I certainly didn’t expect him to pull Green out the hat aswell. Of course, upon spinning this double-disc, I was naturally assuming Green to sound like a mix of Yellow and Blue Record, but I was wrong there too. Yep, Baroness have been experimenting… wildly.

First thing you’re going to notice is the vocals and you may balk at this information. There’s little to no snarls or roars (Baizley’s trademark bellowing howls of derision aren’t welcome here), the usual slathering of reverb has fallen away and a strong, doleful delivery has been brought into play. All these things bring the singing more into line with Torche’s clean, doubled-up approach. In fact there are several tracks that make parts of the album’s two halves work as neat brothers to Torche’s latest rumbler Harmonicraft. There’s no “Rays On Pinion” here, no “The Sweetest Curse”. Yes, it’s a shock. I’m playing it through right now for the umpteenth time and my face still looks like Janet Leigh’s when the knife cuts through her shower curtain.

So let’s start on Yellow. There’s plenty of old school influences here with a spot of Pink Floyd in “March To The Sea”, a dousing of Yes flamboyance and crude Sabbathian warble that licks around the languid psych of “Cocainium” and I’m even getting a King Crimson influence every now and again. It’s pretty dour fare for Baroness who previously have leeched innate joyfulness amidst their expansive constructions. If you’re looking for some of their signature clanging riffs and hearty passion, the closest you’re going to get is in the addictive yet crassly repetitious chorus, sweeped, looping effects and heavy fuzz of “Take My Bones Away”. In general terms, you’ll find a lot more clean notes here than ever before. There’s a dose of 60′s pop backing effects that walk alongside the folk acoustics of “Twinkler”, we get some 90′s indie-flecked shoegaze that punches its way through “Little Things” reducing it to a pretty uninspiring, insipid gloop, and there’s even a punkish gloom, a sonic curiosity that early R.E.M. albums boasted, in the driven pop of “Sea Lungs”. On the plus side, there’s plenty to dig on the rhythmical, rumbling gallop and reverse vocal effects of “March To The Sea” and in the dark underbelly of the 7-minute dream-pop of “Eula”, including a brazen, finger-powered wah-wah effect and a collusion of drum and bass aggression.

Turning to Green we find a work littered by space and plenty of witty, folk-fuelled pop. There are a couple of stars in “Board Up The House” and “Collapse”. The former is pure Torche with plenty of dirty fuzz, a kick-ass riff and a wired, dialled-in dual vocal whilst the latter is ripped with a dark acoustic grunge that softly squeezes layers of emotion through a backdrop of sub-aquatic, groaning effects. “Mtns. (The Crown & Anchor)” sways into view with a heart of bluesy pop and a fizzing effect on the vocals as, from here, Baroness carefully mark out Green‘s territory. Whether or not you are able to buy into the padding, languid pace of “Foolsong” or the sharply-plucked, instrumental lump of acoustic driftwood that “Stretchmarker” floats upon, will probably decide where you stand on Baroness’ softer side and genre-crossing freewheeling. For those who don’t, there’s a startling, pop-punk, twin-vocal attack (“Psalms Alive”) and a jagged, hit of Foo Fighters-esque alt-rock speed (“The Line Between”) to further confuse you.

I’ve always associated Baroness with bands like Russian Circles, Red Sparowes and Pelican, simply for their focus on a long-game of rampant melody and lavish structure. They have this uncanny ability to work from a subtle build to finish with a blood-pumpingly strong climax. Very little of that is left here. But to constantly look for what isn’t there would be criminal when what is there is so much more important. Here, they’ve created intuitive music that weaves in and out of moods, track by track. There is no plan, no desire to make do creating one style of music. It makes the album feel like a collection of lost songs; like they were created a long time ago but never quite suited Baroness’ style so never saw the light of day. Honestly, I wouldn’t have guessed the band in a million years had I heard this blind.

Ultimately though, the music feels exactly that – old. It’s intuitive music because it’s been heard before. Baroness have a good crack at seeking out an understated level of simplicity. Consequently, so many of the tracks emerge with just one trick up their sleeve. You can pretty much hear each attempt to focus on that one lyrical hook that defines the song. That, to me, shows the kind of naïvety that I never thought possible of a band whose past ingenuity has left me with goosebumps on my arms and a desire to immediately pick up a guitar. For those tracks here that do punch their way to the fore or, alternatively, simply refuse to be hurried along with their brethren, they break the mould.

Baroness seem to have gone through their entire palette creating Yellow & Green, their bravest and most honest work to date, but the end result is surprisingly lacking in colour.

Also online @ The NewReview =  http://thenewreview.net/reviews/baroness-yellow-green

Album Review: Twin Atlantic - Free

When you discover a quality band at the early stages of their musical career (and I mean a real band, not one that’s been moulded and shaped by either a label or a fanbase’s desires, nor a band that’s been beaten down by the rigors of the road, but a band with energy, hopes and a love of life, a band that makes the hairs stand on the back of your neck) it really is like you’re the metal detector and you’ve just unearthed this golden nugget. You feel like the very first person to witness the shimmering chunk since its emergence from the bowels of the earth. You feel a bond, an attachment, like a sports fan does to their team. This is just one of the reasons I do what I do, and it explains my relationship with Twin Atlantic.

After sampling the promise shown by their A Guidance From Colour EP, their so-called “mini-album”, Vivarium, hit me like a shockwave; 8 songs, 33 minutes of heart-racing genius. It was almost long-enough and was most definitely meaty enough to qualify for a full-length so I, naturally, always considered it to be their debut. That was until a short while ago when the band announced that they weren’t really happy with it, worrying that in making it they had strayed from the ethos of why they got into music, and that this new album, Free, would be their debut. “This band was meant to be based on integrity,” said vocalist/guitarist Sam McTrusty cryptically. “We wanted there to be a brutal honesty in the lyrics. I think we’ve done that.” Intriguing, no? Well, they’ve got 13 songs and 46 minutes to prove their point.

First things first, if you’re one of our readers who hated the regional accent of Mike Duce (Lower Than Atlantis), then you’re going to absolutely despise the Glaswegian brogue of McTrusty. To me, the guttural intonation and complex drawl doubles the effectiveness of the words, to others it may sound like Simon Neil (Biffy Clyro) is being fed through a mincer. The bad news is that producer Gil Norton (Foo Fighters, Jimmy Eat World, Feeder) appears not to agree with me and has moved his vocal back in the mix and smothered it with layer after layer of harmonies and guitar squall. The result? Their opening big-hitters don’t grab you; they slide across your lugholes in one big long smear. “Time For You To Stand Up”, in particular, is just a song that wanders in, picks its nose and walks out. Sure, it threatens to ignite, yet never quite does. Every time McTrusty goes to scream out the chorus the music is beating him into the background. Likewise, the braids and buckles of tracks like “Apocalyptic Renegade”, “Dreamember” and “Eight Days”, all catchy in their own ways, sound dulled – they’re being throttled, smothered, suffocated from being overworked.

“Yes, I Was Drunk” and “Wonder Sleeps Here” manage to wriggle through Norton’s clutches, escaping with just minor scratches, but then you get to these destructively crass statements like the paint-by-numbers grunge of “Ghost Of Eddie” and the forced post-rock noodling of “Serious Underground Dance Vibes” – these are the songs that will make fans want to tear their hair out. You’ll get to the point where “Edit Me” will suddenly sound more like an invite; an Alice In Wonderland moment where you’ll imagine drinking the bottle and editing the whole damn shebang yourself. And titling their final track “We Want Better, Man”? – they’ve been reading my mind.

If you do listen to one song, listen to “Crash Land”. Actually, considering it’s bookmarked by a rare quality combo of songwriting and delivery, also listen to the enigmatic title-track (“Where’s your passion? Where’s your fire tonight?”) and the heart-breaking “Make A Beast Of Myself” (“You know, you know it’s the end of our sweet universe”). In fact, when they hit you with a trio like this it’s hard not to stand back and applaud. Really though it’s “Crash Land” that is the key to accessing this album – a paired down, acoustic slow dance that proves just how much quality the band have truly got in their locker. The frugal nature of it allows the strength of the vocal to soar, supplemented beautifully by Barry McKenna’s impeccably-reserved cello.

Let me cut to the chase. On one hand, you’ve got Vivarium and in the other you’ve got Free. The former has ingenuity, impetuosity, hooks, jagged edges, a damaged quality. In other words, a raw punk demeanour that has allowed it to strut its way into our minds and hearts. The latter feels like a misnomer. It feels constricted by design, regressively smooth and suave. Rather than spit in your face, this punk kisses you and runs. The pinged strings and ear-scraping feedback that so perfectly marked out the pitch changes and shifts in emotion are gone, replaced with a steady, monotonous muffled hammering. The incredibly cute songwriting and McTrusty’s passionate delivery are still all present but all around him the music has been diluted to supposedly make it more accessible, poppy, radio-friendly, mainstream, bland.

I witnessed the sad demise of Manic Street Preachers and, then, Biffy Clyro, as both bands slowly, steadily sold out on us. I stared in anguish as they set about wringing all the life and passion out of their music. Twin Atlantic… no, let me rephrase that… my Twin Atlantic weren’t supposed to go down this road, especially since Vivarium recalled the edgy, tenacious quality that so marked out Biffy’s early work. This is why listening to this “alternative” debut is so galling on a personal level. Free is just about solid enough to throw these Weedgies into the limelight as planned, but it could and should have been so much more. It seems no amount of polish can get the shine back on this particular golden nugget.

Also online @ The New Review (with samples) = http://thenewreview.net/reviews/twin-atlantic-free