Album Review: VŌDŪN – Possession

London turbo-doom trio, VŌDŪN, are a live act like no other. Dabbling in all things voodoo they paint their music and themselves accordingly and allow the crowd’s focus to fall naturally upon their vocal icon – one Chantal Brown (a.k.a. Oya), once member of Chrome Hoof. She is the veritable stick of dynamite with a crystalline, pulsing vocal that borders on the operatic. Crush that into a small room and throw in Ogoun and Marassa (her co-conspirators) and their gutsy, thundering backline and you’ve got an overwhelming burst of colour-drenched music.

One fleeting experience with them at the London Underworld, watching them steal the show from opening slot, was enough to burn their name onto my cortex; so it was a happy day when their debut album landed in my inbox. Could they reproduce anything like the same impact shorn of their visual show?

From the off, we quickly learn that their moniker refers to the god of the West African Yoruba people and their religion – the inspiration behind the distorted voodoo tropes we’ve all assimilated from the movies. Through a series of track-linking spoken passages, we also learn that the band can come across as a little preachy.

Skipping over that then, the music itself is indelibly marked with many of Skindred’s tribal touchpoints and rumbles along with a passionate, rhythmic flow. Oya’s enormous vocal immediately takes centre-stage which is only right considering the quality. I can see how the dominance of it could be a marmite issue and the shock value has diminshed somewhat from being within touching distance of it which is a shame. Any way you take it though, she sells every note and gives her all in an impassioned display of both control and range.

There are plenty of standout tracks: “Bloodstones” simmers with joyously soft blue notes that whip up into gutsy driven climaxes; her own “Oya” allows our resplendent vocalist to fully stretch out her peacock’s feathers; “Legbas Feast” brings in folky elements and enigmatic sounds of the jungle to create campfire music to dance to; and “Mawu” delivers an unctuously thick, fuzzed undercurrent that stands in direct contrast to Oya’s vocal clarity.

Having fully road-tested it, there is an unerring similarity between the tracks and the album loses its sense of purpose as it reaches its conclusion. One particular thorn is “Divinity” that quickly abandons its drive for a dissolute structure that skips between structural sections without truly defining any of them.

VŌDŪN’s number one selling point is that they bring something fresh-sounding to a stagnant scene. They seem boundless by design and big on extracting the core triumvirate of soul, psych and blues. With a compelling live show already nailed on, if they stick to those three emotion-sparking keystones they will remain a beguiling act to follow.



Also online @ Ave Noctum = http://www.avenoctum.com/2016/03/vodun-possession-riff-rock-records/

Album Review: Dharmata – Dharmata

Aaah, West Palm Beach, Florida. With sun, sea and sand as far as the eye can see, it’s easy to see why it has taken local alt-rockers Dharmata five years to polish off their debut album. What teasers they have released over the years have received plenty of regional radio airplay, scored stagetime with bands such as 10 Years, Nonpoint and Filter, and caused a certain Benji Webbe’s ears to perk up. Not only has he been bigging them up and brought his band, Skindred, over to gig with them, but he’s also had a hand here in co-producing the album.

Certainly, the songwriting, whilst being predictably structured, is full of hooks and catchy anthems, so it’s easy to see why Radio Land has picked them up. Plenty of the tracks are full of bounce and there are some neat rhythmic cuts and riff bursts dotted about to suck you in. Combine that with Jay Slim’s crisp, ostentatious and assured clarion call of a vocal, which has a pure, old-school rock quality, and you’ve certainly got potential. Listening closely, it’s almost like they’ve got their stylistic sights set on hitting the point where Seether overlap with Nonpoint. The trouble though is that somewhere along the line they’ve ended up sounding more like Nickelback mocking Five Finger Death Punch mocking One-Way Mirror.

Tracks like “Outside The Lines” and “Strength In Numbers” are classically strong, inherently catchy and breezy enough to suck us in. It’s easy to forget that underneath those vocal barbs, it’s all a bit bland with soft edges and very little bite. The cotton-wool, dressed-up production, of course, doesn’t help. Those responsible souls have left us with dampened drums, warm guitars and a reverberating bass that smothers as it thrums. The vocal is the only thing we can actually fall back on and even that has had too many of its rough edges sandpapered. We end up looking to tracks like “Do It Again” and “The Awakening” to buck the trends and, firstly, inject some grit and vitality into the mix, and secondly, break-up the rigid verse-chorus-verse shapes and repetitious lines. The former track leans hard on its tub-thumping patterns, nu-metal post-production tweaks and rapped bridge for inspiration whilst the latter explores a few darker tones whilst hinting at something excitingly symphonic.

Undoubtedly, there’s a definite lack of ambition shown here; it’s all a bit too safe. The crueller souls amongst you might suggest throwing acronyms like AOR or MOR at them to see if they stick. “Love Kills” is about as nasty and rangy as Jay Slim gets but, as an album highlight, it’s most certainly worthy of mention. We get growls, an octave drop and even the odd snarled passage that make it through his usual high-register drifting. Just those few cracks in that bland veneer he’s selling shows he’s been holding back on us. Also, listen out for some smart little touches in “Monster” – that sudden break into a bass solo, the short bursts of double-kick and the hints at wordplay. Oh, and let’s not miss out the vicious 5FDP-esque stabs of drum and guitar that swirl around “The Way”. As is often the case, don’t stick around for the chorus; it’s just more of the same. You can harmonise all you like, fellas, over-familiarity and drab production has scuppered your ship.

They may be about ten, some might suggest twenty years too late to the party, but Dharmata have absolutely got a knack for penning a solid tune. The first two songs are proof of that and the back-half of this debut shows they do actually have the character to take these skills to the next level. If they cut back on the gutless, over-repetitious filler (“Where Do We Go”, I’m looking at you) and sharpen up the production they could really have something saleable. Surf’s up, fellas!

Also online (with samples) @ The NewReview = http://thenewreview.net/reviews/dharmata-dharmata

Festival Review: Hammerfest IV - The Hammer Of Thor

Hammerfest Four: The Hammer Of Thor. As you can imagine with a title like that it’s got to be the work of men who’ve worn far too many animal furs and supped too much mead for their own good. It comes as no surprise then, to learn that the event is the work of the UK’s “metal-as-fuck” print (and online) magazine Metal Hammer and the organizational team behind the Hard Rock Hell festival. What they’ve invented and honed over the years is an event that is more than just a music festival. With the luxury of a roof over your head, minimal security constraints, multiple bars and ample recovery periods free from having your ears obliterated (should you so need them), strangers, of all ages, come to be united by their love of heavy music (and, inevitably, heavy drinking).

Within minutes of arriving, I hear brain-mangling tuneage blasting from the cracked doors of every visible chalet, I witness Captain America wrestling Spiderman to the ground and I’m soon being followed by a ten-foot Satan, a built dude dressed like the front-cover of Mastodon’s The Hunter and a rather attractive young woman on stilts, seemingly being eaten by an alien. It’s hard not to be moved by such scenes of complete metal immersion.

It’s not long before I’m banging my head along with the rest of my brethren as Trucker Diablo (3.5/5) let loose a volley of earth-shattering bottom-end groove from the depths of the on-site pub, the Queen Victoria (otherwise known as the third stage). The beer flows as an array of beards, of varying lengths, bob up and down with their owners and horns are thrown to the sky. Moving on to Chimaira (4/5), I quickly find myself reeling around the main stage pit as vocalist Mark Hunter peers down at his people, belching forth tracks from the band’s stunning new album The Age Of Hell. As the “Year Of The Snake” digs down to its earth-shaking dropped breakdown, the crowd slo-mo crunch together and time folds in on itself. It’s the peak of their show but, as it comes mid-set, it leads to the band coasting from here onwards.

Paradise Lost (3/5) follow up by ducking from goth-rock melodics into brooding doom and back again whilst, on the second stage, late additions Falling Red (3/5) dish up lashings of make-up and hairspray to go with their mile-wide stances and classic rawk. It’s not my cup of tea but the choons have got balls and, out front, there’s a sprinkling of gurning faces, so they must be doing something right. Headlining tonight, Anthrax (4/5) are clearly here to bring tha noize (sorry) and frontman Joey Belladonna works the gathered masses like a pro. A blazing “Indians” is the moment when the seated-VIPs can no longer resist and arise to begin rocking out with those who have been throwing shapes and hurling bodies for the duration.

With the excellent Evil Scarecrow (4.5/5) whipping up a storm of comedy and metal, those who survived the headliners begin to filter through and the lunatic quarter of Hammerfest begin to show their faces. Grown men in foil-covered cardboard boxes wade into the pit prompting plenty of laughs and pointing fingers as cries of “what the fuck is that?” hail from vocalist “Dr. Rabid Hell” (yes, really). One minute the band are lashing us with “Blacken The Everything”, a classy, post-apocalyptic powerhouse of a track, the next they are unleashing “Robototron” which reduces us to tears and has us dancing in squares. Even Lawnmower Deth (3.5/5) can’t top that, so I slip into the shadows to seek out the refuge of my chalet and my mattress.

As the sun rises on scenes of carnage, I find myself transfixed by men, still drunk from the night before, headbutting each other, one leaping from great height onto a stack of mattresses, and a few hardy souls swapping it all for a brisk walk along the nearby wind-blasted beach to scrawl rude pictures and words into the sand.

Back with the music and the blundering wake-up call comes fittingly from a duo called Oaf (3/5). Their first note is a foghorn in my cochlea. It threatens to empty the pub in one foul swoop, but it’s not long before “He Who Strums & Shouts” is settling into a devilishly heavy groove. AR (4.5/5) pick that vibe up and churn it into a barrage of driven, technical metal. Yet it is the fragmented vocal exhortations of vocalist Jhon Isaac that really fire this band into life. They initiate all manner of contortions to Isaac’s body and face, they inspire wild hopping from foot to foot and prompt bassist Simon Edwards to lead the crowd into taking part in the shenanigans. By the storming “One Day”, we are bellowing the word “spatula” back at the band, giving ourselves whiplash and grinning from ear to ear.

Over on stage two, Mortad (3.5/5) keep the party going with plenty of gruff screams à la Angela Gossow from the back-arching vocalist Somi Arian, whilst the main stage is padding its way through the uninspiring power metal of Germany’s Wizard (2.5/5) and the sleep-inducing, crown-of-thorns agonizing of Hell (2/5). That is until the devoted hit the battering ram that is Amon Amarth (3/5). Losing something in translation from the smaller stage, tonight they only really connect with the anthemic “Guardians Of Asgard” whilst the majority of tracks tend to lose their identity amidst an impenetrable wall of echoing guitar.

Wonderfully, Skindred (5/5) correct the balance as Benji Webbe orchestrates a packed house to swing their shirts above their heads, turn themselves into jack-in-the-boxes and dance until they drop. Ragga metal becomes a true force tonight, not just something to cleanse the palette, and, inevitably, it’s the bucking grooves of debut album Babylon that litter their set. From “Selector” and “Set It Off” to “Nobody” and “Pressure”, the build to the encore is one pile-driving monster to the next. By the time they sign off with the gargantuan “Stand For Something”, cosying up to The Prodigy’s “Breathe”, and the bullet-to-the-brain that is “Warning”, the crowd have melted into puddles and the world is on its head.

What a finale then to the most wild of weekends. The music may have finished us off but it was the sense of fun that will have us writing next year’s event in our diaries. The knowledge that those attending will be freely opening their chalet doors and inviting us inside to discuss their love of music is the key. There can be no doubting here, that the organizers have succeeded in marrying the word “metal” to the word “community”.

Also online (with more photos) @ The NewReview = http://thenewreview.net/show-reviews/hammerfest-iv-prestatyn-uk