So, you’re in a band. Your band is called Melted Messiah. There’s two of you, Mark Golder on guitar and vocals, and Jon Holt on drums. You come from Dunfermline, in the Kingdom of Fife1. You play a kind of blackened doom, and you record an album. You record it almost totally live, in the studio. You keep it raw.
What do you call your new album?
Something grim, obviously. Beyond the Curtains of Despair, perhaps? Throne of Pain?
No. You call it Some Good Riffs. And why not? But now you’ve set yourself something of a challenge. Have you over-promised, or have you come up with the goods?
Let’s see.
Your press release promises 7 tracks, ‘all of them dismal and depressing’, but that’s not entirely true, is it? To be fair, most of it IS a bit bleak2, on the surface at least. Album opener ‘Beers (In the Air)’, for example, SOUNDS pretty grim, as raw as a new wound. The vocals are suitably harsh, and it all gets a bit Celtic Frosty, including a death grunt Mr. Fischer would be proud of, but is it dismal? Or depressing? Perhaps not. It’s about beer. Nice riff, though, so we’re sticking to the contract, at least.
Track 2, ‘Doom Bingo’, though, contains not the slightest hint of a riff, but is no more than a list of ‘alternative’ bingo calls, and the sound of tongues firmly in cheeks. ‘Eight wet sheep…NINE!’ indeed. Come on, lads, depress me!
Aha! This is more like it! The next few songs head into altogether darker regions, examining as they do the treatment of dogs in European ‘shelters’ (‘Diznaeland Nightmare Puppy’), mediaeval Scottish witch trials (‘Shroom Witch’) and cannibalism (‘Black Agnes’), all delivered in Golder’s black metal raven croak.
Musically, it’s all shades of black – clattering black metal, grinding blackened doom, black crusty punk3 – frequently leaping from one genre to the next within songs. Let’s look at that ‘Black Agnes’ for example- opens with something a bit thrashy, gets a bit blacker and then, without warning, drops into a slow doom grind with a riff that seems to have been wrenched and twisted into something quite disgusting. But, then, the titular Agnes Douglas was not a nice character, being as she was the spouse of the notorious Sawney Bean, cannibal of these parts in the 16th century. It’s a good riff, though.
‘Fern Fernison 2002’, on the other hand, is a monolithic slab of evil doom, no sudden twists or turns, just one big slow riff. I have no idea, not being any kind of musician, how you do that whole riff-warping thing – maybe it’s because you don’t use a pick? – but it does add a thick layer of filth over everything. I also have no idea who Fern Fernison might be. The intro, featuring a group of aged stoners reminiscing about this ‘legend of the scene’ is no help, and is very probably fictional. The lyrics don’t help either, ’cos I can’t understand a bloody word you’re yelling about, dammit Golder!
What shall you finish the album with? How about a six minute drooling swamp-beast of an instrumental4? And maybe name it after your band? Oh, go on then.
Well now, we’ve listened to your album, and we’ve checked it for those riffs you promised. And yes, there they are! Maybe there’s not too many of them, and they’re mostly filthy and a bit warped, but they are pretty decent. I reckon you got away with it.
Some Good Riffs. Does exactly what it says on the tin.
FOOTNOTES:
- That’s in Scotland, for those of you at the back. The bit of the country with more castles than Tories.
- And it does, indeed, have 7 tracks.
- Is that even a thing? Well, it is now.
- Mostly
