Articles by Matt Butler
An album of riffs which are massive and majestic, at once conjuring mental images of barren space-scapes and a big-sky desert wilderness.
In these times of deep division between the entitled and the rest of us, of walls growing between races, genders, neighbourhoods and nations, this fantastic version of Pink Floyd’s classic encapsulates people’s fears and anger.
It is worrying when a band say they want to confound expectations. But after All Them Witches’ sprawling previous album, this is probably a natural reaction for the band – to dial things back a little.
Krisiun are back to their blisteringly fast signature sound and it is a good thing.
The gargantuan riffs, the cavernous drums, the ominous tone of the guitar and bass – not to mention the dry rasp of the vocals – send this album way past brooding, miles on from sullen, beyond malevolent and to the border of bloody terrifying.
Like riffs? Melody? Albums with a mammoth on the cover? You’re in luck. This strikes a perfect balance between heavy and crowd-pleasingly melodic.
This is great. From the visceral thump that introduces the opening track to the barrage of the final number, it is a heartfelt, if occasionally bleak, listen.
The ideal soundtrack to toasting life’s little triumphs… like getting out of the house, making a decent coffee and refraining from calling the boss an arrogant dickhead.
Drenched in shimmering riffs from the 1960s and full of enthusiasm, this is a record for listening to while driving on the coast in the sun.
An album of relentless brutality, gory lyrics, a hefty dose of humour and – this is most important – mammoth hooks and breakdowns. When only death metal will do, this will do nicely.
This band promised more far-reaching concepts, more progression and more experimentation. This album delivers. And it is testament to the adage that if you make music that is worth hearing, listeners will do their best to make it heard.
By the end of the final song, the band play like they know it is the end of a trilogy born of sadness and are putting every sinew into making it as fast, loud and intense as possible.
On first impressions this consists of two squalls of blackened screamy intensity. But then you notice variations and major-chord progressions that your reptilian brain responds to by giving you goose-bumps.
This album will get attention because two-thirds of the band were in Fugazi. But don’t buy it because of that, buy it because it is a great debut.
It’s a narrow tightrope that an avant-garde musician must balance upon. But Jason van Gulick does so with aplomb.
If they are this good on only their second EP – nine songs into their career, to put it another way – imagine what they could do if they were given time and money to spend on an entire album. Outstanding.
If you need an album to match an excess of caffeine but one that doesn’t lumber you with irritability or melancholy, you are in luck.
This album has a sneer, a swagger. But as well as that, it has a whole heap of melody.
The King is Blind straddle genres. They’re a bit deathy, a touch thrashy, a little groovy… even a tad folky, for a few brief seconds. But throughout, they are all metal. And metal rules.
Every drum is beaten like a Dickensian bastard. Every growling bass note is played with no thought for human hearing. Every guitar riff is strummed with scant regard for bleeding fingers. This is doom perfection.
This is doom, but as for what it really sounds like… well, that is a tough one: it is big but delicate, heavy but airy, morose but uplifting. And it hangs together like all good albums should.