Album Review - Monster Magnet - Last Patrol

Album Review: Monster Magnet - Last Patrol

It is hard to argue that Dave Wyndof is a visionary; his trippy, spacey, far-out song writing was basically the catalyst for the stoner metal genre. Combining the best elements of the acid rock movement with a hook laden 70s booggie rock influence, Monster Magnet made basement joint smoking music ready for an arena show on Venus. On Last Patrol the band sounds as alien as ever, maybe even prehistoric to those who grew up listening to the band as not much has changed but not altering your vision does not change being a visionary, right?

The record begins with the plodding ‘I Live Behind the Clouds’, a journey into the mind of Wyndorf who is no normal dude. He wails “I stay behind the clouds”, tortured, like a man who saw something he should not have and is living with the consequences. The title track sounds like a missing piece from 2004s stellar Monolithic Baby, banging it’s way to a huge chorus of crushing rhythmic assault. The sonic version 0f taking an adrenaline bong hit.

It’s not all a walk through the smoke shop though, there are some straight misses like the messy Hallelujah where Wyndorf sounds like the worst southern preacher ever born again and the equally bizarre Paradise; a song better fit for a Blind Melon record, mysteriously caught in the mid 1990s.

Mindless Ones brings the band back to Powertrip form, reminding us why we like Monster Magnet…they fucking wail. This is bully music, the stuff the kids smoking behind the bleachers listened to. It is music meant to be blasted from a car stereo on an autumn night on the way to the bonfire.

At their best Monster Magnet is American rock at it’s beefiest but, at rare other times, the band falls flat, like a dated 90s hard rock act. Case in point the acoustic Stay Tuned, perfectly fit for an episode of 120 Minutes, seems out of place here. Last Patrol should have ended with the blazing End of Time which highlights what Monster Magnet does best: space out.

7/10

Album Review - Windhand Soma

Soma is a doom metal classic. Now that we have that out of the way, the backlash can come sweeping in. Let it. Not often in the depressed, cold world of doom does something with this much soul come forth. Sure, the only real test is the test of time but Windhand are at least ahead of the pack.

Richmond has given birth to countless intense metal acts, Municipal Waste, Gwar, Lamb of God to name a few. It’s an artistic city full of youth and energy, yet still near to the poverty and rural brutality that encapsulates much of the south. Windhand summon the sense of urgency and awareness that must be a sixth sense in the region. Summoning nature, darkness and raw power, Soma is a slab of punishing life lesson.

“Orchard” is pure sludge from the get-go; Weedeater would be smoking with pride as the song stumbles into a world of reverb. Dorthia Cottrell makes it known that she is not the typical knucklehead stoner metal singer. It’s almost off putting at first… she is actually singing. Let that sink in, man. Possibly the doomiest band to appear in years has a crooner up front. Her voice shakes the song down to its bare core, leaving an eerie mist floating over the pounding guitar work of Asechiah Bogdan and Garrett Morris.

Windhand finds some rhythm on “Woodbine”, quaking the landscape with distorted rambling and shaking song work. The riff moseys down a dirt road to an empty cabin in the woods, surely we are all dead and this is the soundtrack to the end of times.

Soma is considered a concept-album by the band but that’s the end of their part of the story. Once the needle touches vinyl it becomes the listeners trip; slowly these riffs take you to where they intend to; Windhand is driving this old pick over yonder and they are in no hurry.

Hessians suffering from ADD will cringe and squirm throughout the down right sluggish “Feral Bones”, a crawling, drowsy eight minutes of weariness. Windhand is not forgiving, pounding their will into the ground, building a village of creepy, grief-ridden music.

On “Evergreen”, Soma takes a sudden and stunning turn, changing gears by stripping down to Cottrell and her acoustic guitar creating an entirely new stage of narrative. “Evergreen” is creepy cute, so out of left field that it comes as a shock to hear Cottrell open up so much, breaking away from the typical formula of a metal record. “Boleskine” continues to test the ceiling of our acceptance; a 30 minute crushing production breaking Soma down to it’s bare naked self, a nucleolus of manic distress and despondency that will leave a hole in your soul and a smile on your face.

9/10

Album Review – Ringworm Hammer of the Witch

Album Review – Ringworm Hammer of the Witch

Cleveland, Ohio is a hardcore town. Its river famously went up in flames, temps average ten below during winter and beer is the beverage of choice most mornings. Simply said, to live in Cleveland you have to be tough. Ringworm is the soundtrack to the city, gritty as the streets; full of the rusty plight of the steel mills. Hammer of the Witch (Relapse Records) brutalizes a message of extreme measure, driving home the ethos of their hometown, a better dead than dieing philosophy.

“Dawn of Decay” starts with a stomping barrage of riff, sounding like an army of pouncing Doc Martins; leading to the pained screams of James Bulloch. Bulloch is known by most as the “human furnace” which seems like a handy super power in the winter wasteland of the mid west, but it’s not propane exuding from him rather pure hell fire and brimstone. Better get a tetanus shot for your ears, his voice cuts like rusty barbed wire on the devastating “Bleed”. Savage and raw, it is the perfect compliment to the razor sharp guitar work of Matt Sorg and John Comprix. Their contribution on Hammer sounds down right nostalgic for fans of mid-west hardcore, like Integrity but more brutish and evil as shit…yes, it’s possible and it’s awesome.

“Psychic Vampire” is just gnarly; beyond pissed off metalcore at it’s most heated. Relapse would be smart to hire a priest to follow the band on tour, reading last rites to any kid dumb enough to get into the pit during “vampire”. The crushing double bass drum assault by Danny Zink, punishment enough, will cause someone to dive off a stage this summer. Please, for the love of all that is unholy, send our regards to his mother.

9/10