Occasionally, I need a break from deathcore and symphonic black metal, and a couple of doom and doom-ish releases have my ear; Last Light Fades from Aussies, Graves For Gods, Galvanist’s The Silence Between Stars from last year, and this hefty little release.

This album resides a little more in the sludge/stoner realm, with its down-tuned, groovy, smoky hues, but also features some more death-metal-ish vocals, which appeal to me. It should also appeal to fans who like Crowbar, and to these ears, the 2010’s Finnish act Lurk. I also feel like some of these riffs could have been on the later, pre-reunion Gorefest (Soul Survivor, Chapter 13) albums.

The deeper, gravelly vocals of Philipp Seiler keep things heavy, as does the earthy guitar tone, which delivers a nice blend of pure doom/sludge (“Valley of Nowhere”, “Full Circle”, “Between Earth and Moon”, “Axis Mundi”) or smoky, hazy lopes (“Burning Out”, “Sea of Drowned Souls”, “Swans”).

With that, it stays away from the more traditional/epic doom (there are just a couple of very small clean vocal segments) or more psychedelic sides of stoner doom, and feels a little more like death metal on barbiturates, chilling on the couch with a bong and a bag of Doritos.

Axis Mundi has been an album I’ve been giving a surprising amount of listening time, especially on weekends, with headphones and a…. little medicinal assistance. I suggest you do the same and give it a go.

If so, A Loner, the new album from Hangman’s Chair could certainly do the trick. If you’re unfamiliar, as I was upon first listen, apt comparisons are Type O Negative, Katatonia, and maybe 3, Nothing or even Alice in Chains in the vocal department. If those bands are up your alley, as they are mine (all 5 of them), then you’re in for a treat.

The very first track, “An Ode to Breakdown,” has some serious World Coming Down-era Type O Negative vibes in the instrumental section, even if the vocals are perhaps the opposite of Pete. Those eerie background keys really add to it. At nearly 7 minutes, it’s bold to open the album with it, especially considering the first couple of minutes contain no vocals, but they pull it off.

The first real standout track however is the second one, “Cold & Distant,” with easily the best, most accessible and repeatable chorus on the album. Way to blow your load early, guys. Don’t worry. It happens to the best of us (so I’ve heard). It’s shorter and slightly more upbeat, but certainly not in the vocal department. The falsetto at the end of the chorus in one instance is somehow not out of place.

Further on, the inclusion of the instrumental “Pariah and the Plague” is questionable on an album a little on the longer side, especially when it leads into the next track, essentially the title track “Loner,” which is instrumental for nearly the first minute and on its own doesn’t have a very discernible hook.

However… One could make a play on words with the next track, “Second Wind,” but I’m way above that. Suffice it to say, it recaptures the vibe. Being one of the shorter tracks, it doesn’t take up too much time. It unfortunately doesn’t get heavy as it has more of a shoegaze or post metal vibe, but that doesn’t matter with such a stellar chorus.

After that, we’re onto the final track, “A Thousand Miles Away,” which is over 9 minutes. Despite that, this is one of the heavier songs on the album with its doomy, plodding march and would probably be my favorite if it weren’t for “Cold & Distant.” I’ve said before that the longest songs at the end of an album are often a misstep, but I’m sometimes wrong as this certainly isn’t one.

Through my first listen to this, it didn’t click. However, after each subsequent listen, I began singing along and remembering more parts. This was a hell of a recommendation for me to check out from fellow Teeth writer, Steve K., and it’s a potential year end list candidate. You should buy this. Now.

I’ve been listening to the Rochester, NY space-rock trio for a few years now, after stumbling across their debut album Orion in 2016. Among all of the other metal I had on repeat that year – Mithras, Moonsorrow, Insomnium – that album stood out for its warm, earthy sound and desert-sunset atmosphere and I wound up returning to it often. Follow-up Longing to Be the Mountain, with its more muscular and rollicking explorations, got plenty of plays in 2018 as well, shooting up to #5 on my year-end list. 

Yet until the release of Dead Star, the band was still something I’d put on occasionally as opposed to full-on binge status. That binge has now been going on for several weeks (’cause hey, we all have a lot more free time these days). Dunno why I hadn’t checked out their other releases before – 2018’s hypnotic and groovy EP Repeater, and their phenomenal 2013 demo (think Sixteen Horsepower covering Pink Floyd’s Meddle) – but now I want it ALL. And all throughout that binge, I think I’ve listened to Dead Star now, what? 15, 20 times? First streaming, and then on the pristine, bone-white vinyl that just came in the mail. 

The big draw here is the 2-part, 16-minute opening monolith, “Red Star Parts 1 and 2.” It’s not a massive departure from some of the band’s longer, more expansive songs, but it has a colder atmosphere and a darker edge than they’ve explored before. Part 1 is a slow cosmic crescendo of subdued and tribal drumming, ghostly vocals, and distorted guitar lines that unfold like an aurora borealis. Headphones are a must. And then, 10 minutes in, the thrusters fire up, the guitars kick in, and you’re blasted into deep space while waves of  gorgeous radiation trail in your wake. The band has cut this last part down into a radio edit (also included on the end of the EP), but I still prefer to go through the whole journey time after time.

The remaining tracks are diverse and satisfying. Both the relaxed and drifting “Echo of a Waning Star” and the meditative acoustic title track could have easily fit on any other King Buffalo release. They serve as lovely bookends for the other two tracks, which are also infused with that same deep-space gloom as “Red Star.” “Ecliptic” is a 3-minute instrumental which sounds like the band has been cramming John Carpenter soundtracks, while “Eta Carinae” is a more adventurous and playful jaunt. Just wait until the killer, propulsive rhythm that kicks in around halfway through, it’s addictive. And then that’s it. Reprise of “Red Star Part 2” again, and it’s over. Flip the record, play it again. 

Back to the topic of favorite bands. I gave it some thought, and decided that for any band to really make the upper echelon of my listening time, they have to do three things: 

1. Be something I really like (shimmering Pink Floyd compositions + swaggering Sabbath groove? Hell yes).
2. Write excellent and compelling songs and albums (there’s not a dud or skippable track in their entire discography)
3. Surprise me, through new evolutions of their sound or new ideas.

Opeth, Enslaved, and Insomnium, to name a couple of other favorites, make the grade on all three. And now King Buffalo. Dead Star easily succeeds at the first two points, but it’s the third one that really clinched it here, by embracing the space in space rock but without losing all of the wonderfully earthy qualities that define the band’s sound. Feet on the ground, head in some far-off skull-shaped nebula.

For example, I have little doubt that I can find a restaurant nearby with a super hipster waitstaff that’s serving, like, a dry-aged Kobe beef burger with locally-sourced, artisan-cured, applewood-smoked bacon; cave-aged farmhouse cheddar cheese; with truffle aioli on a house-made brioche bun. That burger will probably cost around $45. And you know what? I bet that burger is fucking delicious.

But sometimes? Sometimes I just want a half-pound of fatty-as-you-can-find ground beef, thrown on a grill, with a slice of American cheese straight out of the plastic wrapper. Hold that lettuce and tomato, Amigo – just slap that shit on a bun and stand back, ‘cuz we’re taking a trip on the express train to CHOW TOWN.

By now you’re thinking… well be honest, you’re thinking “Man, a burger sounds pretty good right now.” But you’re also thinking, “what the fuck does any of this have to do with metal?” I know I’m new here but bear with me.

See, the thing about that simple meat-and-cheese burger that’s so great, is that it takes the basic, essential elements of a burger, and it lets them shine through. No fuss, no layered flavor profiles or nuanced texture elements; just the stuff you know and love.

My friends, that’s exactly what Granite State bringers-of-ruckus Scissorfight have serving up for 25 years now. Raw, heavy, un-fucked-with metal and hard rock made for anyone looking for a goddamn good time.

The main ingredient on Doomus Abruptus, Vol. 1 is pretty much the same as it’s always been for these guys: RIFFS. Big, groovy, burly riffs designed to put hair on your chest and mud on your tires. After the chugging album opener “Caveman Television,” Fortin opens the taps and puts the pedal to the metal on “Dumpfight,” an aggressive, bloody-knuckled track that gets the party started in earnest – complete with a breakdown that’ll have you pumping your fist, banging your head and looking for a fight of your own.

On “Coagulus” and “Rock And / Or Die,” the band settles into a heavy, sludgy groove that will would make Pepper Keenan blush. “Where Eagles Drink” was made to blast from your truck speakers at a bonfire kegger. I’m no legal expert, but I’m pretty sure listening to that song without a PBR in hand is breaking some obscure New Hampshire bylaw. I wouldn’t risk it. After taking a little bit of a breather on “The Battle of (Mudhole Mountain),” Scissorfight hit the gas again, rounding out the album with a balls-out attack that doesn’t let up ‘til the final note.

This album also answers a big question lingering for a lot of long-time fans, being the first full-length release with vocalist Doug Aubin: Is he really a worthy replacement for legendary former songwriter and frontman, Ironlung? Friends, he doesn’t give you the time of day to think about it. Aubin delivers a confident, barrel-chested performance with a gruff attitude that suggests he’s not even remotely interested in how you compare him to his predecessor. His songwriting has many of the same tongue-in-cheek, backwoods-loving qualities that made Ironlung’s songs so charming and memorable, but delivered with a much more straight-forward, “get on this ride or get out of my way” confidence that can only come from a guy who knows very little of what it’s like to be intimidated (seriously, go check out a picture of the dude. He’s a damn tree).  I can’t imagine the band having found a better fit.

Though they’ve never quite gotten a following the likes of similar bands like Clutch, Corrosion of Conformity or Alabama Thunderpussy, Scissorfight are still delivering the goods with equal quality and swagger, with the kind of salt n’ piss you’ve come to expect. By keeping things simple and relying on the tried and true ingredients that have kept these guys cooking for over two and a half decades, they’ve added yet another fun, raucous record to their collection sure to satisfy anyone feeling hungry for riffs and general fuckery.

Somebody get me a goddamn beer.

First thing to note, the band has evolved from the power trio format to a quartet by adding Dave on guitar.  As thick as Chad Wyrick had the guitars by himself alongside the potent rhythm section of Jon (bass) and Mike (drums), The Asound are fatter than an out of shape yeti on Impalement Arts.  Loaded on lard, “Wolves will Feed” melts buttery, uptempo wah-doom riffs into psychedelic splatters of phase-y lead melody as the power chords climb Everest with a pretty maiden in hand.  I’ve said this for years and I’ll say it again but Mike is one of the best drummers for this type of music; inflicting stern backbeats at all times while working in manic snare fills and avalanches of tom-rolling whenever there’s a possibility.  He keeps it busy without overtaking the magic sonic wizardry of his mates.  Jon’s bass piles on the grit and gut as the guitar riffs get meatier by the minute and rocket to the sky in a shuttle full of pot whenever a ripping solo takes the stage for propulsion purposes.  Wyrick’s voice is informed by fellas like Pike, Lemmy and Wino, servicing the sound a tough, bellowing human element that perfectly matches the organic overdrive of the instruments.  Of all the tracks, “Dead Rat Cinders” is one of my favorites as it claws its way forward on broken paws but still manages to tear your neck out of your ass with downward swooping buzzard riffs, craggy landslides of percussion and mutant mid-tempo carnage that’s more exciting than watching a snuff film on a Valentine’s Day date.  Sweltering leads burn hotter than the Sahara at noon and every instrument is locked onto the other for the creation of a towering wall of sound that’s one of the toughest things you’ll hear in the current doom underworld.  A killer, swingin’ blues riff coupled to a soaring lick sends this tune out on a head-nodding boogie grind that feels just right after the furious beating the rest of the track dishes up.

Raucous, punked-up Motörhead speeds, surly Maryland doom-esque groove and the general road ready engine roar of Inepsy infects the boiling blood of “Throne of Compulsion.”  A churning, chunking riff is equal parts DIY punk/old school hard rock as the scattershot shotgun spread of crazed drumming and fireball licks/leads erupt in every direction like a bipolar volcano.  It’s the sound of a biker brawl in a bar that pours out onto the streets.  The upbeat nature of the riffage and rhythms goes into a swirling downer thrash crumble at the 1:20 mark; descending n’ decaying guitar signals, pulverizing low-end suffocation and never-ending percussive smacks all vying for your soul in a humans vs. gods tug of war that’s sure to split you in half.  Halting the pace by three quarters “Pseudo Vein” throws some tricky, jazzy drumming into a bubbling vat of acid drowned doom metal riffage and plummeting bass lines that wrap the guitar work in a blanket of satin and Earthy mud.  Chad’s vocals battle with strangled melody ala Johnny Throckmorton on those first couple of Alabama Thunderpussy records on Man’s Ruin.  The end effect of the entire whole is alternately deadly yet tuneful.  Oil slick melody guitars catch a sick little groove before dumping the entire track over a cliff onto a mound of broken glass, rusty nails and noisy, nasty thrashing punk with squealing 6-string abandon putting a pitchfork in your spine…leaving you laying paralyzed for the impending steamroller full of sludgy slime to roll you over for good.  It’s by far one of my favorite tracks on the album and one of the best in the band’s bullpen thus far.

The title track is an instrumental break but not of the fluffy, “time to relax” variety.  Instead you get a motorized rhythm section that’s in full gear and screeching with minor guitar surges that are warped by bad acid 70s psyche licks.  Mike lets rip with brutish fill-work throughout and the entire band never hold back for a second which is refreshing to hear in a mid-album “breather” of sorts.  “Triple Saints” feels like it could turn into a crusty Swedish d-beat at any moment yet it decides to throw a sack of slugs into the race and hobbles the speed into a thrashing bout of sleaze sludge that’s as aggressive as a 2 a.m. domestic disturbance.  Amps feedback and hum with a little “Interlude” that barely provides respite prior to the all-out demon downpour of perennial Asound classic “Moss Man.”  This behemoth appeared on the Self-Titled tape I mentioned earlier but it rips beyond all comprehension thanks to this re-record.  Brandon Hamby’s production adds another stack of beef to the tones and the forest-dwelling grooves go hunting for Sasquatch with spear-tipped wah-soloing that goes off a very Hendrix-y deep end.  Jon’s bass is also taller and more hulking with a low slung, mid-paced groove in the solo break priming to squash you like a flea squaring off with Paul Bunyan.  “Commanding the Sword’s” regal entrance lick provides the entrance for a tractor trailer wreckin’ doom curmudgeon with big, bending blues riffs steeped in melody with Wyrick alternating between a haggard, heart-rending melody and a gruff sneering snarl for the chorus’ heavier than thou riff/rhythm shakedown.  One of the album’s most sodden downtuners “Chief of Thieves” follows up and peels the paint off the shed with head dampening sludge before “Master of the Mind” brings on another hellish diesel-fueled speed up into hardcore, sludgy thrash smashin’.  The record closes with a cover of Floor’s “Loanin” which The Asound bend to their will and stylistic prowess while making the tune perhaps even heavier and more metallic in the process.

Impalement Arts was one of my top 10 albums last year for a reason; when it comes to sludgy doom with speedy shake-ups and all around variety…it’s a top tier record in the current era that stands up to great stuff that came before and around it.  The Asound makes their riffs stick, they can play like hell as a unit and there are numerous moments on this record that bring back immediate memory recall even when the music’s not playing.  The LP looks and sounds fantastic, the final result being one that any fans of hard rockin’ doom with a punk/metal/hardcore background should absolutely check out.

Instrumental opener “Transmission” feels like it takes the groove of the Mammatus classic “The Righteous Path through the Forest of Old” and slightly flips it, especially James Atha’s psyche blues bass line which propels this song forward through the rolling hypno-drumming with its heightened sense of groove, heavily layered twin guitar psyche-outs and gusting washes of atmospheric noise.  It’s an intro piece that nicely builds the mood but will surely test the patience of those not in-tune with the style.  The laid-back, well-measured punches are also reminiscent of Colour Haze though that vibe quickly evaporates when “New Growth” embraces a suffocating, claustrophobic dual riff bludgeon courtesy of guitarists Alex Clarke and Lewis Crane.  This quicksand suction is apparent from the downward bass pull and drummer/vocalist Adam Asquith’s quaking, surprisingly busy snare fills, lending the music a superb sense of gravity.  Eventually Atha steps out into the lead role with his walking bass groove branching off from the jangly, melodic guitar figures that ply slide licks and superb texture work to the jammy madness.  Asquith’s voice is a direct channeling of Pike, Lemmy and even Al Cisneros much later on when the music whips into braincell burnt, 70s slomo riff swagger.  As the song winds down it reverts to the primordial ooze of its opening swing but surprisingly lurches into a grimy, forceful power chord volley that sends the tune out on a different, nastier note.  It might not change your mind if this isn’t your sound to begin with but dogged, sludged-out doomheads like the asshole writing this review found plenty to enjoy once I let the music sink in.

“We Answer” leads in with the kind of melodic Maryland chord arrangements that Wino’s utilized throughout Spirit Caravan.  Rippling, watery and inviting like a sunken city full of possible treasure, the locked on rhythmic grooves and jazzy little drum flourishes constantly interject subtle change-ups to the structure.  Melancholic leads overtake the rhythm guitar’s aquatic minor key inflections as pained, howling vocals cut eyeholes into the fog for guidance.  In almost 6 eternal minutes the tune finally climaxes into a crushing double-up riff given tenfold the heft thanks to those burpy, belchy bass lines that fight for equal airtime with the guitars in hopes of claiming bragging rights.  Wave after wave of the entirety of the band’s amplifiers feeding back ushers “To Soil” into a mystical, psychedelic trance with those warm post-rock shadings, somewhat a hearkening back to Isis’ Oceanic era and that behemoth’s balance of delicacy and power.  The vocals get increasingly pissed off and sludgy as the song goes along, although the main riff doesn’t change much…really it doesn’t change at all, instead it wavers between twinkling desperation and sodden doom.  As much as I like what’s going on with this track and the melodic elements, it could desperately use a third arrangement, layer or another extra texture of some kind.  The same can be said of the short, riff-y groove piece “Ruminations” which piles a killer opening hook to the sky but can’t seem to take it higher than its launch point.  12+ minute closer “Ephemera—Stare through the Deep” drinks deep from a cup of quiet, contemplative bass and spoken word drone, calling to mind vast Om tunes like “Thebes” or even something from the Pink Floyd canon.  Once the quiet dissipates an elephantine riff goes toe to toe with a pounding, acrobatic percussive groove that leaves Asquith plenty of room to sneak numerous extra beats and strikes in his performance.  The thundering psyche riffs and noise damaged guitar stingers that follow have the impact the last two tunes were missing, giving the record a strong finish to match its beginning.

Last Knell of Om is a solid flagship offering.  The album’s midsection feels pretty undercooked; the cuts therein stitched together from haphazard songwriting that yields a pair of tunes that are largely incomplete.  It takes away from a lot of the early momentum which was very strong and nearly shipwrecks the record on the Siren’s rocks.  Thankfully some damn fine atmosphere, excellent drumming and a handful of big, big riffs helps to level things out.  Definitely not bad by any means, in need of fine-tuning for certain, but hopefully Morag Tong can hone their songwriting further on future outings and keep any mid-album blues from waterlogging the listener.

Though their riffs have a similar robotic structure and singer Dustin Hill has a suitably Homme-like vocal tone, their songs never reach the coked out frenzy or syrupy sweetness of QOTSA. Rather, the album locks in a mesmerizing, rhythmic middle ground. Laid back, catchy-as-hell rock drenched in squalling distortion, scorching fuzz and enough washed out psychedelia to satisfy the burnout in us all. “Where”, “Wonderful” and “Sunspots” are certified face-melting burners while “Sigourney Weaver” closes the album nicely ala Monster Magnet’s “Vertigo”.

The whole magilla is wrapped in a bright, crisp production that highlights the color and texture of the guitar, which eschews the burly low end of many stoner rock bands. The instruments are smartly layered and the bass is prominent enough in the mix that they don’t need to compensate with a super heavy guitar tone. The songs are to the point and simply structured. The riffs and fuzz crawl in your head as the vocals soothe and calm. It’s top shelf rock and roll, front to back, and a damn fine record for those relaxing summer drives.

”Zeros and Ones” sets the framework with a brief introductory statement about how Wizards of Kaos roll; the typically stoner rock psychedelic groove is on the dial, and the mint melodies in the rhythm sections have a way of invoking an atmosphere that absorbs the mind to a point where one can almost smell the pot smoke and physically feel the rumble of high stacks of used amps. The sound has a way of crashing into the body with thunderous heaviness, and that approach is interlacing with a catchy and accessible but still very organic take on guitar harmonies. That’s one of them characteristics that easily gets me associating these guys to the likes of Sabbath. ”Bombs and Gasoline” is even more gigantic and well-furnished. The fact that it almost reaches the six-minute mark is fully justified. It’s chock-full of ridiculously effective hooks, and it houses a seriously kickass main riff that holds a damn lot of water right out of the gate. That vintage Moore/Perez dual jam out ’round mid-track is, hands down, one of the main highlights of the album. Those two guitars mesh with a chemistry that’s particularly out there, weeping on throughout the well thought-out song patterns in one hypnotic way it’s a daunting task not to simply adore. ”Coyote Eyes” is the main straight-to-radio cut, but in the case of this band, it sure as fuck doesn’t show any sort of sign of slowing down a peg or locking up the wolves for the living heck of being clean cut; the format of the song structure is clearly sitting in a roughly four-minute long moldery that’s compact and audibly crafted out for accessibility’s sake, but the soloing is definitely just as tasty as ever, and variations in the pace of things are also present, keeping things interesting, and showcasing the band’s imprint brilliantly over the modestly short duration of the song’s span.

”Digging Up Our Dead” is a prime example of that Sabbath-on-fast forward analogy coming to mind all through this one listening session. It has this highly fresh-sounding and honestly impressive catchiness, but it also delves into the spontaneous tempo shifts, keeping the approach raw, gritty, and authentic. It ain’t a rip-off of the old days, but rather, a particularly intelligent and knowledgeable tribute to the youngest years of this genre. ”Down From the Skies” takes a drastic U-turn, albeit a pretty damned pleasant one, delivering relentlessly in the prog fusion/touches of jazz influence departments in the ilk of Purple and Boston practices. The leads sure have sentimental value to them, and that tight riff-elaboration in the chorus is one that shines bright. All of those traits combined together make these track a gigantic essential. ”Ear Hole” takes yet another off-the-cuff nosedive into a contrasting mood with one steady upbeat instrumental. The drumming here is punchy and enthused, the ever-so-slightly kaleidoscopic grooves sure add plenty of cool weirdness to the tableau, the basswork is rather entertaining to listen to, and the riffage is crunchy and ballistic as it gets.

Still, it’s nowhere near as great as the ”New World Mistress”. This track dives into an even more retro-sounding guitar sound, at least to these ears, and goes into more of these wicked proggy nuances for good measure. ”Pain & Misery” simply smokes, going for the ever so slightly swingy approach and a nice flair for diversity in its structure, which adds to its effectiveness a ton, and ”Running Red” keeps on bringing the effin’ point straight home effortlessly with meaty riffs, red blooded drumming and heaps more solid hooks. Remarkably colorful basswork is being brought to the forefront with increasingly abstract experimental rhythmic patterns in ”Sixteen”, which seems to harken back straight to the late 60s with the mind frame it easily conjures up from the get-go. ”The Great Shadow” rides the wave of spook with crunchy riffs, interestingly stylish war drums, and I gotta underline that this mid-track buildup to one resolutely heavy peak is yet another important passage on this album you don’t wanna miss. Back to back with such ferocious pwnage, against all odds, last two cuts ”The River” and ”White Face” are slightly laggy and linear. They’re still okay songs, with a steady gallop and an edgy vocal, and good licks, but they audibly don’t reach the level of excellency the rest of the record brings up full fucking blast. Still, considering how the rest of this track list has one heck of a reach in the old schooler’s heart with a massive statement of skill to speak of, those two short and slightly ordinary tunes don’t exactly ruin the overall experience.

You might want to take notice of what Wizards of Kaos are brewing up. They’re sitting on a bomb. This is some blinding and straight-forward worship of the core of heavy metal with a reinvigorated and sincerely revitalizing twist.

Bong’s forte is the long form doom/drone jam. Massive, super dense walls of fuzz layered with sitar and shaahi baja, repetitive riffing and gently shifting textures. It’s a style that lends itself particularly well to improvisation, which seems apparent in the number of live records they’re released. Despite having over 20 releases under their belts, Beyond Ancient Space is only their third full length effort, clocking three tracks in close to 80 minutes, with each track surpassing the 25 minute mark.

Compared to Bethmoora and their self titled, Beyond Ancient Space is less riff oriented and more ambient, mostly as a result of the blown out production. The guitar and bass take on a Hypnotoad like morphing buzz on the first two-thirds of the album, “Onward to Perdondaris” and “Across the Time-stream”, as the Indian instrumentation drip notes from above. The drums hold a slow, steady, rhythmic plod and carry the arc of the songs, making minor and steady adjustments to speed. “In the Shadow of the Towers” is sprawling, riff centric droner akin to early SUNN0))) or Boris.

This could do with some better production, the drums especially could use some beefing up to give the swings more heft, but like many drone albums, Beyond Ancient Space is either tedious as shit or a sonic blast into another dimension, depending on your mood. There are few bands that do it better than Bong though, and these three excursions into the outer realms of drone are as good as they get.

As far as Wino’s projects go, Premonition 13 is something between the Hidden Hand and Spirit Caravan. There are elements of classic and stoner rock with some doomy turns here and there. “Clay Pigeons” has a funky, head nodding rhythmic bounce that provides Wino and Karow perfect fodder for solos. “La Hechicera de la Jeringa” is the albums doomiest track, recalling (of course) the Obsessed and Black Sabbath. “Deranged Rock n’ Roller” and “Hard to Say” are ripping rockers while “Modern Man” has a seriously catchy groove and a chorus that is guaranteed to be jammed in your brain for days afterward. The rock relents on the album’s opening and closing tracks “B.E.A.U.T.Y.” and “Peyote Road”. “B.E.A.U.T.Y.” is solid but a starts things off a little slow. “Peyote Road”, as implied by the name, brings in some psychedelic touches and a denouement of layered guitars.

Wino and Karow have known each other a long time and have a great chemistry. Karow contributes vocals to a number of tracks, providing a subdued and soulful contrast to Wino’s more dramatic approach. The duo duel and shred as Daniloski and Clark provide a rock solid canvas for the two to trade solos. Wino has always been a solo player, aside from his work with Place of Skulls and Shrinebuilder, and it is great to hear him play alongside another guitarist he has genuine chemistry with.

Premonition 13 is yet another winner for Wino to add to his already significant list of accomplishments. Longtime fans should have no fear snapping this up. 13 provides sustenance for long time fans and an excellent starting point for the poor souls who are unfamiliar with Wino’s legendary resume (St. Vitus, the Obsessed, Spirit Caravan) before they chew through his substantial back catalog.

First things first: the vocals. At their worst, they sound something akin to a castrated Ozzy. For the most part though, they sound like Steve from Sheavy with a higher register. They’re not particularly bad, they’re certainly unique, but they clearly will not be to everyone’s taste. Sometimes they work and other times they are irritating. They may grow on you in time, as they have for me, but they are also at their worst on the first track, which may turn off some listeners.

Fortunately, beyond the vocals is good old fashioned solid stoner doom. Moab rides the line between stoner rock and doom, alternating between classic Sabbath inspired riffs and stoner rock. “The Staring Wall”, split in two parts, starts with heavy as fuck doom and ends with some thrashing stoner rock. “More Love” could have been ripped from Sheavy’s Celestial Hi-Fi and “Unbeknowst” recalls Songs for the Deaf-era Queens of the Stone Age. There’s a classic rock influence that pops up now and again but most of the time the band sticks to their bread and butter. Closer “Helios” ends the album on an appropriately simple note of lumbering doom.

Albums like this live or die on their riffs and this trio has come up with some killers, particularly the riffs of “Staring Wall pt. 1” and “More Love”. “Helios” is as classic sounding as a doom riff gets. As an album it doesn’t feel as cohesive as it could be. Sometimes the vocals sound at odds with the music and the occasional shift in guitar tone can be jarring. It’s most noticeable as the second track ends and the third track, “Sated”, begins with a jangly country rock tone. “Sated” in particular sticks out as the one-of-these-things-that-is-not-like-the-others and seems out of place amongst the spaced out doom riffs and solos.

The sum of the parts though is pretty good if you can get past the vocals. There are worse things to do on a Saturday night, or a Tuesday morning for that matter, than throw on Ab Ovo, and burn a few down with a couple of beers.

From the angular sludge of opener “To the Throne” to the hardcore gallop of “Chain up the Masses” and crusty punk infusion on “Consumed”, their straightforward, no bullshit approach is very enjoyable. The songs are compact, filler free and refreshingly absent of the bluesy Southern groove that has been effectively rendered a cliché by hordes of EyeHateGod clones. They smartly mix up tempo and riffing to avoid the repetitive sludge trap and place the focus squarely on raucous, knock-your-fucking-teeth-in attacks.

Its 35 minutes breeze on by, over before you know it. The whole thing fits together very nicely and my only recommendation would have been to cut the last two tracks off and make it an even 30 minutes. The coda of “Oracle” works as a natural conclusion for the record. The intro riff of the following track, “From Ashes”, recalls the composition of the first moments of the record and there’s a kind of reboot effect when it happens as though the album is starting over. Ultimately this is a niggling gripe since despite having a resemblance to an earlier riff the song is much different than the first. Maybe a reordering of the tracks would have helped or maybe this effect was intentional, as suggested by the song title. This is nitpicking though and doesn’t hamper the album much, if at all. Fans of crusty sludge violence take heed.