Tag Archives: funeral doom

Aquatic Fanatics – Christian Hector of Ahab

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Ahab. Photo courtesy or Napalm Records.

German Doom-meisters Ahab, quite appropriately considering their chosen method of musical communication have, like the slow roiling tide, gradually and steadily progressed, increasing not just in terms of exposure but also musically, with each release improving their status (“It’s because we’ve been around 11 years, so people heard our name often enough to think “ah, they’re still around, now I’ll listen finally!””) and growing a stoic brand of progressive doom metal, all linked by the retelling of literary tales with marine and disturbing themes.

Having covered Edgar Allan Poe, and ridden the leviathan of Moby Dick on previous albums, this fourth time around matters took on a more obscure twist, as The Boats of Glen Carrig (Napalm) takes its tales from the William Hope Hodgson book of the same name. “I don’t know if he and HP Lovecraft were friends but they knew each other”, begins guitarist and lyricist Christian Hector, a quietly spoken man with a very likeable self-deprecating and calm manner.

“What I like about the book is there are some real strange creatures, slug-like man-eating monsters, and kraken type monsters. It is psychedelic, but on a different level, Hodgson wrote about social differences between the crew members, and how this was gone when they were in this special situation. I found this really interesting, especially because this also fits the time nowadays where, for some people, it’s more important who you are, what colour you are, and we dislike that, so it was a good point for us too.”

Asking for directions in a second language is difficult enough, though I’m sure I could find the beach in La Rochelle thanks to secondary school’s legendary Tricolor text books (all coming with standard dick and balls drawn on everyone’s foreheads), let alone retelling an epic, dark tale, a feat Hector has managed with some success. There is a pleasing Olde poetic feel to lyric, reminiscent of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. “There’s nothing more embarrassing than to write something poetic in a foreign language that sounds cheesy!” he laughs modestly. “My problem is not being a native speaker, so I never know if my lyrics are cheesy or if they are appropriate. I’ll take some expressions from the book to get the right vibe of it, and when I’m finished I send them to a native speaker to look over them.

“There were some changes, some weird expressions that were German, but normally I try to capture the vibe of the book, and the story of the book but also try to get something into it that are emotions I have in mind, or something that happened to me and was important to me, but in a way that it still fits the book so you don’t read something into it that isn’t there.”

Ahab. Photo courtesy of Napalm Records.

If the concept is impressive, it’s swamped (pun intended) by the remorseless churning atmospheric riffs and doomy passages that show why Ahab are held as genre-leaders; at one point during ‘The Weedmen’ the song feels like it’s physically restraining an ancient giant moss-beast that wants to escape! “The Weedmen was actually a pain in the ass in the studio!” chuckles Hector, ruefully.

“Because Cornelius (Althammer – drums) and Stephen (Wandernoth – bass) played live together when we recorded, and they were so fucking laid back, and they play behind the click, you have to concentrate on what they’re doing, and this click is in your ear and you’re thinking “Ah, now they are coming!” and “Ah, I’m too late!”

“So this song is a pain in the ass to play that slow, cos if you miss a millisecond, you hear it in doom!”

Taking everything into consideration, with it’s atmospheric, doom metal combining seamlessly with a progressive lilt, is this the defining Ahab album?

“To some extent, yes. The Giant was, we feel a little over-produced, so we tried to have a bit more of an authentic harsh sound, mixed with warmer clean sounds. Some of the songs, too, have things that are new to us; it’s not prog rock, but there’s plenty of progressive music in there and ‘Red Foam’ is, for us, something different; a really fast song.

“The Giant shouldn’t sound like The Divinity of Ocea\yhhhns (both Napalm) and The Boats of Glen Carrig shouldn’t sound like The Giant, because they’re different books, a different feeling”, confirms the guitarist. “If you create these things, you should at least sound in your small universe a bit different. It’s not scientific, more like using what you’ve got in your feelings and the feelings from the book and trying to capture that.”

Adding to the development of the Ahab sound and the Glen Carrig atmosphere is a stand-out performance from vocalist Daniel Droste, whose turn is really impressive; varying sweet cleans, scary growls, atmospheric gravels, and some almost Norwegian, …In The Woods styled alternative cleans…

“We didn’t hear any of the vocals before recording, because like on The Giant Daniel did everything in the studio, so when it was finished we were really impressed. Now, he sounds quite different to the last albums, there’s a bit more 80’s in the clean vocals, and his shouting stuff is more like Gorefest style, which is great. I’m a bit of a vocal fetishist. If the vocals don’t work, I don’t like the whole album. He has a special voice for it. He really did something really good.

“This album probably sums up our whole career and these songs actually sound like they are the bridge between our first album and The Giant.”

The Boats of Glen Carrig is released via Napalm Records on August 28. You can pre-order it here

 

Ahab in Europe 2015

Oct 29: Elfer Club – Frankfurt (DE)

Oct 31: Bambi Galore – Hamburg (DE)

Nov 6: Club Cann – Stuttgart (DE)

Nov 11: Schwimmbad Club- Heldelberg (DE)

Dec 12: Eindhoven Metal Meeting- Eindhoven (NL)

 

 

STEVE TOVEY


Lychgate – An Antidote For The Glass Pill

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“Uncanny Valley” is a phrase originally coined in the field of aesthetics to describe the feeling of revulsion caused by things which look and move almost but not exactly like natural beings, but has since been used to describe anything which familiar but different enough to be unsettling, creepy and… well… uncanny. The easiest way to describe Lychgate’s second album would be a combination of Symphonic Black Metal and Funeral Doom, but though that’s technically true fans of those two genres are likely to be a little creeped out by Lychgate’s approach to both.

One of the most audible ways in which Lychgate stand out is their use of keys, especially the near-omnipresent Church Organ. Nothing new itself, of course, but rather than simply garnishing riffs or creating “atmospheric” space-filler, Lychgate frequently use their organ (tee hee) as a lead instrument, creating a genuinely unsettling sense of otherness in those used to more conventional Metal songwriting. The production lends further weight to this impression, the guitars taking on a cold, clipped feeling that times calls to mind old Castlevania soundtracks.

Both of these things would be irrelevant, of course, without the song-writing to back them up, and Lychgate continue to buck both Black Metal and Doom orthodoxy with broken, nightmarish compositions that draw as much from Prog and psychedelia as from any Metal sub-genre. Greg Chandler (also of Esoteric) uses his distinctively damaged-sounding vocals to lend further emotional weight to an alternately bombastic and ghostly selection of songs.

This is Black Metal for people who like the idea of Black Metal more than the reality. Doom for people who want to go beyond stolen Sabbath riffs and feedback. Prog Metal for people who wish the term didn’t have anything to do with Opeth. Simultaneously familiar and genuinely unusual, An Antidote For The Glass Pill (Blood Music) is likely to be one of the most interesting and distinctive releases in three over-saturated genres this year.

 

8.0/10

RICHIE HR


Hope Drone – Cloak of Ash

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With the Australian underground scene arguably one of the best in the world at the moment, US big-hitter Relapse Records has struck gold with the signing of Brisbane, Queensland quartet Hope Drone, for début album Cloak of Ash. Eschewing the morbid bleakness of fellow countrymen Woods of Desolation, Hope Drone have embraced the quintessentially American sound of post-black metal, with furious riffs, mournful soundscapes and tortured vocals the order of the day. The cover art is fantastic and worthy of mention; an arresting image of cloud and wave merged into an enveloping maelström that threatens to consume all and sundry. It’s the perfect metaphor for the band’s sound.

Starting any record, let alone your début off with a twenty-minute track is a seriously brave move, yet Hope Drone appears to be utterly unfazed. ‘Unending Grey’ begins with a torrent of cascading riffs and anguished howls before the pace stems and the listener is guided through a devastatingly beautiful section of sombre guitar notes and stark percussion. However the respite is short-lived, for when the pace picks up again, it’s utterly ferocious, with the band reaching speeds that the likes of Deafheaven can only dream of. That they do it while maintaining the same feeling of alien bleakness through the entire twenty minutes is nothing short of amazing.

After the devastating fury of pretty much a full EP’s worth of material as a mere opening track; the ten minute follow-up ‘Riverbeds Hewn in Marrow’ almost feels trite by comparison. However any doubts are soon washed away by the soaring guitar-lines and restless, pummeling percussion. This is continued with the billowing darkness that opens ‘The World Inherited’ but the rug is once again pulled from under our feet as the track decays into a tortuous crawl through near-funeral doom territory where release is an abstract hope.

The influence of noisy US black metallers Ash Borer and sadly missed Irish trailblazers Altar of Plagues is keenly felt throughout Cloak of Ash with Hope Drone devoting equal time to the crushing slow section as well as teeth-rattling speed. However, rip-off merchants they aren’t, for there is none of the tree-hugging, ritualistic elements of the former influence and little of the urban, ambient coldness of the latter. Instead, Hope Drone appears to have cultivated a vaguely nautical feel with song titles such as ‘The Waves Forever Shatter Upon Our Shores’ and ‘Carried Apart By the Ceaseless Tides.’ Indeed the overriding feeling is being swept up and torn asunder in the teeth of the almighty ocean; bereft of hope and powerless to withstand the awesome power of nature.

While they need to be careful to avoid falling into the trap of fast bit/slow bit/fast bit, and let’s be honest; seventy-seven minutes is way too long for any album, Hope Drone have done pretty much everything right on their first effort and even in a scene full to bursting, prove that it just takes a bit of imagination and ambition to stand out from the pack. Fantastic effort.

 

8.0/10

JAMES CONWAY


Shape of Despair – Monotony Fields

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It’s staggering to realise that Finnish sextet Shape of Despair have been travelling their heart-rending road for twenty years. New album Monotony Fields (Season of Mist), the band’s fourth, is their first in eleven years and first without their noted growler Pasi Koskinen. The good news is that Koskinen didn’t take the magic with him.

This is poignant stuff: from the atmospheric synth work building the form of opener ‘Reaching the Innermost’, the immense dirge ‘The Blank Journey’ and devastating closer ‘Written in My Scars’; to the sparing piano intermittently puncturing subtle yet powerful riffs, dropping tears into the soul. With piercing, vertiginous lead chords, and the moving intonations of Natalie Koskinen stopping the guttural growls of Henri Koivula, there’s more than a smattering of the symphonic here. The funeral march pace, however, lends more than enough real gravitas to ensure that the passion is not diluted.

At over 70 minutes’ duration, this is a long trek so the lighter touches serve to enhance and tickle the brain: the evocative, cosmic synth of the title track underpinning the mournful growl and ramping up the emotion rather than urinating on it. The tempo also, hardly relenting, rarely moves above a respectful coffin retinue. The nebulae of ‘Descending Inner Night’, augmented by lead pedal effects, are stellar and supremely emotive – the Anathema-like cleans here chilling the bones, the whole a premier example of an outfit atop their game and as moving as the Liverpudlians to whom they perhaps invoke most comparison. The swell of ‘In Longing’ and the slightly more up-tempo ‘The Distant Dream of Life’ is chest-filling, the contrast of the harsh vocal a delicious melding of tastes, the latter an incredibly touching track and the embodiment of this album’s seeming intent to enlighten and give hope as it simultaneously crushes all resolve.

Often nearing the borders of Cheeseville without ever setting foot inside, Monotony Fields adds a touch of light to the overwhelming darkness of Funeral Doom yet, far from trivialising it, only increases its power to move and intrigue. This is as refreshing as it is heartfelt and affecting.

 

8.0/10

Shape of Despair on Facebook

PAUL QUINN


Ophis – Abhorrence in Opulence

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If there’s one band that’s been criminally starved of attention, it’s German hostile miserabilists Ophis. I felt Effigies of Desolation, last year’s compilation reissue of the outfit’s first EP and album, would boost their profile and hopefully Abhorrence in Opulence (both Cyclone Empire), their latest supreme slab of deathly, funereal doom, will send that reputation soaring.

The early entrée of Asian chants cedes to the potentous thud of Nils Groth‘s cavernous drums and, when the tolling riffs are dropped in like manhole covers from the sky, the languorous yet ominous tone is set. Philip Kruppa‘s initial roar is a vile, scouring monster with the depth of the Marianas trench, whilst the sorrowful lead work at the two-third point of epic opener ‘Disquisition of the Burning’ hauls a warm yet desolate cocoon of misery to the close, curtailing a savage anger which never quite explodes into breakneck speed. It’s a crawling behemoth which embodies the Ophis sound perfectly.

The brooding ‘Among the Falling Stones’ tantalisingly swells and ebbs, some powerfully resonant and dictatorial stickwork joined by pulverising bass and riff sections; the whole magisterial in its funeral march section when a sparing lead builds into an affecting post-Black crescendo, eased to its demise by a heart-rending violin. The eerie ‘A Waltz Perverse’, though retaining the crushing force, possesses a slight technical air and strange rhythms reflecting the title, while the slithering hostility of ‘Somnolent Despondency’ is by turns oppressive then violent in its power.

A masterpiece of darkness and misery, the track’s middle section is brutally onerous, the drums creating a pounding intensity while desolate, delicately-picked leads and a howling solo send shivers down the spine, only increased by the single bark and seabed-deep scours undercutting them. Thunderous double kicks drive the mournful, murderous closer ‘Resurrectum’ to its wonderfully depressing end complete with resigned, despairing roars and intonations, through to an explosive and blasphemous finale.

The despair and emotion positively bleeds from every pore of this colossal album, a stunning powerhouse from a band growing in capability and maturity. You’ll bathe in the luscious suffocation of its unbearable weight and power.

9.0/10

Ophis on Facebook

PAUL QUINN


Profetus – As All Seasons Die

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profetus- album cover

As All Seasons Die (Svart)…happy eh? This Finnish five piece, housing ex- and current members of Horna and Corpsessed, don’t come across as cheerful, and indeed theirs is the most funeral of doom.

Orchestral keys at a snail’s pace accompany the sparse yet crushing riff and drums of ‘A Reverie (Midsummer’s Dying Throes)’, the flattening qualities of the bridges when everything collides together, both awe-striking and ominous, Anssi Mäkinen‘s voice a crawling, seeping growl to terrify the hardiest soul. It is tolling and metronomic with an affecting organ solo a striking, mournful interlude which lingers and carries a titanic beat and riff, that builds the drama, the emotion and the oppression, yet never changing pace. It’s impossible to convey just how staggeringly effective this is, which is remarkable when you consider that there are periods when it seems as if nothing happens.

The reverberating chant of ‘Dead Are Our Leaves of Autumn’, delivered as if from God on high, is so gentle yet resonant as to caress the mind whilst cracking you in the face. Mäkinen’s doleful tones induce paradoxical feelings of misery and euphoria whilst initially understated lead work soon becomes the centrepiece escalating to stunningly emotive levels, imitating gulls on a barren shore à la Marillion’s Steve Rothery. It is an exercise in precision and control, yet feels as organic as the Yorkshire moors – harsh, desolate, yet staggeringly beautiful.

As the life cycle ends with the tolling, effortless yet pounding closer ‘The Dire Womb of Winter’, creeping with the speed and stealth of a hunting cat, it really does echo the seasonal despair’; portentous, weighty, and shudderingly affecting despite the occasionally soporific pace. A spearing riff shoots forth at intervals to prevent sleep, and replace the weight in slow motion. Yet when the keys begin to build to the crescendo there’s the slightest quickening, a lifting of mood. A rebirth…?

The disaffected listener who craves more action, the quick hit, is already dead inside. The clue is in the description: life affirming whilst lamenting the sadness of it, this is another winner from Svart.

8.5/10.0

Profetus on Facebook

 

PAUL QUINN

 


Swordwielder – Grim Visions of Battle

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Swordwielder album cover

 

The first album released by this Hawaiian label (which means ‘Blood Cube’ in spanish) was the stratospheric entrée from stoner doom duo Vulgaari. Whilst their second full-length printing doesn’t quite match the resonating magnificence of that release, this debut offering from crusty swedes Swordwielder shows enough to prove that the company knows a good tune when it hears one.

 

Sounds of black and crust are to the fore in Grim Visions of Battle (Cubo de Sangre), but there’s a strong current of doom also, evinced in the funereal onsets of opener ‘World Funeral’ and the ball breaking ‘Out Of Hades’. There are some nice lead flurries with that of Shadow underpinning the track beautifully, whilst the mysterious voice (there is a distinct lack of information about band members anywhere on the web) has a throaty, obsidian roar akin to Horna’s Spellgoth without the emphysemic wheezing. Melodic riffs often enhance the evil elements, giving new life and mystery to ‘…Hades’, whose structures incorporate a punk sensibility alongside some dictatorial stickwork which never quite reaches blastbeat status, whilst galloping, screaming leads whip the track to its close. It’s this variation which lends an air of intrigue and prevents this from becoming just another black album. The bass and drum combination leading ‘Force Of Nature’ opens into one of those punk undercurrents, interspersed by a brief, dazzling lead and with that voice spitting a burning evil, whilst the band show their dark roots in ‘Fields Of Genocide’; all rapacious fury with a veering riff. There’s real emotion in the soft, aching start to the often savage yet ominous closer ‘With My Dying Breath I Curse This World’: a track as dramatic and grandiose as its title would suggest, and indicative of the desolate visions Swordwielder wish to invoke.

 

It’s been a good start to 2014 for those enjoying a crust-filled darkness, with this release showing form in the wake of a sterling offering from Brit black-punks Cultfinder. There’s more work to do if this Gothenburg quintet desires greatness, but the invention accompanying the standard black sound shows there’s plenty to look forward to.

 

7.5/10

Swordwielder on Facebook

 

PAUL QUINN


Year of No Light – Tocsin

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year of no light album coverFeaturing three guitarists and two drummers, there’s a whiff of Cult of Luna hovering around Bordeaux natives Year of No Light, and it’s not just down to their multitude of members. The band play post metal with elements of drone and the occasional heavy trek into doom/sludge realms, and also operate as a kind of collective entity, with collaborations and compositional work the order of the day. In case you hadn’t already guessed, the music on Tocsin is very heavy, very depressive and very slow. It’s also very damn good.

Opening track ‘Tocsin’ clocks in at nearly fourteen minutes and doesn’t really do much until about halfway through when a menacing post metal riff makes its presence felt through the ambient noise like a mastodon emerging from fog. This, accompanied by some squalling guitar noises and simple, yet devastating percussion sets the scene for a near hour long crawl between the two pillars of doom and dissonance, a place where there is little, if any light. By contrast, ‘Géhenne’ is a mere six minutes and employs some much quicker tempos. Imagine Baroness covering a My Bloody Valentine track via an endless field of amplifiers and the crushing wall of noise that is the Year of No Light modus operandi begins to make sense. At this point it may be advisable to check that your ears aren’t bleeding.

‘Désolation’ is a much more sombre affair, the morose keys more than embodying the track’s title as we take a turn into more depressive territory. Or should that be swan dive? Either way, the feeling of utter emptiness is an oppressive one, in no way helped by the deep bass notes and mounting wall of distortion that threatens to consume all and sundry within its devastating path. You almost wish some vocals would come along to indicate a human presence, but tough luck; there aren’t any, just the drone and the void.

The haunting synths that open ‘Stella Rectrix’ are little more than a false dawn, scattered rays on the aftermath of a battlefield, perhaps with funeral doom monarchs Skepticism as the overseers. The funereal pace of the crushing guitars, marching ever onwards is utterly devastating, while the use of repetition never becomes dull, as the music subtly evolves and changes texture. This is akin to having your soul crushed in slow motion, and the thing is, you want it to happen. That’s only how the hazy drone and blackened, pummeling riffs of closing epic ‘Alamüt’ are capable of being withstood without collapsing, weeping to the floor under the sheer weight of the whole thing.

Not for those with short attention spans or those who like music with a sunny cheerful disposition, Year of No Light create challenging, intense music, and it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to call it art. It’s art of an outsider nature however, and for those who have been looking for an act to bridge the gap between Cult of Luna and Sunn 0))), this is an undiscovered Rembrandt. And vocals? Who needs them anyway?

8/10

 

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