Tag Archives: War Iron

War Iron – Precession of the Equinoxes

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From highly-rated Belfast quartet War Iron comes a morose, ponderous noise infected by the pure evil of Andrew ‘Baggy’ Bagwell‘s nefarious, slurring rasp. Dual leads pluck the heartstrings at intervals through the crushing riff and crawling, titanic rhythms of ‘Bludgeon Lord’, the opening track of third album Precession of the Equinoxes (Independent). A warm, crackling production heightens the sinister feel and prevents the quickening bridges from exploding into a full-on Death assault; instead applying the reins enough to make one marvel at how such a precariously-balanced pace is kept.

The desolate peal of ‘Summon Demon Scream the Abyss’ is initially accompanied by a penitent chorus before that terrible lascivity seeps over the body; a funeral groove, twisting with the slowing power and weight of a dying anaconda. Baggy’s repetitive early vocal has the sneering perversity of ex-Lord Mantis‘ screamer Charlie Fell, the track fizzing and swelling with all manner of sadistic sorrow. The introductory bass notes of the title track cause concussion, some unsettling low growls whispering around the floor before the most fetid scream tightens the sphincter: whilst colossal, almost Blackened riffs make the tension nigh-on unbearable. Oddly-pulsing leads at the mid-section combine with bone-crunching rhythmic gymnastics and brutal chops to the coda, all the while staying close to the Doom template. Closer ‘From Napalm Altar’ sees a return to that funereal hostility: the intermittent quiet moments filled with eerie language, setting the teeth on edge for the forthcoming bludgeon; every chord, note and single beat flung from Thor’s Hammer; the accompanying roars and rasps the embodiment of despair and terror.

Finally, the UK has a contender in the Blackened Doom market. Although the winding noise of an Indian or Coffinworm is absent, it’s replaced by an Ophis-style mournful tolling which adds to the ominous feel rather than detracting attention from it. The resonant, single-kick sequence closing this fine, startling album chills the spine, and leaves the feeling that nothing good will ever happen again. To Serpentine Path: if you want to scare the shit out of people at a snail’s pace, this is how you do it.

 

8.5/10

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PAUL QUINN


Headless Kross – Volumes

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I’m not one for instrumental albums, and the first eight minutes of Volumes (Black Bow), the debut album from Glasgow trio Headless Kross, left me fearing the worst. Following ‘splits’ with Brit Sludge-Doom outfits War Iron and Lazarus Blackstar, riffs the weight of lead elephants pierce the sky with a more psychedelic feel than one may expect. The slow, repetitive groove and lack of vocal in the early stages of epic-length opener ‘Rural Juror’ however, had me scurrying for the exit door. Cometh the Man…

Derek Sexton‘s raking scream gives the touch of evil, a Sludgy edge, that the initial strains so badly need. His intermittent holler is initially subtle in the mix following the middle section’s bleep fest, until harrowing screams burst through welcome chord progressions; squealing, scratching leadwork lifting the track from its rolling monotony toward a drifting, Eastern-flecked paradise. The developing sound is akin to melding Karma to Burn with Brighton Sludge-Grungers Gorse, the warm fuzz of Tommy Duffin‘s wailing, oscillating leads cascading the coda through the cosmos.

It’s when threatening to break its creative tethers that Headless Kross realises its full array of talent and possibility. Sexton’s fulminating blackened scream drags the carcass of ‘Who Is This Who Is Coming’ to a rude awakening, aided by an explosion of barely harnessed power; a languid, luscious guitar solo easing its pain and pushing back to the usual Stoner vibe. The crushing riff of closer ‘Even The Destroyed Things Have Been Destroyed’ is doleful, the vocal at times bitter and railing yet occasionally full of anguish and, in exposing this, evoking the emotional protestations of Winterfylleth‘s Chris Naughton. More subtle leadwork opens to a vicious mind-bending oppression, and it’s here where the true power of this outfit is laid bare: the ability to weld harsh, frozen wastelands with phenomenal weight and resonance and, crucially, palpable emotion.

Volumes is an album full of paradox: repulsively angry and often brutal, yet vulnerable and endearing; impassioned yet periodically riddled with flexing, latent groove. It’s a risky yet fascinating combination which ultimately ensures these powerful Glaswegians will stick in the mind.

 

7.5/10

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PAUL QUINN