Slumming drone doom and dance parties - Black Norse and Druid rising - IN SEARCH OF SPACE #175

My annual meditation session approaches babies so finally this dark cloud that’s been hanging over may finally depart. For ten beautiful days technology free, ten spectacular days absorbing and meditating in a restful sense amongst the towering scenery of the north Highlands. You can keep your Magaluf-skirting booze-cruise motherfucker because I’ve got nailed the exact thing that gives me spiritual calm. It’s been too long since I meditated. Full academia (which is now over, well done me) and various other projects (keep it dialled on Ripple Music ‘s all I’m sayin’) have kept me away from your sweet ears babbies but I haven’t forgotten about you. I’m struggling to think of something to give you my musical opinion on that you ain’t already had, or is just a re-tread. New Jex Thoth is worth checking out, the same old fairy-songs as sung by Thorr’s Hammer ambiance. Also the back-alley feel of the new Man’s Gin I haven’t yet absorbed but they’re a solid bunch. Tommy Concrete also has a new book out. I try to avoid this y’see because once I’ve focused y’all on a certain trip (the Tommy Concrete trip for instance) I don’t feel the need to trumpet all their latest work unless it is of utmost spiritual importance and Not To Be Missed. I’ve been working on fiction, but I feel like this blog, at least from my end, has rather lost its way. I intended it to be an antidote to the no-brainer 50-word NME mob churning out garbage, to cover interesting Melvins side cuts and selections of cream skimmed from the underground. O’course that doesn’t preclude us from commenting on the new chart-topper if we feel the meditative usefulness of such an activity. I didn’t want to have blog darlings, but the world situation is so nervous and wrong that terrible useless confused garbage clutters up my release schedule and high-quality music has been far away. I don’t know where this is going, by the way. Really what I want is to sink into the treacle of the best of Reverend Bizarre or Ramessess, but there doesn’t seem to be anything like that on the airwaves… but then it wouldn’t be. Have you heard of Black Norse, me neither, until a few weeks ago when I noticed one of the many promos, free copies, links and fickle magazine ‘best buys’ that had sneaked into my burgeoning collection was a little Jackson Pollock-covered thing called Black Norse.



Keep track of the moment these guys first take a sideways swipe at your head with a replica Viking axe, because you’ll be hooked from then on after. It’s far and away the heaviest thing you can dance to. Imagine Weedeater tried to make a Stooges album, or coming the other way, if Split-era Groundhog tried to imitate Electric Wizard, as well they might. It recalls the early piss-and-vinegar Baroness of their early EPs, regardless of the simple piss Baroness we now have. Thunderously groovy stuff, you’d be a fool to miss this one. They’re It’s Not Night, It’s Space luminaries as well, for added bonus points.

Speaking of ole’ ‘Leckie Wizard; how do you go about recording a straight-up sludge record if you keep slipping into mead-drunk drone doom drongoism and yer lead gee-tar keeps thundering in like an old Messerschmitt with Pentagram-slurping psycho-solos that smoke the cosmic pole right down to the base? I recall saying in the wake of the Slack Babbath 13 fiasco that a new record from the original crypt-botherers was so utterly pointless in a world that is so utterly post-them and the new record from Druid proves my point with spectacular aplomb. Clearly a lukewarm pitcher of Tennants swilled down with some Largactil because these San Fran sludge slowpokes can’t even keep up with the soporific beat of Weedeater and the like and keep descending into early Ramessess territory. Fret not though, because vox from Mike Foster are stupefyingly heavy. And all this for the price of free.
 


Written under duress by Steven, don't eat the green eccies.

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