Now that's what I call bluesic - IN SEARCH OF SPACE #189

Fuck xmass. Fuck your pagan trees and your corporate Santa and your Jesus-freak nativity scenes. Fuck the Daily Mail and Rill O’Bile-y’s “war on Christmas” (turn on a television for five minutes to disabuse you of that fucking notion). It might have been a good one, but final reports say comet ISON is just a cloud of dust and burned memories after its close encounter with the sun. And I’ve got the perfect announcement and the perfect record to get this non-xmass mood. Electric Wizard are good again. They are also embroiled in legal troubles over their forthcoming album. Electric Wizard’s overlooked (especially by me) Legalise Drugs and Murder 7” is actually good. I considered it simply another piece of Leckie Wizard’s steady slide from life-changing super-slow doom to really pretty tedious and retrograde regular doom.

Our previous article on Wizard is one of our most popular, and I hold to the assertion that early Wizard was a format of (self-destructive) genius, and with the new lineup something was lost. This has been remedied by the return to classic Wizard formula on the part of Jus Oborne and the return of drummer Mark Greening behind the skins; and the return of controversy. Electric Wizard specialised in discordancy and chaos in their music, and it seems that was only present when the same discordancy and chaos was present in their band and in their own lives. Legalise Drugs and Murder, the entirety of Side A, is like a pitch-covered sinner crawling away from a battle. The opening clicks a lighter echoing the reverb’d cough at the start of Sweet Leaf, just as the artwork reflects Master of Reality. The whole thing smells very 1999, which I like, and the completely slapdash tape tossed out by Terrorizer with a coupla extra tracks apparently culled from the first Leckie Wizard B-sides collection to come to hand is just the kind of thing they did with Supercoven. Keep an ear out for the droning ending with “children of the grave” repeated like a mantra until it almost sounds like Funeralopolis. Dig, dig, dig.

Written under duress by Steven.

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