Come on baby, light my pyre - IN SEARCH OF SPACE #226

With the Melvins, Earth, Electric Wizard and chiefly Sleep, we saw what happened to the generation that grew up on Sabbath, precisely the moment Sabbath took a classic Jefferson Airplane flower power ballad title, Sweet Leaf, and turned it into a pleading, moaning sacrament; U KNO IT. Now with the power of the internet to unearth further reverberations from the decades-buried bunker, the early musings by Pentagram and the like, combined with the emanations of Sleep themselves. While there is a blogosphere of imitators, they do nothing to innovate, until now. Pyres of the Oregonian is a project by Ryan ‘Refusenik’ Kittell, from his social media emanations it’s clear Dopesmoker is less like a song and more like a permanently rising tide, as it is to a whole generation of long-beard drop-out doom heads. The sub-religious chanting, the howling guitars and the drum-driven structure all come up in the Weedian Master sorta-LP. A self-titled album is in the works and from what I’ve heard it burns with heathen fire right into pagan wood.

Katy Perry’s Xmass song will get stuck in your head like a harpoon made of frozen shit.

Forgive me for being predictably unimpressed by the following Huffington Post headline: “Katy Perry's New Christmas Song” but that combination of words is akin to “Your hideous extruding bowel tumor has probably metastasised” or “Russian strike bomber shot down by Turkish F16”. I don’t really get why Katy Perry exists, apart from that her parents made poor decisions, but why she’s famous has always been beyond me. She isn’t particularly good at singing and her winkingly-knowing affect grates. This latest abomination is literally an advert, and normally I could just write that, sign off then take to drinking with both hands, but I feel the need to back-engineer this foul burrito dump because worryingly, I found myself singing it. Yes, I have since carved out my tongue with a ceremonial knife and will drive a 2B pencil through my temple with my AP styleguide in shame, but it is actually catchy; like tuberculosis or Boston Beaneaters player Marty Bergen who killed his wife and two children before taking his own life.

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