I was anxious to see openers Headless Kross as they'd just released a split 12" with Bradford's foulest, Lazarus Blackstar, and any band that keeps such company has got to be worth a watch. Their set was different to what I expected, their sound being closer to the stoner-doom of Sleep and Weedeater than the crusty, sludgy mess I had anticipated based on their choice of band to split a record with. Their meandering, psych-tinged stoner grooves shook the already loose ceiling panels of the venue, the harsh vocals threatening to bring them down entirely.
I'm so glad Glasgow is producing bands like this nowadays, and I'm definitely looking forward to giving their recorded material a spin.
I haven't seen Sunsmasher play for way over a year now, and when they open with Mujeres Libres from their Mammothian/Loud/Cult EP I'm happy to hear they're still as devastatingly heavy as ever.
Attacking his bass in between bursts of bile into the mic, bassist Phil is a sight to behold, coming across like a crazed street preacher with access to high-level amplification, while guitarist Neil strangles mangled blues out of his strings. Whenever they get another recording out, look out for it, your bleeding ears will thank you for it.
Recently reformed Kent post-metallers Bossk seem to have been just as big a draw tonight as the headliners, with a few people in the crowd barely able to contain their excitement at finally getting to see the band live for the first time in years.
As soon as they launch into their first song, the excitement is fully justified, as the band weave together achingly pretty instrumental passages, offset by harder-edged sections that put the 'metal' in post-metal. Personally I hate that term, but it does describe what Bossk do so very well, and if you're a fan of the genre and you don't have a copy of .01 and .02, what the hell are you doing?
At one point their own intricately woven melodies fade out to the sound of crashing waves, and... wait... is that a Fleetwood Mac cover?! Yeah, it is. The most unexpected place to hear 'Albatross' ever (well, second to its appearance in those Marks & Spencers ads years ago).
With new material being recorded this year, look out for the continuing triumphant return of Bossk.
I last saw Dragged Into Sunlight at the 2012 edition of Roadburn, where their set time was eaten into by the amount of stuff being set up on stage, and as much as I appreciate their aesthetic, if fannying about with skulls and candles cuts 2 songs out of your set, is it really worth it?
Luckily tonight there is minimal fannying, the candles are lit, the funeral fog (well, smoke machine...) drifting past the goat skull altar and enveloping the room, creating an appropriately suffocating atmosphere.
The anonymous members take the stage, the steady hum of that ominous Matamp backline builds, the samples lead into the familiar intonation of "...it pleases me...to serve you..." and Boiled Angel is unleashed.
This term is overused in descriptions of extreme music, but a Dragged Into Sunlight set truly is an assault on the senses; the near-constant strobe light rendering you unable to even glance in the direction of the stage, the sheer volume seeming to actually force the sound into your ears, the whole time your lungs filled with the acrid stench of more smoke than even the most ardent weedian can cope with.
You don't merely watch or listen to a Dragged Into Sunlight show; you survive it.
I, Aurora erupts from the howling, smoke-spewing thing on stage, and I can feel other victims of the show thrashing heads and limbs against my back. It's kind of hard to tell if they're enjoying themselves or if I might be feeling a few people's death throes. Either way I'm transfixed by the beast with five heads before me.
The set is culled entirely from Hatred For Mankind, with not even the similarly harsh Part II from their recent masterpiece Widowmaker given an airing, though its not like I expected DIS of all bands to conform to any expectations others may have of them.
The candles are snuffed out, the feedback howls, the smoke dissipates, the stage empties, and the crowd drags themselves out to sunless night.
This was one of the best shows I've seen in Scotland, the whole Dragged Into Sunlight set sounded incredible, as did every band tonight, so credit to
the venue's soundman for being able to capture the aural assault that
DIS unleashes without losing any of the sheer sonic force. I hope there are more shows like this in Scotland
now that its beginning to foster a strong homegrown doom scene, as well
as continuing to attract touring bands from all over the world.
I
thought I'd be living in Germany when I booked my tickets for Heavy
Days In Doom Town 2013, having had the best fest experience of my life
at the inaugural 2012 edition. However external forces
(psychotic housemates, financial woes) caused me to abandon my life on
the continent and come back to the country of my birth.
As a
result, my journey to the riff-filled land was a little more convoluted
than it should have been. Connecting flights, sleeping overnight in
airports, and some 50 hours of waiting around all conspired to dampen my
spirits, but as soon as I was walking the streets of Copenhagen again, I
felt that familiar pre-show thrill.
The anticipation of the howl of
feedback, the buzz of amps, the joy of spending my nights in dark
cramped rooms with other people who get the same rush out of riffs that I
do.
No matter where circumstances dictate I lay my head and earn my living, this is where I feel at home.
THURSDAY
Danish sludge miscreants Bottom Feeder hit the stage looking like they'd rather be hitting the crowd.
Raw, hateful sludge is their bag, and they wield all the appropriate
squalls of feedback and gut-wrenching growls. The re-appropriation of
the term sludge to mean angry, ugly music no matter where it hails from,
as opposed to 'any vaguely heavy band from Georgia' is welcome.
Look out for their debut LP, coming soon from Raw Birth Records.
Next up, giving you a glimpse of just how varied the bands can be that
are loosely grouped under the banner of Doom, are Norwegian psych-heads
High Priest Of Saturn.
They have an organ player, so I'm
instantly curious as to how their set will sound. When Om-tattooed Merethe Heggset straps on her Rickenbacker bass, and the band let rip into their
first track, I'm instantly sold. Coming on like a spacier Acid King,
they capture everyone in the room with their hypnotic groove.
Check out their debut self-titled album, out now on Svart.
Huata describe their live shows as 'fuzz ritual ceremonies', and that's
about as perfect a way of describing their set as I can think of.
Looking like a Candlemass tribute singer in his robes and exploding-couch hair, their frontman has a powerful bellow, with the band creating fuzzed-out dronescapes to back
up his chanting. The
three or four beers I'd had by this point combine perfectly with the
music, and I can't help but sway with the ebb and flow of Huata's warm tones.
A perfect way to end the first night, I leave before Hexvessel, having caught their occult-folk janglings at last year's Roadburn, and really not digging it.
FRIDAY
Birmingham's Alunah were a great, soulful start to the day, their blues-y stoner rock going down well with the first D61 beer (of many) of the day. Vocalist Soph Day clearly worships at the altar of Lori S, her soaring voice weaving perfectly with the desert-driving guitar of husband Dave. I think this was the last show of their tour, but don't miss them next time they come around.
Their most recent album White Hoarhound is available through PsycheDOOMelic.
Chile-via-Sweden metallers Procession's set was probably one of the most uptempo shows of the weekend, at least to my ears. They had more trad metal stylings in the vein of Candlemass or Reverend Bizarre, which isn't really my cup of tea, but they played a solid set which I ducked out early of in order to catch Bell Witch.
Bell Witch were probably the most anticipated band of Friday. Almost
everyone I saw at the merch tables walked away clutching a vinyl copy of
their masterful full-length Longing, and the Dödsmaskinen room was
packed, people spilling out the doors with everyone straining to catch a
glimpse of the enigmatic dreadlocked duo.
Their brand of mournful, cavernous doom had one American dude I met almost in tears. I guess that's a good recommendation?
Fresh off
their tour with Bongripper, this is probably the 4th time I've seen
Conan in the past year, and the UK's fastest-rising caveman battle doom
band never fail to obliterate. Opening with 'Hawk As Weapon', they
quickly show everyone in the room just how damn HEAVY heavy music can
get.
They put out a split with Bongripper in honour of their tour together, you should really give it a spin.
Samothrace are heavy in a whole other sense, their
sprawling blues-sludge epics instil a melancholy ache in my chest, and it's more than
just the many beers in my system that make me get a little choked up.
Opening with 'A Horse Of Our Own' from their rightfully praised 2012
album Reverence To Stone they instantly show why their return to
playing live is a very very good thing. 'Awkward Hearts' from
their first record Life's Trade is a total revelation, I never thought I'd hear
anything from this album live.
Guitarists Spinks and Renata Castagna are capable of wringing
sounds from their strings that'll wring your heartstrings, their expansive, intertwining leads compliment six-string bassist Dylan Desmond's
playing perfectly.
They close out the set with the other half of their last LP, the beautifully unfurling 'When We Emerged'.
Samothrace are one of those bands that are just meant to be, and I'm so thankful they are.
We need their heavy music for heavy times.
SATURDAY
What better way to start your day than with some primo Italian sludge? I
guarantee it'll perk you up more than coffee ever could.
Trieste's
Grime have some of the most GodHating riffs around, and will make any
disciples of distorted misery truly Come To Grief. These guys, along with Bottom Feeder and Meth Drinker, are sludge's next filthy bands to watch.
Their new album Deteriorate is out today, as it turns out, on Forcefield Records.
Lecherous Gaze play some of the most bugged out, proto-punked up rock n' roll
I've ever heard.
At one point I thought the whole delightfully scumbaggy
crowd was gonna fall to the floor and start doing the fly, while sneering creep frontman Zaryan Zaidi twitched his way through the fastest, wildest set of the whole fest.
Damn good fun, I'm interested to hear if their crazed live energy comes across on their last record On The Skids.
Richmond's Cough were one of the bands I was most excited to
see after their cancelled performance at last year's HDDT, and their Ritual Abuse record is one of my favourites of recent years, so my
expectations were high.
Unfortunately they chose to eschew
playing the best songs from that album in favour of some of their
lesser known material, including 'Athame' from their Reflection Of The Negative split with
fellow RVA doomsters Windhand. No 'Cripple Wizard' or 'Crooked Spine'?
Come on, guys.
But that's my only issue, they still played brilliantly, rumbling the main salen to its core.
Meth Drinker. Holy shit. What can I
say that will accurately describe this performance?
This was one of
those shows that people will swear they were at for years to come. When I
first got into heavy music, it was because of shows like this one;
people losing all control of themselves, thrown fists and stage dives,
all trying to ensure mutually assured destruction. Meth Drinker will
restore your faith in aggressive music, their arms straining with corded
muscle as they wring the necks of guitars, lips drawn back and teeth
bared in a rictus as they spew bile into the mic.
If you're not listening to this band then what's even the point in having ears? DRINK METH.
Fellow Antipodeans Mournful Congregation were a different affair
entirely, their elegant, glacial funeral procession killing all remotely aggressive
vibes, resulting in a total comedown in atmosphere. What, you want to push-mosh to
funeral doom with a smile on your face? Good luck.
'Suicide Choir' was a personal highlight of their set.
One of the best things about Heavy Days is its ability to lure bands
across the sea for their first ever European shows. If in the first
year of your fest you manage to get Noothgrush to flatten the room,
you're doing it right.
So it was with almost hysterical
excitement that I greeted the announcement of Graves At Sea as one of
the headliners of HDDT II. I must have grinned in dumbfounded disbelief
at those words for an hour when I first got the news, and it wasn't
until seeing founding members Nick and Nathan wandering around the Stengade and
Ungdomshuset venues that I could actually wrap my head around it.
So when doom's handsomest band took the stage to close out
Saturday night, I was front and goddamn centre. Opening with 'Pariah'
from their split with Asunder, the swing of THAT opening riff had me
just about shaking my vertebrae apart. The track has this shuddering
juggernaut of a midsection that sounds like the heaviest thing you've
ever heard when it's coming out of a wall of amps instead of record
player speakers. The initial rhythm descends and deteriorates into waves
of sheer sonic mass.
Considering the impressive stream of booze flowing towards the stage, the band were still playing tight as hell, Nathan never missing a beat in between downing every bottle passed to him.
They debuted a track from a forthcoming split with Sourvein, their
first new material in eight years, and it had that perfect mix between groove and abrasiveness that has defined their discography up 'til
now. It sounds like they've never been away, and judging by the reaction
of a packed main room, everyone is just as glad as I am to have them
back.
When they launch into another piece of music I don't
recognise, I wonder if we'll get to hear something from their split with
Loss that's also due out later this year, but it turns out to just be a
new intro to what's probably their best song, and arguably one of the
best heavy songs of all time; Red fucking Monarch.
When the
intro twists into that opening riff, the whole room loses it. Heads are
banged, beer is spilled, stages are dived from... it's one of the best
moments of the whole weekend. The guitars ratchet the tension up with
each repetition of the riff, the drums build and build but never quite
lock in, the whole thing threatening to erupt at any moment. And then it
does, and I almost destroy my face against the stage. This is what
music is capable of. Sheer fucking bliss.
"Do you guys know a song called 'Praise The Witch'?" asks Nathan, knowing damn well there probably isn't a person in the room who doesn't. The second track of the night from Documents of Grief, another song I never thought I'd have the chance to hear live.
To the band, and those who booked them for the fest, a sincere thank you. You made my year.
SUNDAY
By this fourth consecutive day of mind-melting music, I was nearing
saturation point.
When Finland's Dark Buddha Rising began their
soundcheck, I thought my brain was about to dribble out of my ears, but I
toughed it out in order to witness one of those sets that those of a
more pretentious persuasion might deem to call a ritual.
The
band seemed to be comprised of two very different camps; four droning
stoners, and one shirtless maniac with a lump of rotting something on a
rope around his neck, a chalice of blood and a noise pedalboard. Bit of a
contrast, but it worked, the band pushing out pulsating waves of fuzz
and drone while the frontman let forth some terrifying howls, feedback,
and generally just made a mess of the stage and himself.
Perfect Sunday
afternoon listening.
Long-standing Danish funeral
marchers Saturnus are a lot more fun live than their chosen genre may
lead you to believe. The band look like they're having a blast playing
to a home crowd that obviously loves them, frontman Thomas A.G. Jensen at one point
being handed, bizarrely, a multitude of Kinder Eggs by some front row
fanatics. It's gotta be pretty hard to growl out paeans to death and
loss with a massive grin on your face.
Berlin's
Kadavar, all time champions in the World's Tightest Vest competition, were my surprise discovery of the weekend. I don't usually go in for the
whole retro rock revival thing, but when a band can make a room full of
crusties and doomier-than-thou beard metallers actually dance, you know
they justify the hype. High-energy Rock that will make you shake your
ass. 'Nuff said.
The fun vibe is quickly harshed when Southampton degenerates Moss take to the stage.
"Heavy Days... Horrible Nights..." intones frontman Olly Pearson before
the band starts in on the title cut from their new record Moss'
Horrible Night. I haven't spun this latest release yet (out now on vinyl from Rise Above) but judging by
the strength of tonight's set, in which almost every track is culled from
it, when I get around to hearing it I'm sure it'll end up being one of
my favourites this year.
The rapturous reaction that greets the
band as they end their set means they basically have no choice but to
return and doom us all to the 'Tombs Of The Blind Drugged'.
As almost every band was thrilled to announce, Heavy Days In Doom Town
is rapidly becoming one of Europe's best fests, and is an excellent
example of when the underground comes together to show that DIY
culture is alive and thriving. I'll see you all in Copenhagen for next year's best celebration of all things slow and heavy.
