Jucifer - за волгой для нас земли нет

Jucifer are an entirely unique proposition, the only married couple who travel the world in an RV for the sole purpose of redefining what you think you know about volume. To see them live is a visceral experience, you feel the music as much as hear  it.

After they returned from spreading the gospel of Amp Worship on their first tour of Russia in 2011, the first-hand experience of the country inspired the recording of an album dedicated to the people, the place, and the story of Volgograd (more commonly known as Stalingrad).

'за волгой для нас земли нет', which translates to "Beyond the Volga there is no land", is another epic historical concept album from Gazelle Amber Valentine and Edgar Livengood, the likes of which no-one but these two veterans of volume could create.

From the staggering and shrieking minute-long blast 'Дом Павлова / Pavlov's House' through to the churning and chanting drone of 'Сибирь / Siberia', Jucifer demonstrate their chameleon-like ability to cast their metal into any and every mould to stunning effect. It's this diversity that enables them to tackle such weighty thematic subjects set to the sounds at the harshest end of the musical spectrum, and to hold the listener rapt.

I mean, on paper (or screen for that matter), how appealing does a concept album about Russian history set to a mix of everything from grindcore to drone sound? Exactly. But Jucifer's skill is that they take such unwieldy ingredients and turn them into one of the most interesting albums released this year.

Read my full review over at The Sleeping Shaman...

On Pain Of Death - Year Naught Doom

I started this blog with a view to only talking about music releases that I could hold in my hand, but when it came to the debut full-length recording from Ireland's On Pain Of Death, which as of this writing hasn't been committed to wax, tape or polycarbonate, I had to make an exception.

This album kills. I mean it literally sounds like it has the potential to warp listener's minds and inspire them to end lives. I'd like to play my part in furthering it's corruptive intent.

The title track begins with what is either the whistling of the wind, or a portent of something far more ominous. The sparse strum of a guitar enters the soundscape, an eerie, arrhythmic assault on the strings more than any sort of actual chord. It's not melody, it's an audio threat.

Nimble cymbal taps give the first hint that this may become anything even approaching a song before it all collides into a rusted, groaning riff. This is sludge distilled down to the bare essentials; guitars that don't so much swagger as stagger, vocals that are more like puking up booze than singing the blues.

Four minutes in it becomes even more tortuous, the tempo slowing to a crawl, dual vocalists howling and retching words I don't dare try to look up. It's a draining listen. And I mean that as the highest of praise.

Feedback segues the first track into 'Tell Your God To Ready For Blood', which is a phrase taken from the much-lauded TV show Deadwood. This track has all the sparseness and menace of a brutal frontier town itself. The opening minutes of this thirteen minute exercise in audio terror are all discordance and the beating of drums. Not drumbeats, but beating. It's all downbeat and oppressive 'til about halfway through, when something approaching a groove kicks in. Well, it's a groove like the serrated rasp of a blade against vertebrae, but it's like fucking Grand Funk Railroad compared to the first half of the song. There's even a guitar solo at one point.

The track creeps, crawls, slithers to a close, and oh fuck I wish it was accompanied by the hiss and crackle of the needle of my record player protesting against what I'm forcing it to play. This would be the point where I'd need to give it five minutes and steel myself before flipping the record and bracing myself for the B-side

'It Came From The Bog' sounds like the suffocating dread you'd feel as the eponymous 'it' drags itself towards you, all water-bloated rot and crazed cataract stare.

Sporadic drums fill your skull, like the echoing of a tomb before they coalesce into something like a rhythm. Not like you'll be tapping your feet to it or anything, but it's slightly less of an agonising cacophony.

These are all complimentary phrases you understand, to me there is nothing better than being scared by music, and these four depraved motherfuckers have recorded something that definitely succeeds at that.

Between eight and nine minutes in the thing from the bog has devoured it's quarry, and the track shifts gear, almost becoming a melancholy funeral march, if the pallbearers were more interested in hacking through the casket and feasting on the remains.

With just a few minutes left before I can come up for air things morph once more into what sounds like the filthiest grindcore being played at about 6.66 revolutions per minute. The slow ache of a violin joins the fray to add an extra layer of for-fucks-sake-quit-creeping-me-out before what sounds like actual torture and anguish closes the track.

My mind is sufficiently warped. Hopefully I won't kill anyone as a result.

The depraved souls responsible for this fucking thing should seriously get a physical release sorted. This thing needs to be scraped into wax, with that horrifying Harry Clarke illustration blown up to 12" x 12" on matt black heavyweight card. Go tell them that:

https://www.facebook.com/onpainofdeath/

But until that happens, you can download this album for free, or donate some pennies towards it, from Handshake Inc, which ought to tide you over until they sort out a vinyl release:

http://handshakeinc.bandcamp.com/album/year-naught-doom-2

Hopefully at some point someone will realise that there should be some sort of package tour with these guys, Dragged Into Sunlight, and Coffinworm. The Depression Procession Tour, corrupting minds in a city near you!

Free razorblades and absinthe with every admission.

Jucifer - Nadir

Jucifer are one of the most inspiring bands I've ever come across, their nomadic lifestyle convincing me to pack up all my records, stuff a backpack with denim and doom shirts, and drop out of life in pursuit of riff-filled lands. It was during this time I got to see Saint Vitus, Pentagram, The Obsessed (twice), Sleep, Electric Wizard, Eyehategod, Ramesses, Orange Goblin, Noothgrush (twice), Thou (twice) and also Jucifer themselves. Twice.

I caught their set at Roadburn, in the tiny, packed, blisteringly hot room at the very top floor of the 013. It was after two hours of Sleep, so my ears were already ringing by the time Amber and Edgar hit the stage at midnight and proceeded to redefine what I thought I knew about volume.

Loud does not adequately describe what they do. It's an enveloping feeling, waves of sound washing over you, destruction by decibels.

By the time I staggered out into the cold Netherlands night I felt pulverized, in the best way possible.

I went to see them a week later, playing my favourite venue in Germany, the AZ Mülheim. It was another tiny room who's walls could barely contain (an unfortunately greatly reduced version of) Amber's Amp Mountain, but they still managed to create sheer sonic mass.

I was so captivated I missed the tram back to the couch I was crashing on, and had to walk for three hours through the heart of industrial Germany in the pitch back night. But it was so very worth it.

I'd had a digital copy of Nadir for a while by that point, put out by the very excellent Grindcore Karaoke, J Randall's not-for-profit outlet for the weird and wonderful sounds being made worldwide. Remastered by Scott Hull, it sounded great, but without something I can see spinning, I never really feel any great attachment to an album.

I'd heard rumours that there'd be a cassette release to coincide with the European tour I was seeing them on, but it never really materialised. Months passed, my nomadic existence ended (temporarily), and I found myself with access to a record player again.

Which was just as well, as I got the news that the dude behind Handshake Inc would be releasing a vinyl version of the Nadir album, remastered for vinyl by Brad Boatright at Audiosiege, who also remastered the holy grail of low and slow; Sleep's Dopesmoker. Sweet!

I was so excited, when it was finally released I managed to snag the first copy. Now to finally hear it as it was intended; LOUD.

Opening with 'Prime', feedback oozes, before the riff lurches and staggers from my speakers. You can already hear the telepathic level of tightness of Amber and Edgar's playing. I've never seen a band so able to switch between droning guitar/drum atmospherics and shrieking blastbeat fury in time with each other without exchanging so much as a glance.

'Hachimantaro' alternates between the clanging discordance of the intro and a solid, crunching stomp. Amber's ethereal vocals not quite synching up with the harshness of the instruments, her voice contrasting it nicely, something they'd explore a lot on their later releases. It's an eerie effect.

Third song 'Withering' is an exercise in tension and release. The drums ratcheting, the feedback building, before they bring it back down again. The vocals once again have that unsettling, airy lilt, as opposed to the variety of the later releases, which feature Amber growling, barking, singing softly, screaming her head off, even singing in a variety of different languages.

You can hear that this is the origin of their sound, that they're already exploring contrast and volume.

 

The second side starts off with 'Glamourpuss', descibed as "kind of a revenge fantasy [about] girls who pretend to care, will compliment you to your face, then betray you at the first opportunity" in the liner notes, its initial gigantic rumble giving way to a fretboard-spanning weird riff, the vocals coo-ed honey sweet over the top. You can almost hear the malicious grin in Amber's voice as she calls out her betrayers.

They re-recorded this track for their debut album Calling All Cars On The Vegas Strip, which sounds a lot more confident in it's performance, but it's cool to hear the prototype version here.

'Crossless', with its croaked, creaking witchy vocals, all-encompassing guitar tone and heavy-hitting drums closes out a short-but-sweet glimpse into the origins of a band who would pioneer the sludge metal two-piece so prevalent today.

They were staking out unknown territory all the way back in 1994, no-one was playing anything like this (but if you've heard bands that were, please, send me recommendations of other female-fronted weirdo sludge bands!).

There's still no-one quite like Jucifer.

You can download this (and hundreds of other weird awesome shit) for FREE from Grindcore Karaoke here:

http://grindcorekaraoke.com/album/nadir

But I recommend splashing some cash on the vinyl from Mutants Of The Monster:

http://shop.mutantsofthemonster.com/Jucifer-Nadir-LP-MOTM-LP1.htm

Catch Jucifer on tour constantly, and worship at Thee White Wall Of Doom!