Wolf's Week #3
Elitist, Returning, a bunch of other stuff
This will be the last Wolf's Week posted on YLFL. I'm moving this endeavor to its own Substack so people can subscribe to it if they wish. It's named, drum roll please, Wolf's Week. It's over here.
Music
Deliquesce - Cursed With Malevolence (Daze)
From: Melbourne, Australia
Genre: death metal
Deliquesce came via a recommendation from Afterbirth's Cody Drasser, who is a good Twitter follow if you're still hanging out there. I am also compelled to recognize the chain of custody because it's a little embarrassing Cursed With Malevolence wasn't already on my radar. Who is that shredding the unholy heck out of their guitar? Why, it's Adrian Cappelletti from Lurid Panacea, the best Rawhead record, and Disentomb, a high-caliber player who has been featured in the extended Plague Rages universe often. Whoops! This is like when I play Immaculate Grid and forget Frank Thomas played for the Blue Jays or something. Anyway, Drasser rightfully IDed Deliquesce's restless death metal as being in the vein of classic NY/NJ ADHD-afflicted basement-dwelling scuzziness. Think if Sermons of Mockery had quicker tempo shifts and a thirst for beatdown parts. And the Deliquesce quartet ties a bow on the comparison by enlisting Pyrexia's Jim Beach to sing on "Sectarian Divide." Dig it. For the Travis Tates among you.
Asphalt - E.P. III (self-released)
From: Portland, OR
Genre: sludge
I don't know Asphalt's story, but here's my best guess: E.P. III, the duo's newest set of sludge, strikes me as two musicians having fun. That one of those musicians is M.S.W. from Hell makes sense once you feel the gravitational pull of Asphalt's grooves. But, yeah, this isn't as demanding or punishing as M.S.W.'s other band, as evidenced by the fact that there's a song titled "Meth Gator." If you're down to hear a song about a strung-out swamp puppy composed by people who love sludge riffs that could level a city block, I have a feeling you'll have fun with this one, too.
Hit Bargain - A Dog A Deer A Seal (Get Better Records)
From: Los Angeles, CA
Genre: punk
Hit Bargain, something of an LA-scene supergroup, plays charging punk that often has the caterwauling volume and nervy tension of noise rock, particularly in how the bass pulses and drums push the tempo. But that's just me. Other outlets hear something more classic in its sound. Paste compared singer Nora Singh to Alice Bag, and while I don't think that quite lands sonically, the two singers have a similar desperateness to their approach. When Singh screams, it ups the intensity of the tunes, offering catharsis via cutting lyrics while the other musicians aim straight for your lizard brain with loud, crashing sounds and careening riffs that buzz your ears like the Blue Angels. No wrong answers. Invigorating, no matter how you hear it.
Elitist - A Mirage of Grandeur (Indisciplinarian)
From: Denmark
Genre: death metal
From members of Piss Vortex, still one of the best-named metal bands of the last few years, comes this death metal monster that is like a cross between Tucker-era Morbid Angel and bassist/vocalist Thomas Fischer's other gig, Apparatus. When Elitist starts churning, it feels like the world is ending. And then it'll spray some flammable discordance onto the inferno for good measure. Burns real good.
Sluice - Radial Gate (Ruination Record Co.)
From: North Carolina, USA
Genre: rock / folk
Sluice is Justin Morris, something of a renaissance multi-hyphenate who also happens to make affecting folk rock as an avocation. At its best, Radial Gate reminds me of a band like Polyphemus, not so much in sound but in the way this outsider jewel seems to exist in its own world without erecting impossible-to-scale barriers of entry. In other words, despite being insular, it's relatable and supremely listenable. I also appreciate how plainspoken Morris's lyrics are while still veering into the absurd. "I've had no revelations in the wilderness," Morris sings calmly on "Acts 9:3". "Though I did take a surprise shit while/ Leaning off of a ridge/ And was struck by the beauty and comedy/ Of attempting to exist." For me, the best track on the album is "Centurion," which rides a propulsive acoustic guitar riff while nestling into the same kind of lush slowcore that Idaho excelled at.
Other music stuff:
Bobby Analog - "When Will the Day Come?"
Sometimes, I think dance music has the right idea about singles, emphasizing the ephemerality of the form. Instead of worrying themselves sick about whether tracks will stand the test of time, some artists are only interested in the upcoming weekend. Sure, some songs will naturally become the kind of classics that elicit old dorks like me to whisper "tune" whenever we hear it. Lightning always strikes. But, from my perspective at least, the bulk of the produced material isn't necessarily aiming for memorability and only achieves that standing when it becomes an OST to life events, an aural cue to trigger blissful reminisces and nostalgic reveries. Put more simply, your relationship to those songs becomes more personal than the universal marker of time that is the fate of most number one singles.
Case in point: This weekend, I compiled a quick playlist of songs I used to toss into mixes circa 2017 to help alleviate the boredom of a three-hour drive. Objectively, a lot of that stuff didn't hold up. Then again, why would it? But this gem by Bobby Analog still gleamed years later. The peppy flip of Rasa's "When Will the Day Come" has the ideal balance of groove and melancholy, getting as wistful as a lofi house banger can get. I should also write that I think this is about as well-executed as anything else on the Slav spectrum. I don't want the preceding graf about ephemerality to impugn its quality: it's built to last. But I also have a ton of memories packed away in this nugget — some of which are not good, perhaps increasing the track's potency — and it was nice feeling some feels again.
Green Velvet - "I Want to Leave My Body"
Speaking of lightning striking, how many times has Green Velvet caught that spark in a bottle? Here's a dance track that I think has withstood the test of time. The bass groove on this 1995 bouncy house classic is deadly. Add in Green Velvet's typically outlandish vocals executed with perfect comedic timing and a near-acid nastiness to the synth's squelchier moments and you have a winner for all seasons. The fact that you could snag this single as the A-side of a 12" b/w "Flash" and "Answering Machine" is still wild to me.
Find me on Bandcamp until Ampwall goes live.
Reading
"The Edmund Fitzgerald Is Inspiring Jim Harbaugh And Michigan Football To Achieve 'Lake Mindset'" by David Roth, Defector
"We're the lake" is such an incredible takeaway from Gordon Lightfoot's "The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald." I'm glad that extreme bit of football brain crossed Roth's desk.
…
"André 3000 on His New Album and Life After Outkast" by Zach Baron, GQ
I, like many of you, read the André 3000 profile. (I'm not watching the 30-minute video. Sorry, GQ.) Baron does a good interview, and he, Alex Pappademas, Taffy Brodesser-Akner, Caity Weaver, and the like, can reliably do more with the celebrity profile than blasé PR regurgitation. But, I gotta be honest, I don't understand this press cycle at all. Three Stacks just wants to be left alone to follow his woodwind whims, and yet is stuck doing press everywhere for New Blue Sun? It's just...weird. It'd be like writing a memoir about intense misanthropy and then going on a book signing tour. Anyway, the album is also...boring? Am I even allowed to note that after it scored Best New Music at Pitchfork? As someone who listens to some new age and ran a tape label that dabbled in it, I think I have enough authority to say it sounds like a bad Steve Roach impression. Carlos Niño, the artist around which New Blue Sun orbits, has made a lot of exciting music, with that recently released collaboration with Thandi Ntuli being one of them. Still, despite Niño's presence, I don't think New Blue Sun is substantive enough to warrant this much attention. Grab I Am the Center: Private Issue New Age Music In America, 1950-1990 if you want an entry into a new age that's not as fraught with think pieces.
Movies
Lost in America (1985)
Considering how badly this generation has borked the economy and government, I don't know if Lost in America, a once-incisive indictment of yuppy midlife crises, is funny anymore. It's just sort of...grim. Still, no one gets indignant like Albert Brooks. 3/5
The Forbidden Kingdom (2008)
Contains one great bit of physical comedy for Jackie Chan, the Buster Keaton of our time, that earned a legit laugh out loud. The rest feels like it was calibrated to help on-board Western kids into kung fu movies: a noble goal you can accomplish more efficiently by just picking a better movie. 2/5
Pee-wee's Big Adventure (1985)
I don't like much of Tim Burton's filmography, but Pee-wee was a good foil, forcing Burton to go relatively small because the actor and rest of the story are so big. Same thing happened on Ed Wood. It's the movie-making equivalent of Steve DiGiorgio's bass playing on Autopsy's Severed Survival. 3/5
Reindeer Games (2000)
Every trope from a beginner screenwriting class's final project was packed into this enjoyably stupid thriller. More twists than Brian De Palma and M. Night Shyamalan engaged in a red herring contest. Each one is even more jaw-droppingly inane than the last. 2/5
Narc (2002)
Could've been a great exploration of obsessive people ruined by careers that require them to tap into their obsessive traits, but I found the Guy Ritchie-style whiz-bang to be irritating. I think I grew out of that stuff ages ago. On the other hand, you do get a lot of Ray Liotta grimacing, so I have to acknowledge that by bumping up the score. 2.5/5
Check out my Letterboxd if you're bored.
Show Report
HEXIS / MIDWESTLUST / ALL YOU NEED IS KILL / BLACK SHEEP WALL / INCIPIT - 11/14/2023
The attendance for this show was bleak. I think it might've capped out at 25 people, including musicians playing in the other bands, during Black Sheep Wall's set. Like, I get it. Trying to rouse a crowd for a metal show on a Tuesday is tough sledding. But, jeez, if you're in the Palmdale area, support these shows at Transplants Brewing Company. It's a good venue, and I'd like them to keep booking touring acts.
Incipit, an outfit with two of the venue's FOH sound people in the ranks, was an emergency opener, filling in for a band that no-showed. The guitarist played a mysterious axe that was lying around through a borrowed amp. That's how last-minute it was. (I think Incipit normally has a bassist, too, but they played as a bass-less trio for this set.) Despite that, the band had good energy, judding out moshy metalcore on the nu-ish spectrum a la Vein.fm.
Sometimes, you just want to be crushed by the pressure of heavy riffs. That's what Black Sheep Wall brought to the table. The quintet's mix of sludge, drone, post-metal, and metalcore didn't disappoint in a live setting. Gales of amplifier feedback linked together world-ending chugs while singer Brandon Gillichbauer danced upon the precipice of a meltdown, losing himself within the maelstrom. For the final song, Gillichbauer took to the crowd. We encircled the singer while he got down on his knees and screamed his guts out.
I think the duo behind Tijuana's All You Need is Kill played most of their new self-titled EP, but honestly, the sub-10-minute set was a blur. The band's take on death/grindy powerviolence reminded me of an updated version of bands like Bucket Full of Teeth, matching blasts with big chugdowns. All You Need is Kill's onslaught, though, was much sharper, perhaps placing it closer to grinders like ATKA. It was a good palate cleanser after Black Sheep Wall's long-form dirges.
Midwestlust is an interesting one. The Chicago-based outfit plays powerviolence with jet-engine riffs that spill over the rhythms, creating a wall-of-sound effect closer to prime Discharge than Lack of Interest. All You Need is Kill supported singer Brett Ray on this date and possibly this tour.
I had no idea what to expect with Denmark's Hexis. I'm not a big listen-before-I-go person, and I half-considered bailing after Black Sheep Wall's set because I am old and had work the next day. I'm glad I stayed. Now, I am fairly certain I wouldn't like the quartets blackened hardcore on record, but, hot damn, did they ever bring it live. Supposedly, Hexis has "played over 1000 shows," and it shows. The performance was tight and the band owned the stage, absolutely pummeling what remained of the dwindling crowd. After getting my face split by an especially incensed breakdown, I thought, Whew, I needed this. What a release. And isn't that kinda why we do this show thing in the first place?
RETURNING / DESTROY JUDAS / SKYEATER - 11/17/2023
Entities like SoCal RABM Collective, Forest Summoner, and Red Nebula have worked hard over the past few years to provide the disparate LA metal scene a hub and/or a home. The result is shows like this one, featuring a multi-style bill, local vendors, and plenty of informational pamphlets to peruse. Also, Forest Summoner gave me a bag of wildflower seeds so I could commit random acts of plant crimes around my town. More of that in metal, please.
The black/doom quartet Skyeater was down a guitarist and played this show as a trio. I'm not familiar enough with the band's material to say if this changed its sound much, but what it produced still felt heavy, even if the warehouse venue ate up a lot of the low growls and doom chugs. The blasting sections of a song like "Scrying Hammer" faired a little better. In any case, the dynamics on Skyeater's last album, The Descent, showcase what the band can do with a better mix.
Destroy Judas is one of those outfits that starts playing and oozes experience, not unlike when I saw Behold! The Monolith play an opening set a month ago. Like, "OK, this is a headline-worthy professional band." Even at floor level, the four-piece was captivating; it felt like they stood ten feet tall. And the Neurosis-esque visual projected behind them helped the musicians to cultivate an all-encompassing atmosphere. This is a weird metaphor, but Destroy Judas's set was like drowning: oppressive in its crushing force and yet...oddly serene as you sink below the waves. Ultimately, the band's take on atmospheric sludge isn't my thing, but I couldn't deny its power when its riffs rattled my sternum.
OK. Returning. Let's get this out of the way up front since this is what the crowd was buzzing about after the show: Yes, there was a topless interpretive dancer dressed like The Slits on the cover of Cut. Didn't see that one coming. That said, taking the dancer's performance out of context does a disservice to what Returning was trying to accomplish with the dramatic interstitials conducted between its Cascadian black metal. With a guitarist and bassist looping together an ambient backdrop, three members of Returning's extended crew played out a performance art piece that I interpreted as our caveman selves navigating a modern world that's always trying to outmaneuver us. It was, at turns, ridiculous (is that the same monster from The Village?) and penetrating in the way that performance art can be when the artists fully commit to what they're doing. And it made for a far more interesting set than I expected. Musically, Returning reminds me of a more streamlined version of demo-era Wolves in the Throne Room, whipping up post-Weakling riffs into a frenzy of blasts. I'm not sure that would've done much for me if the band was simply clad in fake monk robes. I'm still thinking about that performance art piece, though.
CAITLIN CANTY W/ JOACHIM COODER- 11/19/2023
After a song rich with natural reverb and overtones, Caitlin Canty said that when you play in a room full of instruments, sometimes they start singing, too. That's McCabe's Guitar Shop in a nutshell, a cozy store in Santa Monica that has been in business since 1958. I'm guessing the interior hasn't changed much in that time, either, which is part of the appeal. In a region where anything old is unexpected, the venue reminded me of the history-choked Northeast, where every creaky floorboard has a thousand stories.
Joachim Cooder, who is indeed Ry Cooder's kid, opened with a pleasant set that allowed him to stretch out on his mbira. The instrument sounded super warm within McCabe's, enveloping the audience with gently ringing, harmonious tones. I tend to find that stuff a little too genial for my tastes; I prefer my folk to have a real wrist-meets-razor quality. But I was charmed by Cooder and his wife's easy-going nature and raconteur-quality between-songs banter.
Caitlin Canty's voice is as entrancing live as it is on record. It's wistful and wounded, caring and creased by life's trials, all at once. When Canty points her attention at a song's subject, you feel an outpouring of empathy. And hey, it doesn't hurt that the songs are good, too.
This year has reawakened my interest in alt country, and Canty's newest album, Quiet Flame, is a big reason why. As the title implies, it's a graceful album that feels as warm as a fire in the dead of winter. Canty relayed to the crowd that it's a "strings" record with no percussion before dropping some behind-the-scenes goss: Turns out, Joachim Cooder was supposed to supply that percussion, but a pandemic got in the way. So, the treat that night was hearing Cooder tapping out rhythms and accenting songs with his mbira, giving these songs a new dimension. Of course, at their heart is Canty, which is fitting because you can hear Canty's heart beating within all of her material.
Other Stuff
What compels people to drive like animals on the 710? Is there some Altered States-ass portal on the 60/710 interchange? On Saturday, I saw things you people wouldn't believe. Cars with blown tires riding on rims that are shooting sparks. Road rage incidents that felt like GTA V side missions. All of these moments were extremely California.
I often forget that I live in this state because I'm stuck in the sticks. That is to say, I don't encounter many of the California stereotypes on the regular. I'm likelier to run into a rattlesnake than anyone with a chronic Kombucha addiction. I spelled this out in a VaccZine a year or two back.
I live in the desert. There's a dang Joshua tree in my front yard that skeets a ton of seed pods every year that never seem to sprout. I've hiked purple mountain majesties, almost fallen into abandoned mines, sat by hot springs that look like mirages until you splash water on your face...and then spent three goddamn hours in line at the DMV. I drive through stunning, wide-open vistas to go to the bank. I've become accustomed to sunsets so vivid that someone would call you a hack if you painted them. The town where I work is a sky-for-miles ruralized suburbia with unnaturally green lawns that abut streets named after people who, through systematic and brutal submission, extermination, and assimilation, don't live here anymore.
That's my world, like if Blue Velvet were an oater. And thus, when I do regular-degular Californian things, like going to a birthday party on the roof of a beach hotel, the dichotomy is dizzying. To spy a table with neatly arranged lines of coke that is a stone's throw away from the Pacific is a page out of Don Henley's notebook.1
Naturally, this emphasizes the disparity between my and everyone else's city-dwelling existence. It feels like everyone else is living life on NG+. "Oh, I might be going to an after-hours BDSM club later." Excuse me? Sick, well, I'll think of you while I clean the tumbleweeds out of my fence in the morning.
In a sense, that shock of instant incongruity is like the state itself, a wildly divergent landscape containing multitudes. A two-hour drive can take me down to the beach. A two-hour drive can take me up a snow-covered mountain. Outsiders picture this place as a Cruis'n USA map: just Los Angeles or San Francisco. In reality, most of the state feels like a loose confederation of rest stops where people inexplicably have decided to live, all of those incorporated hubs affirming their stature by dunking on whatever town happens to reside northeast of them. That's California. And zooming down the 710, bearing witness to witless acts of vehicular mayhem, puts that into stark relief. "Wow," I say with a Huell Howser drawl, "Look at that idiot cut through five lanes of traffic without realizing anyone else exists."
Upcoming Stuff
I think I forgot to mention there's a new Knoll on the way, so let's correct that: There's a new Knoll on the way.
There's also a new Narbo Dacal on the horizon. I tend to think of this band as Polish Madder Mortem, albeit a smidge more on the doom side. Mgła's M. recorded/mixed/mastered this one, so if that's disqualifying, there's your heads up.
Shows:
SUFFOCATION / INCANTATION / SKELETAL REMAINS / STABBING - 11/26/2023 (tix)
Hello. I am excited to hear some songs from this year's AOTY, 1995's Pierced From Within, live.
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Memes And Junk
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Hocking My Wares
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Worry not, friends. I've been sober for over a decade.