2021’s collaboration with The Body for the Leaving None but Birds album touched on folk traditions, and with A Chaos of Flowers, Big|Brave craft deeply atmospheric drone and squall soundscapes set to poems by female poets including Emily Dickenson, Esther Propel Shaw, Emily Pauline Johnson, which resonate with vocalist Robin Wattie. The combination of poetry and music has long been a source of inspiration for many artist over the years. And it proves to be an inspired vision for Big|Brave as they have created an immersive, absorbing experience, which plunges deep into themes of insanity, death, devastating loss, and nature.
The opener ‘I Felt A Funeral’ is a breath-taking, minimalistic, haunting slow waltz. The Emily Dickenson poem is arranged and interpreted expertly to plunge you deep in its themes of losing one’s sense of self and sanity. From the opening disorientated drone to Robin’s masterly, barely eligible vocals where her intake of breath between the words is subtly engaging. It’s a stunning piece of work. Chilling, and loaded with feeling. The accompanying video shot in black and white in a bare room, while Robin fades in and out of focus in varying shades of dark and light, completes this remarkable piece.
Haest has been a staple in the England punk scene since 2018 and they never stopped delivering great music every year, with two albums and three EPs. Only one year after the release of their latest LP Belabour via TNS Records, the four piece visited Wayne Adams at Bear Bites Horse Studios and recorded five new tracks. Their 4th EP Sight Unseen is going to be available for everyone to stream on April 19th (digital only, for now).
They’ve stated that after welcoming their new drummer Rich at the start of 2023, they felt a change and organically moved away from the sludgy punk they’ve been known for so far, and moved back towards their hardcore roots. Hearing this EP you can definitely feel a more punk hardcore influence in the drumming and general songwriting; however, if you listened to this band before, you can tell this is one of their products from the very first note of ‘You Look Like How Ketchup Smells’. Their distinctive stoner guitar sound played by Dan, combined with the unique cadence of Dave’s vocals and the clangy bass by Mark are just quintessential Haest.
DVNE melted minds with 2021’s expansive Etemen Ænka that successfully levelled up their songwriting in every single way. A captivating listen heavily inspired by – of course – Frank Herbert’s sci-fi epic Dune amongst others. It took them around the world as they drew in listeners with mesmerising live shows off the back of the album. The question then, was, with its follow-up Voidkind, could they bottle lightning twice? The answer is a resounding yes, as it dials up virtually everything about Etemen Ænka, all while making it a more immediately engrossing listen.
Right off the bat, ‘Summa Blasphemia’ sets Voidkind apart from its predecessor by erupting into sludgy fury rather than any slow build to a peak. A battering ram of a track, it’s a practically svelte five and a half minutes, commanding attention with towering riffs that evoke grandiose places of worship as much as it does the sandstorms of Arrakis. Certainly, the band’s aim of being more immediate with some songs pays off hugely, the likes of ‘Reaching for Telos’ and ‘Plērōma’ further lending weight to that.
That’s not to say they’ve abandoned their progressive roots; far from it, in fact. They simply balance them against quicker payoffs, and the end result is spellbinding. Even shorter songs revel in proggier moments; ‘Summa Blasphemia’ has serpentine guitars amidst the sludgy heft, while the near-eight minute ‘Reliquary’ packs itself full of off-kilter drumming, endlessly entwining guitar lines and moments of coalescence so powerful they induce momentary euphoria, particularly around its five to six minute mark where it unfurls into gorgeous vocal melody and ascendant guitars.
After the much-heralded Malignant Reality was released in the depths of the pandemic, it was kind of difficult to see where Replicant would progress in terms of sound. However, with the imminent drop of Infinite Mortality those questions and concerns are answered and assuaged. From the first fuzzed out weirdo chord, to the last dissonant ringings this album hits as hard as anything that’s come before it, with some delightful twists and turns to boot. It seems that Replicant can’t help but hit home runs in the world of dissonant death metal, with their particular brand of hard hitting, headbanging, mosh pit opening riffs.
The jams and riffs are still very much the focus of Infinite Mortality; however, they’ve taken the laser focused production of the last album and cast it aside in favour of a claustrophobic, smothering dirtiness that their earlier albums were replete with. The vocals are once again like a chained demon being used to channel some sort of profane ritual, sucking through the void eldritch mutterings and otherworldly tongues shrieked with an inhuman level of pain. The signature grooviness is still very much there as the band settles in with the (not so) new drummer. The tightness that was present in Malignant Reality is still there in the background, but it seems the band have chosen to move in favour of some of the loser more groove ridden tendencies shown in their earlier effort Negative Life. This record sees Replicant come into their own, harnessing the best of both worlds, the lose jazzy nature of those early records and the ultra-tight hard-hitting brutality of Malignant Reality.
Pelagic Records can be counted on to bring us the very best in European heaviness and Love Sex Machine is no exception. Whether it’s the sonic brutality of LLNN or the wicked experimentation of Bipolar Architecture, Love Sex Machines pummelling third album sees them return eight years on from the release of 2014’s Asexual Anger to add to the Pelagic Records filth cauldron.
After reemerging eight years to a European sludge and post metal scene that is one of the most fertile lands for creativity in heavy music today where do Love Sex Machine sit amongst the plethora of top quality filth? Clocking in at a lean thirty six minutes this butchers slab of graphic sludge metal shows them lunging forward with feral intent from the opening notes of ‘Fucking Snakes’ which buzzsaws its way through tendons and flesh with minimal resistance to the rabid snarling of vocalist Yves siting deep in the belly of the mix to give a nightmarish undertone to every syllable. It’s the sound of a wounded mastodon over machinery built to flatten skyscrapers.
Not set on percolating within familiar genre tropes, which can lead to an album void of much identity. Tracks like ‘test26’ keep the album from becoming an indistinguishable sonic onslaught as it stands in the great halls of post-metal taking in some magnificent soundscapes littered with frantic synthesisers to help create some terrific unrest and even some momentary space to gather a quick breath or two. Album highlight ‘Autism Factor’ poises it riff on a knife edge before galloping forward into a little black metal giving us an idea of what a sludge metal Darkthrone would sound like. A little menacing spoken word before the central eruption of groove drenched riffs completes the perfection summation of Trve.
Across the past decade or so, sleepmakeswaves have arguably become one of the three best-established representatives of the Australasian post-rock scene. Alongside fellow country folk We Lost The Sea and New Zealand trio Jakob, the Sydney quartet have helped establish and fostered a steadily burgeoning movement in the region in thanks of a string of four enjoyable records ranging from 2011’s …And So We Destroyed Everything to 2020’s These Are Not Your Dreams. Granted, whilst these records where not particularly revolutionary when it came to furthering the genre’s sound, what made these albums just so enjoyable was their enthusiasm and technical prowess.
No, sleepmakeswaves aren’t a band who are ushering in the revolution of post-rock, but what they are doing is nailing the time-tested formula with a great big smile whilst adding their own little prog-minded twists and turns. It’s Here, But I Have No Names For It is more of the same. It’s not going to revolutionise the genre, but once again proves that that the continent’s scene is being represented by some of the best. It’s just a highly enjoyable and all-round brilliant record really.
Opening with the bombastic, triumphant and borderline chest-pumping riffs of ‘All Hail Skull’, this is a body of work that just radiates an air of charismatic confidence that can only come from an entity that not only know their talents, but how to showcase them. Here, within It’s Here, But I Have No Names For It, sleepmakeswaves flex the musical muscles they have spent years honing and training, but not in a way that’s forced or obnoxiously overt. Instead, the record record presents itself as something that’s smart, sophisticated and self-aware.
As the half-time groove of the aforementioned opener plunges into the gleeful zaniness of primary single ‘Super Realm Park’ – something that initially wouldn’t be amiss soundtracking a sci-fi themed rollercoaster at Universal Studios – the band’s approach to the inherent progression takes centre stage and is a joy to behold. In fact, ‘Super Realm Park’ is a brilliant testament to this, with the giddy, almost childlike excitement of the track organically maturing across its five minute run time – it’s wild synthetic flurries and energised guitar riffs evolving into more accomplished and stoic keys that still carry the immediacy of the initial opening of the track.
