#darksmith

Chris Brokaw, Ghost Ship (12XU)

It seems Chris Brokaw's never too far from a new recording being released, but I've been anxiously awaiting the proper follow-up to 2020's incredible Puritan. Those looking for Brokaw to redeliver "The Heart of Human Trafficking" will momentarily be a bit sour at the pensive, foggy mood of Ghost Ship, though the lack of drums and, really, momentum open up a more cavernous, affecting space. The jagged sawing of "Anything Anymore" is about as roused as this record gets, opening with "Thank god I'm not in jail/thank god I'm not on fentanyl," a painfully American sigh of relief. For the rest of the album, Ghost Ship retreats into itself, conjuring Eluvium on "Vampire of Rathmines" or Loren Connors on the title track, though the inventive, patient guitar work is unmistakably that of Brokaw. The lyrics are weary but matter-of-fact, a hard look at behaviors or habits easier to ignore, here laid out for inspection, unadorned. Closer "Away From Me" is the best track here, and the most devastating; the opening guitar line becomes amplified and then gradually splits into a thousand shards, the record ending in the same fog pictured on the cover. In a sub-underground seemingly saturated with solo guitarists, Chris Brokaw is still unmistakable, a giant. Not too often I want to wander down a dreary path like Ghost Ship's cleared, but it's really gotten under my skin the past few weeks. Highly recommended - and grab a copy of Puritan while you're poking around the 12XU mart.

Cube, Lucky Numbers & True Weight (Digital Regress)

I don't think there are many artists who capture the feeling of late capitalism, technology-addled or -damaged lifestyles, and fringe society as well as Adam Keith, whether through his excellent Baited Area magazine or his music as Cube. These things are all thoughtfully explored, without judgement, an active interest in how people behave, make art, and generally survive or adapt in an environment actively working against them. As Cube, Keith lives in a genre-agnostic space that contains post-punk, noise, and drum and bass/jungle. On Lucky Numbers & True Weight, he leans harder than ever into the latter: "New Stare" verges on footwork, the industrial pounding of "Rotoprone" sounds ripped from a L.I.E.S. 12", and "Skin Diver" is exhilaratingly furious d'n'b. The best parts of any Cube record are still the throbbing tracks with deadpan vocals on top, the lyrics usually consisting of phrases that have infiltrated everyday life ("Terms of Service") removed from context and re-shaped by the ominous delivery. New here are experiments with autotune and the closest-ever Cube pop track, "Reverse Cowboy," the bouncing, minimal beat and alien chorus undercut by an ominously shimmering synth in the background. The genre-hopping and restlessness places Lucky Numbers & True Weight in the same league as J.R.C.G.'s Grim Iconic record from last year, fine company if you ask me; but the picture Cube paints is much more dystopian and claustrophobic. Another banger from Cube, even if the mirror held up reflects less and less favorably each passing day.

Darksmith, Loose Ends (Philatélie)

A new recording from Tom Darksmith, this time on LP courtesy of Philatélie. Loose Ends is a bit of a self-deprecating title, like most Darksmith releases I guess, and at first blush it appears to be a slight entry in their overall discography. "Part Two" especially felt amorphous and slippery, though after many listens it feels like a refined, focused vision, something I'm sure Tom'd hate to hear after reading his interview in Rocker. It seems like the whirring, jammed machinery of past releases has been largely cleared out, making space for faint voices and the endless grating hum of production they fuel; a close inspection of some piece of machinery that might take your hand off if you get too close. "Part One" is among the most effective Darksmith tracks I've heard, grinding and humming and blaring its way to extinction, and the distant echo of human activity and refrigerator hum of "Part Two" acts as the foil on the flip. Immersion is the gateway.

Kilynn Lunsford, Promiscuous Genes (Feel It)

It's been some two and a half years since Kilynn Lunsford's Custodians of Human Succession, my favorite album of that year, and it seems like the time's been well spent developing their idiosyncratic vision. Lunsford's work with Little Claw and Taiwan Housing Project still informs to a degree, but it's getting harder to spot now amidst the throbbing, rubbery bass, pitch-shifted vocals and increasingly dub-and funk-inspired compositions. The best of the bunch, like "Nice Quiet Horror Show," the bass-guided cover of the Beach Boys' "Disney Girls," the lone rave-up "Gateway to Hell," and the noise-addled acoustic strums of "Gagged World," could, absent Lunsford's very confrontational lyrics, find a whole lot of success in a right and just world. For good measure, the cover of Syd Barrett's "Maisie" here knocks almost like a vintage Memphis production, knife sharpening sounds included, Lunsford able to transpose effortlessly atop almost any backing music.

With somewhat mixed results, Lunsford lets loose apocryphal lyrics and broken-then-mended melodies in several spots, pushing the listener away while simultaneously pulling them closer. The indisputably goofy intro to "Lillibilly," arriving after an inspired deconstruction of the Beatles' "You Never Give Me Your Money," features Lunsford's vocals bouncing off the walls atop jaunty barroom piano, repeating "Predatory market crash" like a schoolyard taunt. The sinewy title track features exaggerated monster bellowing and a stiff, brittle rhythm section, lyrics promising your child a job at the meat processing plant "if you run into a rut." "Some Mothers Do" is a lyrical maze delivered atop a broken programmed keyboard, consisting of riddles like "Not a scoundrel, a liberty-taker, but a proper gentleman" and "Modern-day fairy tales, sex films, Roger Ailes." The more I listen, the more confusing it all becomes, but it's sure that Lunsford has a vicious, tempered vision, one that is becoming more warped by and resilient to the ongoing, painfully slow societal collapse. Promiscuous Genes can't stop that, but there are answers in the forceful drive to create and make something, lest you really lose your head, Rat Bag.

Pissgrave, Malignant Worthlessness (Profound Lore)

The light switched on for hordes of the sub-underground this year: after 10 or so years of aural punishment, Pissgrave was warmly received upon the release of this third album, Malignant Worthlessness. Even Pitchfork had their say, which is all a bit strange for a band that seems to hold everything and everyone in contempt, grinding out a vicious brand of utterly relentless death metal with near-mechanical abrasive vocals, and adorning their records with close-up photos of decaying or destroyed human bodies. Any positive recognition's more than well-deserved: each Pissgrave album's been better than the last (but they're all individually great), and their blinders-on approach to metal, utterly unaware of trends, or seemingly other genres, remains unwilling to make a single concession to the listener. There are crunchy, circular headbang riffs at points (see: two minutes into "Heaping Pile of Electrified Gore" or most of "Interment Orgy"), but for the most part, the shot blast that begins "In Heretic Blood Christened" is more representative of the duration. The drumming is up to the task, grinding out blastbeats or pounding out slow tempos with fury, each song packed with dizzying, inventive riffs shifting seamlessly. It's brittle and abrasive, but not smothering; rather, the album feels textured, almost nuanced, the riffs wound into themselves enough to form a gnarled, thorny nest. The overall effect is still very much physical and primitive, of course, and you'd be hard-pressed to find a more punishing collection of songs this year. Pissgrave now, Pissgrave forever.

Private Collector, s/t CS (self-released)

Two continuous 30-minute sides of tape loop slop, electrical vomit and sandpaper scrape from West Virginia. At a certain point, these sort of noise-based experimental projects start to blend together, but where James Douglas' Private Collector stands out is how they continuously layer and peel back these sounds; it feels like you're in a writhing pit of insects, sounds moving in and being replaced, often one or two minutes after introduction. There's a persistent train whistle sort of noise on "Bankers Box" that can get on my nerves, and a minutes-long broken ice cream truck jingle or siren rears its head on "Storage Unit," but otherwise sounds slip out of earshot and disappear, quickly replaced by throbbing, rustling, swishing, as if they're working five or six tape loops at once. There's no doubt Private Collector will get under your skin and garner more than a few complaints from clean-hearers within its sphere, but there's something both novel and addictive about this approach to noise. Flows well, rarely drags, and feels academic without a starched collar or sport jacket: a dry, dry humor can be evinced from the song titles and some of the sounds within. A strong debut, exhausting in the right ways; collapse into Private Collector for a spell.

Water Damage, Instruments (12XU)

Darksmith, Imposter CD (Throne Heap)

I don't think CDs ever went away, but they've remained a staple of noise acts. For most, it's a question of economics; for Darksmith, it appears to be a matter of fidelity, because Imposter gets the most out of his grinding, murky brand of noise he's been perfecting for 15 years. I think he's only gotten better with every release, so I favor his recent tapes on No Rent and Regional Bears, or the Hatred of Sound LP on Second Sleep, but Imposter is on a different level. If you're unfamiliar, Tom Darksmith utilizes field recordings, tape loops and radio to create these thick, viscous recordings that writhe and, owing to the field recordings I guess, seem to attempt to communicate with the listener in an uncomfortable but completely arresting way. The two tracks on the CD each have two amazing titles, suggesting that these are all ideas developed separately but sewn together as naturally as possible. On "Looking For Idiots / Problem With Everyone," slow tape loops run into John Wiese-ish bouts of errant scraping and pig noises, only to be submerged under loops of white noise and gentle bells for the last half of the track. The second track, "Personal and Embarrassing / Hold Everything," is a rumbling HVAC assembly gradually increasing in intensity, gradually shorting out and sparking the low, slow burn of melting plastic and metal. My words hardly do the album justice, but these 30 minutes feel like they deliver on the promise of noise/tape music without utilizing any of its extremes. Perfect car soundtrack while you're out running errands and pretending that everything's not on fire. Best $10 I've spent this year.

Tim Goss, Afterfly LP (Penultimate Press)

Gotta agree with Nic at Repressed Records: Tim Goss' post-Shadow Ring project Call Back the Giants "stirred up my most uniquely strange and transcendent listening experiences of the last decade." Now he steps out under his own name, and though Afterfly feels more accessible than anything he's ever done, there's a definite fever dream-quality to the proceedings that places this squarely in line with his work in CBTG. (So much so that I've recently re-bought a previously sold copy of The Marianne, a thankfully rare occurrence.) There's a little less overt fantasy at play here, at least lyrically, than with CBTG, though there is a pretty wild story included with the LP, meant to be read along with hallucinatory album centerpiece "Fly IV." The album opens with something I'd expect to hear on a modern compilation of independently produced and released '80s synth, but the speed is slow enough to trip the listener headfirst into the brittle metallic "Fly II," complete with the enervating taunt "You have the face of an old man, catch me if you can." While there are several straightforward moments - notably "Fly VI"'s gorgeous layered stairway note assembly - for the most part familiar effects and chords are stretched and pulled and littered casually, not in an act of sabotage but in an attempt to uncover feelings not easily accessible any other way. Or, it could just be a low & slow build-up to the lush and patiently driven closing track; who knows? Whatever the case, it's hard to deny that Afterfly takes me elsewhere for its duration, the kind of psychedelic that is complimentary without losing its grip on, or outright denying, reality. Lessens the burden for a bit, and in a smart package to boot. Brilliant record, highest recommendation. Penultimate Press is on a roll.

Hissing, Hypervirulence Architecture LP (Profound Lore)

It took about five seconds for someone on Bandcamp to call Hissing the States' answer to Portal, the mysterious and dizzyingly complex death metal band from Australia. It's a characterization I reject - their black/death hybrid runs closer to Ulcerate's - though for a few brief moments, you can see a resemblance: the drumming is absurdly precise, the vocals are often gruffly intoned reverberations, and both bands can tie the fretboard into a knot. Aside from the obvious differences in costuming, Hissing, from Seattle, WA, is a three piece primarily interested in the horrors of the everyday. Their last album was titled Permanent Destitution, a title that would work even better in today's ever-widening wealth gap, and their latest record tackles the slow kudzu-like growth and interference of technology worming into every aspect of all lives. While the more outlandish aspects of metal make it an undeniably entertaining genre, the grime and smog Hissing bring to the table cut close to the bone. The added noise and reverberations give a fog machine-type effect to the record, but the sound is surprisingly clean overall; parts of the record, like the closing minutes of "Meltdown," sound like Primitive Man stripped of a few layers of caustic noise. For me, the last few listens to Hypervirulence Architecture brought to mind the Jesus Lizard more than any death metal band, due to the booming and clear bass guitar amidst the onslaught. You can hear the influence of Sims and Denison in the closing minute of "Cells of Nonbeing," sheets of guitar (and bass clarinet!) anchored by the bass and hammered down by the drums; taken to a logical extreme at points on "Operant Extinction"; and channeled throughout most of "Intrusion," where the album's heaviest moment is teased out into an unruly finale. These parts, where Hissing pulls back and lays bare their ferocity, lend added heft and depth to match the ambitions of their lyrical content. While most bands operating on the same technical level often offer little to no concessions to the listener, Hissing allows enough of a peek behind to curtain to keep the listener engaged throughout. Yeah, I will concede that the ten minute "Operant Extinction" sags in the middle and doesn't quite claw its way back to the ferocity of the first few minutes, but that's about the only gripe I could level at Hypervirulence Architecture. Amidst the revival of boneheaded campy death metal (no hate), Hissing feels like a revelation, splitting the difference between the technical and the visceral in a way that's sure to disappoint fans firmly in both camps. Metal's slow to change but it doesn't mean you have to be the same; strap in and let Hypervirulence Architecture crush, rip and devour like the well-oiled machine it was built to be. Challenging, to be sure, but also best metal record of the year so far.

RRR Band, s/t CS (Petty Bunco)