Labels: Season Of Mist
Review by: Alex Deller
Despite the Buzzov*en connection, it took me a while to consider Weedeater much of a proposition. I kinda thought their name was a bit daft, and the punnery of their album titles didn’t exactly lead me to think they were taking themselves – or their music – too seriously. More fool me, really, and kudos to Season Of Mist for a reissue campaign which has brought their earlier efforts back into circulation. This here debut basically sets the scene for what was to follow: a clumping great lump of surly, sozzled, bluesed-out sludge seemingly hewn from swamp mud, hog grunts and whatever’s left at the bottom of the whiskey bottle when you wake up red-eyed and unable to remember what took place the night before. The bass and guitar form an amorphous slop that’s equal parts grit and ichor, while Dixie Dave howls brokedown laments into the side of your face whether you damn well want him to or not. They share elements in common with fellow Southern sluggers Eyehategod, but if you went partying with this lot you’d probably end up with little more than a busted jaw and a three-day hangover rather than a stretch in lock-up and a hard-to-shake substance abuse problem. It’s fine stuff indeed, and more than worthy of either your consideration or reappraisal.