Labels: self released
Review by: Edward Ling
Apparently these fellows are now defunct, so this work of epic instrumental virtuoso droneage from a pub cellar in Leeds 6 is their gift to posterity. That the specific pub in question is still open and putting bands on makes me want to love this outta principle. But that’s just personal bias. It’s also hard not to be impressed by the sheer brass neck of making an album with only two tracks “” post-doom concept or no. And “concept” it certainly is. This is an unapologetic artistic interpretation of a bloody passage in English history (God’s own county getting torched by those dirty Normans), of folk memory, and ultimately a meditation via sludge on the concept of English-ness. There are shades of Buzzov*en, Iron Monkey and even the mighty Sabbath in here “” but as an experience, this is basically a film score, without the film. The bucolic opening sequence, powerfully played out dark and deliciously sludgy ultra-heavy breakdowns, reflective quieter passages, repeated conceits and themes “” there’s everything here. And it’s all executed rather well.
There are some that may struggle to take this type of thing seriously. Storytelling via non-verbal live art, like this, may put some in mind of, say, Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer getting Darkus Howe to represent a Salmon going upstream through the medium of modern dance on Shooting Stars. Notwithstanding the fact that they’ve obviously done their homework – Wiht is pukka Old English for “otherworldly creature or being” (and I know this because I looked it up in an actual book and not on Wikipedia), others may also say that if I want to find out about early medieval social history, I’ll watch BBC4. However. That would be a disrespect to the musicianship and ambition of this, and largely misses the point – and I imagine listening to this droning out full whack in a venue where they’re lax about the smoking ban would probably clarify “the point” without any need for further explanation.