A Classic Reissue and a Rare Williamsburg Gig from Heavy Psychedelic Legends Acid King

More about that killer triplebill on Sept 30 starting at 8 PM at the Knitting Factory. The New York music scene is in serious trouble if the best available venue for pummeling horror punkmetal band Warish, the epic Wizard Rifle and heavy psych legends Acid King is this undersized if sonically excellent Williamsburg bar. OK, maybe the show was a last-minue addition to the tour, but it’s safe to say – or at least it used to be safe to say – that there are more fans of heavy stoner sounds in New York than can fit into that space. Cover is $20; because of the L-pocalypse, you’ll either have to take the G to Lorimer St., or take the J/M to Marcy and take a ten-minute walk up Havemeyer to the venue. Desperate times, desperate measures.

Over the past two decades, headliners Acid King have validated that hubristic name, to the point where Riding Easy Records is banking on the hope that there’s money in a vinyl reissue of their classic 1999 debut album Busse Woods, streaming at Bandcamp. And why not? Who ever would have thought that we’d come to the point where we could replace those cold, digital cds with good quality vinyl?

The album is a suite, more or less, centered around Brian Hill’s spare, menacing minor-key basslines. The first track is Electric Machine, with its slow, sludgy, fuzztone chromatics, singer/guitarist Lori S’s voice floating ethereally over the crawling dirge underneath. Ozzy had the voice to do this with Sabbath but was apparently too wasted to figure it out until after the fact. Hill rumbles around the gravel in tandem with drummer Joey Osbourne as Lori finally goes up the scale. How rare is it to find a metal band who play so few notes and make all of them count?

That relentlessness serves them well throughout the rest of the record. They build Silent Circle around a familiar descending blues riff. Likewise, the icy solo bass intro to Drive Fast, Take Chances – the slowest song ever written about drunk driving – is the cornerstone for some unexpectedly subtle variations.

Hypnotic funeral-bell bass chords introduce 39 Lashes, a sick, macabre countdown to a mutedly twisted peak you can see comimg a mile away – although the outro is a surprise. The band move in tight, glacially slow formation in Carve the 5, disembodied vocals eventually giving way to a cleverly doubletracked bassline and uneasy fuzztone guitar. They close with the menacingly atmospheric instrumental title track. On the album cover, they still look like the alienated, angry kids who would escape to the outskirts of Chicago to get high, crank their car stereos and get away from the ugliness around them. It’s only gotten uglier since.

Warish Bring Their Hard, Fast Attack to the Knitting Factory

Warish play hard, fast, heavy music that sounds a lot like Queens of the Stone Age: metal chord changes at punk speed. They’re not big on guitar solos but they are big on hooks and evil chromatics. They like their textures fuzzy and dry, Pantera-style. Their new album Down in Flames – which doesn’t seem to be a Dead Boys reference – is streaming at Bandcamp. On the record, they tend to pair similar-sounding songs together, maybe because the tunes here are on the short side: no wasted notes. Warish are playing the Knitting Factory on Sept 30 at 8 PM followed by the epic Wizard Rifle and then psychedelic doom legends Acid King; cover is $20. Because of the L-pocalypse, you’ll need to find a way to take the G train – which doesn’t have any scheduled delays that night, at least as far as we know – to connect with whichever subway you’re taking home.

The album’s first track, Healter Skelter doesn’t sound anything like the Beatles, but it does sound exactly like QOTSA: fast, gritty, simple riffage, mostly a one-chord jam. You’ll Abide has the same kind of hammering QOTSA drive, but the changes are just as fast and furious and a lot catchier.

Big Time Spender has gleefully evil doomy hammer-ons from frontman/guitarist Riley Hawk in between the bludgeoning riffs; Bleed Me Free follows the same pattern. With its catchy 3-2-1 minor-key hook, the desperate wartime trench tune In a Hole is the album’s punkest tune. Then they follow with Bones, which is much the same.

Voices has an especially tasty chromatic menace and hints of horror garage rock. They go back toward punk with Fight and its slithery raga-rock intro. Then, in Shivers, they shift from wide-angle psychedelic chords to straight-ahead punk and a little halfspeed Sabbath.

Running Scared could be surf punk legends Agent Orange at their heaviest. The album closes with the cynical, QOTSA-style blues-tinged Their Disguise – finally, a shreddy guitar solo, and it’s unhingedly good! Their Disguise. Not a single weak song on this record: these guys have really figured out their sound. If you like speed and power, this is for you

Another Savagely Brilliant Album and a Williamsburg Gig from Expertly Feral Guitarist Ava Mendoza’s Power Trio

Word on the street is that Ava Mendoza is the best guitarist in Brooklyn – and might have been for a long time. Her show with creepy, organ-and-sax-fueled quasi-surf instrumentalists Hearing Things at Barbes at the end of last month was mind-blowing. Mendoza has become that band’s secret weapon: through two sardonic sets, she had her reverb turned way up, slashing and clanging and often roaring through the group’s allusive changes. With her, they’re more Doors than Stranglers, but without any of the 60s cliches, Mendoza’s next gig is August 10 at around 10 PM leading her  epic noisemetal power trio Unnatural Ways on a triplebill in between the math-iest doom band ever, Skryptor, and shapeshiftingly surrealistic Chicago art-rockers Cheer Accident at Ceremony, 224 Manhattan Ave. (off Maujer) in Williamsburg. The venue doesn’t have a website, so it’s anybody’s guess what the cover is. To avoid hourlong-plus waits for the L train, your best bet is to take the G to Broadway and walk from there

Unnatural Ways’ new album The Paranoia Party is streaming at Bandcamp. True to form, it’s a relentlessly dark concept album, more or less, centered around a disturbing encounter with alien beings. Mendoza and bassist Tim Dahl shift between warpy sci-fi sonics and machete riffery in the opening track, Go Back to Space: it’s the missing link between Thalia Zedek’s legendary 90s band Come and Daydream Nation-era Sonic Youth.

The Runaway Song is a savage mashup of Syd Barrett, Diamond Dogs-era Bowie and 70s Zappa. Most of All We Love to Spy is nine sometimes skronky, sometimes crushingly ornate minutes of chromatics over drummer Sam Ospovat’s precise but relentlessly thumping syncopation.

Mendoza fires off volley after volley of casually sinister Dick Dale tremolo-picking over a squiggly backdrop in Trying to Pass. The band shift from machinegunning hardcore to a doomy sway centered around a surprisingly glammy guitar riff in Draw That Line, Mendoza and Dahl each hitting their chorus pedals for icy ominousness. They machete their way through the fragmentary Soft Electric Rays, which leads into the final cut, Cosmic Border Cop, a deliciously acidic pool of close harmonies, macabre chromatics and distorted scorch over a constantly shifting rhythmic skeleton. Easily one of the ten best, most adrenalizing rock albums released in 2019 so far.

Greek Judas Headline One of the Year’s Best Twinbills in the East Village

When Greek Judas took the stage at Niagara at a little after eleven a couple of Thursdays ago, everybody in the crowd suddenly had their phones out. Maybe that was because three of the five guys in the band were wearing animal masks. But it’s more likely that nobody in the audience had ever seen a Greek metal band.

And in that space, they were louder than ever. Singer Quince Marcum projects as well as any other frontman in town, but this time he was low in the mix. When the band got their start, guitarist/lapsteel player Wade Ripka and guitarist Adam Good would typically take long, careening, Middle Eastern-tinged solos. And that worked; both guys love their creepy chromatics, and they can get totally symphonic without being boring. Times have changed: instead of jabbing at each other to pull a song back on track, there’s a lot more interplay and at least semi-controlled chaos now. Ironically, the tighter they get, the more psychedelic the music is.

Bassist Nick Cudahy downtunes his axe now, for some serious tarpit sonics. Meanwhile, drummer Chris Stromquist makes the songs’ tricky rhythms look easy: the way he plays, no matter how bizarre the underlying beat is, you can stand and sway from side to side and not feel any more stoned than you might already be.

Obviously, you don’t have to be high to appreciate the band. One of the reasons why they’ve tightened up the show is that they have a lot more songs and they don’t have to stretch them out so much. They’re all covers, from the 1920s to the 1960s, most of them from the criminal and revolutionary underworld who fought against dictatorial terror and then a British invasion after World War II. Many of those tunes were written by ethnic Greeks who’d escaped persecution in Cyprus and Turkey, only to find themselves second-class citizens in their ancestral land.

The best song of the night was I’m a Junkie, which might have just been a shout-out to good hash, or something stronger – Marcum sings everything in the original Greek. The most lyrically innocuous love song of the night was also one of the most macabre. Police brutality, heavy partying, black humor behind bars, trans-Mediterranean drug smuggling and crack addiction were some of the other topics Marcum addressed – he almost always gives the audience a little translation for just about everything. They’re back at Niagara (Ave. A and 7th St., the former King Tut’s Wah Wah Hut across from the southwest corner of Tompking Square Park) this Thursday at 10. As a bonus, the excellent Trouble with Kittens – who play similarly edgy if somewhat quieter and faster, new wave-influenced songs – open the night at 9. Noir cinematic trio Sexmob‘s brilliant drummer, Kenny Wollesen is sitting in with them this for this show. It’s a pass-the-tip-jar situation.

Epic, Fearless, Funky Orchestral Jamband Burnt Sugar Celebrate Twenty Years at Lincoln Center

Burnt Sugar hold the record for the most performances at Lincoln Center’s atrium space, impresario Jordana Leigh enthused moments before the mammoth ensemble took the stage there this past evening in celebration of their twentieth anniversary. “I can’t think of a band that more encapsulates New York…and the talent, and the energy, and style!”

“If you’ve seen us before, you know that we alternate between the raw and the cooked,” founder and conductor Greg Tate grinned, referring to the band’s penchant for swinging wildly between reinventions of others’ music and their own serpentine, tectonic, often thunderous mass improvisations. If memory serves right – there were a LOT of people onstage – this version of the collective had four singers, four guitarists, a horn section, rhythm section and keys in addition to plenty of beats and maybe atmospherics stashed away in somebody’s pedal.

From behind his Strat, Tate directed rises, falls, signaled for solos and for specific groups of instrumentation to punch in or out, in the same vein as the inventor of “conduction,” the late, great Butch Morris. The evening’s sprawling opening instrumental rose and fell with all sorts of sudden shifts, punchy and lyrical solos from JS Williams’ trumpet, V. Jeffrey Smith’s alto sax and Paula Henderson’s smoky baritone sax.

With former member Rene Akan’s Wretched of the Earth, Page 88, they made squalling, careening, Rage Against the Machine metalfunk out of a grim account of a city under fire in Frantz Fanon’s classic antiglobalist manifesto. This may be the performance where Burnt Sugar set another record, as the loudest band ever to play this space, a possibility reinforced by another Akan number that sounded in places as if the Bad Brains had cloned themselves.

“Rome burned while freedom lurked, masquerade and misdirection, incantations hide intentions,” singer Lisala Beatty mused over Leon Gruenbaum’s percolating, slinky Fender Rhodes groove a bit later in the set. It was akin to symphonic Gil Scott-Heron: “Young, black and vague, now you gotta ride the future shock wave.”

Smith’s disarmingly beautiful sax swirls spun over a slow, hypnotic beat as a wryly funny duet between Beatty and fellow vocalist Mikell Banks got underway – it could have been a joint homage to Sun Ra and Prince. The vocal version of Chains and Water – the opening track on Burnt Sugar’s 2009 album Making Love to the Dark Ages – had a subdued, hypnotic sway that masked its ferocious look back at the legacy of the Middle Passage, at least until the guitars flared up. They took it down with a rather chilling chain gang-style contrapuntal vocal outro.

Smith and bassist Jared Nickerson dedicated Naomi, a tender yet lively duet, to Nickerson’s aunt. It brought to mind Kenny Garrett back in the 90s in a particularly sunny mood. Then the group completely flipped the script with Ride Ride Ride – complete with sarcastically loopy faux-anthemic organ and a singalong chorus that went “Ride ride ride, everybody gonna get gentrified.” Henderson’s snarky, honking, repetitive solo offered momentary relief from a scenario where everyone’s “Homeless and boneless, your judgment an eternal curse.”

Tate might laugh if he heard this, but at this show he was the best guitarist onstage, plucking out sparse, enigmatic chords that resonated far more than any Eddie Van Halen squeals and divebomb effects could have. The group wound out the night with a nebulous backbeat-driven examination of racism in the early Bush/Cheney war era, an oldschool disco tune, and a gritty, atmospheric, Nina Simone-tinged ballad sung with considerable gravitas by Meah Pace.

Burnt Sugar are at the Brooklyn Museum on Jan 31 at 7 PM; cover is $16 and includes museum admission. The next show at the atrium space at Lincoln Center on Broadway just north of 62nd St. is Jan 17 at 7:30 PM with the amazing and only slightly less epic Black String, who blend stormy art-rock, mesmerizing Korean traditional music, opera and hip-hop. Get there early if you’re going.

Purposeful, Darkly Heavy Psychedelia and Blues From All Them Witches

Nashville hasn’t historically been a rock hotspot, but there’s been a lot of good stuff coming out of there recently without the hint of country twang. Heavy psych band All Them Witches are at the front of the pack. Their latest album, ATW, is streaming at Bandcamp. Their riff-rock is more minimal than Led Zep, less envelopingly hypnotic than the Black Angels, although there are moments where these guys very closely resemble those two very different groups.

The album’s first track, Fishbelly 86 Onions is a circling, staggered riff-rock mini-epic. “Never thought he would wake up from a fistfight,” frontman/guitarist Charles Michael Parks Jr. intones. “Never thought he would get knocked down,” he adds. Finally the cuts loose with the vibrato on the guitar; the bass doubling Jonathan Draper’s reverbtoned Fender Rhodes electric piano lines add to the smoky atmosphere. All of a sudden, six minutes in, it hits you: these guys haven’t changed chords yet!

“Like a warhorse caught in the stable,” Parks explains as the band builds a darkly rustic, 19th century blues-influenced groove in Workhorse.  “They want to feel the wheels of control…they wanna see me work in a cage, see me bleed.” It could be a heavier take on the kind of ferociously populist gutter blues the Sideshow Tragedy were doing a couple of years ago.

Drummer Robby Staebler steers the band through the tricky changes of the vintage Zep-flavored 1st vs. 2nd with a nimbly crushing attack. “I’ve been counting the seconds, I’ve been waiting too long,” is the mantra.

The brooding Half-Tongue is a gorgeously spare heavy blues, Parks’ jagged Chicago guitar lines over Draper’s smoky Hammond organ. The album’s darkest number, Diamond is almost as stark, finally building to a menacing, chromatic drive fueled by Parks and fellow guitarist Ben McLeod before returning to a deadpool ambience that sounds like the Black Angels covering Blue Oyster Cult.

The band go back to slow, heavy minor-key blues for album’s longest epic, Harvest Feast, which is definitely a feast of clanging, echoing, wailing and burning guitar textures, orchestrated with immense subtlety for a band this heavy. The way they edge toward Grateful Dead territory without losing focus is an especially cool touch.

The band turn on a dime from a drony jet engine intro to a shamanistic pulse as HJTC gets underway: it could be the Black Angels reduced to simplest and darkest terms. They wind up the album Rob’s Dream, a slow, spare, eerily warpy minor psych-blues tableau that finally rises to a scorching peak: British legends the Frank Flight Band come to mind. Despite a recent lineup shuffle, this captures one of this country’s most individualistic psychedelic bands at the top of their uneasy game.

Menacing Full-Throttle Instrumentals From the Death Wheelers

Today’s Halloween album, streaming at Bandcamp, is I Tread on Your Grave, by instrumentalists the Death Wheelers. The album cover and bandname are a little misleading: what they play isn’t really biker rock. It’s closer to the growling SoCal ATV themes that Agent Orange played on the River’s Edge soundtrack (now there’s a great Halloween movie!). Pat Irwin’s eclectic 80s scorpion rock band the Raybeats also come to mind, although the Death Wheelers are a lot louder. more metal-oriented and distinguish themselves with downtuned bass. In the same vein as another legendary instrumental rock band, Man or Astroman, the group like to open their songs with snippets from cheesy 50s horror flicks.

The album opens with the title track. Max Tremblay’s doomy, gleefully tremoloing Sabbath-esque bass riff kicks it off, then the band – who also comprise guitarists Sy Tremblay and Hugo Bertacci, plus drummer Richard Turcotte – take it on a weirdly syncopated tangent with keening slide guitar.

13 Discycles is a metalflake take on horror surf: when the band go halfspeed, then quarterspeed on the long outro, it could be Pantera playing Beware the Dangers of a Ghost Scorpion. The furthest they go into the surf is Moto Vampiro, but even that takes a detour into vintage 70s riff-rock: the flange and the distorted bass add skunky contrast.

Where so many of these tracks careen from one style to another or mash them up, Roadkill 69 is the closest thing to 60s biker theme here, but with metal sonics. The album’s best track, Sleazy Rider Returns, is also its creepiest, a Frankenstein gallop that starts out as the most horror surf-oriented number here, then slouches toward Sleep and then pre-Dark Side Pink Floyd.

Death Wheelers/Marche Funebre begins all sludgy, with some tasty machete tremolo-picking, then the band put the rubber to the road: it could be the Coffin Daggers with grittier bass. They launch into a nazgul gallop in Black Crack, a wry update on a classic Led Zep stomp; then, in Backstabber, they weld more of that vinyl-cracking sunburst slide guitar to a chugging, vintage Motorhead-style riff. 

If Iron Maiden had been an instrumental band during their earliest days back in the 70s, they might have done RIP (Last Ride) – the sample that introduces it is a real hoot. The brief Purple Wings sounds like an unexpectedly swinging, funk-tinged rehearsal jam that the band decided to keep and maybe work up later.

The album’s final cut is Moby Dick – an original, not the Led Zep monstrosity -where they nick an old Sonny Boy Williamson riff that the Allman Brothers infamously ruined, and do it justice. Guess these guys figured they couldn’t nick the title as well if they didn’t put in a really funny Spinal Tap drum solo as well. It’s hard to think of a more interesting, original heavy band out there. 

Mighty Classically-Influenced Metal from Merkabah

Quebecois band Merkabah‘s latest album Ubiquity – streaming at Bandcamp– deserves to be ubiquitous this Halloween. It’s a mammoth, symphonically orchestrated blend of dive-bomber metal and apocalyptic art-rock. They distinguish themselves not only with their haunting tunesmithing but also frontwoman Jacinthe Poulin’s elegant presence on vocals.

The moody, high-romantic introduction to the opening cut, Mythomania, doesn’t give much indication of the Iron Maiden machinegunning to come. The second song, Divine Sparks has a Run to the Hills gallop: drummer Nicolas Bilodeau’s pummeling attack iss closer to the ground.  The twin soloing from axemen François Vachon and Raynald Brochu , the wah guitar oscillations and Louis Doyon’s tumbling bass are pure, skunky, vintage 80s NWOBHM deliciousness.

Red Letter Days would be a gorgeous song even if it wasn’t as heavy: with the clangy reverb guitar, Tschaikovskian piano and smoky organ, vintage Blue Oyster Cult is a reference point. Circles of Decay is phantasmagorical circus metal: imagine peak-era Metallica with an organ and a creepy punk undercurrent.

With its desolate flute and acoustic guitar textures, Brothers From the Seed of Cain is a brooding, potently relevant refugee tale. Opening with a shriek of organ, all stops out, Deadly Prophets of the Printed Page is the album’s most cinematically macabre track,.

Agartha is an unselfconsciously gorgeous, mythically-influenced Scandinavian gothic anthem. The album closes with the thunderously blustering, epic instrumental title cut, which turns out to be the most traditional metallic and also the most traditionally classical track here. If this stuff is too scary for you, you should be watching Barney reruns instead.

Tuneful, Fearlessly Original Heavy Stoner Riffage From Fuzz Evil

Today’s Halloween album is High on You, by Fuzz Evil, which is streaming at Bandcamp. While there’s some fuzztone in the band’s guitars and plenty of post-Sabbath evil in the music, they’re more diverse than those elements would suggest.

The opening track is Get It Together: if Nirvana had a thing for stoner boogie (and could play their instruments a little better, and had a keyboard) they would have sounded like this. You Can Take Her Away is a lot faster and riffier, Sabbath at doublespeed maybe. Finally we get a deliciously allusive guitar solo from frontman Wayne Rudell while bassist Joey Rudell’s lines rise toward the peak of the wave at the end.

Ribbons and Kills is a savage, slow, crushingly cynical kiss-off anthem. There are creepy, watery effects on the vocals, a vein-slashing pickslide behind the walls of distortion: “You’re daddy’s little girl,” is the mantra.

If You Know could be slow Nirvana with more confident guitar, stronger vocals, a slow-burning, Sabbath-inspired rhythm section and a deliciously icy, macabre Blue Oyster Cult-ish guitar solo.

Pushed along by drummer Orgo Martinez, The Strut is more of a stomp,  minor-key Sabbath riffs over an emphatic pulse. When the toxic waves of reverb guitar overflow the container, the payoff is sweet.

The album’s title track envelops you with its slow, echoey, ominous sonics over Martinez’s crushing, sparse beats, building to a a rhythmically twisted Rubik’s Cube. The final cut is Are You In Or Out, strobe guitars building to a steady, emphatic burn. If you’re into heavy psych, don’t sleep on this.

Individualistic New Metal in Bushwick This Weekend

Metal trio Earnest Gallows may call their debut release a “three song demo,” but it has an understated, chrome-plated polish. What most distinguishes them from the legions of headless axemen on an endless gallop toward Mordor is frontman/guitarist Richie Pace’s vocals. “We brought this upon itself…conveniently bought, at the cost of critical thought,” he belts in the second track, Man Made Hell, a purposeful, tightly crystallized anthem that clocks in at less than four minutes. But that delivery is unexpectedly down to earth – no cartoon characters or phony opera here. The ep is up at Bandcamp as a free download, and they’re playing the Cobra Club in Bushwick on Aug 5 at around 9. The venue doesn’t list whether there’s a cover charge or not, but if there is it’s usually pretty cheap here, no more than ten bucks.

The ep’s first track, The Nearby is a contrast of crunch punctuated by the occasional guitar flare; Pace puts the bite on for extra cynicism in places. The final track, Secular Peace, is the band’s most ambitious number and a mishmash of rhythms, bassist Philip Tavadze climbing and then finally joining the sprint down the battlefield in tandem with drummer John Naeder. You can hear echoes of Iron Maiden but also artsier 70s rock and even 80s goth in the group’s music: if catchy, heavy sounds are your thing, keep an eye out for them.