Decibel #144 - October 2016

SOULS AT ZERO

THROUGH SILVER IN BLOOD THREE EXCLUSIVE HALL OF FAME INDUCTIONS

TIMES OF GRACE

E XT R E M E LY E XT R E M E S I N C E 2 0 0 4

FLEXI DISC

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THE ISSUE OCTOBER 2016 // No. 144

ALSO

STEVE ALBINI KRIS FORCE BARONESS CONVERGE EYEHATEGOD YOB CORRECTIONS HOUSE OATHBREAKER

EXTREMELY EXTREME

October 2016 [R 144] decibelmagazine.com

upfront 10 metal muthas How James Murphy became anything but a living monstrosity 12 low culture And here’s an article about my cats 13 brewtal truth A bitter embrace 14 studio report:

the obsessed

Reborn, not too late

reviews 67 lead review Blood Incantation’s Starspawn casts its spells upon our lives, so that we may receive the gift of immortality 68 album reviews Records that could be recorded by any band that is not Neurosis, including Asphyx, Norma Jean, Controlled Bleeding and In the Woods…

80 south pole dispatch Strength, vision and turntables

Section begins on Page 18

Decibel (ISSN 1557-2137) is published monthly by Red Flag Media, Inc., 1032 Arch Street, 3rd Floor, Philadelphia, PA 19107. Annual subscription price is $34.95. Periodical postage, Philadelphia, PA, and other mailing offices. Submission of manuscripts, illustrations and/or photographs must be accompanied by a stamped, self-addressed envelope. The publisher assumes no responsibility for unsolicited materials. Postmaster send changes of address for Decibel to Red Flag Media, 1032 Arch Street, 3rd Floor, Philadelphia PA 19107. Copyright© 2016 by Red Flag Media, Inc. All ISSN 1557-2137 | USPS 023142 rights reserved. Reproduction in whole or in part without written permission of the publisher is strictly prohibited.

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PUBLISHER

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EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Albert Mudrian

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Over the surface  A view from the Editor in Chief's desk

As many longtime Decibel readers are

painfully aware, Neurosis have never been available for our vaunted Hall of Fame series. Oh, they’ve been 100% eligible for it, of course. As one of the most important, boundary-obliterating metallic acts of the past three decades, they clearly deserved multiple inductions based on the impact of indispensable classics like Times of Grace, Through Silver in Blood and Souls at Zero. In fact, I personally spent parts of the last decade trying to convince the band to make an exception to their longstanding agreement that only guitarists/vocalists Scott Kelly and Steve Von Till would represent the band in interviews. If you know anything about Neurosis, however, it won’t surprise you to learn that their pacts aren’t easily broken. And so, since its 2004 inception, the Decibel Hall of Fame of has remained an incomplete portrait at best.

So, imagine my surprise back in May when Steve causally mentioned via email that he and Scott were, “joking about ‘lifting the veil’ on our past albums in celebration of 30 years and letting everyone be part of interviews to honor the past.”

Always game to have my hopes of a Neurosis Hall of Fame attempt unceremoniously crushed, I pressed on, suggesting that we should induct the three aforementioned Neurosis albums. Steve posited the idea of doing back to back to back HOFs in consecutive issues and I returned volley with the notion of doing all three in one issue, running a Neurosis cover story on the the band’s incredible new LP, Fires Within Fires (out in September), and calling it THE FUCKING NEUROSIS ISSUE. We could include interviews with Neurosis collaborators, engineers, session musicians, former live visual artists and—if that weren’t enough—a flexi disc of a previously unreleased 1995 demo of “Locust Star” that somehow actually sounds heavier than the LP version.

My idea won.

So… hope you like Neurosis! If you don’t, the good news is that there will definitely be another issue of Decibel next month. albert mudrian, Editor-in-Chief

patty@decibelmagazine.com

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METAL MADNESS SHOP IN STORE OR ONLINE AT FYE.COM

Neurosis

Neurosis

Times of Grave

Faith No More

Through Silver in Blood

Allegaeon

Norma Jean

We Care A Lot (Deluxe Band Edition)

Proponent for Sentience

Opeth

Russian Circles

Sorceress

Neurosis

Souls at Zero

Guidance

Polar Similar

Neurosis

Fires Within Fires

Sinsaenum

Echoes of the Tortured

Blood Incantation The Wounded Kings Starspawn

Visions In Bone

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Repentless

OF THE

MONTH 1999’s Time of Grace remains my wolfsbane for its tectonic, Melvins-like sundering, the album’s Tribes of Neurot companion Grace slicing a tentacle off The Thing soundtrack.

Raoul Hernandez Austin, TX

This issue of Decibel is dedicated to Neurosis.

In addition to a cover story on their new album and flexi disc, there are THREE Neurosis Hall of Fame pieces and tons more of Neurosisrelated content in the magazine. What’s your favorite Neurosis LP or Neurotic story?

Emo’s opening in Austin coincides with my arrival from Neurosis’ native Bay Area in 1992, after which the rest of the decade hazes over in its bowels to a hot mess of Amphetamine-Reptile, Man’s Ruin, and Touch & Go post-punks and soon-to-be metal gods.

Neurosis concussions were many and often, one summer heat stroke show bordering on hallucinatory thanks to food poisoning.

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As the music editor of the Austin Chronicle, you obviously cover pop music more than anything else. Tell us what was the most brutal metal band that you ever managed to “sneak” into the newspaper?

Seattle, San Francisco, Los Angeles, New Orleans, New York—no music scene can compare to the proliferation and proximity of literally hundreds of live music venues in Austin, and thus our populous neither slacks nor sweats genre. As such, during 22 years in my current gig, I’ve gotten to cackle about libidinous church ladies with Al Green and shoot tequila with ZZ Top’s Billy F. Gibbons, possessor of Michelangelo-sculpted hands. Heavy personal gets range from axe grinders (Joe Perry, K.K. Downing, Glenn Tipton) to throats (Tom Araya, Lemmy, Nergal, Rotting Christ’s Sakis Tolis), beaters (Dave Lombardo) and directors (John Carpenter), but my “sneaks” of 4,000-word features on Thin Lizzy, Blue Öyster Cult (long live Albert Bouchard) and Church of Misery resound loudest.

Former dB contributor Joe Gross is employed by the Austin-American Statesmen. Do you see him around town espousing the virtues of Breadwinner to anyone who will listen? Or do the news paper camps keep strictly to themselves?

He’s moved onto the books beat at the local daily, so I’m grateful our DIY beacon BookPeople looked to him for the Chuck Klosterman Q&A and let me have Megadeth’s Dave Ellefson and, earlier this year, Lita Ford—not to mention the Jesus Lizard! Joe still comes out to the one-off rarities (did I see him at Portal?), but his Twitter (@JoeGross) keeps him limber musically, and his dB successor of sorts, current contributor Andy O’Connor, turns out to every amplifier desecration in the ATX. Please give us a heads up on an Austin metal band that we should be covering in Decibel.

The Texas state capital gave the world Averse Sefira, the Sword and Watchtower—Hall of Fame? (Yes, see issue #63—ed.) But the scene vets—atomic improvisers Tia Carrera and now even metallurgic punks Mammoth Grinder— still commingle with newcomers such as the “black progressive death rock” of the Blood Royale and Bridge Farmers’ stoney wall of slam. Headcrusher’s imported Colombian thrash stood steel toe to Birkenstock with all acts on Phil Anselmo’s initial Housecore Horror Fest at Emo’s and Antone’s in 2013, and Survive’s soundtrack scares for Netflix’s Stranger Things and an upcoming Relapse debut makes them monstrously ripe for a dB profile.

Chuck BB is the illustrator of the graphic novels Black Metal, Vol. 1, 2 and 3 For more info and art, head over to chuckbb.com

PHOTO BY GARY MILLER

READER

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NOW SLAYING Wonder what Decibel world HQ has been rocking for the past month?

Well, here are the records we spun the most while deeply regretting losing our old Through Silver in Blood hoodie.

Because not all of us were spawned in the darkest recesses of hell

This Month's Mutha: Judy Grimes Mutha of James Murphy of Disincarnate (ex-Obituary, ex-Death, ex-Testament)

Can you tell us a little more about yourself?

any reservations?

I was born and raised in Florida. I went to nursing school and was a nurse for 22 years. I love to crochet—I have hats all over the world I’ve sent to people. I love my animals and just love life in general. I have a daughter named Kristine and another son, Stephen, who lives in Germany at the moment with his wife.

Well, it was not my choice. Different generations have different music. My parents didn’t like the rock and roll I grew up with and called it names. It’s not what I would have chosen for him but that’s what he wanted. I think I have just about every album he’s ever played on: Testament, Death, Obituary and Disincarnate.

What was James like as a kid?

When James had his health scare in 2001 what went through your mind?

He was always energetic and always knew what he wanted. When he wanted something, he wanted it wholeheartedly. I knew from an early age he wanted to be in music. He loved playing guitar even when he was really young. I bought him a little plastic guitar when he was just four years old. From there, he just matured with it.

How much did he practice as a kid?

A lot [laughs]. Thank goodness for headphones, although sometimes we didn’t have those. He played up to six or seven hours a day sometimes.

When James decided he was going to pursue death metal, did you know what it was or have 1 0 : O C T O B E R 2 0 16 : D E C I B E L

It was a terrible year for me. In the first part of the year I lost my mother, and then he was diagnosed with this horrific [brain] tumor. The prognosis was not what we wanted to hear. Thankfully, the doctors were able to do something, and he’s pulled out of it, and for that I’m thankful.

Did the experience bring you two closer together?

It did. We had to wait for the doctors to come out and worried that he might not even know us.

But he knew us as soon as he came out of it, and I almost went to my knees on the floor I was so thankful. —JUSTIN M. NORTON

Albert Mudrian : e d i t o r i n c h i e f  Neurosis, Fires Within Fires  Neurosis, Through Silver in Blood  Neurosis, Souls at Zero  Neurosis, Times of Grace  Neurosis, A Sun that Never Sets ---------------------------------Patty Moran : c u s t o m e r s e r v i c e  Neurosis, Sovereign  Neurosis, Enemy of the Sun  Neurosis, Times of Grace  Cult of Luna, Mariner  Isis, Celestial ---------------------------------James Lewis : a d s a l e s  Gridlink, Longhena  Gehennah, Too Loud to Live, Too Drunk to Die  Crowbar, Sever the Wicked Hand  Turbid North, Eyes Alive  Midnight, Satanic Royalty ---------------------------------Mike Wohlberg : a r t d i r e c t o r  Neurosis, Through Silver in Blood  Carpenter Brut, Trilogy  Queen, Greatest Hits Vol. 1  Weekend Nachos, Apology  ACxDC, The Oracles of Death EP ---------------------------------Alex Yarde : s a l e s / m a r k e t i n g m a n a g e r  The Notorious B.I.G., Ready to Die  Tribulation, The Children of the Night  The Kills, Ash & Ice  Amon Amarth, Jomsviking  Nas, Illmatic

GUEST SLAYER

---------------------------------Scott Mire : d a m i e n b l a c k  Abbath, Abbath  Iron Maiden, The Book of Souls  Black Star Riders, All Hell Breaks Loose  King Diamond, The Eye  Death, Scream Bloody Gore (Reissue)

D E C I B E L : O C T O B E R 2 0 16 : 1 1

guide to staying kvlt while drunk… and drunk while kvlt by adem tepedelen

I Always Wanted to Use “Pussy” In a Title ast September I was adjusting to life in Richmond, VA. I had just moved to from New Jersey and verything was a lot different here. It’s a calmer pace, people say “hello” to you on the street and you can’t walk six feet without tripping on a doom band. Needless to say, I was having a rough go at it. I’d started a new job after quitting Hot Topic after six weeks of managing a low volume store and was trying to get my bearings. One night my girlfriend informed me we were getting twin boy kittens who had been abandoned. I was honestly fairly pissed because my anxiety of living with someone was already crippling the relationship and this added responsibility felt daunting. It was around this time I decided to go back on Prozac and try to be an adult for once in my life.

Upon seeing the two gray kittens, all of that changed. They spent their first few hours sleeping in my girlfriend’s purse but when I woke up the next morning I was greeted by four eyes cuddled right next to my head. That was it for me. As anyone who has the misfortune of following me on the internet knows, these two boys (whom we named Sage and Sprout) have become a ridiculously important part of my life. I spend more time taking pictures of them and then posting those pictures when I’m either trolling the Decibel comments section or trying to prove a point elsewhere than I do any actual productive work. Watching them grow into their personalities has been exciting, as my only previous experience was an older cat who already hated me before we got her home from the shelter.

Sage has become my shadow most days and is the more adventurous of the two. He spends a lot of time climbing shit and howling out the 1 2 : O C T O B E R 2 0 16 : D E C I B E L

window. Sprout, on the other hand, is a lazy shit who spends his days trying to dig Q-Tips out of my girlfriend’s purse and sleeping. You could say I’m smitten.

Krieg did a show in Baltimore during MDF this year and it got back to me that apparently I’m a Nazi in hiding because I was seen talking to a guy wearing a Burzum shirt. This is one of the most fucking asinine things I’ve heard in this argument in years. It’s not like we’re close friends, I’m not going to his birthday party, he isn’t getting a Christmas card from me. No, I’m taking shit because I was polite to someone who told me they enjoyed our show. People should be fucking ashamed for the stupid gossip they come up with in order to feel a part of the giant witch hunt culture that’s become the new big thing. If this bothered this person so much, why didn’t they come up to me and say something? Because it’s more attention grabbing to speculate and point fingers safely online. Fuck off.

Sage and Sprout are now almost a year old.

This is their first summer and they spent it mostly by the windows, watching people drippily saunter by in the oppressive Richmond heat. I’ve become more excited about time off from work, so I can sit and listen to records and hang out with my cats, than nearly anything else. I can’t tell if it’s because I now have an excuse to hide my social anxiety and not go places or if I’m just a moronic cat dad now. Either way, I’m pretty satisfied with that aspect of my life. I can’t take a shit in peace and any time I try to be romantic, Sprout emerges with gusto from the shadows and cock blocks me, but I’d rather this than having a child that I’m bound to fuck up somehow.

They’re just little guys, but they work better than any medicine I’ve been on before.

Fruits Bloody Fruits

I

t seems like just a yesterday (OK,

last year), we were railing against all these newfangled fruit-forward IPAs packed with Mosaic and Citra hops that brewers were flooding the market with. Seemingly long gone were the palate-scraping piney/grapefruity IPAs of yore, replaced by showy mango, melon, passionfruit, blueberry and floral whatever-the-fuck notes that were somehow softening the edge of a style built on aggressive bitterness.

To use a metal analogy that may actually mean something to you non-beer geeks, it’s akin to the shame that the hair metal era brought upon metal’s legacy in the late ’80s. Previous to the rise of a thousand bad Warrant/Crüe wannabes (all of which were signed to Atlantic Records, BTW), metal was doing just fine. No one was saying, “jeez, we could use a lot more dudes that look like girls playing a ridiculously sanitized and boring version of this ass-kicking music we love so much.”

But thanks to the mainstream appeal of some of these bands, metal experienced a moment where all the aspects that make it, you know, metal were kind of forgotten. For context, Ratt and Mettallica [sic] appeared on the same Metal Massacre Adem Tepedelen compilation in 1982, uses Twitter in the guise of but by 1986, the @BrewtalTruth

musical differences between the two were stark. Unfortunately, for every Metallica, Megadeth, Slayer, Anthrax, etc. album released in this era, there were seemingly dozens of soulless hair metal albums besmirching the genre’s good name.

The once proud IPA has now been reduced to the craft beer equivalent of fucking Cats in Boots or Jetboy. Not only have all of IPA’s rugged rough edges—oh how I love a good pine-needle-flavored burp—been softened with flabby, floral overripe fruit notes, it is now actually being brewed with added fruit flavors.

It’s like brewers have dolled them up in lace tank tops, ornate makeup and big hair to make them seem less menacing, or whatever.

Yes, IPAs have become the Squishee of the beer world—they come in every imaginable fruit flavor, from citrus to watermelon and more. We will abstain from naming names, mostly because we don’t

ILLUSTRATION BY MIKE WOHLBERG, TFK!

have the space. But suffice it to say that it is the rare brewery that hasn’t succumbed to this sad trend.

Now, fruit and beer actually do have a tradition that precedes the craft beer era by a few millennia. Fruit was used as a fermentable sugar in beer going way back. And fruit lambics are a mainstay in Belgium’s Flanders region. Many breweries, such as Dogfish Head, have dabbled with the flavor dynamics that fruit additions can do to a beer.

However, this whole fruity IPA thing has gone too far. We have a pretty good idea of how wine drinkers might have felt with the invention of wine coolers, which coincidentally occurred concurrent to the rise of hair metal. IPAs don’t need to be made more palatable—you either like them or you don’t—and if mango, pineapple, grapefruit or watermelon additions make it more quaffable to you, perhaps craft beer isn’t actually your thing.

D E C I B E L : O C T O B E R 2 0 16 : 1 3

THE OBSESSED

came into the picture. Brian grew up on the Obsessed. It’s music he always wanted to play.

We started playing Obsessed songs, and for the first time in however long, I heard the songs the way I always wanted to hear them. Brian’s really driving the bus.”

T

he Obsessed are not fucking around. Actually, when

Decibel roll in to Waterford Digital on an early Wednesday afternoon, the Obsessed are kind of fucking around.

Ultra-friendly bassist Dave Sherman meets us at the door for a cigarette, Scott “Wino” Weinrich is working out the sound of his guitar’s talk box and Brian Constantino’s drum parts are wrapped up tight. With the meat of each song already laid down, we find the band working on the sauce that’ll flavor the meal—solos, extra sonic textures and, of course, Wino’s wellhoned vocal treatment.

“Wino’s lyrics are so humble, so intelligent,” Sherman says earnestly. “He writes some heartfelt stuff.”

Busy as Wino has been with other bands, it’s been more than 20 years since he last recorded an Obsessed album. “It’s all about the chemistry,” he says. “I’ve been asked to do a lot of Obsessed reunions, but I didn’t feel like doing it until Brian Constantino

STUDIO REPORT

THE OBSESSED TITLE

TBA PRODUCER

Frank Marchand STUDIO

Waterford Digital, Millersville, MD RELEASE DATE

February 2017 LABEL

Relapse

The guys are also extremely pleased to be working with engineer Frank Marchand, who was forcibly moved out of his previous space and just got the current facility operational a few months ago. “These are the best sounds I’ve ever gotten in a studio,” Wino declares. “It takes a really special person to get inside your head and also get performances out of you without being abrasive. This is a very comfortable environment—top of the line, pro shit.”

When treated to a stint in front of the playback speakers, we heard a couple dirge-informed doom tracks, but there are also a bunch of revved up rock songs that inspire immediate body shaking. They have even reworked their currently circulating single, “Be the Night,” by throttling up the tempo to add some extra-gritty momentum. With 12 original songs, and Thin Lizzy and Mountain covers to round out the set, Wino’s summative comment rings with conviction: “The timing’s right.” —DANIEL LAKE

STUDIO SHORT SHOTS

SWAMPED IN STUDIO: BROKEN HOPE COMPLETE WORK ON MUTILATED AND ASSIMILATED Broken Hope founder and guitarist Jeremy Wagner has always been a huge horror buff, with a particular affection for John Carpenter. He drew upon his Carpenter fixation when naming the upcoming Broken Hope album Mutilated and Assimilated, a reference to Carpenter’s masterpiece The Thing. “It’s also a track that pays homage to my favorite horror movie of all time," Wagner says.

"If people are familiar with the movie, especially 1 4 : O C T O B E R 2 0 16 : D E C I B E L

like I am, they will know what I mean when I say mutilated and assimilated.”

Mutilated and Assimilated, produced by Scott Creekmore, is being recorded at Wagner’s “Rustic Pube” studios (this is not a typo). “We are officially tracking this entire record at Rustic Pube,” Wagner says, laughing. “I’ve been sending out pictures of us tracking the album and for our location, I always put Rustic Pube Studios.”

Mutilated and Assimilated will feature the first recorded contributions from new bassist Diego Soria and guitarist Matt Szlachta, who joined after the departure of Shaun Glass and Chuck Wepfer.

The album is expected in February 2017 from Century Media. —JUSTIN M. NORTON

The new album

September 16th

Steve ‘N’ Seagulls BROTHERS IN FARMS September 9th

Your favorite Banjo Pluckin’, Boot stompin’ band is back to storm the barns with their versions of Iron Maiden, G N’ F’N R, Nirvana and more!

THE WOUNDED KINGS VISIONS IN BONE A JOURNEY TO THE VOID… AND BEYOND HEAVY DOOM ROCK N’ ROLL

AVAILABLE NOW

www.spinefarmre cords.com

features 18

call & response: kris force Multi-instrumentalist and Neurosis session performer waxes poetic

20 neurosis visual artists The three men who helped create “complete sensory overload”

22 neurosis expanded discography Extreme music luminaires from Converge to Eyehategod scream praise

t's safe to say that Decibel wouldn’t be the magazine it is today

without Neurosis. Not only are they one of the most important extreme bands of all time; they’ve also spawned some of the most important extreme bands of all time. Sure, we all love our death/ black/doom/grind/etc., but Neurosis have directly influenced legions of musicians that have little to do with any of those genres, many of whom—like Mastodon, Converge and Isis, to name a prominent few—are longtime favorites of readers and staff alike. In fact, Neurosis are essentially their own genre at this point—and have been since at least 1992, when they unveiled their landmark third album, Souls at Zero.

Sonically speaking, that record saw Neurosis leaving their hardcore punk origins firmly in the dust as they vaulted into unchartered territory and eventually became the monolithic force they are today.

In the pages that follow, you’ll read long-awaited Hall of Fame features on three of Neurosis’ finest albums—1996’s Through Silver in Blood, 1999’s Times of Grace and the aforementioned Souls—alongside Sean Frasier’s in-depth cover story on their 11th and latest, Fires Within Fires. BUT THAT’S NOT ALL: We also brought in some very special guests—including members of Baroness, Eyehategod and Yob—to share their thoughts on the rest of Neurosis’ vast discography. As if that weren’t enough, we’ve got interviews with all three of the gents who’ve held the official band member position of Visual Artist within the Neurosis tribe. Last but not least? A certain tall, handsome genius conducted a Q&A with longtime Neurosis engineer Steve Albini, who recalled some of his fondest memories of working with the band. Oh, and did we mention the flexi? The flexi is a fucking demo of “Locust Star” from 1995. So… why are you still reading this intro? Turn the fucking page, already! —J. BENNETT

26 q&a: steve albini Find people who think like you and stick with them

30 the decibel hall of fame The making of Souls at Zero

40 the decibel hall of fame The making of Through Silver in Blood

50 the decibel hall of fame The making of Times of Grace

Thirty years of strength and vision COVER STORY

58

COVER PHOTO BY JOHN STURDY CONTENTS PHOTO BY NEIL ZLOZOWER

D E C I B E L : O C T O B E R 2 0 16 : 1 7

QUATRAIN&RESPONSE

KRIS FORCE We sent longtime Neurosis collaborator—and Amber Asylum frontwoman—Kris Force seven heavily Neurosis-influenced songs, identified only by title. She returned with the following four-line poems about each track.

TRACK

01

•••••••

Cult of Luna with Julie Christmas, “Chevron” from: Mariner [THE SKINNY] Enemies of the sun Inflatable jumping room Tumult and gleet Slow motion bounding Floor of ground meat

TRACK

02

•••••••

Inter Arma, “An Archer in the Emptiness” from: The Paradise Gallows [THE SKINNY] Suspended in light Lumbering exactitude Hardened vertical embrace Vexed Durga emerges To take her rightful place

1 8 : O C T O B E R 2 0 16 : D E C I B E L

TRACK

03

04

05

•••••••

Isis, “Collapse and Crush” from: Celestial [THE SKINNY] Become the ocean Fiery wind shifting sands Heat grains to glass Dancing flames cruelly switch While spirit is surpassed

•••••••

Napalm Death, “Dear Slum Landlord” from: Apex Predator – Easy Meat [THE SKINNY] A chronology for survival Rotten child toy Wallpaper peeled away Remnants of forgotten time employ Signposts of crime and stripling play

TRACK

TRACK

•••••••

SubRosa, “Key of the Eidolon” from: Decibel Flexi Series 068 [THE SKINNY] Times of grace Outer orbiting nothingness Where sounds can no longer be heard A spectre in the distance Mouthing out ghost words

TRACK

06

TRACK

07

•••••••

Leviathan, “Wicked Fields of Calm” from: Scar Sighted [THE SKINNY] Stones from the sky Dark and sweet Wet and growing Creature of pitch Lurking and knowing

•••••••

Nails, “They Come Crawling Back” from: You Will Never Be One of Us [THE SKINNY] To crawl back in Crimson sanguine flood Blankets of agony veil Whip triumphant lacerate Life lovers atrophy hail

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suspended in light Twenty-two years of Neurosis' psychological projection by anthony bartkewicz

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here’s a major early growth spurt in Neurosis’ evolution between their debut LP, Pain of Mind, and their second, The Word as Law. The lineup grew, with Steve Von Till doubling the guitar and vocal power, and Simon McIlroy introducing samples and keyboards; the vision grew with it, wider, more intensely focused. This ambitious period also saw Neurosis adding a visual element to their shows, the live projections and light shows that accompanied them onstage from 1990 to 2012. ¶ The three guys who ran the visuals over the years—Adam Kendall, Pete Inc. and Josh Graham—were considered full-fledged band members. And just as Neurosis’ music is a through line that links crusty hardcore, experimental noise, apocalyptic folk and underground metal, the images that represented them reveal even more connections: ’60s psychedelic happenings, underground raves, industrial culture, avant-garde film and the pre-internet shock video underground.

“Complete sensory overload” was the goal, as Von Till puts it today. “The intent was to completely transform any venue into our own space for the duration of our performance.” They envisioned an overwhelming strobe-lit assault of Jungian archetypes to match the crushing, trancelike direction in which the music was headed, whether it inspired epiphanies or just intensely bad trips, but they had no idea how to make it happen. When McIlroy joined, his friend and collaborator Adam Kendall came as a bonus. Kendall was a film student who had the technical knowledge. More importantly, he got it.

“We all formed a common bond with our general outlook about the state of the world at that time, which was at the twilight of the Reagan era,” Kendall recalls. “The idea was to make art from what seemed to be a dire situation for humanity.” That meant a lot of horrific sights—war atrocities, vivisections, disgraced Pennsylvania treasurer R. Budd Dwyer blowing his brains out on TV over and over again—but Kendall aimed for something beyond shock.

“Layering them together and putting them through various effects created a peculiar and beautiful, surrealistic, trance-inducing Boschian landscape,” he says.

“We would beg, borrow and steal imagery and footage from wherever we could,” says Von Till. “Independent filmmakers would give us copies of their work to cut up and loop; others would sneak us into video editing suites where we would edit collages together, then have it transferred to 16mm [film]. It took a lot of work.” The light show was easier; most of it came straight out of the ’60s with DIY tricks like colored gels, cake mixers on dimmer switches and hand-cranked bicycle wheels.

Pete Inc., who manned the projectors from 1993 to 2000, started out as a roadie after an incredibly punk misunderstanding when Neurosis played legendary Berkeley DIY venue 924 Gilman Street.

“I was in the front, I had my horns up, and one of Steve’s dreads got caught on one of my rings,” he says. “I couldn’t get it out of there and Steve thought I was just some random person pulling his hair. He ended up punching me in the head

before I could detach myself. When the show was over and everybody figured out what happened the band felt pretty bad and offered to let me roadie on some upcoming shows.” Those shows turned into multiple tours, and when Kendall stepped away from the band, Pete convinced them he could do the job. “I had never touched a slide projector or 16mm until I did it with Neurosis,” he admits. “Simon and Adam showed me the ropes and I took it from there.”

Pete’s time with Neurosis spans another major evolutionary period. The band signed to Relapse, released two of the three albums we’re inducting into our Hall of Fame, and did the

THIS GUY CAME UP TO ME REALLY PISSED. HE WAS LEADING HIS GIRLFRIEND

BY THE ARM. SHE WAS SOBBING UNCONTROLLABLY, TEARS STREAMING DOWN HER FACE. HE GRABBED HER

BY THE SHOULDERS AND SHOOK HER AT ME. ‘YOU DO THIS! YOU DO THIS! FIX IT! FIX IT!’ I THINK THAT WAS THE BEST COMPLIMENT I EVER GOT.

pete inc.

hardest touring of their career, supporting bands like Pantera and Gwar in between their own tours. The visuals evolved, too. “I started to use images that were much more open to interpretation,” Pete explains. “I stuck to icons: blood, fire, water, mystic symbols. I tried to leave it up to the viewer what they were seeing.” When the band played daytime slots on Ozzfest, he

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This film goes to 11 Adam Kendall spools at zero, circa 1992

handed out flyers and weird Neurot propaganda to try to steer people to their sets. “Fun, but not as fun as doing lights,” he says. “I would have loved to attack a totally unsuspecting crowd like that. Stupid sun.” (And Neurosis’ 23-year grudge against the sun continues.)

By this point, Pete and Neurosis had the “sensory overload” thing down. “One time in Bremen, Germany, I was breaking down my gear and this guy came up to me really pissed,” he recalls. “He was leading his girlfriend by the arm. She was sobbing uncontrollably, tears streaming down her face. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her at me. ‘You do this! You do this! Fix it! Fix it!’

I think that was the best compliment I ever got.”

When Josh Graham took over visual duties in 2000, Neurosis were downshifting into non-touring mode, experimenting with a less oppressive musical palette and operating as a self-contained unit, with Graham also doing the art for LPs like The Eye of Every Storm, released on the band’s own Neurot label. Freed from roaddog duties, Graham updated the live setup for the video era, scrapping all the earlier material in the process. “Everyone in the band wanted a fresh start both in content and in method,” he explains, though it didn’t last. Songs from monolith records like Through Silver in Blood made their way back into the setlists, inspiring Graham to revisit some of the old footage “but reworking it to fit the vibe of that time.”

It wasn’t a single thing that led to the end of Neurosis’ live visuals. For one, Graham, who also played guitar in A Storm of Light and Red Sparowes, was getting burnt out. “I felt like if I was going to be on tour I would rather be playing than running visuals,” he says. At the same time, the rest of the band felt the format locked them into only playing songs Graham had prepared for. And then eventually, their original goal was achieved. “The age of constant visual assault has come upon us,” says Von Till. “Now it seems more liberating to have a couple hours without a damn screen in your face.”

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Extreme music’s finest weigh in on the lasting impact of the expansive Neurosis discography

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MIKE IX WILLIAMS of EYEHATEGOD Pain of Mind (1987)

OK, now this is the Neurosis I’ve grown up with and loved all these years. I’m sure some of their supposedly more “sophisticated” fans have shoved this album to the back of the pile or in hindsight; were shocked that the band even ever sounded like this, question marks painted blatantly on foreheads.

Sure, it’s rough around the edges in a way that an early band seeks its surest firm footing or a group searching in its most blood-boiling transitional stages, adding and infiltrating to its formula new and exciting inspirations as well as keeping their sensibilities of beginning HC punk influences.

Melodies creep in here and there also, especially with the bass. Possible hints of the shape of things to come? Definitely true. However, bootleg squat warehouse videos of Neurosis around the same time Alchemy released this record show a working frontline unit prepared to search and destroy the enemy.

I enjoy Pain of Mind personally because it kicks my ass the way I like my ass kicked; by sketchedout Oakland drug dealers and loud, distorted, guttural drums and guitars.

ist and songwriter—gained a guitar player and vocalist by the name of Steve Von Till for songs that became The Word as Law. Their earlier music had evolved from punk and hardcore, but it was now turning into something deeper, wider and less categorizable. Though only two of the songs were credited to Steve, I think one can hear and feel his participation, especially knowing what we now know. Their alignment was more with bands such as Victims Family and Melvins, outside of known, extant genres. They were turning into a band that operated just beyond what anyone expected. Lyrically, they were getting more abstract, and musically slightly more complex, while maintaining a focus on the depression and internal struggle that their lyrics described, inside and out of their worlds. I feel that this album was the band’s first big step away from hardcore punk, toward the cinematic, abstract oppression engine that they became.

Their technical abilities were improving, but they kept it in check to be intentionally raw.

Live, their show was monstrous, even if nobody could find their records on the East Coast.

They played a show at Bunratty’s in Boston on this tour, opening for five straight edge bands.

Nobody needed nor deserved to play after Neurosis that day. When we interviewed them for Look Again fanzine, their humble demeanor and intelligence made it clear that they were driven to push their own limits of creativity, and that they would be successful on many levels. They understood that people weren’t quite able to grasp what they were doing, but that what they were doing was undeniable.

artistic link between the worlds of experimental, punk and metal as we define them today.

Enemy of the Sun is their seminal album in my opinion. It is where everything came together in a recorded setting in a way that was only hinted at with Souls at Zero (also an album I hold in high regard). It is a multi-layered, posteverything experience before there was ever such a thing. When it was initially released it was more dynamic—heavier and deeper than anything out there—and continues to be today.

Scott Kelly and Steve Von Till’s tornado of guitars, Dave’s distorted bass growl, and Jason Roeder’s behind-the-beat percussion all came together in such a unique way. Combine that with a trio vocal attack, samples, keyboards and creative overdubs, and a brand new kind of intelligent “heavy” was born.

I remember the first time I listened to the album. I was walking around my town with a tape in my Walkman. “Lost” kicked in and its sheer power hit me hard in the chest. I walked aimlessly for hours taking it all in. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It was controlled chaos and I loved it. It changed everything. It changed the way I listened to music—forever.

JOHN BAIZLEY of BARONESS

A Sun that Never Sets (2001)

JACOB BANNON of CONVERGE JONAH JENKINS, ex-ONLY LIVING WITNESS Enemy of the Sun The Word as Law (1990)

After the D.R.I. and C.o.C. and Black Flag sounding Pain of Mind, Neurosis—and Scott Kelly as the main vocal-

(1993)

Writing about one Neurosis album in terms of it being most important is nearly impossible.

Their evolution and impact continues to bring awe. They are the sole

I’m neither original nor am I heralding any news when I say the following: Neurosis is/was/will-forever command a foothold at the summit of the alltime greats in extreme music. We’re unlikely to ever figure out what nebulous genre they inhabit, and I’m confounded how so many bands these past 20 years have imitated the inimitable, offering not the slightest threat to Neurosis’ unspoken claim as the sovereigns-supreme of all things heavy. And I believe they’d want that challenge.

Innovators seem to appreciate creative competition. And though I outright refuse to choose any one album as their “best,” A Sun that Never Sets is D E C I B E L : O C T O B E R 2 0 16 : 2 3

the Neurosis record that pushed me forward as a musician when I truly needed it.

I didn’t “get it” on the first listen. I saw the reviews and accolades pouring in, I loved Seldon’s artwork, and I had really fallen for Through Silver in Blood and Times of Grace (got into the back catalog immediately thereafter), so I bought it the day it came out. Following the first spin, I was genuinely confused; nothing had gelled, the arrangements in particular were far more expansive and substantial than I had anticipated, and there were so many melodies (gasp!) I would have, under different auspices, removed the CD and put in something that was more familiar, but I had, for some reason, no other CDs in my vehicle. The second spin however, revealed the record to me. Now I heard the bells and choirs, the strings and pipes, the orchestra of noise, the true genius of Albini production (or whatever he calls it).

With AStNS, I had found my Pink Floyd, my Pet Sounds, my “Symphony No. 9.” It was contemporary music written on a scale I had thought impossible for any type of heavy band, and it resounded so deeply that since then, I will not waiver in offering Neurosis my true faith as a listener. You used to hear all these inane platitudes about how seeing Neurosis was “like going to church” or “having a spiritual experience.”

Well, friends, I’ve been to church, and I’ve tried my darnedest to have a genuine spiritual experience, and this was far greater and more fulfilling. On that drive I heard the entirety of the human experience summed up and presented through modern sound. This wasn’t as spiritual or ethereal as people seemed to think; this was grounded, over-ripe with soul and grit. I saw my own suffering and torment reflected in the lyrics, and I heard the ecstatic release from aforementioned distress resounding brilliantly throughout these 10 songs. And it didn’t stop with AStNS. A few years back, I was recovering from a nasty accident; and I had only a Neurosis and a Converge record at my disposal; and I listened to them “religiously”—my personal brand of therapy.

I put a limit on the time I would spend writing this piece, the exact time it takes to listen to A Sun that Never Sets. Finally, I always have, and never will cease to include an homage and a nod to the last five-and-a-half minutes of “Stones from the Sky” on every Baroness record—at least until Neurosis ask me to stop. It may be the most awe-inspiring five-and-a-half-minutes of recorded music this side of the millennium. If it doesn’t send a shiver down your spine on record or onstage, then you just wasted your time reading this review.

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GILLES DEMOLDER of OATHBREAKER The Eye of Every Storm (2004)

I remember being this miserable 14-year-old who was just getting into Integrity, Rise and Fall and a ton of Clevosounding bands. In 2005 some metal dude in my hometown gave me a CD-R with a bunch of sludge bands on it and told me to listen to it. I didn’t care because I wanted everything to sound fast at the time. Later that year I found The Eye of Every Storm in a distro and basically decided to finally listen to the guy and buy a Neurosis record.

I can’t explain into words how blown away I was hearing The Eye of Every Storm for the first time. Imagine this little aggressive, frustrated kid, suddenly hearing all the possible directions heavy music could go to. I didn’t get it, but I fell in love with it the first time I heard the record. I must have played that CD a thousand times that year. Over, and over, and over again. It’s so bleak, so fragile, and at the same time it has this tribal aggression that is just bone breaking.

Since that day this record has become my objective of how a record should feel.

Every Oathbreaker record has been written with the build of The Eye of Every Storm in the back of my head. The dynamics on this record are amazing, the subtle accents, the long eerie breaks in the songs—so much inspiring stuff. To this day, I listen to it and get completely blown away. Not to mention that the name “Oathbreaker” comes from the title track of this record. I still get chills when I hear this part. “Now oath breaker sinks low,” holy fucking shit.

The Eye of Every Storm has been one of my favorite records ever for the past 10 years, and I’m sure it’ll stay that way till the day I die. There’s only a handful of records that mean so much to me. A complete and utter masterpiece.

BRUCE LAMONT of YAKUZA, CORRECTIONS HOUSE, BLOODIEST, BRAIN TENTACLES, etc.

Given to the Rising (2007)

Given to the Rising is one of my favorite Neurosis albums of the 2000s. The title track, “Given,” comes right out the gate white hot. Scott Kelly’s inhale scream within the first minute sets the tone. Other favorites are “Hidden Faces,” “Fear and Sickness” and “Water is Not Enough.” Props to Noah Landis for some killer synth work all over this one. As always, the production is top notch and the peaks and valleys that come with every great Neurosis record are there as well.

MIKE SCHEIDT of YOB Honor Found in Decay (2011)

In 2011, when YOB was opening for Neurosis in Portland, we heard them soundcheck “At The Well.” It was the first time we heard any of the new material from Honor Found in Decay, and we kept saying to each other, “They did it again.” After Honor was released, hearing those new tunes mixed into live sets with older classics fostered an ever-deepening awe and respect in me for their ability to continue to reinvent themselves and offer fresh new songs and atmosphere that is reserved only for the greatest of greats. Neurosis, album after album, decade after decade, inspire legions of bands to dig deep and express their own genuine truth, via their unfaltering example. At the same time, Neurosis ever leads the charge. No band has come close to equaling them.

QA

STEVE ALBINI W I T H

Famed engineer discusses his lengthy and ongoing relationship with NEUROSIS interview by

j. bennett

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teve Albini is in a control room at Electrical Audio in Chicago when that were part of that idiom that managed to he hears a buzzing sound. “Can you hear that on your end?” he asks. (We can’t.) “Hold on a second while I adjust something.” When he gets back on the line, the famously outspoken recording engineer and producer seems satisfied that he’s fixed the problem. A few minutes later, he hears it again. But by then we’re balls deep in a discussion about Neurosis, the band to which this entire issue is so justly dedicated. Starting with the pre-millennial masterstroke Times of Grace, Albini has recorded six of Neurosis’ last seven albums (plus 2000’s Sovereign EP, minus their 2003 collaboration with Jarboe)—including their latest, Fires Within Fires. Which obviously puts our man in a unique position to make some astute observations about the band. “It’s a weird comparison to make on a stylistic level, but if you compare the career arc of a band like the Rolling Stones or Cheap Trick or, until recently, AC/DC, Neurosis fit comfortably in that category—bands that can still deliver at peak performance,” he says. “But the thing that distinguishes Neurosis in that thinking is that the records they’re making now are as good or better than the ones that built their reputation. That’s not true of their peers in longevity.”

When did you first cross paths with Neurosis?

I first saw them in 1980-something. They played a show at one of the punk hangouts in Chicago called Exit. The bar still exists in a different location, but the clientele has shifted quite a bit.

In the mid- to late ’80s, they did shows there and played punk music all nights of the week. People in the scene worked there as bartenders or other staff. So, Neurosis played there—I think it was after their second album. They had started to make the transition from a noisy hardcore band into being more, like, basket case. [Laughs] There were hints that they were gonna be an incredible band, but they were obviously still getting their sea legs in that configuration—they had just added a keyboard player.

What was the crowd like at that show?

It seemed about a third of the audience was completely unfamiliar with their music; another third would’ve been there for any punk show just based on the flyer, and the other third were the most fucked-up looking people, who had clearly kind of based a portion of their life around Neurosis. [Laughs] Those folks have proliferated considerably since then.

Yeah, there’s no shortage now. I recently saw Neurosis at their 30th anniversary show—they invited our band to play with them—at the Regency in San Francisco. And the audience kinda broke down two ways: People who were general music fans who liked Neurosis, and then the contingent who probably had significant portions of Neurosis’ imagery tattooed on them, and they would have committed a large percent-

age of the material to memory… in some ways, the band defines them. I think it’s incredible that a band can have that kind of an impact on people over the course of such a long career and also over a stylistic arc that really should have shaken a lot of their fans off the bus. Their more conventional hardcore material in the beginning probably had a more generic punk audience. But as they got weirder, their audience went with them and that cemented their relationship. I can’t think of very many bands that have had such a long and varied career where they have meant so much to people at every phase.

What was your impression of their early hardcore stuff?

Being frank, I hated hardcore music. I got interested in music because of punk rock and the freedom and experimentation that was implicit in punk. You would buy half a dozen records and they would all look and sound radically different from each other. When you went to see bands, every band went about their business in a different way. Hardcore formalized a lot of aspects of music and behavior, which I thought was a profoundly stupid effect. I felt like it was limiting, like it was weakening the aesthetic, like it was copping out on the notion that you got to invent your own style of music because it provided a template for people. So, I hated hardcore.

I thought it was a pernicious and stupid development in the punk scene.

I suspect Neurosis sensed that hardcore was a dead end on some level, which is why they broke out of it.

Yeah. There were a very small number of bands

do anything beyond the form and the implications of it—bands like Void and Die Kreuzen and Minor Threat. And not so much stylistically at first, but from a frame of mind of standpoint, clearly Neurosis were in that category as well.

They broke out of the hardcore orthodoxy and went out on a tangent. It was gratifying to see that that was possible. But a lot of the bands that started out playing hardcore never progressed, never evolved. For Neurosis, hardcore was just a starting point: It’s how they learned to be a band, to play their instruments, to know one another. From there, they started to trust their own instincts.

Did you speak with them that first night you saw them in Chicago?

No. I’m not sure if this is true, but I want to say they were there with the band Whipping Boy, Eugene [Robinson, of Oxbow]’s old band. I had been introduced to Whipping Boy by a friend of mine. I was aware of Neurosis, but not familiar, and I think I went to see Whipping Boy on someone else’s recommendation. I’m piecing this memory together, though. [Laughs] That was a long time ago, and I don’t have a lot of confidence in my memory. But I remember the impact Neurosis had on the audience and I remember fragments of the music, but I didn’t introduce myself at the time.

When did you first interact with them?

When they got a hold of me to do the Times of Grace and Sovereign records. I never crossed paths with them before that because my band rarely went west and Neurosis did a lot of touring within the metal subculture, which I don’t spend a lot of time in. So, we basically didn’t interact until just before making those records, which was a terrific bonding experience because we recorded both Times of Grace and Sovereign plus an album’s worth of B-sides, so we were together for over three weeks. So, I got to know them and really admire them and their working methods.

We got along great from the beginning.

Had you followed their career or heard many of their albums between seeing them in Chicago in the late ’80s and when you started working with them in the late ’90s?

No, but it wasn’t a surprise to hear the kind of music they were working on for Times of Grace because I’d seen them at the point where they had already started breaking out of their hardcore chrysalis. So, the bulk of my interaction with them has been seeing them in a mature stage and getting to know them as people by working with them.

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“So... where’s the MacBook Pro?” Von Till and Albini eye every storm

tionship and resolve issues through conversation, where everyone gets to say their piece but nobody has veto power—nobody can be an obstacle. Their band is organized that way. Whenever something needs to be resolved, there’s no, “Oh, ask him— that’s his department” or, “Well, we would be doing it this way, except this one band member wouldn’t let us.” There’s none of that. Everything they need to resolve, they talk about like civilized fucking people. I think that’s fantastic, and it creates a very durable relationship within the band. It makes it so the band can last for 30 years because nobody feels like he’s being shut out of a decision or that his concerns aren’t being taken seriously.

What about how they work together musically?

Did they cite any specific recordings you had done as reasons for wanting to work with you?

I don’t remember. I know they were friendly with Oxbow, and I had done a couple of Oxbow records at that point, so that might’ve had something to do with it. And I know that Dave Ed, their bass player, was familiar with a lot of the Chicago noise-rock type bands like Tar and the Jesus Lizard, and I’d worked on a lot of those records as well. I think those were the records they heard that made them think I could work on their music.

You said you hit it off with them right away.

Besides music, what kind of things did you find you had in common?

Just wide-ranging interests. There are things about the metal scene that I have no interest in and am just deaf to, like the obsession with skin art and body modification—that stuff doesn’t mean anything to me. But I appreciate that it can be really important to people because I’m also into stuff that a lot of people aren’t into.

Seeing how the people in Neurosis have incorporated their personal histories physically into their bodies—the things that mean a lot to them are literally burned into their skin—I respect and admire that degree of commitment and intransigence. They’re not going to be moved off their core ideas, and I think that’s incredible.

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I just have an enormous amount of respect and admiration for them.

Neurosis are often referred to as a metal band, but they don’t really sound or behave like one.

What’s your take on that?

The term “metal” is just a placeholder for Neurosis, I think. A lot of conventional metal bands are really obsessed with the orthodoxy of doing things in a way that makes it seem like genuine metal to them, whereas Neurosis don’t really observe any of the conventions of being in a band, or even who qualifies as a band member. At the time, they had a visual artist [Pete Inc.] who was considered a full band member and that was kind of heretical. Everyone in the band lives their personal lives like they are not responsible to anyone else for their decisions, and I admire and respect that also. It’s very much in accordance with the way I think people should behave.

What have you observed about how the band operates internally?

Well, there’s a lot of different ways a band can be organized politically. You can have a band leader who tells people how things are gonna go down, or you can have a very cumbersome democracy where everyone gets veto power on everything, or you can just treat it like any other human rela-

You’ve done a ton of records with Neurosis at this point. Do you have a favorite?

The bonding experience of working on Times of Grace and all that material and spending all that time with them as new acquaintances and becoming fast friends was great. But we’ve now known each other for a very long time, and I treasure that relationship. I can call Steve Von Till on the phone and talk about beef jerky, you know? [Laughs] Or if I run into Noah on the street, we’ll hug each other and catch up on everything that’s going on in our lives. Those things are what matter most to me. I’m very fond of the records—I think they make great music—and seeing them live is otherworldly.

There’s nobody in music that puts so much of themselves into a performance. Every single person in that band has quirks and oddities and a personal history that shapes their worldview, but there isn’t any one thing you can say about them that applies to all of them—except that they are committed for life.

PHOTO BY JASON ROEDER

We’ve now known each other for a very long time, and I treasure that relationship.

I can call Steve Von Till on the phone and talk about beef jerky, you know?

The way their music is structured, everyone seems willing to let everyone else do pretty much whatever they want because it’s taken as an implicit truth that everyone wants it to be awesome—rather than, “Well, I have a vision for this song and you guys need to do what I think is necessary to execute that vision.” Nobody micromanages anybody else. Noah [Landis], for example, could have the most absurd sounds going on in his keyboard setup and everyone just had an implicit trust that what he was doing was not going to be an obstacle—it was going to add to the overall effect. Steve Von Till’s guitar could sound like rocks in a blender as opposed to a conventional musical instrument, but everyone would take it as a given that wherever he ends up on that journey, it’s going to add to the piece of music. So, the trust they have in each other on an individual basis, and then their method of collaborating as a group—from the very beginning I found that almost inspirational.

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the

definitive stories

behind extreme music’s

definitive albums

story by

daniel lake

Vision Quest the making of Neurosis’ Souls at Zero O C T O B E R 2 0 16 : 3 0 : D E C I B E L

D B H O F 14 0

NEUROSIS Souls at Zero

A LT E R NAT IV E T E NTACLE S M AY 1 9 , 1 9 9 2

Punk in drubbing

pon forming in 1985, Neurosis were a punk rock band. Few would classify their output for the past 20 years as such—though the band probably wouldn’t flinch at the association—but in their early years as a pissed-off East Bay quartet, the Oakland, CA, band made their home at the punk-friendly 924 Gilman Street club, and they gathered a following that idealized the lean and the mean. Pain of Mind and Word as Law often read as hardcore records with one limb straining outward toward… something. By 1990, that limb began to grasp what it sought, and Neurosis became a sextet by adding keyboards, samplers and a spectacular visual presentation constructed out of harrowing film loops and psychedelic color wheels that elevated the visceral impact of the band’s expanding musical palette.

When this new Neurosis—brimming with youthful ambition and attitude—turned their attention to recording their vast, formidably dense new sound, it was tantamount to shoving a bull elephant through a keyhole. Keyboardist Simon McIlroy finds a literary analog: “People said that Watchmen was an un-filmable graphic novel. Neurosis was like that. We were an un-recordable band. There was no way to really capture what our shows were like because they were so immersive, so multimedia.” Not that it stopped them from trying. They just worked harder, forcing the available (and affordable) tools to work for them as they constructed Souls at Zero, a soaring statement that was at once heavier and more ornately arranged than anything they had accomD E CDI B EC E ILB:E L3 1: 3: 1O C: TOOCBTEORB 2E0R16 2 0 16

plished before it. “To Crawl Under One’s Skin” and the title track immediately strike off into uncharted territory, and somewhere between the unchecked rage of “Flight” and the transcendental lashing of “Takeahnase,” Souls at Zero becomes a truly indispensable document of primal, human questing that pushes beyond any reasonable expectations of music.

Souls at Zero points the way toward a heightened form of expression in heavy music.

For this fact, and for all the great feats that have since been built upon its foundations by Neurosis and their horde of admirers, we roll out the red carpet and line up the trumpets (and flutes and cellos) for the fanfare this album deserves. Welcome to the Hall. We’ve been waiting.

souls at zero

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How did your vision for the band’s music change between Word as Law and Souls at Zero?

From day one, we had a vision for creating something unique and taking the influences from lots of different bands outside of hardcore. The first album’s fairly crude, but we’d advanced a lot by Word as Law. STEVE VON TILL: Word as Law was trying to reach for something different without knowing how. It feels like growing pains, really. You can hear some of it in a song like “Blisters” or “To What End?” We realized there was an entirely different animal waiting to be unleashed and we just needed to tap into it. We heard other instruments in our heads during the Word as Law process, but we didn’t know how to make it happen.

SCOTT KELLY: We’d been thinking for a long time that we just wanted to do something that was way more dynamic, impactful and atmospheric. At the time of Pain of Mind, it was far from anything we could find. We basically realized we needed to add another instrument to the band. We were trying to figure out, would we need a third guitar or something else? We decided that the best thing to do would be to add keyboards, because we felt there was all this potential that wasn’t being realized.

EDWARDSON: Once sampling technology came out, we were like, “Wait a minute! This is it!”

We wanted keyboards, but not just an organ or synthesizer or electric piano. Suddenly there’s an instrument that can make any sound—any sound you can capture, you can use. We were like, “That’s it!”

JASON ROEDER: At that time, sampler technology wasn’t in its infancy, but it was just [advanced] enough to be a viable option, finally, for a live band that was coming out of the DIY punk rock ethic. That was a way for us, in a strange way, to keep it DIY—not to have studio tricks on our record but be able to play the music live and on the record the same.

VON TILL: Public Enemy had their first several records out already. There had been hip-hop before that, but there had been nothing that sounded like a fucking riot, like civil disorder for real. That was an inspiration. If you listen to old Crass records, there’s a lot of found sounds and a lot of tapes. It was simultaneously the use of sampler, keyboards and tapes. We basically wanted to be able to steal anything—from the environment, from the media—and be able to loop it. To us, it was the freedom to make anything an instrument. The sampler was the key to allowing something as DAVE EDWARDSON:



Art and Soul Neurosis ever the Christs from the Bay area, circa 1992

large as a wind storm to become an instrument.

It allowed the train running by or the giant industrial steel gate closing… anything you can hear, if you can capture it with a microphone, you can turn it into an instrument. We wanted to sound like the freaking apocalypse, and to be able to bring in beautifully civilized orchestral sounds, and steal juicy quotes from films or radio or whatever. We wanted to be able to start reflecting the world back at itself. It was all new to us and all exciting, and we just kind of made it up as we went.

DAVE EDWARDSON: Things tend to go pretty organically with us, so to some degree we didn’t think about it—the songs just came out the way they did and it was a natural progression from the stuff we’d been doing before.

How did Simon and visual artist Adam Kendall meet/join the band?

We didn’t even know where to find a keyboard player. In punk rock, nobody was playing keyboards.

KELLY: Actually, [Simon] and Adam came together. They were friends. I remember meeting them after a show we had done at 924 Gilman Street. We kind of talked about what we wanted to do, and they were both really into it.

SIMON McILROY: Adam and I met through a mutual girlfriend—my ex-girlfriend was his current girlfriend. We ended up coming across VON TILL:

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each other at a party, and immediately we clicked. We were intrigued by the underground nature of the rave/house music scene, so we started checking that out. At that time, the scene had nothing to do with the modern, candy-raver bullshit that people think of today.

It was a lot more underground—DIY, punk rock, break into buildings and warehouses, have these crazy drug-fueled parties, sometimes get busted by the police. We went to these raves and saw these crazy psychedelic visuals that were film loops, film collage with slide projector overlaid and color wheels. We saw this stuff and got inspired. At that time, Adam and I got involved with a group called the OTO, and we did some performances at some of their magickal rituals. We were doing experimental music, sound collage and tape cut-up stuff. We were pretty influenced by Current 93, Nurse with Wound, Throbbing Gristle, earlier electronic stuff like Kraftwerk to an extent, Psychic TV. VON TILL: They brought in the right influences.

They liked the gothic-tinged industrial music and things that were using samplers and keys.

They didn’t come from exactly where we came from—from punk rock and hardcore—but we share a love of things like Killing Joke and Coil, the more outsider stuff.

McILROY: We had a mutual friend, Randy. He was this kind of anarchist experimental performance artist. He was really into tape trading and

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souls at zero

bands like Amebix and Skinny Puppy, any kind of obscure, dark noise. Randy referred me to them.

They were interested in becoming more experimental. They wanted to expand their sound from being just a hardcore punk/metal band.

What was your audience’s reaction when you began performing with keyboards and visuals?

We had a major backlash of people who wouldn’t even give us a chance with the keyboards. Literally, people saw keyboards and walked out without ever hearing what we were doing with it. We were thoroughly enjoying the fact that we had alienated half of our audience at the time. It kind of fit our antisocial personalities. We were really reveling in that, feeling like this is what punk rock should be.

You should never be pandering to your fucking audience, never be doing what they want. You should be doing what you want, and if they happen to like it, great. And if they don’t, maybe that’s even better. At the same time, we felt confident about it. We felt like it was exactly what we wanted to do. It was a good moment for us.

ROEDER: When we put out Word as Law, I remember a friend saying, “That’s overproduced. What are you guys doing?” [When we added keyboards,] we had old-school purists saying, “That music is crap. You guys are trying to be Faith No More. Play your old stuff.”

EDWARDSON: People said, “How come you’re not as thrash as you used to be?” We lost some fans, but we were getting a lot more new ones. We just kind of went balls-out. “We don’t care if we lose fans, we’ve just got to crack this thing wide open and try to get where it’s going.” We were fearless. [We knew] we were going to start losing people—we’re going to be onstage at fucking punk rock clubs playing in front of our punk rock friends and we’re going to have a fucking synthesizer player up there. But fuck it, we’ve got to be brave. It’s just who we are, we’ve got to take that next step.

VON TILL: People would start to talk about our live performances, where we had a pretty impressive video setup—slide projectors and 16mm film projectors and color wheels, blending arty industrial film loops stuff with the psychedelic nature of some of the ’60s visual presentations, and not very many bands were doing that. I think maybe Butthole Surfers did film loops and Ed Hall from Texas did a bunch of crazy film stuff, but nobody was making it the sixth instrument at the time. To be rapid-firing slides of archetypical images… Borrowing that idea from Carl Jung, that archetypes can open up people’s subconscious, we thought, “Let’s fucking rip open the subconscious at the gig!” Taking [Charles] Manson’s quote, that I’m just your society reflecting back at you—I’m all of you.

KELLY:

“We learned on the first or second day that it was the studio where ‘Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer’ was recorded.

We looked up on the wall and there was a gold record for that song.”

JASO N RO E D E R We thought, “Let’s make the projections all of humanity, so you’re witnessing these beautiful colors and psychedelic archetypes of nature and mysticism clashing with animal experimentation and war and torture and death. That got a lot of attention. Here you have this strange, heavy, bizarrely orchestrated heavy music with a crazy-ass psychedelic nightmare projected behind it, the band playing mostly in the dark…

I think we slowly started to find our people, the freaks in the corner.

KELLY: Those sounds that came out of the keyboard, whether they were tapes or samples or just the keyboard lines, they added a lot to the general experience of going through this portal and putting yourself in a different space, mentally. Our performances went into a whole other realm. They became something that would really overtake us.

How did your approach to songwriting change between Word as Law and Souls at Zero?

EDWARDSON: We started to harness the heavy more. I think we discovered it playing some of the slower stuff off Word as Law. When you’re playing aggressive punk rock music, there’s always a temptation to play really fast, but we realized that it felt just as aggressive and more powerful [to play slower]. When we started writing new material, we started to go for more moments like that, taking the slowness further.

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If a riff didn’t have some sort of deep emotional content, then it was deemed weak and it was cut. From that point on, it had to have an intense emotional response. By that very nature, the songs became more epic. We wanted to sound like the freaking apocalypse, like the world’s collapse.

KELLY: I think if you take away the samples and the keyboards, that album’s not half as drastic an evolution from Word as Law. I think the guitars and drums moved along at a normal creative pace for us, although I think we were accelerating pretty hard right then. I think having the keyboards and samples in our repertoire made everything exponentially expansive. So much had been opened up to us. We approached everything with an open mind. It was very freeing in a creative sense. We would start writing shit, and we would realize right off the bat that we could do anything with this.

VON TILL:

What emotional or ideological issues weighed on the music you were writing for Souls?

ROEDER: When we recorded Souls at Zero, I was 21 and I was already a father. I sort of dove into becoming an adult long before I was ever an adult. Even before our first record, we had sort of a blood pact with each other; we were kind of a brotherhood. This band has always been our family and our salvation.

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What were the roles of each band member in piecing together the songs?

I think me and Steve wrote most of the guitar stuff, but everything is so equal in what we do. There’s no way that the guitar riffs are going to have any impact without everything else supporting it. Everything we do is very collaborative and everybody’s got an equal say in anything we’re doing. It’s always been that way with us.

VON TILL: Our process is so deconstructive. First we break it down, we tear it apart and assume everything sucks, and then rebuild it with everybody’s strength, everybody’s input and everybody’s unique gift, and things become totally different than what they were in your bedroom with your guitar. Without Jason’s unique sense of rhythm and dynamics, and Dave’s subsonic unique approach to bass playing, it just wouldn’t be the same.

McILROY: I wrote all my own keyboard parts. I came up with almost all the sound collage stuff that we used between songs in live performances.

A lot of that stuff ended up on the record. I wrote a lot of the orchestral stuff that ended up getting played by Kris Force and other studio musicians, the violin parts and flute parts. I would usually write that while we were recording and then have artists come in and actually perform it, riff off of it and take it from there.

ROEDER: From then until now, my role has been editor, you might say. We would put songs through the whole-band meatgrinder. We would just throw everything in there, and then it was a process of reduction, of pulling out the weaker elements until we had something that was really cohesive and strong—keeping the stronger riffs, bridging riffs together properly and arranging the riffs to come out with something that didn’t have any weak points.

KELLY:

We were all slightly messed up people coming from different backgrounds. Our frustration, our bleak outlook on the world, our dissatisfaction with the political state, the state of mankind—everything just filtered right into the music. When we first formed, we made a pact to not be a political band because it felt like we wouldn’t have an authentic voice in that department. We tried to remove the whole political element because we were actually trying to see beyond the politics. We were trying to see the illness in people’s heads and the sick minds behind all the ills of society. You could chip away at political issues, but it’s still the same bad people doing these things. What’s behind that politics? Distorted minds, distorted psyches, separation from fellow man and lack of empathy.

That’s the path we took.

VON TILL: We were definitely more about the inner journey than the world outside. What’s man’s connection to nature? How do we express that through heavy music? How do we deal with our internal sufferings and the conflicts within our own minds, hearts and souls, while simultaneously contemplating our existence on Earth, our evolution, what it means to be human, and how seemingly thinking of all of those things is in direct conflict with what society has to offer?

KELLY: I think that Native American perspectives and spiritual belief systems have been a huge influence on us throughout our existence.

Steve was working a lot with Native Americans at the time when he joined the band. I live in an area with a lot of Native American people, and it’s always been a part of who we were, something we identified with. We were in this moment when we were really struggling to make this connection with nature, to understand it on a deeper level. All of us came from the city or the suburbs and never really had that in our lives, but we all really craved it. We were very aware of it and we were looking for a balance between that and where we lived; as well as trying to bring an organic sort of feeling to music that was, at the time, highly mechanical. Some of us, including me, were living pretty hard at the time. We weren’t in the best shape physically or mentally and I think that came through in a lot of it.

McILROY: Anything I did at that time, I wanted to create the most intense reaction possible.

Instead of playing melodic cello samples, I was going to play them as chords, through distortion. Whatever the theme of the song or the tone of the song was, I wanted it to be as loud, as disturbing, as visceral, as intense as possible.

Whatever I created, I wanted to push buttons and provoke strong reactions. In retrospect, it’s a very typical juvenile desire to shock, to be anarchic.

EDWARDSON:

What do you remember about Starlight Studio in Richmond, CA? EDWARDSON: It was the only studio we could find of its quality that was affordable. It would have actually been better for us if we had found an engineer—our next Billy Anderson or Steve Albini—then, but we did it on our own.

KELLY: I don’t remember how the hell we ended up at that place. I have no memory as to why we thought that was a good place to go and that the engineer would be good, but we booked it. It was a place that had recorded a bunch of Boz Skaggs records and North Bay hip-hop stuff, and for some reason we ended up in there.

VON TILL: Starlight was a trippy studio. It was probably the most “professional” studio we’d been in yet. The owner/engineer did a lot of work with blues guys, like Elvin Bishop. There were a couple metal things on the wall, some Bay Area thrash that I don’t remember. But what he had really done that was successful was the Digital Underground.

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I remember the dude who played Humpty Hump [Digital Underground vocalist Greg Jacobs] or whatever the hell his name was, he came in at one point.

ROEDER: We learned on the first or second day that it was the studio where “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” was recorded. We looked up on the wall and there was a gold record for that song. I guess the gold record had been issued decades after the song had actually come out.

MCILROY:

What stands out about the experience of recording Souls?

We had some real stupid errors of judgment because we were not experienced. There’s some processing that I would never allow now.

Somehow we were convinced that, because we wanted so many samples playing complicated parts, we had to sequence it using the onboard digital sequencer of the sampler, and that we should play to a click track. That, to me, sucked the life out of the thing. It really became square.

When you’re trying to find a tempo, when you’re diving in these little screens and programming click tracks, you’d lose complete track of where you were. It didn’t have the organic nature that I felt it could have had.

ROEDER: We had to do a lot of homework before we went in the studio. We were very much used to just being raw and live—play the song live and boom! Done. How do we take a click track and compose it across the entire track to make the whole track sound natural? There’s lots of time signature changes and gradual tempo changes over sections of songs. It took a whole lot of weeding out and modifying it, and me learning how to push and pull over the click, to make it sound at least slightly organic and not really stiff. Some songs had 20 or 30 different click track changes that we need to work out.

The biggest musical challenge was following this stupid cowbell in my headphones.

MCILROY: The reason for that was because we wanted to make sure whatever we put on record we could reproduce live. We never wanted to be one of those studio projects that made this incredible stuff in the studio that could never be reproduced. A lot of bands write in the studio—they play around, they come up with stuff, they record stuff and then they figure out how to reproduce it. We took the opposite approach. We made sure that we’d be able to play this stuff, and part of that was figuring out how to integrate the keyboards.

KELLY: It was our first time working with keyboards, so we were super unconfident as to how to make them work in the studio. We’d never used a click track before, and we’ve never used VON TILL:

one again. We had the fucking click tracks up so loud in our headphones that they actually bled into the recording.

VON TILL: We spent a lot of time chasing ghosts after tracking. We were isolating everything: “Where the fuck is that goddamn fucking click track?” We finally found it—it was so loud in Jason’s headphones that I think we finally found it in the fucking kick drum mike. They had to gate the shit out of the drums and then add the reverb back to try to make it sound like natural resonance. That engineer really should have stopped us at that point and we should have started over. That’s just a bullshit way to make a record, and it’s a bullshit way to try to fix one while you’re still making it.

KELLY: We realized at some point during the mix session that the engineer was really hearing impaired. We would say things to him, standing behind him, and he couldn’t hear us.

We were tripping out. We ended up calling up [Jello] Biafra because we were on Alternative Tentacles, and we asked him to come in and help us mix it, just loan us some fucking fresh ears. He helped us get it to a point where we were, I guess, satisfied. It was the last time we worked with somebody who wasn’t straight up out of the scene and in contact with what we were doing. The only people we’ve worked with after that are Billy Anderson and Steve Albini. It was a drag. I don’t know if “hard” is the right word; I mean, recording a rock ’n’ roll album’s not exactly something you should fucking whine about.

But I would say it was not as pleasurable as recording a rock ’n’ roll album should be.

EDWARDSON: That was one of our mistakes in our early use of the sampling technology, but it didn’t last long. We figured out how to get the songs after that without the click track. We always felt bad, looking back at our drummer, who had to slap on the headphones. It’s bad enough having a keyboard onstage, but when your drummer’s wearing headphones and playing to a click track, that is bad, so we got away from that pretty quickly.

ROEDER: I was learning to really up my drumming game and play right on top of the click, or play just behind the click when I wanted to add a little more power to the backbeat, or play just in front of the click when I wanted to rush parts. When you’re not having a good day, the click track can be your worst nightmare. [But] it was actually beneficial on certain sections because it gave the song a machine-like feel that we really dug. One really good example is “The Web.” That has a really driving, mechanical feeling to it, which was really appropriate for that song.

“You should never be pandering to your fucking audience.

You should be doing what you want, and if they happen to like it, great.

And if they don’t, maybe that’s even better.”

SCOT T KE LLY How did you get hooked up with Alternative Tentacles?

ROEDER: We got invited to do a song for Virus 100, a covers compilation of Dead Kennedys songs for the hundredth Alternative Tentacles release. We were demoing a lot of stuff for Souls at Zero at the time, so we were like, “What on Earth are we going to do with a Dead Kennedys song?” That was a perfect moment for us, too, like, “We’ll just put that song through the same meatgrinder that we’re putting all of our songs through. We’ll go part by part and just obliterate it.”

EDWARDSON: Biafra had seen us before because we were starting to get a buzz. We kind of ruled the roost at 924 Gilman Street in Berkeley. We were kind of the big band on campus there as far as packing the venue. We needed someone D E C I B E L : 3 7 : O C T O B E R 2 0 16

outside of ourselves to champion us.

He saw that we were doing something unique and that we employed it in an interesting and forward-thinking way.

KELLY: He asked us if we wanted to put out a record with him, and at the time, we were really into the idea. Our teenage years [listening to] the Dead Kennedys were not very far behind us, and of course Alternative Tentacles had put out Amebix and Butthole Surfers and all kinds of good shit over the years that we really respected. They had distribution in Europe. It was kind of a no-brainer. It made perfect sense.

VON TILL: It was really important for us to get out of our punk rock gigs, to play with a more diverse bunch of artists, and I think being on Alternative Tentacles helped. We would play with the noise rock bands of the time. Alice Donut was a band that we played with a lot, and Zeni Geva from Japan were on Alternative Tentacles. They were one of the first bands we played with when we moved out of the shitty little punk rock dives into the bigger venues.

And being on Alternative Tentacles helped us get our first European tour, where we found an audience that was hungry for this merging of art, punk, metal and industrial music. They were way more open-minded to this type of fusion over there.

What was touring for Souls like?

ROEDER: We toured as much as we could. It was the first time we actually went to Europe. We were just blown away with the reception that we got there as opposed to the States. But if you ask pretty much any band in the last 50 years, you would probably get the same reaction. They have really great venues and they treat the artists really well and everybody’s really into it. A festival in Germany was our first show in Europe, and I think there were several thousand people at this festival. That was one of the bigger shows I had ever even been to, let alone played. We get out there and, wow, there’s actually this many people in the world that are into heavy music? That just totally blew our minds. And we also played very small, weird clubs. There was a wide range of stuff we were playing over there. In the States, it was still a lot of DIY clubs and sleeping in the van on the side of the road most of the time.

KELLY: We learned a lot about ourselves out there. We became family. We became brothers.

I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Of course, it took its toll, and we weren’t necessarily prepared for what we were going to get out of it.

We were prepared to put everything we had into it, we just weren’t prepared for what we were going to be receiving. We just couldn’t have known. Sometimes you reach these

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D B H O F 14 0

points where you’ve opened yourself up so much that you’ve put yourself in peril, honestly. We tapped into something, basically, and it caused some very intense times.

MCILROY: During the first U.S. tour, we did a lot of sleeping in the van between shows. We were touring with full-stack amps times four. Steve, Scott, Dave and me all had full stacks plus heads, plus Jason’s drum kit. And we also had a rack of slide projectors and 16mm film projectors and boxes of slides and films. So, we had to ride around in a moving van that was three-quarters filled with just equipment. I think three or four people could sleep across the top, and there were bench seats that you could sleep in. When we did have places to crash, it was usually on the floor of a promoter’s house. Maybe you got a couch, maybe you were on the floor, maybe you had to sleep in the kitchen. I had gone camping [before], but it was like you were camping for two months straight and you were performing every night. I’m not complaining. I’m grateful for the experience. It’s something not everybody gets to do, and I’m glad I got to do it.

“That leap between Word as Law and Souls at Zero is massive.

That was the step that got us to where we are now.”

ST EVE VO N T ILL

How much of Souls do you still connect strongly to?

That’s an album that I’ve almost entirely moved on from. “Takeahnase” probably is the one that still has some resonance. It’s our own mythology of the Earth shaking off the cancer of humanity for refusing to follow the right path. As we were mixing “Takeahnase” we turned on the television and the Berkeley Hills were on fire. That’s near where Dave grew up. It seems not connected now, but at the time we were really into that concept of making the music a real spiritual mantra, a magical incantation, and all of a sudden we felt like our song was resonating with what was happening in the moment, that it was the soundtrack for what was happening with this massive fire. It was like an affirmation that what we were doing was right.

KELLY: “To Crawl Under One’s Skin” and “Takeahnase”… Having just done these 30th anniversary shows, we busted those songs out.

They still had a lot of energy, and they were able to stand up with the newer material. I wouldn’t be surprised if they worked their way back into the set. I always liked “Sterile Vision” and “Souls at Zero” as well.

EDWARDSON: “The Web” and “To Crawl Under One’s Skin” both feel like they could have been off the last Neurosis record. “To Crawl” has always had a really good energy, with that fucking badass tribal drum beat. That’s always been one of my favorite Neurosis songs.

ROEDER: The whole record resonates with me.

“Zero” was one of our first times just throwing the kitchen sink into the song and everything behind it. That was our first time dipping our VON TILL:

toes into making it really dense and multilayered, and then pretty much have a fistfight with the tape machine when we’re trying to mix it.

What are your feelings about the album today?

When I run into people now, I get one of two very distinct reactions: a blank-faced, “Who?” and the conversation continues as though I didn’t say anything, or about one-in-20 times, I get, “You were in Neurosis!” and they’re dumbstruck and they tell me that those records are some of the biggest influences on their lives.

It’s cool to be able to look back and know that I contributed to that. Obviously I was a very small part in their overall career—I was only on two records and a few tours—but it’s cool to know that what I did at that time ended up being something so lasting.

KELLY: We really wanted to create this atmosphere, to bring a tension and drama.

Overwhelming, is basically something we were trying to achieve at the time, and I think we were successful and have remained that way. At that point, we were really focused on capturing any room we were in when we were there. Once we had figured out how to do that, we’ve been able to maintain that for the last 25 years. That album got us to Europe for the first time and it actually got a whole lot of good shit started for us. Clearly it was the way it was supposed to be.

EDWARDSON: [Those songs are] all so far outside of anything I could have imagined us doing a few years before that. It’s fucking awesome that we MCILROY:

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took such a radical turn and the songs kick so much fucking ass. I’m proud of myself and my band members for pulling together to do that, because it absolutely laid the groundwork for us to propel ourselves further down that path for the rest of our lives and make a pretty major contribution to the underground music scene.

ROEDER: There’s overplaying that’s completely inappropriate for a part, or some part really demands that you’re going off and I was underplaying. That just comes with age and musical maturity. You learn how to push and pull those parts. But I dig it for what it is. Sometimes you’re at a point in your life where there’s a really big fundamental change going on, and it happens before you even know it, and you don’t realize it until you look back on it. At the time we were doing that record, we knew it as we were in it, and that made it even more special.

VON TILL: Most of my criticism is in hindsight. It was still the best thing we had made to that day.

At the time, I didn’t know how fucked up that situation was. Now that we’ve done more than half of our albums with Steve Albini, we know.

Our vision did come through, and that was a crazy vision. That leap between Word as Law and Souls at Zero is massive. That was the step that got us to where we are now. Slowly, one record at a time, we get closer to that fundamental inspiration, that thing that’s deeper that we were searching for, and hopefully will be searching for the rest of our lives, and get closer and closer but go out still looking for it.

the

definitive stories

behind extreme music’s

definitive albums

O C T O B E R 2 0 16 : 4 0 : D E C I B E L

story by

shane mehling

The Great Purge the making of Neurosis’ Through Silver in Blood hile debating the musical and artistic impact of each

Neurosis release is something many of us are happy to do long into the night, it’s pretty clear that if they ever had a breakout record, that record was Through Silver in Blood.

After 10 years of existence, a bigger label and large-scale tours created enough exposure for the band for them to turn from trailblazing crust punks into the extreme music demigods celebrated today.

But a higher profile isn’t the reason why Through Silver in Blood is still viewed with such reverence.

After the band molted their hardcore aesthetic and began trekking into unorthodox territory with Souls at Zero and Enemy of the Sun, they suddenly plunged into a bewildering, bleak, terrifying sonic landscape that sounded (and still sounds) nothing like anyone could have been prepared for.

With the crucial addition of keyboardist Noah Landis, he and the remaining members (guitarists/ vocalists Scott Kelly and Steve Von Till, bassist Dave Edwardson and drummer Jason Roeder) utilized Engine-Ear Billy Anderson one final time to create an oppressive, suffocating, hateful epic.

D B H O F 14 1 This is the record from which genres directly sprung. A paradigm shift, people rethinking not just how to write a song but how they play their instrument, how they experience sound. Despite Through Silver in Blood the band’s easily traceable history, for so many it was like Through Silver in Blood was found in a smokREL APS E R E COR D S ing crater, sent to communicate some message you APRIL 2, 1 9 9 6 couldn’t muster the endurance to translate.

And all of this sprung from the band’s shared perBlood from the Soul sonal struggles. They say these times were spiritually trying. Claustrophobic. A true darkness.

A focus on the music is what kept their heads above water. It was therapeutic. It was free from judgment. It was when the brotherhood was finally complete. As Von Till says, it was crazy enough that they were able to blow the fucking doors open.

NEUROSIS

D E C I B E L : 41 : O C T O B E R 2 0 16

D E C I B E L : 41 : O C T O B E R 2 0 16

D B H O F 14 1

through silver in blood

How did Noah end up coming into the fold?

When we needed someone new we returned to a pact we had made, that they had to be a friend first and then a band member. And we decided it had to be someone who was one of us, who just wasn’t in the band.

And I said that if there’s anyone I want to be in a band with for the rest of my life I want it to be Noah. I met him literally in the first five minutes of high school, the first class I had in ninth grade. And his band Christ on Parade was our sister band for years. He and his girlfriend were actually getting ready to move to Spain in a month and a half, but I called him up and said, “Hey Noah, we got a show in three weeks and we just laid off our keyboardist and took a vote and everyone says it has to be you.” And he says, “I don’t even know how to play piano.” He talks to his wife who’s right there. He says, “Dave says they want me to join Neurosis.” And she says, “Shut the fuck up. We’re not going to fucking Spain, you’re joining that band. It’s your dream.

Those are your friends. You’re fucking doing it.”

He had three weeks to buy a keyboard, a sampler and figure out all the sounds for Souls and Enemy.

It was a challenge to him but we knew he could pull it off and he did.

SCOTT KELLY: Noah was the one and only choice we had. We knew he could do it. He had been a part of our family for the entirety of the band and years before. It completed the circle and he understood what we were doing on a cellular level. I put a lot of pressure on him to join the band. In my heart I just knew it had to be him, nobody else. And so when he said yes, it was time to get to work and start digging deep. Once he made the decision he immersed himself in every bit of it. It was a huge positive transition for us during what proved to be a very difficult time.

And I think him being there and the solidarity between the band was crucial for us to continue to move on.

NOAH LANDIS: To be completely honest, there were moments where I felt I was in over my head. It sometimes felt like being in a pot boiling over. But Scott and I have always been really close, and we spent a lot of time in my basement apartment figuring this shit out. Gathering sounds, manipulating sounds, learning how to take some little scream or a bit of dialogue from a VHS tape and pitch it down or flip it backwards. That’s when I started to listen to the world in terms of sounds—where I started a sample library. And that is kind of the beautiful thing about the role that I realized quickly.

The sampler is the anything instrument. It’s whatever you can dream up and make a loop and find the rhythm and the pitch and tune it to the guitar. We were looking around the house for something that would make a crazy sound.

DAVE EDWARDSON:

“To be completely honest, there were moments where I felt I was in over my head.”

NOA H LA ND IS Stick a mic in front of a drill or in front of a vacuum cleaner and turn it on. It was less about being a keyboard player and much more about being a sound designer or a soundscape maker.

Developing textures and layering them. Whether it’s trance-inducing or tearing your head off.

And I think Through Silver in Blood has equal parts of both of those things.

What was the connection between Through Silver in Blood and Silver Blood Transmission, the Tribes of Neurot debut which was released first?

STEVE VON TILL: I think what Tribes had done at that point was we were really learning how to use electronics or any sound source to create heavy, emotional music even if it was abstract.

And that helped us channel into doing things in a less traditional rock way, how to use abstract sound to the same effect. And it also gave us an outlet to have this experimentation happen without letting it overtake the rock band, because we still are a rock band with traditional rock instrumentation. Tribes of Neurot really opened our minds and expanded the possibility of sound.

LANDIS: The vision Neurosis had back then was very broad. And part of that was an appreciation for experimental music and music that was O C T O B E R 2 0 16 : 4 2 : D E C I B E L

more about sounds that made you feel something other than riffs and chords and arrangements. It was more about textures, or something like antimusic; where you’re not concerned about rhythm or melody or vocals. We’re just sort of out there exploring. Neurosis always had the idea of following the muse. This is not a band to be in a cool band. This is band to explore what music can feel like and how effective we can make it.

We were also exploring what was outside of the realm of Neurosis. Every song in Neurosis was a trial. We worked on it and worked on it until we got to a place we felt the music deserved. We weren’t just trying to write songs as much as channel something. We worked out every detail of every song the hard way. And Tribes of Neurot was sort of the release valve for that.

EDWARDSON: All of us were involved in doing this weird four-track recording stuff. We were fairly ignorant to the experimental noise scene. At the time we were just stoned guys with headphones and effects pedals making trippy sounds in our apartments. Then we realized that the scene actually existed. And a friend of ours told us to talk to this label Relapse, who also had a label called Release that does experimental stuff. So, we mixed everything down and asked if they would be interested. And at that point

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D B H O F 14 1

I was getting turned onto Merzbow and Masonna, and older stuff like Hunting Lodge. I kind of stumbled into it. But that’s what led to us hanging out with the Relapse guys, who put out Silver Blood Transmission on Release. And they were such enthusiastic people we asked if they would put out the new Neurosis. It was all really natural.

What do you feel you were trying to accomplish on Through Sliver in Blood?

After Enemy we were ending every show with this endless percussion attack thing that would go until the room was cleared or we just dropped. And that could have been the seed for the whole thought process and understanding where the more you push it the more psychedelic it gets and the more out of the body you become.

For “Through Silver in Blood” we pretty much had the song and then chose to tack the shuddering riff and percussion on the end. It was one of those times where that riff isn’t that great if you play it two or four times, but if you go 16 or 20 it takes on another life and that is something we were learning on Through Silver in Blood: The glory of repetition and where it brings you mentally. Understanding that whole approach on a much deeper level. “Aeon”’s got a lot of that as well. It has that riff that just goes on and on and on and it would not have been as impactful if it hadn’t been relentlessly bludgeoning for so long.

EDWARDSON: We were feeling the power of what we’d done jumping to Enemy, that heavier, darker, raw, bloodletting material. There wasn’t a lot of thought that went into trying to achieve something. We weren’t crafting this thing as much as it was just coming through us. We were trying to remove filters and get to this deep underlying guttural thing. If you listen to Souls, songs are a lot more technical and lot more dexterous than Through Silver in Blood, where the riffs were a lot more simple and we were trying to uncover the raw nature of whatever the beast was that was inside us. We were trying to create this wall of sound and play heavy music in our own way, and we were really just trying to tap into and harness this thing. We generally call it the Thing. We don’t talk about it all the time, and we have other names for it, the Source, and others I can’t think of right now. It’s just the extra member of the band that takes us all over when we’re together playing and we just try to scratch away layers and get to that. And Through Silver in Blood was particularly brutal. It was brutal to play. And our personal lives, they went on the back burner. We were onto something and we had to keep playing.

KELLY:



Enemy of the Sun-drenched Mid-’90s touring puts Neurosis face-to-face with unwelcoming crowds

“In front of the Gwar audience it went way beyond not being understood. We had glass bottles thrown at us. We had people heating up quarters with their lighters and throwing them at us.”

JASO N RO E D E R Touring Enemy and the experience of writing that music, we had just begun learning that we had to completely get out of our heads and let go and let the music drive. When we explored the sonics on Souls, we didn’t fully understand the trance nature of what our music was supposed to be until after Enemy, where it came more naturally. And when we toured it, we discovered the power, the beating of the riffs into oblivion and what it would do to us mentally and physically. In order to be as heavy as we needed it to be, there could be no more barriers. It felt like all this heavy, dark music that was trying to be so scary and intense was just a fucking joke. Everybody’s posing. If you want heavy music you have to fucking pay for it. That

VON TILL:

O C T O B E R 2 0 16 : 4 4 : D E C I B E L

means with your soul, with your spirit and with your body. And if it’s going to be heavy, it better feel fucking heavy in a genuine way. We all love all the gimmicky heavy music, too, of course, but you can tell when somebody fucking feels it. This was a difficult time for people, personally. And it all led to what would become this music that was really gutwrenching to create. We really learned to get the head out of the way and go with the primal instinct. On Through Silver in Blood we were going to take this to the deepest, darkest heaviest place we could find. And we had to live there to find it. I don’t think it came easy, but it wasn’t really a cerebral process.

We weren’t hashing things out in these detailed conversations. It was more what felt right.

LANDIS: We were really trying to fuck with the normal process, and any way a song should usually go, we tried to throw that away. I don’t want to say we were trying to break the rules. We were trying to ignore them. We weren’t concerned about how long a song should be or how long a riff should go. We wanted to make things more trance-inducing and make it riveting, with slow builds.

“Strength of Fates” has that incredibly long, tense build.

LANDIS: You know how there is that line on the record, “There is no light without darkness”?

Well, there is no loud without quiet, and Steve came in one day with an idea for “Strength of Fates.” The idea is that something heavy becomes really heavy after it comes after something really beautiful.

VON TILL: We definitely thought it was our gift to crush and that we were always natural at it.

And we’ve always enjoyed facing our weaknesses to grow. The ability to restrain. The concept was how much can we restrain ourselves; how slow of a burn can we make this build. It was an extremely difficult one to play live because you couldn’t just lurch into it. Vocally you can hear it build, and giving it a little bit more each cycle.

Each cycle gets a little bit more intense, holding back, building tension, and then finally bringing the hammer down.

JASON ROEDER: The whole point of “Strength of Fates” was let’s really prolong the agony and see how the payoff feels. And we were just doing our thing, and if you’re confused we’re sorry, but this is our song. It’s a selfish endeavor but it sounded right to us at the time. The title track also has quite a long intro for a heavy song, and a lot of the songs on that record

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through silver in blood

D B H O F 14 1

take a while to get to the point. But it was one place where we could exercise patience while everything else in our lives we had no patience for. I remember playing [“Strength of Fates”] a couple times on our Gwar tour and people were like, “What the hell?”

You definitely had some pretty interesting tours around this time: Gwar, Pantera, Ozzfest.

LANDIS: The crusty punks were screaming for Pain of Mind over and over again and we’re gonna play a 15-minute song called “Aeon.” With keyboards.

So, yeah, that was an interesting time for us.

ROEDER: There were times when we would be touring on Through Silver in Blood and I felt that literally the five people onstage were the only people in the world who felt good about a particular song. In front of the Gwar audience it went way beyond not being understood. We had glass bottles thrown at us. We had people heating up quarters with their lighters and throwing them at us. We would play some places where we were hated. And everyone in Gwar were gracious and appreciated what we were doing but their crowd was often not exactly receptive.

VON TILL: We knew why we were there for Ozzfest. We were there to watch Black Sabbath 29 times and get paid to do it. But we were stuck in fucking parking lots for two 20-minute sets a day with no visuals. The goal was completely lose yourself into the trance state and not worry about any of the other stuff—if two people are there, if a hundred people are there, it doesn’t matter. Just physically become the music and let it flow through you like your blood. We didn’t care if anyone liked it, we just didn’t want anyone to forget it. It was really about sacrificing ourselves and leaving it all there, and it’s really difficult to leave it all there with two 20-minute sets, but we tried.

KELLY: On Ozzfest we had one set that was “Locust Star” and “Through Silver in Blood” and then we had another set that was “Aeon” and seven minutes of feedback. We’ve always had, I wouldn’t say a mean streak, but I always go back to that Black Flag record, The Process of Weeding Out. We put up this barrier and see who still comes through. It’s a cool thing to have the opportunity to release that on an unsuspecting crowd. After all the years we spent in the clubs slugging it out, to kind of get unleashed like that was kind of fun.

How did touring affect the songs themselves?

At that point we were probably saying, “Oh that part was brutal at 16 times, let’s do 32 instead.” Or “Oh, that was really hurting people.

Let’s double it.” This period of time for us was absolute war. It felt like sonic warfare. It was war for our souls, it was war for anything real in what we perceived as a fucked up world with

VON TILL:

fucked up situations. As much as we appreciated our audience, it was really like, “Let’s make them pay. Let’s punish those people.”

EDWARDSON: At that point we realized that songs always change on tour once you start getting legs on the songs. They sound different and better and you think, “We just toured on the record we released—can we go back and re-record it the way we play now?” We chose to not record until we played most of the songs live and get some legs on those tunes, so we actually recorded them the way we would be playing them live.

ROEDER: That was still at a time where you could write something and tour the crap out of it and go in the studio and really put some meat on the song. Now pretty much the first time you play it live it’s out on YouTube with iPhone mic’s being blown out. But that was still where we could play it live and hone it. So, it wasn’t so much that we’re going to go in the rehearsal studio and then record it. It was touring and writing and fleshing things out. But when we

“We weren’t much for subtraction at the time.

Upon reflection, that’s great but you can’t hear what the fuck is going on.”

SCOT T KE LLY recorded Through Silver in Blood, we literally went from touring straight into the studio. We got done with the last day of tour and didn’t even drive home. We went directly to the studio and unloaded the gear. Then we set up, took a nap and blasted right through it.

What was the biggest challenge of putting the record together?

We weren’t much for subtraction at the time. We were layering shit that was probably useless, like putting eight tracks of keyboards on one riff. It created a unique, very dense sound but it wasn’t exactly what we were going for. It was compulsive, where we were realizing we could write something to go along with the riff and then write something to counter that, and then write something to counter that, and we could just keep doing that and it seemed to be infinite.

And I think we were kind of hypnotized by that whole idea. And then upon reflection, that’s great but you can’t hear what the fuck is going on.

KELLY:

O C T O B E R 2 0 16 : 4 6 : D E C I B E L

This was a fucking bitch to make. It was fun and an experience, but there was a lot of obsession about things that didn’t need to be going on. It was our first time working with having a lot of tracks and that is part of it being completely overblown and obsessive.

It was exactly the record we wanted to make at the time. The end emotional result was exactly what we were dreaming of. But the mixing was very difficult.

ROEDER: We knew what we were getting into musically, but I don’t think anybody could have predicted what we got into mix-wise. As you can imagine it was some pretty extreme ear fatigue.

Listening back to the songs over and over again so that one thing would peak out more than something else, there would have to be Billy and one or two other band members moving the mixing board just to get everything straight.

The actual physical recording, we were pretty well-honed. But we were not prepared for the Herculean mix it was going to be. I don’t think we were really adept as listeners hearing that over and over again and picking it apart. When you play that stuff live you’re at the mercy of what it is onstage, but to actually make one thing more audible than the other and one thing stand out when it needs to and get buried when it needs to, that was a real challenge. If there was anything we were going for, it was to make it so that your ear had to struggle to pick out any one particular thing that was going on because everything is going on all at once. In the end we were really, really pleased with what occurred.

LANDIS: We were so enamored that we could keep layering and layering sounds with a sampler and multitrack recording that it is so sonically overflowing you can put on headphones and hear something new because there is so much stuff in there. We went pretty heavy with that and I have to say that when we went on to write the next record we learned about pulling layers back. When we were listening to these songs coming out of the speakers, we thought that this was unfair to the listener. It was unkind. We were asking a lot of people and we had no problem with that. It made us laugh. At first nobody knew what to make of this, this sonic onslaught, this emotional bleeding out.

VON TILL:

How did the layout come together?

EDWARDSON: Much like samplers, Photoshop was something we were trying to harness. And it was a pain in the ass. We would all look at the screen together. And it was a pretty diplomatic thing, where everyone had all these ideas, but then it would be on a separate layer and you hit render and then you would have to come back an hour and a half later. We didn’t know what we were

“It would end up with weeks where I would sleep 20 hours and play five shows and drive a thousand miles.

But it was just what you fucking did and no one was complaining.”

DAVE E DWA RD SON

We needed to have this energy flow through. We needed to bleed and sweat and break ourselves, while exorcising these demons, sonically. At that time, I remember it would literally feel like the sound was coming up from the earth like veins of fucking hot lava and just right up my spine and out the top of my head. And I think all of us were trancing out. This elemental force driving us and gripping us and forcing us to be this conduit for this intense fucking natural phenomenon. We got hints of it on Enemy, but that was the first time when we really felt like there was something bigger than ourselves driving this thing.

And we had other people tell us they got the same feeling, like they saw these waves of light controlling us as one unit and that, combined with our visuals at the time, would make unsuspecting people sick. People would be forced to leave. Other people wanted to feel it deep, and people started following us around a bit and diving deep into some semi-destructive mind expansion and going along for the ride. We blew our own minds open and a lot of other people’s minds during that period.

VON TILL:

doing but I think we still came up with a cool and iconic record cover.

VON TILL: That whole booklet was us just scanning in images. And while we would rather have anything but something Photoshopped at this point, back then it was new and exciting.

The computer manipulations we had done for Souls and Enemy were done by people at a higher level than us. But we set up the computer in the studio and scanned in that face and the snakes and learned how to sit there together and worked our way through it. We figured out how to make blood come out of the eyes and manipulated images into looking like psychedelic things that matched our visuals. Noah hand-wrote all the lyrics and we scanned them in. And we’re not designers by any means, but we were very proud of figuring it out and investing in a tool that would allow us to fake it. We weren’t gonna take any input from anybody.

ROEDER: Doing the artwork for ourselves was not unlike doing the record, where we tried to add in an organic layer. It was a real mix of a very DIY type of thing and applying new technologies, which I think reflects the record, where we got a keyboard and sampler and figured out how to use another tool at our disposal. A tool is just a tool.

When we started with keyboards and a sampler people were very purist about their metal and shied away from it. And we felt that it was helping us along the path that we have taken so we’re

going to use the tools we have. And a computer at the time saved us the countless hours it would have taken to cut and paste all of it together.

So, in some ways, it was a real time-saver, and in other ways it was a real time-killer with how slow it was. We’re embracing these new tools and cursing them at the same time.

Once the record was finished, it seems like that is when you really broke into people’s consciousness.

EDWARDSON: We were maniacal especially after the album came out. We were a touring machine.

We were on the road as much as we could be. To the point where it affected some personal relationships and took its toll in a lot of different ways. And it was pretty life-on-the-edge. When we toured on that record, with all our visuals and everything, we would get to the club pretty early, and I was a guy who was notorious for being an insomniac and the driving lover and even if it’s four or five in the morning after we played I would still have that buzz goin—so any time I got off stage, at midnight or one in the morning, I’m pretty good to drive until six or seven in the morning. And I can’t really sleep in vans, so it would end up with weeks where I would sleep 20 hours and play five shows and drive a thousand miles. But it was just what you fucking did and no one was complaining. We were just going for it hard.

D E C I B E L : 47 : O C T O B E R 2 0 16

For the two noise tracks, are there any things you directly wanted to use?

There’s a lot of strange things out there that we’ve pitched down, flipped backwards, resampled and processed. Just hitting a lot of art films and documentaries, and any time there is an interesting sound—it’s cassette deck, record and catch it. A lot of strange things. And I probably can’t say some of the best ones, because I don’t want anyone to know they’re on there.

VON TILL:

D B H O F 14 1

through silver in blood

“On Through Silver in Blood we were going to take this to the deepest, darkest heaviest place we could find.

And we had to live there to find it.”

ST EVE VO N T ILL LANDIS: I don’t want to push my luck by exposing where those things came from, but we were into documentaries about myth and mythology and early religions and early spirituality and we would actively go seek out stuff like a religious professor speaking about the Tibetan Book of the Dead. Or the other thing is we would seek out music recordings from all different parts of the world, like a recording of horns or Buddhist monks singing and we would grab a little chunk of it with a melodic phrase and pitch it so it fit into the key of the riff. It’s kind of a beautiful way to work, where everything is sort of fluid and we’ve already abandoned all the rules. The only analogy I can come up with is it’s like making sculpture out of water. Because it’s so fluid, the way you can manipulate sounds, with pitch and frequency you can make it sound however you want, and there are no structural constraints when it comes to sound, and we embraced that right away.

Do you remember any of the other samples?

LANDIS: One sound I do remember was the breath at the beginning of “Locust Star.” Scott and I were watching a documentary about Charles Manson, and he was giving an interview in prison and at some point he just stopped and sighed. And we took that and put it on the key-

board and threw that at the intro riff to the song. So, yeah, that sound is Manson breathing. And for the opening of “Through Silver in Blood,” back then you could actually get sound effects libraries, and at the time we were doing anything we could with anything we had. And there was just this machine shop sound effect that I dropped an octave, ran it through distortion and made a loop.

EDWARDSON: When that sound happens live, everyone knows what’s coming. It’s that moodsetting tone. Even for myself, when I hear it I think, “Settle down, put all the thoughts out of your head—you’re about to be on a 12-minute ride that’s going to brutalize you.”

How do you see Through Silver in Blood up on the shelf today?

ROEDER: It’s definitely the angriest record we’ve ever done. I don’t think we could ever do another record that angry because we’re not that pissed off at this point. If we did another record like Through Silver in Blood you would know that everything has gone wrong in our lives. But it was the best record for that band at that time.

LANDIS: We’ve always been so forward driven that it’s hard to look back on what we’ve done.

And maybe it’s because it’s been so long or because of age, but I can see Through Silver in Blood with an appreciation that I wasn’t able to O C T O B E R 2 0 16 : 4 8 : D E C I B E L

before. I can see why it’s special. And I appreciate that place we were in and how we channeled that with our music. When we were writing that record, in our lives we had lost our footing.

And the band and what we were doing with our music was the only thing that was holding us up. So, you can see that there’s a mixed feeling there. It was the beginning of everything we do together now. The vision ended up enduring.

EDWARDSON: In every way possible it was our most brutal record. Usually we try and have a big riff where we let it all out. But that album was a big riff letting it all out all the time.

VON TILL: Once we toured it and experienced the longterm ramifications of how physically and spiritually painful it was to do every night, we learned that we needed room to breathe. You can only do that for so long before you implode, and we felt it imploding. So, to save the bigger idea and to grapple with it and honor it properly, we needed to give it space, which was Times of Grace. And part of that was maturity and part of that was the intensity at the time. I don’t think any of us would want to return to the intensity of ’94 to ’97.

KELLY: I think a lot of things crystalized on Through Silver in Blood. It was a totality of everything we had gone through and were going through at the time. I’m totally proud of that record. I stand by it to this day. I’m so glad it was there.

the

definitive stories

behind extreme music’s

definitive albums

D B H O F 14 2

NEUROSIS Times of Grace R E LA PSE R E COR D S M AY 4 , 1 9 9 9

Stepping through the Electrical Audio doorway

O C T O B E R 2 0 16 : 5 0 : D E C I B E L

story by

matt solis

This Gray Will Fade the making of Neurosis’ Times of Grace ’m no expert on multiverse theory, but I’ve listened to enough stoned podcast ramblings to

get the gist: Anything that can happen has already happened, and not only that, it’s happened an infinite number of times. By that logic, somewhere out there in the cold recesses of space, there’s a version of Neurosis that, while preparing to enter the new millennium, collapsed under the sheer weight of their artistic effort and never even made it to their highly influential sixth LP. Thankfully, we all exist in a reality where Times of Grace is alive, well and still pummeling faces and breaking hearts 17 years after the fact.

To talk about the album is to understand the landscape in which Neurosis found themselves in the late ’90s. Even though they had been a respected underground presence for nearly a decade, the 1996 release of Through Silver in Blood elevated them to a music industry tier that brought a new dynamic into their lives: dickloads and dickloads of touring. For the next two years, the band and the road were inexorably linked. And whether they were opening for Pantera or holding down the second stage at Ozzfest, they gave audiences throughout the land the same presentation: dense, punishing, emotionally charged songs that required the utmost effort from each man onstage.

By 1998, it was clear to everyone in the band—guitarists/vocalists Scott Kelly and Steve Von Till, bassist Dave Edwardson, keyboardist Noah Landis and drummer Jason Roeder— that something had to give. They couldn’t continue the bludgeoning path they were on and expect to walk away unscathed. They knew that to maintain control of the darkness, they had to make room for the light. It was out of this spiritually exhaustive atmosphere that Times of Grace was born.

Even though the record features many sonic trademarks that have been with Neurosis since the Souls at Zero days (massive sludge riffs, tribal drum patterns, fiercely shouted vocals), its masterful grasp of dynamics and imaginative approach to layering revealed a new side of the band: one that could crush and comfort with the same focused intensity. “The Doorway” and the title track are two of the heaviest songs in their 30-year catalog, “Away” and “Belief” feature some of the gentlest moments of their career and “Under the Surface” and “The Last You’ll Know” combine elements of both into a potent sound that would inform the styles of countless post-whatever bands in the aughts.

Times of Grace also marks the first time that Neurosis worked with renowned engineer Steve Albini, whose Electrical Audio in Chicago has been their headquarters for every record since. Albini’s organic production style is the perfect pairing for the album’s vibrant songs: alternately immense and spacious, it allows for, as Von Till puts it, “breathing, stargazing and pounding our blood and guts and bones into the ground.” Oh, and there’s also guest instrumentation by members of Amber Asylum, a linocut cover that features one of the band’s most iconic images and a companion album of ambient music (Tribes of Neurot’s Grace) that’s designed to be played simultaneously in order to create an “active listening experience.” Hall of Fame credentials, all. Quit standing in the doorway and come inside.

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times of grace

Your previous album, Through Silver in Blood, came out three years prior and was followed by an extensive touring cycle. What was the band’s mindset leaving that album and heading into the music that would become Times of Grace?

SCOTT KELLY: Through Silver in Blood was a pretty rough time for us on a lot of levels. For me, touring [for it] was pretty cathartic, but eventually there was a lot more drudgery involved and it just stopped working. When we came back around for Times of Grace, we had drastic changes in our personal lives, and that came out in the songwriting.

STEVE VON TILL: We had toured the shit out of Through Silver in Blood, and it was really physically and emotionally taxing to play that material every night as often as we did. We knew we could continue the intensity forever, but we could not grind ourselves into dust with every fucking song. We had to be able to come up for air. I remember as we were working on Times of Grace, it felt a lot cleaner. We were experimenting with more melody and fleshing out the softer dynamics in ways we hadn’t done before. The Through Silver in Blood era was like trudging through jungles and swamps, and we were finally able to climb up to a peak and look back at all the shit we just went through.

To me, that’s always what Times of Grace felt and sounded like.

JASON ROEDER: We hit a certain stopping point on Through Silver in Blood where we had toured it to death. We had started to incorporate more percussion onstage with Scott and Steve, and we wanted to broaden out and do more interesting things like that. It was probably 1998 when we started focusing on writing another record. That was really the first time we all concentrated on being there every day and making it our job to write new music.

NOAH LANDIS: Through Silver in Blood was a really difficult time for us in our personal lives. Times of Grace was us coming out of that difficult time.

The title really reflects our commitment to pulling ourselves out of that dark place and trying

“The end of the touring cycle for Times of Grace was sort of the straw that broke the camel’s back.

We all had families and children, and it was getting to the point where our kids were growing up and we needed to be around a lot more.”

JASO N RO E D E R to refocus what we were doing with our music.

We knew we had to look toward something more beautiful and enduring, and not so dark and self-destructive.

DAVE EDWARDSON: Things tend to go pretty organically with us, so to some degree we didn’t think about it—the songs just came out the way they did and it was a natural progression from the stuff we’d been doing before.

But at the same time, we knew we were going to record with Steve Albini and get more of a precise sound from him, so we wanted to encourage that.

Times of Grace is a lot more stripped-down in terms of layering compared to previous Neurosis albums. What do you remember about the writing process?

ROEDER: We were trying to strip down the layering so we could take a lot of the things we were doing in the studio and directly apply them to a live setting. Some of the songs on Through Silver in Blood are so dense and layered that when we performed them live, it was hard to make that transition sound convincing. With Times of Grace, we had time to make the songs breathe and give them more size so it wasn’t such a condensed sound.

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That was definitely one of the things we learned from performing the Through Silver in Blood songs. We used to think it was a really good idea to have all this shit going on all the time, and then we realized, “You know, we can’t even hear it!” We learned the rule that all musicians learn at some point, which is “addition through subtraction.” So, we started trimming it back and making it much simpler.

VON TILL: Each time we make a record, we get wiser and come to a purer place of what the original intent is. I think we learned from Through Silver in Blood that everything has its space. The music doesn’t need to be so claustrophobic. In fact, each instrument and voice could be more powerful given a little bit of space. Everything doesn’t have to occupy the entire frequency range all the time.

LANDIS: Through Silver in Blood is such a dense album, and I think Billy [Anderson] did a tremendous job with all of those stacked layers fighting with each other. By the time we started writing the next record, we realized that if we could start pulling those layers away, what we left made everything stronger. That was the underlying approach to Times of Grace. Rather than stacking three different sounds at the same time, which creates a crazed, chaotic impression, it was more KELLY:

like, “Let’s strip it down to one.” I think that was a real turning point for us. We started to understand the power of dynamics.

EDWARDSON: We were worried that we’d been going a little too overboard in a lot of ways and losing some of the impact by having so much stuff going on, so we consciously tried to strip away the layers a little bit. We were getting more critical of little elements because we felt we were under a microscope more than before.

Times of Grace is the first Neurosis album recorded by Steve Albini, who would become your go-to engineer on every subsequent album.

How did Steve come into the picture?

We were trying to knock down the walls in terms of how we recorded Times of Grace. Steve was somebody we looked up to in terms of his musical career. We said, “Fuck it, let’s call him and ask.”

He actually answered the phone at the studio and said, “Oh yeah, I think I saw you guys play recently.

Sure, I’ll do it.” And we were like, “Really? Rad!” That’s exactly what we were looking for… somebody who would respect what we brought in. Albini is like a technician whose job is to capture what you bring into the room in a really pristine way.

KELLY: Working with Steve was a big change and a big unknown. We were probably listening to a Tad record or something, and we said, “Steve Albini is great—maybe we could work with him.” We thought he wouldn’t be available, though. It just didn’t seem very possible when we were initially thinking about it. But when we contacted him, that couldn’t have been further from the truth. He was completely available and open, so we decided to do it.

ROEDER: I had been listening to Shellac and Big Black for years, so I already knew about his work. We read about his aesthetic and how much of a purist he was in his approach to recording, and it just seemed like a perfect fit. He’s very intense and focused in the way he works, but at the same time, he knows how to pace himself.

EDWARDSON: I was aware of his production and always thought it was really good, so I was on board from the beginning. I just had to get used to the fact that things were going to sound clearer than they ever had, [but] I was excited about that.

He’s so easy to work with. He just totally captures what’s there. He’ll claim he doesn’t have a certain sound, but there are sonic footprints where you realize it’s an Albini production, which I love.

VON TILL: He had recorded a shitload of stuff that we really liked. Specifically, we wanted some clarity—we wanted to hear everything in its space in a way that reflected what we liked about classic rock albums. The sound I kept coming back to was the Jesus Lizard’s drum sound. You push play on Goat and you’re like, “Oh, that’s like John Bonham but now.”

If you think about it, we had only been in the studio a handful of times, so we were still pretty naïve about the whole process. We wanted LANDIS:

to book a ridiculous amount of time, but Steve talked us down right away. He said, “Why don’t you do a couple of weeks and see how it goes?”

And we were like, “No, we definitely need more.” And he said, “Well, I’ll keep it open, but just start with a couple of weeks.” And sure enough, we ended up recording a full-length LP, the Sovereign EP and some other stuff.

Was there a moment during the Times of Grace recording when you realized that Steve’s style fit with Neurosis in a way that was going to translate to a long-term relationship, or did that realization come as time went on?

ROEDER: I don’t think we knew we were going to do the next five records [at Electrical Audio], but by the end of the first day, we were like, “Well, this is going to be a great session and a really good place to work,” because that’s what Steve tailored it to be. It’s not some high-end, stuffy, uncomfortable, pretentious place. It’s just a good place to record music.

KELLY: I don’t think we were even thinking about that when we were recording because we were so focused on the album. But we got along and the connection was strong from the beginning. We appreciated how dedicated he was to the record.

He doesn’t look forward; he’s just in the moment.

When we recorded Times of Grace, it was total immersion—we lived in the studio and worked 16 hours a day, so it became every bit of our existence.

LANDIS: Once we were there working with him, we knew we had found our guy. But at the same time, we had this big concept for the record that involved these extra tracks and players, so we sort of insisted on making it more complex than he would have liked. After that record, it sunk in that next time we don’t need to make it more complicated than it needs to be because this guy can handle whatever we throw at him. He has a calm confidence that’s sort of contagious, and I think that helped us relax.

VON TILL: I think that developed over time. We have a tendency to surround ourselves with people we like and not play outside our little box. For us, recording with Steve was stepping out of that box, but we found it so comfortable and efficient that we haven’t found a reason to explore anything else. We know we’ll come out of there sounding exactly how we sound and get it done in the amount of time that we have to give it.

This was the first time Neurosis traveled away from the Bay Area to make a record. What do you remember about your time in Chicago? Did you have to adjust to the dynamic of being away from home or did it feel natural to be there?

It was easy. I don’t recall any adjustment period at all. If anything, we settled in deeper.

There was no anxiety around it—it was just time to focus on this thing that we’d been working on for so long.

KELLY:

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ROEDER: At that point, we had been touring so much for so many years that it felt natural to be anywhere. I never felt completely comfortable recording in San Francisco anyway, because I don’t think San Francisco is a very comfortable city. Most large cities are claustrophobic places.

And that’s what’s nice about Electrical—it doesn’t feel claustrophobic when you’re there.

It was winter when we went there, so we would literally spend days in the studio without even going outside.

LANDIS: We were really excited. This was sort of a big deal for us. The studio has little dorm rooms where we stayed, so we were basically able to wake up and go to work without having to think about our regular lives. It was a really fun experience, and Steve is an incredible person to get to know. I’m a sound engineer as well, so I was watching everything he was doing and trying to learn.

VON TILL: It was great to just live there and not have to deal with the stresses of home. We would crawl out of our holes, wander down to the studio and work hard. It was very inspiring, too, because at that time they were still constructing Studio A. Steve surrounded himself with a bunch of DIY punk rock dudes who had [construction] skills, and he directed the whole process of building this beautiful studio inside this gutted warehouse. Seeing this massive vision turn into reality was really inspiring to me.

Times of Grace is unique in that it has a companion album, Tribes of Neurot’s Grace, that’s designed to be played at the same time.

How did that idea come about?

LANDIS: We’ve always been interested in experimental music and improvised explorations of texture and soundscapes. That’s how Tribes of Neurot began—to free ourselves from the focused music of Neurosis, we would do this other thing. We wanted to marry the two with Times of Grace. The idea of having a companion disc that blends and matches throughout the whole album…it adds another layer and changes the experience. In order for people to hear it, they have to put in a little work.

EDWARDSON: I remember telling my roommates that if you play two pieces of audio at the same time, they do some very odd things. So, I put on Univers Zero’s Heresie in my bedroom and the Planet of the Apes soundtrack in my roommate’s bedroom, and then we opened both doors and hung out in the kitchen. It worked out incredibly—everyone was tripping hard on the sound. At that point, The Flaming Lips had done Zaireeka, which were four records you’re supposed to play at the same time. We liked the idea that listeners had to go out of their way, and of course we were doing Tribes of Neurot stuff anyway, so we said, “How cool would it be if we put all these ideas together?” There were also keyboard parts we had jettisoned [from Times of Grace] in our

times of grace

D B H O F 14 2

“The sound I kept coming back to was the Jesus Lizard’s drum sound.

You push play on Goat and you’re like, ‘Oh, that’s like John Bonham but now.”

ST EV E VO N TIL L effort to strip things down, so we basically took all the “what ifs” we could have originally done on the record and worked them back in.

KELLY: I think the root of the idea was the whole Dark Side of the Moon/Wizard of Oz myth. And then somebody showed us that Flaming Lips record and we came across a couple of other things like that. I remember sitting down to listen to it when it was finished and just laughing maniacally about the way it worked out. I think subliminally, it was us letting go of all the layers we didn’t put on Times of Grace. We held back from putting them in the songs, but we couldn’t quite let them go yet, so we had to do a whole other record of layers just to get it out. We weren’t consciously thinking that way at the time, but looking back I think that was part of the inspiration.

ROEDER: We knew there were similar ideas out there, but we wanted to put our own spin on it. We noticed there was a loss of “active listening” in music, where people would just throw something on in the background but not really sit and listen to a record as an actual activity.

We wanted to make an environment where you needed to engage your mind and focus your attention on this other record or both records simultaneously. We wanted to push the experiment out of our hands and into the hands of the listener. You can play the records at different times, or put one record in one room and one in another room and shift between them. It almost seems like we need to push that boundary again, because active listening seems even less important to people now than it was back then.

VON TILL: Grace was amazingly fun, and if I really think about it, it’s one of the things I’m most proud of. We have lots of crazy ideas, but often crazy ideas fall victim to practicality. Grace was something that seemed too crazy at first, but we just stuck with it. We basically just started recording things on a multitrack at different home studios: EBow guitars, synthesizers, strings, sampled field recordings… just catching all these different things and blending them together. Sometimes, we would dissect a riff or melodic part into its component notes and then overdub them without listening to the original.

I remember our sound guy, Dave Clark, was staying at my place while I was working on it in my bedroom, and I was like, “Man, I hear some voices here or something.” And he goes, “I’ll be back.”

He left with a handheld tape recorder and came back several hours later with a tape of him wandering around the streets of San Francisco in the rain, walking through puddles and muttering to himself, and it just sounded fucking incredible.

So, it was taking things like that and making sure the energy and vibe were right. Also, it had to work with Times of Grace and stand on its own.

That’s probably my favorite part. It’s basically our best Tribes of Neurot record because it has the energy, flow and harmonic sensibility of a crafted rock record, but with these abstract sounds. It’s one of our unsung moments where we really hit upon something special.

Times of Grace features a lot of acoustic instrumentation like violin, cello, horns and bagpipes. When did you decide to include these layers on the album?

LANDIS: We had a lot of ideas that incorporated other instruments, but it’s not like we had it all thought up ahead of time. It was more like, “Here’s a riff—let’s play it over and over again and throw different stuff at it to see what fits.”

Steve Von Till had a friend named John Goff who played bagpipes, and he recorded a bunch of stuff and gave me the tapes to write with. Some of the bagpipe pieces came from that—I would pick little melodic phrases and loop them or do bi-directional loops.

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VON TILL: We’d put additional instruments on every record since Souls at Zero, but we didn’t really know how to write parts for other instruments. By Times of Grace, we had met some people who were gifted musicians in their own right, so we would listen to [a song] and be like, “There’s room for a cello or electric violin here.” Kris [Force] brought a lot to the table as far as helping us with the violin.

KELLY: Incorporating organic instruments into electric music has always been important to us.

We were closely tied with Amber Asylum at the time, so a lot of that instrumentation is them.

I remember the horn guy [Jon Birdsong] was a total badass. He was like, “What do you want?” and then he just wailed it in one take and left.

This was the first Neurosis album to feature prominent clean vocals on songs like “Belief” and “Away.” What was your vocal mindset at the time? Were you ready to try a different approach?

Steve and I taught ourselves to sing while we were driving around in the van on the Through Silver in Blood tours. I remember we spent a lot of late nights and early mornings driving through the country, just singing and realizing,

KELLY:

“Yeah, we can do this and it feels strong.” It just naturally worked itself into the music. We resign ourselves to the will of the song, so whatever the song wants is what the song gets. When it comes to songs like “Away” and “Belief,” they wouldn’t have sounded right if we did it a different way.

VON TILL: There were hints of [clean vocals] on Through Silver in Blood, but we just didn’t know how to execute them or have the confidence to pull them off. On Times of Grace, we had these quiet songs like “Away” where we were like, “Let’s play these notes as softly as we can,” and then it was just getting over the fear of singing melodically and quietly right on top of that.

But we knew it was going to work. I had already been recording some acoustic solo material at the time, so I thought I’d be able to pull it off.

Times of Grace was released in 1999, which was when the Internet started to change the way people experienced music via file sharing and message boards. When the album was released, did you notice a difference in the way you experienced feedback?

ROEDER: I actually noticed the shift becoming much more prominent after Times of Grace. During this time, it was more of an old-school way of getting feedback. But then again, I never really pay attention to the feedback or reviews that we get.

EDWARDSON: I tried not to pay attention to that stuff, but I was definitely aware it was going on in a big way. I think the internet has done a lot of good for us in the long run because we’re the kind of band where people who like us really like us, and they’re going to try to sell us to others. A lot of people probably got turned on to us that way.

LANDIS: I think we were a little slower than some people in terms of embracing the internet. We decided to step back from that and let it happen on the periphery, because that’s not really what we care about. We’ve always been and always will be for the music and for each other. It’s about the five of us—we sort of share one mind and have that approach when we write, record and perform, so to open ourselves up to this new avenue of everyone chiming in about what we’re doing… we were like, “Fuck that.”

What do you remember about the process of getting the album artwork? Did you purposely choose that imagery to reflect the strippeddown music inside?

I don’t think we actually spoke that out loud, but it clearly worked that way in our minds.

You can tell what we were doing from Through Silver in Blood to Times of Grace by looking at the covers— they’re completely different chemical makeups.

EDWARDSON: There was a certain style we were after which is pretty much exactly how it came out. We were definitely going for something classier and slightly ancient-looking, like raw folk art.

There are a lot of those tattoos on people. I’ve seen that fire-breathing dog everywhere!

KELLY:

ROEDER: When we did Through Silver in Blood, we dove into a lot of computer-manipulated art, which was kind of unheard of at the time.

For Times of Grace, we didn’t want to invest that much time and trouble into the art—we wanted it to be simpler and stripped-down.

Steve [Von Till] mentioned doing a woodcut, so he found an artist in San Francisco named Bob McDonald who did linocut prints. That whole thing was done by hand to simulate the old woodcut style. It seemed to really fit the aesthetic of the album.

VON TILL: It came together pretty naturally. I remember scanning images from an English heraldry book and finding the one of the wolf. Then we manipulated the flames so they were coming back into the wolf’s face. We also incorporated a lot of heraldry symbols into the sidebars and lyric sheets, and the packaging was a print on textured gray paper that mimicked the texture of linoleum.

My first thought was to scan the linocut print and make that the cover, but when we got the photos back, they were actually of the piece of linoleum itself with fresh ink on it, and they looked so much sharper than the woodcut print that we ended up using that. So, what you’re looking at is basically a picture of ink on top of textured paper. It’s the closest you can get to actually having the woodcut.

What do you remember about touring for Times of Grace? Were you excited to bring this new, dynamic material to a live setting?

ROEDER: It was really enjoyable to play [that music] live because there was so much space, and we really defined the interplay between the percussion onstage and the dynamics of the songs.

We had an even broader palette of dynamics to work with, and I think it worked really well in a live setting.

VON TILL: Playing those songs live was fucking great. They were burning cleaner, and we were able to deliver that material in a way that didn’t tear us to shreds. As much as we pounded it, it lifted us up.

KELLY: It worked better from the start. Through Silver in Blood is like a bludgeon and Times of Grace is more like a sword—it cuts you much quicker, cleaner and deeper. Through Silver in Blood certainly goes very deep, but it kind of stays in one place; it doesn’t have the dynamics and emotional arcs that Times of Grace does. A lot of those songs are still strong. I think we could pull any song off that record and play it live and it would be effective.

EDWARDSON: We were very stoked to play those songs live. After touring for Through Silver in Blood for so long and beating the shit out of ourselves every night, it felt really good to come out with something that was deeply heavy but less punishing on us in a lot of ways.

We figured out a less personally brutal way to be just as heavy.

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It was around this time that Neurosis started to back away from regular touring. What do you remember about that decision?

ROEDER: The end of the touring cycle for Times of Grace was sort of the straw that broke the camel’s back. We all had families and children, and it was getting to the point where our kids were growing up and we needed to be around a lot more.

KELLY: I think we started out hard [with the touring] and hit the wall pretty quickly. That was around the time when we realized we had to be home more; we needed to get the balance straight. We asked ourselves, “What are we really in this for?”

And the answer was to make music.

We didn’t start the band to tour constantly. The touring quickly became an endless cycle, and it really started to wear me down. My son was turning 12 at the time and I wanted to be home for him. I couldn’t be gone 260 days a year while he was going through this super crucial part of his life.

VON TILL: We were in a situation where we were toying with the idea of making this our living. But when we sat down and tried to map out how we could do that, we realized we’d have to be gone a lot to support us and our families. And when you have to stay on tour to bring in income and play with bands that you’re not friends with, that’s a fucking drag. If we wanted to keep it pure, we had to walk the opposite direction for a while: go home, get jobs, take care of our families and find a balance. Now, we can do 25 or 30 cities a year and it’s something special that we look forward to.

EDWARDSON: It was tearing apart personal lives.

That was a lot of time to be away from home, but we survived it together, and I think that’s part of our longevity. We relied on each other, and none of us would let the other one down. We were just fucking going for it. Looking back, it was an investment in our future.

Is there a song on Times of Grace that you’re particularly proud of?

LANDIS: I’m proud of how we reworked certain riffs in different ways. Like “The Road to Sovereignty,” that was a riff that was somewhere in the middle of another song. We took it, stripped everything away and attacked it from a whole different perspective. We were playing around with those kinds of softening ideas and concepts of recurring musical themes. It’s a long album with a lot of variety. “The Doorway” is pretty crushing, but then you also have a song like “Belief” that’s way more backed-off. I’ve always loved “The Last You’ll Know”—there’s something emotionally

“There are a lot of those tattoos on people.

I’ve seen that fire-breathing dog everywhere!”

DAVE E DWA RD SO N striking about Scott’s vocal performance that always goes right into my heart.

ROEDER: I don’t know if there’s a particular song that stands out for me. I sort of approach each album as an album. I never want to discredit my early playing, but Times of Grace was the first time I was able to nail down what each song needed to make it satisfying to play but also appropriate for the song. It’s also the first record we did that felt true to what was in our heads.

KELLY: I think “The Doorway” is an interesting way to start the record, and it’s a song that’s had legs for a long time. It still has a lot of fire when we play it live, and it’s kind of unique in tempo and structure to anything else we have.

It’s slightly scattered in a songwriting way, but that’s probably why it works so well. It’s a good juxtaposition to our more recent material.

VON TILL: I love feeling the tearing teeth of “The Doorway”—that opening riff is just fucking gnashing. “Belief” has some really interesting textures that hint at space rock. There’s one riff in “The Last You’ll Know” that came really close to bringing me to tears every time we hit it live.

EDWARDSON: “Belief” is a dark horse on that record. Sometimes I try to make my bass not sound like a bass, so when it came to that song, I said, “I think I need to play some Moog on this.”

That was a pain in the ass on the road. I’d set it up and it would start fucking up live, and our sound guy would have to tear it open and fix O C T O B E R 2 0 16 : 5 6 : D E C I B E L

the circuit board. I recently had a friend repair it and it’s in tip-top shape. I wish it was in that shape back then!

When you look back at Times of Grace, how does it make you feel in context of Neurosis’ 30-year legacy?

Times of Grace was perfectly named because it was a time that we found some grace and started to put things on the right path. We were making better decisions and it showed in the music. I think if we’d done another Through Silver in Blood, it would have just fucking killed us. I’m glad we had that record because I was able to pour my heart into it at that time in my life, but getting through that and moving on was really essential.

EDWARDSON: Times of Grace was the album that sealed the deal on the Neurosis sound. Any song off that record could be on any of the later albums and it wouldn’t feel out of place. We grew to a place where we truly established a lot of aspects of our sound.

VON TILL: We were finally able to crawl out of the railroad-through-hell of Through Silver in Blood and find that spot where we could still crush it but traverse these other areas as well.

Each album has its own place in terms of what it teaches us and what doors in opens, and Times of Grace was the first step toward what we’ve continued since then.

KELLY:

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NEUROSIS reflect on 30 years then burn them to ash on Fires Within Fires story by

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THE ISSUE

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JOHN STURDY

t’s an annual Maryland Deathfest tradition:

A reader saunters up to the Decibel booth, peruses the free “Virginia is for Lovers, Maryland is for Pornogrind” stickers, and asks Editor in Chief Albert Mudrian if he’s considered inducting Neurosis into the Hall of Fame. Mudrian’s vacant gaze screams more than his too-polite reply. In short: Yeah, maybe the idea of honoring the Promethean behemoths has surfaced once or twice during this rag’s reign of terror.

Thirty years of tireless reinvention. Numerous side projects. Their own thriving label, Neurot Recordings. Anticipating anything but a colossal amount of research would be as optimistically delusional as building a straw house on a volcano without fire insurance. But revisiting Shakespeare was admittedly unexpected.

Decibel speaks to Scott Kelly in a rare moment of

rest between numerous music projects and his newest endeavor: acting and co-composing in the classic tragedy, Hamlet. Despite being blindsided by a soliloquy gush-session, it’s not surprising that the founding vocalist/guitarist of one of extreme music’s most adventurous and cosmically driven collectives continues to explore new avenues of expression.

Neurosis have redefined what heavy meant and what heavy could be, all while refusing to define themselves as anything more than conduits for the music they conjure like diviners.

Now releasing their 11th LP, Fires Within Fires, they’ve ascended from the trappings of youth to alter the landscape of heavy music like the violent shift of tectonic plates. Their soul-scraping compositions—tethered to mountainous riffs crawling with serpents and untamed flames—

are products of unbound creativity, at once intensely personal and universal in scope. Their experimentation and vulnerability has inspired generations of musicians to demand more from their instruments and themselves.

During their journey, genre became a forgotten artifact. For categorization fetishists, “post-metal” trudged to the forefront of adoring tongues. But for visionaries that discourage intellectualizing their music, “post-metal” and its hifalutin hyphen seems too literary a tag. The “post” implying “after” is significant, however. For Neurosis—a band who follows the advice of their own “Bury What’s Dead” song title—there’s only what comes after, what comes next, and the future ahead. That is, apart from this special occasion that dB lovingly calls “the fuckin’ Neurosis issue.”

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PROGRESS is not PROGRESS, it is EVERLASTING DESTRUCTION

1985. The first Nintendo consoles hit American shelves. President Ronald Reagan shakes Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev’s hand for the first time at the Geneva Summit. A week later, Reagan sells the rights to his autobiography for $3 million. The Los Angeles Raiders ride Marcus Allen and a brutal blitz assault to finish the season 12-4. In San Francisco, Exodus releases Bonded by Blood and its dueling solos.

While the Bay Area was headbanging to the thrash explosion in 1985, Raiders enthusiast Scott Kelly formed Neurosis along with bassist Dave Edwardson and drummer Jason Roeder from the wreckage of startup outfit Violent Coercion. “It was shedding the skin of [Violent Coercion] entirely,” Kelly describes in his unflappable timbre. “It was just a fucking speedcore band or whatever. It was OK, but we weren’t trying to get deep with anything. We were just writing surface-level songs that weren’t emotionally fulfilling at all.”

As Neurosis’ debut, Pain of Mind feels more like a love letter to Amebix and Rudimentary Peni than a seed suggesting the growth to come. It follows the proud lineage of Crass’ anarcho-punk and drags it through the muck tucked beneath I-580 underpasses. But it was a necessary steppingstone for young musicians with ideas bigger than their collective experience could grasp.

“By the time Pain of Mind came out we were playing less than half the songs on the record,” Kelly admits. “Steve [Von Till] joined for The Word as Law, and that solidified things and things started accelerating with the four of us substantially.”

“I hung around Dave [Edwardson] a lot,” reminisces Von Till, who shares vocal, guitar and lyrical duties with Kelly. “I lived an hour south [of Oakland], and I spent a lot of weekends crashing on Dave’s couch. Going to shows, listening to music, hanging out. [Neurosis was] definitely one of my favorite bands. I listened to them and Christ on Parade a lot. They were pretty influential on what I liked about American hardcore, but I always thought they had a hint of this darker psychological, psychedelic element that hadn’t manifested in the music yet.”

“It was an instant connection, man,” Kelly warmly says of Von Till. “Honestly, we just liked the guy right from the start. He was clearly a really good musician and super creative and super driven. It was like the puzzle pieces were fitting 6 0 : O C T O B E R 2 0 16 : D E C I B E L

together. The first time we played, we all went down to practice together and we gave him five or so songs to learn, and he totally had them ready.”

Von Till sums it up with words befitting bloodrelatives and ride-or-die comrades: “For me, it felt like I finally found brothers with whom I could jump in and contribute to what they were doing, and that together we could take long strides forward to what was hinted at [in their music] prior.”

SUCCUMB to the NEW and GIVE WAY

From the first discordant strum of The Word as Law, something was different. Edwardson’s bass still rollicked beneath punked-out riffs, and the lyrics still spat condemnations of televisioninduced passivity. But by the time “To What End?” began with soaring notes lifting to the sky like a spire of smoke, a tiny window opened offering a glimpse to the future.

“On The Word as Law you can hear the growing pains,” Von Till concedes. “We weren’t completely sure which direction we were headed— we were still trying things. We were definitely hearing more instrument voices than were possible as a four-piece lineup, so the idea of bringing in keyboards and samples and collage and really chasing what we realized our goal was, which was to be as heavy as possible.

“There are a lot of different ways to [be heavy],” he adds. “There’s the heavy metal way of going there, where it’s sort of like acting. Not to take away from [heavy metal], I love that stuff. But there’s a certain point where if you want to feel emotionally heavy then you’re gonna have to sacrifice and feel it and let go. If you want to sound like you’re in an apocalyptic-sounding band, then you better sound like the fucking end-times.”

But the band’s evolution toward being an Armageddon playlist wasn’t a plan that unfolded along the way, it was a goal that seemed less and less out of reach while growing together as musicians. “Honestly, man, we had this whole concept in our heads form the start with where we are now—we just didn’t know how to do it,” Kelly reveals. “We just weren’t proficient enough with our instruments to pull it off. We were just kids, you know? We didn’t know anyone who played keyboards or did visuals. We were just kind of hacking through what was in our heads the best we could at that point.”

Like Black Flag punching their reflection on Damaged and emerging with the proto-sludge of My War—or Melvins’ shift from hardcore punk to gonzo Sabbathian grunge—Neurosis were reaching for something larger. Disinterested in exploring musical avenues paved and well-trodden by preceding bands, their metamorphosis slowed their crusty hooks to a funereal crawl as the young-blooded d-beats settled into hypnotic rhythms. Bringing Simon McIlroy aboard to add keyboards and samples on Souls at Zero was the

next crucial leap.

“The Word as Law to Souls at Zero was a huge jump in the direction of trying to find that epic nature,” explains Von Till. “Still, it was still too cerebral. While touring Souls we realized what felt natural onstage, which led to Enemy [of the Sun], which is way more primal. We got out of the concept and into the nitty-gritty, finding reckless abandon, and finding a way to surrender to that intensity and let it drive us.

“That completely drove Through Silver in Blood and everything onward,” he continues. “It was finding what came naturally, what allowed you to leave your body, what flowed organically with that emotional intensity and honesty and originality that we require from ourselves.”

Matthew Jacobson—founder and president of Relapse Records—was one of the many who took note of their artistic development. “I’d seen the band’s name in Maximum Rocknroll and perhaps even heard The Word is Law in passing, but when I truly discovered them was in 1992,” Jacobson recalls. “I had taken a trip for a music industry convention that was happening in California.

While I was there I got sick with the flu and didn’t want to do much because I just felt terrible. But my friend from Germany insisted that I go with him to see this band Neurosis that was playing in Orange County that night. Seriously, he insisted. He would not let me say no.”

After a death-defying highway joyride in the back of a pickup truck, Jacobson arrived to the venue even more ill. But to this day he’s glad he crawled into the bed of that rickety truck. “[I] was utterly blown away by what I saw and heard,” Jacobson writes. “The visual setup was a number of old-school film projectors all running at once, and the multiple images that came together on the screen behind the band were being mixed and were changing in real time. The powerful and incredible music and the sound combined with the visuals created this amazing experience that I felt like I was inside of. It was a game changer. I had a new favorite band.”

A few years later, Neurosis joined the Relapse roster and made their final lineup change by introducing Noah Landis—once a member of the previously mentioned Christ on Parade—as keyboardist and sample extraordinaire. His subtle contributions immediately helped create a crumbling industrial landscape like Eraserhead’s desolate urban sprawl in Through Silver in Blood’s opening title track. Twenty years later, the same lineup continues pursuing truth through the lens of heaviness.

“You have to be genuine,” insists Von Till, “and in order to be genuine you really have to lay it on the line. So, we had to try and figure out what it meant to embody and sound like a force of nature. To sound emotionally intense and reflect the inner world of the extreme diversity of emotion through natural metaphor, and to contemplate the bigger questions sonically. We had to open the floodgates and morph into something that would allow it. And we’re still chasing it.”

the ROAD HOME

When Von Till answers Decibel’s call, wildfires are tearing through the San Gabriel Mountains, northeast of Los Angeles. He’s parked along the side of the road in Idaho, his home for the past 11 years after leaving what he calls the “beehive” of city life. Fires are no stranger to Californians when heat waves hit, and three-fifths of Neurosis still reside in the Golden State. With Kelly residing in Oregon, opportunities for the members to share the same space have declined in the past decade.

So, when it came to writing Fires Within Fires, family responsibilities and the logistics of overcoming distance necessitated internet communication. Emails and MP3 attachments don’t quite hold the organic mystique, but to Neurosis it’s old hat. “That’s how you make a band that doesn’t live in the same town work,” Kelly suggests. “But we’ve been doing that for a long time. The first time I moved up [to Oregon] was like 1990, when we were doing Souls at Zero. We were doing the same thing with cassettes in the mail and phone conversations, so it’s nothing new to us.”

Armed with an arsenal of shared ideas, the members carved time out of their busy lives and started shaping the songs over three weekends.

That’s right, only three weekends. How did you use your last few Saturdays and Sundays? “It was basically like within six days we had [Fires Within Fires] in a skeletal form,” shares Von Till. “Then we sat on it and didn’t touch it again until October of [2015]. But we felt confident enough to book a week of studio time at the end of December.”

That meant going back to the band’s second home: Electrical Audio in Chicago, where Steve Albini engineered 1999’s Times of Grace and each album since. It’s a relationship that grew out of similar mindsets and a shared intolerance of bullshit and musical window dressing. Von Till’s tranquil voice becomes more incendiary as he speaks with dismay about musicians obsessively adjusting material in studio. “Some people make it so complicated, with people playing one at a time, overdubbing all their parts. All this bullshit. And I guess it serves its purpose in some ways, but I think a lot of people unnecessarily make it way more difficult, time-intensive, and go into Tweakerville way more than they need to.”

With a number of engineered records under his belt that seem damn near mythical, Albini’s DIY mentality and strong anti-industry principles coincide with Neurosis’ own self-autonomy. But their working relationship clicks chiefly because Albini doesn’t approach his position as a musician, despite his influential career in Shellac and Big Black, among others.

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“ANY TIME WE GET TOGETHER IS A NICE CHANCE TO SEE EVERYBODY AND RECONNECT. WE’RE MORE AND MORE AWARE AS WE GET OLDER THAT TIME IS SHORT. EVERY MOMENT WE GET LIKE THAT IS CHERISHED.” Scott Kelly

“[Albini] has no opinion about your music,” Von Till explains. “He doesn’t give a shit. And that’s not a bad thing. He loves music and I think he appreciates good music. But his job isn’t to listen to what the music sounds like artistically, but to what the recording of the music presented to him sounds like. To realize that microphone isn’t working out. To make sure the signal path is clean. Making sure what you hear standing in front of that instrument is what you hear coming back out of the speakers to the best of his ability. He really believes in that as a technical service, not an artistic endeavor.”

Recording in December has slowly become a Neurosis tradition, chiefly because of Von Till’s winter break from teaching at an elementary school. The band spends Christmas with their families, grab their flights the next day, then camp out in the studio together for a week until the record’s complete. That means they’re exhaustively working as the Windy City celebrates the New Year outside the studio walls.

But that’s no issue for Von Till. “We pretty much ignore New Year’s Eve,” he confirms. “It’s an amateur drunk holiday that really doesn’t mean anything. Unless you’re super into the Roman calendar, for some reason.”

Instead, the band celebrated their actual 30th anniversary by recording their newest creation.

Although he can’t pinpoint an exact date, Kelly uses a somber milestone to deduce the date’s proximity. “I remember [our anniversary] was around when D. Boon from the Minutemen died,” Kelly memorializes. “I know we were already practicing before that, but that within the first two weeks of practicing and writing our first songs he passed away. That made a pretty big impact on us, because we really look up to him and that band.”

So, fuck resolutions, and fuck confetti-littered Times Square on the TV—Neurosis celebrated January 1 the best way possible. “Any time we get together is a nice chance to see everybody and reconnect,” Kelly offers. “We’re more and more aware as we get older that time is short. Every moment we get like that is cherished.”

EVERY FIRE starts as a SPARK

“Fire, in its fundamental sense, is what separates humanity from a more animalistic sense to something more settled and enlightened,” Von Till ruminates. “It’s something that gets you through the night. Something to evolve to the next level. Something that’s transformative and yet destructive and uncontrollable. It’s all of it.

It’s creation and destruction.”

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Neurosis symbolically buries each album with a heartfelt eulogy. Maybe it’s not complete destruction, and maybe it doesn’t resemble the candle-lit shrine gracing Honor Found in Decay’s cover, but it’s still a crucial element of the band’s development. “We do a kind of post-mortem of where we’d been previously,” Kelly explains, “and kind of review the spots where we want to dig deeper and expand; [identifying] the spots where we feel we can improve.”

“We expect to outdo ourselves, and we expect the absolute best that we’re capable of doing at that time,” offers Von Till. “To be the most evolved and use all of our experience and past efforts as a springboard to go even farther each time. We never want to look back upon some heyday or some particular record that people latch onto as a time you can’t [improve upon].

Our best work is always in the future.”

Our own Shane Mehling described Honor Found in Decay in dB issue #98 as “the record where the band was finally able to demonstrate the suffocating oppression that can exist within melody.” But Neurosis proved that even in the thorny wilderness of music media, they’re among their own harshest critics. “I think we felt [Honor Found in Decay] was lacking a kind of direct impact,” Kelly confesses.

“We really wanted to expand on some of the more psychedelic elements that we’ve done before.”

Fires Within Fires crackles with agency and urgency while maintaining the penchant for exploring dichotomy that has been Neurosis’ foundation since Souls at Zero. Serenity and chaos, light and darkness, life and death. The riffs are monolithic and familiar without feeling derivative, powered by Jason Roeder’s simplified drumming. Largely casting aside his hypnotic signature tom work and opting for utilitarian rock beats, he stokes the coals of “Fire is the End Lesson” into its heated crescendo and smothers the flames for the disquieting murmurs of “Broken Ground.” It all builds to monumental closer “Reach,” which slithers from the shadows with harmonized baritone croons and fatalistic poetry. When an oceanic swell of distortion swallows the listener eight minutes into the song, Neurosis prove once again they offer no sanctuary, even in their gentlest passages.

“On ['Reach'] we really wanted to build this psychedelic song and drop a hammer on the end of it, which is of course our go-to thing and kind of what we do,” Kelly chuckles. “We can pretty naturally come up with a big bludgeoning riff and beat it to death. We’ve got that down. But we have to challenge ourselves and push ourselves to find the dynamics to fit around that, and make those moments more impactful and carry more weight.”

Fires Within Fires achieves that weight and power over five songs and 41 minutes—their shortest since The Word as Law. If you’re worried the modest runtime might result in a less impactful album, it’s understandable; audiences likely felt the same way when theater companies

truncated Shakespeare’s classics. Kelly’s production of the play clocks in at three hours—90 minutes shorter than most complete stagings of Hamlet. But just like this magazine’s text or a legendary stage play, sometimes albums need a ruthless editor as well.

“We looked at trimming [the] fat,” affirms Kelly.

“There was a way we could do this and achieve the impact we wanted while keeping it leaner.

We found that keeping it lean lent itself to more impact, it just meant being lean in the right spots and putting the hammers where they need to be.”

“I don’t think the number of songs ever really matters,” Von Till proposes. “I find myself, as time goes on, returning more to that classic album length. I rarely find 72 minutes where I can sit around and listen to something.

I think we were able to say and communicate everything we needed to and covered a really broad range of territory in those five songs.

We realized there’s no reason to force it to be something it’s not supposed to be. This album basically revealed itself to us so organically that we just kind of obeyed it.”

DIGGING UP what’s DEAD

In March and April, Neurosis played five shows celebrating their 30th anniversary on dates pushed back to accommodate the recording schedule. Before heading to Roadburn, Neurosis had three sold-out Bay Area shows packed with fans eager to hear sets spanning their three-decade evolution. They shared the stage with major influences and old friends, from Negative Approach and Converge to Albini-led Shellac, VHÖL (including Mike Scheidt of Neurot Recordings mates Yob), and Californian doom titans Sleep (who’ve shared Roeder’s percussive talents since 2009).

Steadfast gravediggers that they are, Neurosis uncharacteristically unearthed long-buried songs for the occasion. That meant becoming reacquainted with teenage creations that seem worlds away from the focused bombast of Fires Within Fires. “It was really strange,” Kelly quickly offers. “Stranger than I thought it would be, because it kind of worked.

“I don’t want to do it again,” he quickly adds, “but I’m glad we did it. It felt good to do it. The revelation to me was that we were playing songs that we literally killed and said we’d never play again. And we never go back on that stuff; if we say something is dead then it’s dead and we move on. But we dug up a couple old songs, and they had new life. It was kind of shocking how easily that happened.”

“We never pander to our audience or our fans,” concurs Von Till, “but we thought this would be one time where we’d consider doing that to honor our 30 years. We’d take a rare look backwards, even if it hurt and felt weird. Playing the old punk rock stuff was

really difficult. We definitely didn’t play it perfectly. But I think the level of love, respect and appreciation from all angles was worth it.

Even for ourselves and how grateful we are to have found each other, this path in life, and these unique sounds and ways of expressing ourselves—all while trying to stay sane in this crazy fucking world.”

But if you were hoping the nostalgic festivities might mean future records embracing the crust punk of ’80s days gone by, there’s bad news. “I think it reinforced the ‘Bury What’s Dead’ concept more than anything else,” Von Till dismisses with a laugh.

the GALLOW FRAME

outlives its TENANTS

“I FIND MYSELF, AS TIME GOES ON, RETURNING MORE TO THAT CLASSIC ALBUM LENGTH. I RARELY FIND 72 MINUTES WHERE I CAN SIT AROUND AND LISTEN TO SOMETHING.” Steve Von Till

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Although Neurosis politely declined involvement in the Hall of Fame series since Decibel’s inception, we can’t tally this issue as a victory achieved through silky-smooth persuasion or relentless badgering. For the band, it was simply the right time to ease up on one of the agreements they established in an early pact between members. Part of that pact was the decision that only Kelly and Von Till would speak for the band.

Luckily, sentimentality eventually won.

“This is the issue I’ll show my mom,” Kelly proudly affirms. “It was such a generous offer [from Decibel], and I think that already digging through those old songs coincided perfectly with where our minds are at. If we were ever gonna do it, this is the time. It really means something to us to be in the Hall of Fame.”

Despite softening their stance for this special occasion, the co-singers discuss the band’s pact with grave seriousness. “It’s the foundation of what the band is built upon,” Kelly attests. “We’ll do this until one of us is no longer here, then it will be over. Or all of us, or however it goes down. We’re just doing this until something stops us—and when that happens, that will be that. So, every note, song, record and performance, everything is treated like it could be—and eventually will be— our last. So, it carries that weight with it.”

Von Till’s explanation of the pact is no less contemplative. “It just means that we’ll always have this music,” he explains. “This band has been the only constant in our entire adult lives.

We’ve experienced, births, deaths, life-changing events and other deep, meaningful relationships in the world. But this is the one that stood all the tests of it and somehow survived.

It’s difficult to get people to stick together that long—in any situation, even the best of circumstances. We have made it through so many adventures and life challenges. We still keep coming back to this music as our life’s work and our legacy. It’s also our spiritual survival. We need to make this music, and we won’t let anything threaten that.

“That’s the pact,” he continues. “We feel driven, and we feel that the inspiration we’ve

been lucky enough to tap into and channel is infinite. There’s a sonic grail that we’ll be chasing until we’re no longer of this earth.”

As a testament to the band’s personal impact, Relapse boss Jacobson says he “still pinches himself” when reflecting on his involvement with the band. With Relapse celebrating their own quarter-century anniversary a year ago, he discusses what it takes to succeed in the unforgiving wasteland of the music industry. “The first is truly believing in what you are doing. Regardless, or especially, if what you are doing or how you are doing it is different than what or how others are doing things. At times that means ignoring or disregarding what others are doing, or what the flavor of the day happens to be, which sometimes can put you in a lonely and difficult place.

“The second one is built off of the first,” Jacobson continues. “It is having that belief and confidence in what you are trying to do and then having utter determination in doing so. Even if it is hard or doesn’t seem possible or if at times things get really, really dark. Over our 25 years, Relapse has faced its share of stressful difficult times and dark days. I have more than once said, 'I don’t know how we are going to, but we are going to.' I think sometimes you just have to be OK with the fact that you’re going to be stressed and uncomfortable, because it is unknown or even unlikely that you can make it happen or make it through. But you push ahead anyhow, because you believe in what you are doing, and you are determined to make it happen.”

Despite Neurosis’ strong-willed determination, every time a member emerges with another project, a collective grumble expresses concern that it means another week, month, year or five before Neurosis releases a new album. It could be the solo work from Kelly and Von Till, Corrections House, Harvestman, Mirrors for Psychic Warfare or the numerous others. But they swiftly dismiss the notion that any of these projects are a distraction.

“Neurosis is like the hub of the wheel,” Kelly illustrates. “All the other [projects] are the spokes.

So, it’s like returning to center, to the core of it all. It’s just like coming home. This is where my creative center lies, with these guys doing this.

The other things I do may sound distinctly different, but if you break it down to what I’m playing individually, it’s not that different from what I do in Neurosis. It’s just put into a different context because of the instrumentation around it, and of course the instrumentation lends itself to my creative input changes somewhat. But in general, I’m basically a glorified bass player sustaining chords and doing subtle textures.”

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“Any idea that one of us can come up with individually completely pales in comparison to what the driven force of Neurosis can create,” Von Till establishes with conviction. “Neurosis is bigger than us as individuals. It feels very elemental. It feels like an energy in the environment. Somehow the five of us getting together, opening ourselves up to making music together, seems to make these forces manifest. We don’t take that for granted. Without Neurosis the other [music projects] wouldn’t have meaning or even exist.”

WE’LL NEVER EVER get to REST

Kelly’s first acting experience is portraying the Gravedigger in Hamlet. It’s a relatively small role, but a crucial one in a scene that ranks among Shakespeare’s most famous. In the scene, Hamlet and the Gravedigger list those with bones buried in the cemetery, commenting on what they once were and what they are now. This dude was filthy rich. That lady was beautiful. Yorick had an ass-load of jokes. But they all end in the same place, six feet beneath the Danish soil. It didn’t take Kelly long to realize the themes dear to Shakespeare rage like flooding rivers through Neurosis’ soundscapes.

“Oh yeah, there’s Shakespeare all over our shit and we didn’t even know it,” Kelly confirms. “To be or not to be? I mean, Jesus Christ, that’s like the heaviest shit ever. It levels me every night. I’m in awe of it, man. I don’t think I’ve ever respected language as much as I do now, honestly.”

Kelly and Von Till write lyrics for their own voices, and there’s no absence of bleakness. Depression. Loneliness. Ouroboran selfdestruction. How our fleeting time on this planet reduces our achievements and failures to nothing but whispers. But Neurosis doesn’t settle for cynicism; they remain dedicated to fairly reflecting the entire spectrum of human experience.

Jaded nihilists, here’s a new reason to regard the treacherous future ahead with positivity: Although no dates or deadlines are set, more Neurosis writing sessions are on the way, and they’re much sooner than anticipated.

“We’re talking about getting together and writing some tunes in December,” Von Till casually mentions like it’s not the day’s best news.

“While we’re feeling this inspiration, we were thinking why not see what happens if we dive in and do some sound-searching.”

Whether it’s by treating the artists on their Neurot label with dignity and respect, or honoring the band’s pact as a bonding blood-oath, Neurosis surges on compassion. Even so, the word “selfish” comes up often while speaking with their spokesmen. Despite the accolades, what Neurosis creates is ultimately for the band’s five souls, scattered across the country’s western sprawl. The rest of us are just lucky spectators, warming ourselves by their fire.

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9

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the (literal) Hell out of Altars of Madness. And while every death metal band worth its brimstone situates Morbid Angel in a place of honor amongst its pantheon of influences, few possess the ambition and/or skillset to actually channel their inner Trey Azagthoth and tease malevolent coherence and dark beauty out of the distorted maelstrom. The homage is spot-on and enlivening, though hardly without its own idiosyncratic spin: Blood Incantation employs a crazy diverse metalli-palette to color and enhance the proceedings, variously calling to mind early Metallica, My Bloody Valentine, Converge, Beherit, latter-day Carcass and others.

Starspawn, above all else, is a tour de force distillation and synthesis of outré musical subgenres.

The confidence and willingness to claw down into the deepest, darkest reaches of the rabbit hole on display here is fairly stunning—the jawdropping opening track, “Vitrification of Blood (Part 1),” is, at over 13 minutes, nearly as long as Interdimensional Extinction and covers probably twice as much ground. That’s not to diss the preceding EP—it’s a totally solid, if more straightforward, slab of refined-yet-unwieldy death metal—but, rather, to note the astonishing quantum leap Blood Incantation has achieved in an extraordinarily short period of time from Hey, that song kinda rips to basically a somewhat difficult to parse aesthetic featuring a mushroom cloud billowing out above it.

To see such dedication and persistent, unyielding exploration come to fruition within the crackling grooves of a powerful, stakes-raising, boundary-shifting masterwork is heartening… and a bit flabbergasting when one considers the fact that three-fourths of the Blood Incantation lineup is also in Spectral Voice—the first-ever demo band to crash Decibel’s Top 40 Albums of the Year list back in 2015—while drummer Isaac Faulk performs in the similarly adventurous Prosthetic Records black metal act Wayfarer. Perhaps we shouldn’t be surprised—after all, John Denver prophesied in “Rocky Mountain High” we’d one day see it “rainin’ fire in the sky” over Colorado.

That day, apparently, has come: Starspawn is an exceedingly appropriate title for a record that, with any luck, will burn bright enough to lead death metal to its next altar, its next galaxy, its next triumph. —SHAWN MACOMBER

ALLEGAEON

5

Proponent for Sentience M E TA L B L A D E

Proponent for sentence structure

For those familiar with any of Allegaeon’s other three full-lengths, one can verify the band is no stranger to questionable production choices.

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Sadly, for the “technical melodic death” genre, cheesy keyboard lines and cinematic video game synth-sounds are par for the course. But for the more extreme end of the DM spectrum, the kind of Radio Disney production sparkles that are generously dolloped throughout Proponent for Sentience, may be a boner killer for some. However, hessians who crave speed and blistering guitar craft, look no further—these Coloradan youngsters can assuredly outplay and out-tech the best of the extreme-shred flock.

Tech-death may be Allegaeon’s starting point, but fist-pumping, arena-ready metal seems to be their endgame. Most tunes take the repetitive note-y/scale-y riffs associated with acts like Lamb of God and the Haunted, but plump them up with technical runs and frequent higher BPM counts. Some songs do sound kind of death-y: “All Hail Science” and “From Nothing” come across like Nile-lite with their overtly Arabic-sounding passages, but spread all around this LP are all too many moments that deliver shout-along choruses, corny clean-singing, and symphonic-metal grandiosity. Take “Of Mind and Matrix,” which surely must be the single with its In Flames meets Between the Buried and Me radio-friendly styling.

Oddly enough, the eager-beaver attempt at commercial songwriting doesn’t annoy nearly as much as the frequent canned angelic choral backup voices, the synth strings and all the other ubiquitous studio schmaltziness found running amok here. —SHAWN BOSLER

ASPHYX

8

Incoming Death CENTURY MEDIA

Veni vidi vicious

Has it really been more than four years since Deathhammer? How time flies when you’re being doomed to death. If you weren’t already convinced that Asphyx are consummate masters of their craft, the Dutch quartet submit Incoming Death for your consideration (and obliteration). Actually, “submit” is a pretty shit verb to use when referring to this record. From the opening tension/ annihilation of “Candiru,” Incoming Death commands attention and subliminally overrides your ability to pause or stop playback.

Part of the album’s power lies in its impeccable pacing. Songs have been studiously ordered for the two-sided medium (cassette or vinyl), each side beginning with a jet-propelled charger, then settling into a few less frantic (though no less energetic) tracks and ending with a molasses-packed plod. Asphyx are impressively adept at weaving diverse ideas into whole cloth, anchoring everything firmly within death metal but running the gamut of what that subgenre

allows. Just when you think a riff is headed for obvious repetition, Paul Baayens drags it slightly off-center and scrambles expectations. And in an album characterized by buzzing, banging neck punishment, “The Grand Denial” and “Subterra Incognita” offer the most achingly beautiful doom melodies I’ve heard this year.

Martin van Drunen’s hoarse growl doesn’t match the band’s versatility, and that fact is occasionally distracting and frustrating, though by now his voice is an undeniable fixture in the annals of death metal. But Incoming Death is as strong a record as you’ll hear in 2016, the work of a broadly talented band in a scene lousy with one-trick ponies. —DANIEL LAKE

CEREBRAL FIX

5

Disaster of Reality XTREEM

Smells like pensioner spirit

I remember seeing the Tower of Spite (and the R/C logo on the back) cover in record stores, thinking, “This has to be incredible!” Money borrowed from the piggybank later… Well, there was nothing cerebral about Tower of Spite’s pedestrian fix. R/C, at the time, had issued Deicide’s eponymous debut, Sepultura’s Beneath the Remains, Obituary’s Cause of Death and Exhorder’s Slaughter in the Vatican. The Fix simply weren’t competing at the same level, as musicians or songwriters. That they occasionally were labeled Demolition Hammer’s little British cousin didn’t help matters either.

Now, 24 years later, the Brummies return with Disaster of Reality, the group’s first since the world ended. Certainly, the YouTuber crowd will cite Cerebral Fix as underground heroes and Disaster of Reality as a charming—nay, mandatory—visit to classic U.K. crossover. There’s enough punkstyle barre chords hammered throughout the album to legitimize it as “classic” (meaning: made by old guys) and “crossover” (allusions to thrash abound), but run through its entirety—a stout 36 minutes—Disaster of Reality feels like a retread for nostalgic purposes only. The production’s admittedly thin—very late ’80s. The songs flounder along heard-it-before themes, despite being entirely constructed on the crossover rails of cutting-room-floor Sacrilege and D.R.I. That Cerebral Fix desire and use three guitarists—Gregg Fellows, Tony Warburton, Chris Hatton—is either an inside joke on Janick Gers-era Iron Maiden or the guitarists are restricted to two strings each.

Clearly, Xtreem were excited about Cerebral Fix’s rebound, and evidently the Brits thought they had a banger in the can, but Disaster of Reality is just another loud, forgettable collection of songs two decades late. Maybe three decades. —CHRIS DICK

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CONTROLLED BLEEDING

7

Larva Lumps and Baby Bumps A R T O F FA C T

Welcome, kiddies

Since I took no part in choosing this album for review, I have to imagine that our esteemed editor saw the track titled “The Perks of Being a Perv” and knew that I would make an immediate personal connection. I would ask him to provide evidence for such a vulgar assertion, beyond the fact that, yes, I totally dig this stuff. But not for the reasons you think, dammit.

Larva Lumps is a sublime (if disconcerting) ride through the avant-garde mashup of rock, noise and jazz. While much of the music is strongly guitar driven, Larva Lumps never deigns to employ accessible rock tropes.

Rather, Controlled Bleeding wander through

a diverse, stylized and highly abstract terrain built from alternately abrasive and calming performances, all of which play out in tight, repetitive patterns that seek a trance-state even at its most shrill.

Swans fans may find a lot of common language here, though that’s not to say that CB sound really sound anything like Swans of any era. In its frequent active moments, Larva Lumps is close kin to John Zorn’s recent Simulacrum trio, with its perpetually hot guitar soloing and hard-rocking percussion. On “As Evening Fades,” the album cools off and floats on exotic melodies and synthetic atmospheres. Then there’s “The Perks of Being a Perv,” 23+ minutes of noisy bluster and unrestrained experimental fervor with several distinct movements. It’s an uncompromising statement, and your expectations have no place in founder Paul Lemos’ vision. Accept or be churned under. Which, I guess, makes this pretty damn metal. —DANIEL LAKE

DENY THE CROSS, Alpha Ghoul

8

Lactose tolerant | TA N K C R I M E S

Even if you love Spazz, you probably don’t think of the individual members as, like, instrumental stylists. Chalk up their appeal to a delightful cocktail of ultimate burly fastcore, goofy humor and weirdo samples/ instrumentation mixed up by those three guys. (And if you don’t love them, what’s your problem? Do you not read our Hall of Fame stories? La Revancha is certified.) But listen to 74 : O C T O B E R 2 0 16 : D E C I B E L

the very end of Alpha Ghoul opener “Heart Like Siberia,” the quick, ascending 123! 123! riff that nails the song shut. That is 100 percent a Dan Lactose guitar part, and that’s awesome to hear on a 2016 release.

All these songs are 30 seconds long, so we don’t have time to dick around here: Deny the Cross is Lactose; Dave Witte, so you know the blasts are tight; Witte’s former Black Army

DYSRHYTHMIA

8

The Veil of Control P R O FO U N D LO R E

Dust never sleeps

Dysrhythmia inhabit a pocket universe all their own in the math/progressive metal continuum, one built as much on their command of time as an agent of flow (rather than genre-typical disjunction) as on Kevin Hufnagel and Colin Marston’s capacity for blurring the lines between melody, harmony, dissonance and the spectral voluptuousness that helps make the trio’s seventh album a handy Netflix stand-in for non-traditionalists looking to chill. None of the latter traits are born of pure vacuum: the guitarist and bassist/producer/engineer regularly broach related terrain in the various entities they help populate both singly and together, Gorguts included.

Jacket bandmate Carlos Ramirez on vox; and Ramon Salcido from Agents of Satan on bass. BAJ is the major reference point, especially when they make brief detours from unrestrained grind into NYHC-style riffing; there’s even a sequel to BAJ’s “U68” on here, but probably no one is gonna know what I’m talking about. Vocals are ill, sometimes verging on black metal. MAJOR THEMES: Religion/racist, murderous pigs/ our homophobic culture/the constant anxiety of life = bad; Pushead skulls/thrash metal = very good. IS THERE MITB-STYLE BASS NOODLING TO MAKE THIS A REAL POWERVIOLENCE RECORD Y/N: You fuckin’ know there is (“Daymare,” “Blast Pound Strafe Stab Kill”). —ANTHONY BARTKEWICZ

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What most sets Veil of Control apart from everything they’ve done previously in and out of Dysrhythmia is an instrument Hufnagel has been warming up to for many minutes: the 12-string—in this case, a custom built by Marc Chicoine (also responsible for Luc Lemay’s guitars) that he uses exclusively on the album. Hufnagel keeps his sound fairly crystalline throughout, dialing in just enough sustain on orchestrally chorded passages for Marston and master drummer Jeff Eber to perform spectacular feats of musicianship as integral to the compositions as the guitarist’s enthrallingly alien themes. (Hufnagel future-shreds all over the place, too.)

Hearing Marston tremolo-pick his storied Ibanez six-string with the viciousness of seven ordinary corpse-painted playboys is just part of a bigger payoff: No guitarist/bassist team since Sonny Sharrock and Bill Laswell circa Last Exit have traded roles so often, or with so much power and grace. —ROD SMITH

EERIE

7

Eerie

TEE PEE

A family affair

Have you ever wondered what it would sound like if High on Fire were a baby that grew up being swaddled in the loving arms of its parents, Amebix and Motörhead? Of course you have.

Well, it may sound something like Tee Pee’s latest two-coast-hard-metal-black-rock rebellious teenager, Eerie. Before moving on from the analogy, let’s be clear that Uncle Hellhammer and Aunt Sabbath were around throughout the child’s formative years. And of course there were a few cousins like Dismember and Enslaved, who reluctantly put on their holiday sweaters and showed up for eggnog.

At this point you may be thinking, “Hmmm… Eerie are ripping off a bunch of classic sounds?” No, I tell you! While it would be hard for me to imagine these fellas (hailing from bands including Twilight, Witch and Alaric) aren’t well versed in these aforementioned metal stalwarts, I don’t see the music as derivative whatsoever. Rather, it’s the feel—maybe only a second here or there—that brings me to conjure up that dysfunctional family tree.

At five tracks in just under 40 minutes, this mofo jams proper, and after multiple spins, Eerie’s debut keeps me intrigued throughout. Shane Baker’s vocals sound, when not simply sincere, truly tortured. And the guitar leaves nothing to be desired as quality riffage gives way to echo-soaked solos, 7 6 : O C T O B E R 2 0 16 : D E C I B E L

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A decade ago, Lost Apparitions Records was conceived as a Luray, VA-based portal designed to offer all sorts of obscurities, classics and local offerings from genres across the board to those folks who can never have enough little-known and hard-to-find items in their listening rotations.

Their catalog is impressive, as is the ability of head honcho Stan “The Henshman” Hensh to root through the metal underground and uncover shining jewels. —KEVIN STEWART-PANKO

CONCLAVE

Sins of the Elders Featuring ex-members of Warhorse and Grief, Massachusetts’ Conclave has their sludgy doom regularly approach brown note territory, after which they’ll openly and heartily laugh at your pant-load predicament before heading back to the head-hanging gloom and depressive, rubber mallet riffing. The true sin of our elders was thinking guitar tones couldn’t get heavier.

EXTERMINANCE The Loss

These Maryland ragers have a history dating back to 1990 and truth be told, sonically, it’s as if The Loss was recorded and mastered using a Pro Tools plug-in called “Slowly We Rot.” Throw in references to both classic Earache death metal and Unique Leader’s new school calamity and Lucifer’s your uncle.

which sound as if Tony Iommi had snorted all of the coke during the Vol. 4 sessions. Of course, this maelstrom is equal parts agitated and pulled together by the storm and urge of the rhythm section. Even though the drums are a bit distracting in the mix, I’m confident this small note may very well be discussed at the next turkey carving as Grampa Killing Joke rocks in a chair by the fire. —GREGG GETHERALL

BESTIAL EVIL

Infectious Cross Somewhere in the subterranean Maryland bunker where this band practices lies a makeshift shrine to Erik Rutan. A few candles, a photo (likely a Frank White classic) and some high-end Italian food share space with discography highlights like Dreaming with the Dead, Domination and Fury and Flames. If they ever score the opportunity to record at Mana, their world would implode!

SADISTIC VISION III

Another band with deep roots. These Pennsylvania OG’s emerged at the tail end of thrash’s original late ’80s/early ’90s popularity and relevance.

These days, they sound like they spent the time between their mid-’90s breakup and 2013 reformation studying Obituary and Possessed, which is probably what they were doing in 1989, anyway. The more things change and all that jibber-jabber.

EVOKED

7

Lifeless Allurement G O F U C K YO U R S E L F P R O D U CT I O N S

Death, that endless fount of inspiration

With Lifeless Allurement, Evoked have made delivering a solid OSDM record look simple. While their twice-pressed 2014 demo tape, Return of the

TOUCHÉ AMORÉ

STAGE FOUR

AVAILABLE NOW

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the

Conqueror Manifesto Reap the reissues with a three-disc crash course in Angelcorpse

ANGELCORPSE,

8

Hammer of Gods • Exterminate • The Inexorable

Dead, made such a task look a little too simple, this six-song 12-inch EP shows the band coming into their chosen sound. I say “their chosen sound” and not “their own sound” because, for all its verve, Evoked are far from unique. Except that this German duo’s schtick sounds to be “late ’80s death-thrash recorded at Sunlight Studios.” Simon Wind’s (herein called “Bonesaw”) vocals howl and crack like a young Martin van Drunen, but their reverb-soaked delivery is deceptively Swedeath. Same with his riffs. While they’re totally inspired enough you’ll forget you’ve heard them a thousand times already—starting with early Death—they incongruously sound like they were recorded at the bottom of an oubliette.

Opener “Mangled, Torn & Eaten” starts the 20-minute affair with some proper deathly thrashing; solid bass work fills in the hollow roar of the guitars; Artilleratör’s drumming is perfect, doing precisely what he ought to do and not one iota more. Same goes for Bonesaw’s solos. It’s not about crushing your feeble mind with his fretboard explorations. There’s a solo in every song, it would seem, because those delayed banshee screams add to the atmosphere of the recording. It’s easy to see Lifeless Allurement as hackneyed or redundant, especially if you’re a jaded hermit, but Evoked rip through these five songs with a contagious enthusiasm that’s difficult to resist. So, why bother trying?

—DUTCH PEARCE

OSMOSE PRODUCTIONS

W

hile seemingly less dire, from a collector’s vantage, than last year’s no-frills, i.e. no bonus tracks, remastered vinyl reissues of Hammer of Gods, Exterminate and The Inexorable, these recently released CD versions of said unholy trinity may prove to be the more pragmatic purchase for the authentic metal listener. What with all the (albeit anecdotal) complaints of copious popping and even some skipping plaguing the vinyl versions—indeed, while some of today’s waxheads want that authentic fire but can’t tolerate the smoke, we can all agree that, even still, vinyl are more fragile and require a more delicate handling—arguably, then, to guarantee the best experience of the unmitigated assault of “Lord of the Funeral Pyre” one must suffer that (let’s face it, minor) audio discrepancy between analog and digital.

Rippers like “Into the Storm of Steel,” and The Inexorable’s opener “Stormgods Unbound” were not built for sedentary listening anyway.

Chances are that you, like me, have never heard the OG pressings of these albums, only uploaded rips. Maybe you’re a diehard taking serious umbrage with my assumption, but

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rest assured, you’re the exception and not the majority here. But the two Morrisound products (’98’s Exterminate and ’99’s The Inexorable) boast a clarity that the first pressings by no means lacked, but show Palubicki’s riffs and Helmkamp’s vocals to be undying things, capable of exploiting the new, remastered clarity even posthumously.

Hammer of Gods, like its first reissue from ’99, features a different panel of the same painting, the ubiquitous Triumph of Death, by Bruegel the Elder. Having moved the focus south-east in direction; from a desolate waste of torment to a mob of panicked future corpses fleeing into bondage to escape instantaneous death at the hands of their skeletal conquerors. Kinda like moving from Missouri to Florida. Whatever reason there was for the slight shift in cover art, it remains a dubious decision. Without having actually seen the CD reissues, I can only hope Osmose hasn’t snubbed The Inexorable’s original Pentagno like they did with the vinyl version.

Aesthetic issues aside, these three reissues are essential listening if not mandatory purchases for anyone proclaiming a love for underground extreme metal. —DUTCH PEARCE

EXIMPERITUSER- 7 QETHHZEBIBŠIPTUGAKKATHŠULWELIARZAXUŁUM

Prajecyrujucy sinhuliarnaje wypramienwannie Daktryny Absaliutnaha j Usiopahłynalnaha Zła skroz šascihrannuju pryzmu Sîn-Ahhi-Eriba na hipierpawierchniu zadyjakalnaha kauceha zasnawalnikau...

A M P U TAT E D V I E N

Fucking with word counts since 2009

And if you think this Minsk band’s moniker and debut album title is insane, you haven’t seen the insanity of its eight song titles, let alone the lyric sheet. Apparently, the word salad employed by Eximperitus (how their moniker is commonly abbreviated) is an archaic form of Belarusian the band has utilized since its formation. This tunnel-vision focus makes Eximperitus to Belarusian verbosity as Nile is to Egyptology and whaddya know, they kinda, sorta sound like the South

Carolinian Indiana Jones were they to ease up on the technicality and riffs that take six months to write and learn. Other times, it’s like a garden variety slam band turned in their tear-away track suits, flat-brimmed caps and pinging snare for a stack of Hate Eternal and Portal albums. Hey, Albert, how much space do I have left? Enough to tip a hat to the squelching “Where the Slime Live” crawl of the first song? Can I squeeze in a nod to the dynamics created by their Pantera-like practice of occasionally omitting rhythm guitars during lead runs? Cultural gimmick aside, this is decent, so expect to see a few death-heads sporting their shirts and walking around with that drippy, over-the-top logo splayed across their chests like a giant, 51-letter cumshot. —KEVIN STEWART-PANKO

GUS MCARTHUR

8

Chapter 1: Hysterics from the Book of Gus SELF-RELEASED

You Will Never Be One of Gus

There’s a good chance you’ve never heard the 1985 debut record by Faith No More. Unreleased on CD until 1995 (and never before released in America), the title track is the only thing that made it to the far more wellknown Introduce Yourself. While assorted tracks from We Care a Lot have resurfaced over the years, this is the whole thing wrapped up with remixes, live cuts and demos. And, to be perfectly honest, it’s OK. Former frontman Chuck Mosley’s influence aside, the later live versions of these songs with Mike Patton show that Mosley’s blunt punk-rap stylings too often smothered the band’s hooks. “Mark Bowen,” arguably one of FNM’s strongest songs ever, loses its power with a frontman who sounds like he’s struggling to hit the requisite notes. The same can be said for the potential of “New Beginnings,” which is kneecapped by atonal warbling.

Conversely, he can’t save a song like “Arabian Disco” which is a thin foundation built for someone who can actually belt it out.

Not that there aren’t flashes of brilliance and the schematics of the band’s pioneering genre-meld. It’s just that set against their other albums, this too often sounds slight; ambitious musicians working out the kinks.

In other words, this is an absolute treasure for the Faith No More faithful, and is a great addition to their collection. But We Care a Lot doesn’t satisfy much more than a passing curiosity of what a great band sounded like before they got really good.

Gus McArthur makes weird music: The first song on Chapter 1: Hysterics goes from “Nothing Else Matters” melodic despair to stopstart lockstep riffing and back again like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like it was something people do. Which, generally, they don’t any more: The era of the celestial jukebox finds bands, especially metal bands, tending to stay in their lane. Gus McArthur swerves all over the road; the first time I played this album I laughed out loud twice before the first song was over.

But the great oddball metal bands of yore made records like this—Cirith Ungol, Toxik, Confessor. Bands people either loved or hated without a lot of room in between, bands that often made you laugh before they got their hooks into you. Your mileage may vary, but when I listen to golden-age metal, it’s those weird ones that stand out now. They hold my attention longer because they’re harder to parse. I can clock the pitches on any given Bay Area thrash record, but Annihilator’s curveballs will get me every time.

So, this is retro stuff, make no mistake: solos, riffs, a governing thrashy bark. But just when you think you’ve pinned it down, the singer breaks out into a guileless croon, and the band goes for a full-on militarymarch slow part, and the whole thing melts together into a Queensrÿchian dystopianism that’s immensely satisfying for as long as it lasts, which is only a minute, because now it’s time for the speed-metal Bridge 2 part of the song. What’s more, Gus McArthur serves all this up with a total absence of winking self-awareness or “did you see what I did?” cues, and it’s this quality above all that makes the record such a winner. The connecting thread among all the major and minor metal bands of old was that they were passionate about the music they were making: They believed it expressed something you couldn’t find in other music. It’s what made those bands unique, and what made their imitators weak. Chapter 1: Hysterics may not be a timeless classic, but I don’t expect to hear another record in 2016 that sounds even a little like it, which is the main thing I’ve been asking of metal for most of my life: be different. Be special. Stand out.

—SHANE MEHLING

—JOHN DARNIELLE

FAITH NO MORE

6

We Care a Lot KOOLARROW

We care… somewhat

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HELEN MONEY

8

Become Zero THRILL JOCKEY

You had me at cello

How truly metal can one be on cello? If you’re Apocalyptica, you answer by growing waist-length hair, employing effects pedals to make the cello sound like a guitar, and pose and whip your hair ostentatiously while performing mainstream-friendly music. If you’re Alison Chesley, on the other hand, you can tap into the more experimental, foreboding side of underground metal, not care one iota about the image, and instead focus on creating music that is powerful, harrowing and liberating.

Three years ago cellist Chesley, who has made a name for herself as Helen Money, joined forces with underground stalwart Profound Lore and the great Steve Albini to create Arriving Angels, an album that ingeniously blurred the line between experimental metal and neoclassical music. Now she has returned with Become Zero, and while the producer is different (Will Thomas) and she’s on a new label (the equally reputable Thrill Jockey), it continues in very much the same direction as the last album, albeit with enough moments that signal even more progression from the gifted composer and musician.

Once again partnered with Neurosis/Sleep drummer Jason Roeder and pianist Rachel Grimes, Money not only creates sounds that are searing, soothing, and devastating, but Become Zero follows a distinct arc that, while not bearing a single lyric, mirrors that of classic storytelling: exposition, rising action, climax, falling action and denouement. Whether it’s a sense of loss, sorrow, peace or resolution, it’s all rendered vividly by the trio. And like the best metal music, leaves an immediate, indelible impression.

—ADRIEN BEGRAND

IN THE WOODS… 8 Pure

DEBEMUR MORTI

Not-so-strange in stereo

When Norwegians In the Woods… officially disbanded in 2000, the world of progressive music wept a little. Since then, members of In the Woods… have passed (R.I.P. Oddvar Moi) and gone into metal exile (Jan Kenneth Transeth).

But sometime along the group’s 16-year recording hiatus, the band—chiefly the Botteri brothers and drummer Anders Kobro—decided the mysteries of Norwegian wood had been 8 0 : O C T O B E R 2 0 16 : D E C I B E L

---by Shane Mehling ----

In which we assess the damage done on this month’s filthiest vinyl AGALLOCH Pale Folklore 12-inch, The Mantle 12-inch, Ashes Against the Grain 12-inch [ T H E

END]

Now that Agalloch has broken up, I’m not sure where you all are on praising or burying them, but it’s no secret this magazine has loved about everything they did since their 1999 debut, Pale Folklore. And that, along with Hall of Fame album The Mantle and third release Ashes Against the Grain, has been given the double LP reissue treatment. The latter two have been remastered by Colin Marston as well, and I’m not sure really what else to say; the kind of black/ doom/neofolk/prog-metal that courses through these records may sometimes swerve into pretension or snowy woodland self-parody, but they’re important records to own, and this is the coolest way to own them.

THE INFAMOUS GEHENNA/BLEACH EVERYTHING

“Heavy Metal Suicide” 7-inch [ M A G I C

BULLET]

Jesus fuck, Gehenna has been around for 22 years now? Keep in mind this is the blackened-core band from America who have been filled with blistering hate for longer than many of you have been alive. Here are two more unyielding tracks from them and three from Bleach Everything, the Iron Reagan/Suppression side project that serves out minute-long doses of hardcore bile that are as quick and effective as a prison shanking.

CROWHURST II 12-inch [ B R O K E N

LIMBS]

This combination black metal and noise trio mixes both worlds in nearly perfect fashion. Gothic and industrial elements are weaved into songs that don’t always seem fully structured. Instead they’re more like sad, brooding, hideous pieces from a film score. There are some genuine rock band moments that don’t really do it for me, but usually the band is fascinating, building hazy layers of melancholy and spite. This is for anyone searching for something a little more thoughtful in their black metal, or satanic in their noise.

SEA OF SHIT "2nd EP" 7-inch [ N E R V E A LTA R ] First off, I give this album credit because it starts with both feedback and a bunch of sci-fi sounds that feels like you’re journeying through space before the Sea of Shit grindcore asteroid crashes into you. These seven tracks are powerviolence mixed with some crusted dirges mixed with vocals that sound like the guy is gonna pass out any second. And the packaging is simple, punk rock and slick as hell.

PANZERBASTARD “MotörHeathen” 7-inch [ P ATA C ] These are “The bastard sons of Motörhead, Venom and Cro-Mags” and yeah, that’s what they sound like. Is it any good? Shit, I don’t know. I guess. If you’re like, “I wish there was a band in 2016 that still sounded like Motörhead and/ or Venom and/or Cro-Mags” then I imagine you’ll be stoked. At the very least I can’t imagine you’d be disappointed.

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long too silent. With Transeth in, well, Transit, Kobro landed English vocalist James Fogarty (Ewigkeit, the Meads of Asphodel, Jaldaboath) to fill the frontman slot. Together, with Fogarty, the Kristiansand-based quartet set off re-kindling, re-discovering and plotting new In the Woods… trajectories.

The result is Pure, easily the group’s most accessible album since HEart of the Ages decimated black metal’s then-strict sonic and aesthetic doctrines over two decades ago. At once, Pure returns In the Woods… to metaldom. “Cult of Shining Stars,” the album’s first single, recalls the epic “Yearning the Seeds of a New Dimension” with Fogarty’s distant yet triumphantly sad vocals finely replacing Jan Kenneth Transeth’s forlorn caws. It’s genuine In the Woods… material—though decidedly more direct—but the best part is the mid-point jam, which feels somewhere between the Gathering’s debut Always… effort and Mental Home’s obscure, but godly Vale full-length. But, as with previous In the Woods… albums, Pure isn’t totally linear. Or metal. Tracks like “Blue Oceans Rise (Like a War),” “The Recalcitrant Protagonist,” “Transmission KRS” and star-gazing closer “Mystery of the Constellations” pull in the strangeness of Strange in Stereo and exhale out the sweeping vastness of Omnio without feeling like In the Woods… in 2016 aren’t what they were in late ’90s. Make no mistake, Pure isn’t the follow-up to Strange in Stereo. It’s something else altogether. —CHRIS DICK

MAKE

8

Pilgrimage of Loathing ACCIDENT PRONE

Give thanks to quality doom

Doom is easy. You pick a few chords, play them really slow for like 18 minutes and you’re done.

But good, interesting doom is exceptionally hard considering how many people have been scraping the resin of its best qualities for years now. North Carolinians Make, though, show that there are still are still a few good tokes to be had with Pilgrimage of Loathing.

The standout here are the vocals. I’m not sure how many frontpersons there are, but they do it all—the high screech, the mic-crackling desperate yell, the guttural growls and even bonafide singing. Each one standalone is great, but every time the styles are pushed together it’s a highlight on the record. And the band’s amalgam of doom, metalgaze and noise rock allows them to completely change direction into faster territory—even finishing off with black 8 2 : O C T O B E R 2 0 16 : D E C I B E L

metal—without sounding like a different band.

True, there are moments where the band lays back a little too much with the quiet jams.

For example, I can’t be the only one who felt that the meandering instrumental halfway through the record was an absolute waste of the song title “Two Hawks Fucking.” But these are just a few exceptions that bolster how often the band remains compelling.

I’m not sure why Make would seemingly spend so much time on their music and so little time on their band name, but hopefully the latter doesn’t hobble their success. Pilgrimage of Loathing is doom for people sick of doom.

and wrestling with power/speed metal tropes.

At the same time, parts from “The Descent” and “The Siren’s Call” had me chuckling in the same way watching old Diamond Head and Budgie videos do. In that sense, Jewel of the Nile is probably best experienced with one’s critic’s hat off after a trip to Settle Down City. —KEVIN STEWART-PANKO

—SHANE MEHLING

“What you’re feeling is the loneliness of God.” Bummer intro, dudes. And Polar Similar kind of stays that way throughout. It’s a slog—an occasionally compelling slog, mind you—through an abusive relationship experienced by longtime Norma Jean frontman Cory Brandan.

Taken as a whole, Polar is a diverse record that captures a real darkness at times... and tends to drag in others. Oddly, the song outros are where the band truly coalesces—the last few aggressive seconds of “Forever Hurtling Towards Andromeda” and “An Ocean of War” find NJ at its most powerful.

Elsewhere, it’s hard to tell what the band was hoping to accomplish. A corny western instrumental like “III. The Nebula” (seemingly destined for a please-never-make Young Guns III) mixes with aggressive bursts like “Synthetic Sun” and proggy 11-minute thought pieces like “IV. The Nexus” without settling on a rhythm.

Confusing. And none more so than during “Reaction,” a strange mid-record moment when you suddenly realize, in a record devoid of hooks, Norma Jean just wrote a possible active rock mega smash. Watch your backs, Disturbed. (Not a compliment.)

Look, when you’ve been around for almost 20 years and had an almost equal number of lineup changes, it might be hard to find your groove. So, props to Norma Jean for testing the creative waters and diving into a tough subject area. Next time, hopefully, they’ll find a little stronger footing. —KIRK MILLER

NECROMANCING THE STONE

7

Jewel of the Vile M E TA L B L A D E

Romancing the funny bone

Did you see what they did there? Metalling up one of Hollywood’s worst attempts (though the box office might disagree) at the combination of action/adventure and comedy, and its sequel?

Not off to a good start, fellas. But it is to be expected as Necromancing the Stone, featuring members of Arsis, the Black Dahlia Murder, the Absence and Brimstone Coven, isn’t a full-time pursuit. So, let’s give them some leeway to have a good time. And remaining on the topic of that which is smile-inducing, take a listen to vocalist John Williams’—insert film-related remark here. It’s not that he doesn’t have a competent voice, it’s just unusual sounding; like if 3 Inches of Blood’s Cam Pipes joined a heliumsucking, Scandinavian aristocracy. It can sometimes be difficult to discern if the nomenclature wise-assery has been transposed to vocal lines in “Rotted Reunion” and “Crusher,” both capable displays of glistening and high-energy power/trad metal, but songs that border on soft-shell metallic parody.

Hold up a sec. Upon review of the above, it appears I’m coming across as unintentionally negative while unjustifiably putting this band on par with the Green Jellys and Onkel Toms of the world. Am I having trouble deciphering where the skirting of the serious-funny divide stops? Maybe. Given the principles involved, there’s no surprise the direction is classic and hair metal roughed up by melodic death metal, which is absolutely and inherently less than furrow-browed.

Riffs from “Honor Thy Prophet” and “Bleed for the Night” were probably destined for an Arsis album and you can hear the youth gone wild—literally and figuratively—tackling

NORMA JEAN

6

Polar Similar S O L I D S TAT E

Mired works

OPETH

6

Sorceress NUCLEAR BLAST E N T E R TA I N M E N T

Spell it out

Like Rush a generation or so before them, Opeth has always been a band that speaks best to the converted and

the completist. There is no doubt that they have created albums of staggering beauty and heft, far more than most will write in lifetimes. But, like any gifted musician, Mikael Åkerfeldt decided around Heritage that Opeth was best served by playing jazz and progressive music as opposed to metal. How, then, to tackle the band’s 12th album, Sorceress, when you aren’t a completist or enamored with their recent creative direction?

One thing you can’t question is the band’s chops or sophistication. The musicianship on Sorceress—much like the last Opeth album, Pale Communion—is virtuoso level. Åkerfeldt said he wanted to incorporate even more new sounds as honor the music he’s been exploring recently. And explore he does: There are nods to Italian Giallo soundtracks, quaint music, classic rock and something that sounded an awful like the feudal music in Excalibur to my ears. In the end, though, Sorceress can’t help but feel a bit twee and inconsequential—a set of perfect organs lacking a beating heart.

Opeth sounded their best when staggering talent met purpose and conviction. On Sorceress, that purpose seems to be to showcase inspirations gleaned from the lonely section of a record store.

That a label would attach a nearly 2,000word release trying to explain the record tells the uninitiated everything they need to know about Sorceress. The release is peppered with references to records that most people have never heard, and will likely never hear.

It’s a great intellectual exercise—and the mind behind it is unquestionably brilliant— but it’s starting to feel a bit like a one-sided conversation. —JUSTIN M. NORTON

RUSSIAN CIRCLES

7

Guidance

SARGENT HOUSE

Post-rock sherpas

The promise of instrumental post-rock was huge in the late ’90s and early 2000s. Mogwai and Godspeed You! Black Emperor could traverse epic vistas of the ear without singing a single word. Finally, musical meaning was liberated from vocals—music itself could carry the emotion.

Somewhere along the way, though, instrumental post-rock became a ghetto for bands with no songwriting skills, trying to convince us that structure wasn’t important, as long as your pedal board was big enough. Dial in a soupy guitar tone, bump up your crescendo-per-song ratio, and you’ve got everything you need to induce tears of rapture at your sitting-room-only shows.

On their sixth album, Guidance, Chicago’s Russian Circles remind us why they’re one of the few heavy post-rock bands that are still worth hearing. The approach here isn’t dramatically different from their past records, but the band’s disciplined songwriting— always a point of difference—are even tauter. On “Mota,” Mike Sullivan stretches his guitar ostinato over six minutes of tension and release, without a moment wasted on empty drama; “Calla” develops from chiming 6/8 to a crunchy sludge riff, fully developed and fully deserved.

Russian Circles also have one of the subgenre’s great rhythm sections going for it. Drummer Dave Turncrantz and bassist Brian Cook claw away at “Afrika,” turning an otherwise trad post-rock song into one of the album’s best tracks. They also know when a song needs space to bloom, as on the cosmic spaghetti western finale, “Lisboa.”

Need post-rock “guidance,” oh ye instrumetal aspirants? Look to Russian Circles.

With chops as subtly inventive as their songwriting, they’re close to the platonic ideal of this stuff. —ETAN ROSENBLOOM

SANZU

8

Heavy Over the Home LISTENABLE

Home is where the heavy is

It’s not the notes you play. It’s the notes you don’t play.

Probably a bastardized quote from Miles Davis (and/or Lisa Simpson). He was talking jazz: He could have been talking metal.

Sanzu, an aggressively smart metal band from Perth, Australia, has mastered the art of not playing more than they need. Sure, everything on Heavy Over the Home—a collection of songs from two Aussie-only releases configured into the group’s U.S. debut— assaults the senses. It’s a heady mix of prog, thrash and death, powered by an unusually melodic growl from Zac Andrews that gives the songs here a memorable spin beyond white noise.

But a track like “Phenomena” truly works because of what it doesn’t do. It doesn’t overwhelm, it’s not everything’s going up to 11, and, beyond the fantastic groove, the song actively creates and works with space.

There’s room to breathe during the song’s savage tempo.

Elsewhere, it’s the outliers that shine: “Those Who Sleep in the East” features an almost sea chanty vocal before morphing D E C I B E L : O C T O B E R 2 0 16 : 8 3

into a thrash onslaught, “Awaken” feels like an atmospheric Jesu outtake, and the eightminute “Variant Red” builds up to a harrowing 20-second scream that’s probably gonna give me night terrors.

In (creating) space, they can hear you scream. —KIRK MILLER

SINSANEUM

8

Echoes of the Tortured P E C C AT U M / E A R M U S I C

Dragonforce, Mayhem, Slipknot, Loudblast, Dååth & Seth walk into a bar…

...might sound like the beginning of a particularly bad joke and we can imagine most of you hoping the result be an untenable comedic situation instead of an actual musical meeting of the minds. Well, hold on to your keyboards and internet connections, kids, Sinsaneum is indeed a band featuring members from the above. And just when you thought there was no way to sour the cred pot any further, you’ll be tickled to know the sextet is playing blackened death metal almost exclusively written

by Dragonforce bassist Fréd Leclercq over the course of a decade.

No matter how deafening the “false” alarms are sounding off at the moment, everyone involved is definitely a versatile and talented pro, and Sinsaneum delivers in those regards with an immaculately polished and produced product. Likely due to Leclercq’s experience with a band that composes sickeningly infectious riffs, a hummable quality is weaved throughout the riffs and melodies, even during the near-sludgy churn in “Gods of Hell,” or when co-vocalist Attila Csihar is unleashing horrifying bellows on “Army of Chaos.” The majority of the rest mixes Morbid Angel, Behemoth and small four thrash (i.e. Exodus, Testament, Overkill, Kreator) with harmonic smatterings of latter-day Emperor. Leclercq has penned some top-notch death metal braided around blackened melodies while balancing the chaos of contributions from different backgrounds. It makes for a broader, more compelling and (dare we say) pleasing listen.

That almost every track has its own intro ups the playing time by at least 25 percent and detracts from the assaultive property of the material, but otherwise Echoes of the Tortured is a quality retort to the doubt brought about by its cool/un-cool mix of participants.

—KEVIN STEWART-PANKO 8 4 : O C T O B E R 2 0 16 : D E C I B E L

TRAP THEM, Crown Feral

8

What’s in a portmanteau? | P R O S T H E T I C

Noisy, grinding hardcore band Trap Them’s five full-lengths all have two things in common: They all have great names and each one has improved on its predecessor. Crown Feral is the least immediately satisfying album name yet (I still find myself muttering the title of their first, Sleepwell Deconstructor, to myself while walking down the road all these years later, even though I seriously have no idea what it means), but it's their most musically accomplished. But don't worry: That's not code for “it's not actually fun to listen to.” Just the opposite.

Opening dirge “Kindred Dirt” sets a noisy, sludgy tone (revisited later in the powerful “Twitching in the Auras”) that's pounded away by the manic, grinding hardcore of “Hellionaires,” which features huge,

SODOM

7

Decision Day SPV/STEAMHAMMER

Gimme back my bullet-belts

Decision Day is Sodom’s 15th studio album since forming in 1981, and much like the rest of the German thrashers’ 21st-century oeuvre, it provides evidence to support the theory that longevity in this game can be both a formidable antagonist and an awkward ally. In the ’80s, Sodom

Convergian riffs for miles and a killer d-beat to glory-ride on (Nails fans will eat this stuff up). These are all done to perfection but are familiar enough Trap Them tropes; what's really ear-catching on Crown Feral are moments like “Prodigala”'s main riff, which spirals and circles and almost shows some sensitivity before the sounds come crashing back into the reds (courtesy of yet another absolutely killer Kurt Ballou production job), or the simple, old-school punk sounds of “Revival Spines.”

All these flourishes help set the songs apart, long this band's biggest problem, and also show that they're able to stretch out just a little bit and bring in new, welcome elements. And after “Phantom Air” closes off this concise, 31-minute album with a chilling, serpentine sludge riff, I’m left in a daze, wandering down the road muttering the name of this album, instead of the debut, to myself. Mission accomplished. —GREG PRATT

helped define thrash with canonical works like Obsessed by Cruelty, Persecution Mania and Agent Orange. Then, songs were composed with an instinctual vigor and dispensed with untutored ferocity. Without fail, they hit the target, claiming for Sodom a long-reaching and enduring influence upon the wider extreme-metal scene. Now consider their place in the here and now; a veteran band with plenty sap in the tree, managing a situation where the refinement of their musicianship and songwriting applies a gentle brake

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to songs that might’ve been better served by a more reckless hand. This calls for a different set of expectations.

Decision Day exhibits little of bassist, vocalist and sole original member Tom “Angelripper” Such’s appetite for chaos, but Sodom’s game is evidently still strong, as the record finds its groove with Wagnerian grandeur and magisterial foreboding. Decision Day works best when pocketed in mid-tempo chug-andthreat, like “Strange Lost World,” which has a huge hook and a rockin’ vibe redolent of W.A.S.P. at their most metal, or Satyricon at their least black metal—pretty much eclipsing both—or at its most dynamic moments, like “Rolling Thunder,” with its chorus riff reminiscent of Entombed’s “Out of Hand.”

Plus, there’s a song called “Vaginal Born Evil.” Be it at a gig or on the morning commute, who wouldn’t relish shouting that aloud? —JONATHAN HORSLEY

tive, they're as apt an expression of catharsis as one could want. They also provide excellent juxtaposition with the frailty of the melodic vocals found on "Benediction," which serve to illustrate the sort of childish desperation that can be dredged up via the exercise of mourning.

Stage Four may ultimately be viewed as comparable to works such as Zen Arcade or In the Aeroplane Over the Sea; that is, a post-who-thefuck-cares masterstroke that settles into the fiber of one’s bones after only a couple of listens. How Touché Amoré pivot from this point and whether they decisively cut the hardcore apron-strings is an interesting consideration but has no bearing on the greatness of this work. Stage Four is a woebegone but otherwise unqualified success. —FORREST PITTS

USURPRESS

7

The Regal Tribe AGONIA

TOUCHÉ AMORÉ

9

Stage Four E P I TA P H

Stage four: implying that the cancer has spread from the original tumor site

Touché Amoré have always struck an unusual chord, amalgamating motifs adopted from both hardcore (Faith, Dag Nasty), and the more erudite enclaves housed within the post-rock cannon. Their appeal has tended to rely upon vocalist Jeremy Bolm's bluntly confessional lyrics, with his bandmates offering a sonic curtain dense enough to afford shelter from their stark, oftentimes unsettling intimacy.

For Stage Four, their highly anticipated Epitaph debut, the band chooses a path that's less assertively riff driven, in effect withdrawing that curtain to allow Bolm the breathing room to dictate his sorrows regarding the recent death of his mother.

That the entire album is dedicated to the subject affords Bolm the wherewithal to obsessively comb over every detail, assigning significance to the most anodyne of happenstances and punishing himself for imagined indiscretions. It also magnifies the aforementioned quality of intimacy to a nigh-confrontational level with no diversions proffered by the band.

Though the hardcore vocal treatments will strike some as at odds with Stage Four's narra8 6 : O C T O B E R 2 0 16 : D E C I B E L

Time to look beyond death

As surreal as it is hearing Stefan Pettersson growl: “And now we’ve come to realize death is not so beautiful at all… not so glorious at all” over a doomy death metal riff, the best moments on Usurpress’ third album, The Regal Tribe, are, ironically, those that stray from the pure aggression of death metal. When the Swedish quintet foray into the outer reaches of their palette, as on the little prog jam in the middle of opener “Beneath the Starless Skies,” or tracks like the synthdriven “The Halls of Extinction,” the gossamerstrewn instrumental “On a Bed of Straw,” that seem at their most inspired.

It’s not simply that the crunchy Swedish assault that comprises the bulk of The Regal Tribe very greatly pales in comparison to those times when Usurpress are thinking outside-the-coffin.

But if the ratio were inverted, if this were largely a tranquil record with outbursts of death metal, it would frankly be more interesting. Yet nothing so drastic as all that needs to happen; nor is The Regal Tribe a failure. In fact, it’s one of the more refreshing records I’ve heard this year.

Call it a natural progression, call it pussyfooting toward the inevitable. I wish they’d just go for it already. Incorporate more of that pensive introspection into their brand of crusty death metal, rather than compartmentalizing those sensibilities. Besides, counting an authority such as bassist Daniel Ekeroth (who literally wrote the book on Swedish death metal) among their ranks doesn’t mean they must play death metal. —DUTCH PEARCE

VANHELGD

8

Temple of Phobos DARK DESCENT

Cower power

Vanhelgd might get billed as a death metal band, but Temple of Phobos could more precisely be called anti-life metal. Not that we’re here to nitpick about genre—most of us can agree that they’re labels of convenience that often miss the point—but saying “death metal” conjures levels of brutality and sonic violence that just are not present through most of this Swedish quartet’s fourth full-length monstrosity. Sure, the title track introduces some recognizably deathy riffing, but most of the album roils in a much more atmospheric space where the virtues of righteous living are (presumably) condemned as fatuous, and the acceptance of the Great Death is celebrated. Vanhelgd are not here to raise you to a higher plane of reality, but they might drag you through several of existence’s lower layers.

Initially, the pacing can be off-putting.

The blackened, middling tempos of opener “Lamentations of the Mortals” and “Rebellion of the Iniquitous” are more pedestrian than exciting, but something happens as “Den klentrognes klagan” dawns: Crystalline female chanting gleam beneath those abyssal growls, and a bit of (synthetic?) brass lights up the guitars’ masterful dirge. Somehow, these minor accents crack open the almost ceremonial code of the album and cast rays of accessibility into its heart. “Gravens lovsång” twists a kinetic lead into robe-shrouded doom with gorgeous clean melodies. The remainder of the album continues to flow downhill (in attitude, not quality), until the hidden track at the end quickens the pulse and fully embraces black metal’s anti-vitality. This Temple’s a total grower. —DANIEL LAKE

WARFATHER

7

The Grey Eminence GREY HAZE

Slay at home dads

Steve Tucker is beyond the point of having anything to prove to the metal community.

David Vincent devotee or not, Tucker owned the role of Morbid Angel frontman like he was born into it. No mean feat given his predecessor's magnetism and then-overarching popularity within the scene. That same

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indelible swagger buoys Tucker's current outfit, Warfather, who exude the kind of sure-footed gravitas one generally associates with scene veterans.

Despite their pedigree, the Warfather debut initially surprised due to its lack of resemblance to Tucker's former band.

Rather, it more closely resembled the worldweary bludgeon of Akercocke with a healthy dram of jazzy, late-period Pestilence thrown in for good measure.

If the addition of yet another Morbid Angel alum (Erik Rutan produces) to the Warfather formula leads you to presume that sophomore LP The Grey Eminence is more Fatal to the Flesh, think again. Though they've sloughed off the Akercocke overtones, Warfather seem to have retreated further into Pestilence's back catalog, landing somewhere between Consuming Impulse and Testimony of the Ancients. (There's a fair amount of pre-Obscura Gorguts on display here as well.) This immediately grants ...Eminence a satisfying, quasi-classic feel. Sadly, the warm-fuzzies ebb a good deal on repeated spins as the distracting hail of "name that influence" leaves one feeling that the album's less a paragon of death metal than it is a paragon of indebted metal.

I remain an admirer of Steve Tucker and wholeheartedly endorse his talent, passion and charisma. Unfortunately, Warfather is currently too entangled within the orbit of its own influences, rendering it less the star that it could be and more of a mere satellite.

—FOREST PITTS

THE WOUNDED KINGS

6

Visions in Bone S P I N E FA R M / CANDLELIGHT

Derision of Boners

There are a lot of good things to say about the Wounded Kings’ fifth LP, Visions in Bone, and despite not being thrilled with the album as a whole, I’d feel remiss not mentioning them. These blokes certainly have patience, which is on full display as they make their way through the dense forest of equilibrium. And the sound succeeds at times, even taking a somewhat washy cymbal sound and using it more as a vortex of despair than as an unwanted artifact of sound engineering. At points, the vocals near a gut-punch. George Birch often sounds like Jim Kerr from Simple Minds mixed with 8 8 : O C T O B E R 2 0 16 : D E C I B E L

Dave Wyndorf out of his gourd on secobarbital. By the way, that is a compliment! Birch may even unknowingly channel the Lizard King at moments.

So, wherein lies the rub? Well, after multiple spins I have experienced a lot of sameness.

This, in and of itself, is not always a problem.

Surely bands like Earth, and any hooded jokers can bludgeon via drone as they lift one to the heavens. However, the crushing Britdoom here doesn’t have that part going for it, either. This type of music benefits from more overt dynamics, and while the Kings furnish some cool build-ups, they never quite get to a climax. This album has left me blue-balled time and again.

However, there is something attractive about Visions in Bone, otherwise I would not have returned in hopes of cracking into those nuances, which may finally push me over the orgasmic edge. Good thing I had some other listening materials to fall back on or I may still be walking funny.

—GREGG GETHERALL

WREKMEISTER HARMONIES

8

Light Falls

THRILL JOCKEY

Heavy rises

As someone who’s listened to metal for nigh on two decades, I have no idea how to approach music that displays actual emotional complexity. I basically expect some dude to literally scream “I’M ANGRY” over raging guitars and clanging drums. Wrekmeister Harmonies require actual engagement with their canny mix of post-rock, avant-garde classical and doom.

Fortunately, they make you want to put in the effort.

Well, by “they” I mean “main dude JR Robinson, multi-instrumentalist Esther Shaw and about 1/3rd of Godspeed You! Black Emperor,” down from the collective of 30 musicians who performed on last year’s absolutely devastating Night of Your Ascension.

Accordingly, Light Falls feels like a much more intimate affair. The first song, “Light Falls I – the Mantra,” comes close to neo-folk in its minimalism before Part II (“The Light Burns Us All”) scours everything in fire but in, like, a quiet way. Violins creep over beds of feedback, whispered entreaties battle with measured guitar strikes. The more melancholic direction fits right in with the monolithic

glacial drift of their previous work. It’s just a different way to express the negative emotion that drives Robinson’s work.

While Wrekmeister share a lot—in terms of worldview and sonic tricks—with more funereal doom bands, they approach their exploration of the nooks and crannies of human despair with far more nuance. Instead of bludgeoning with a single, overwhelming wave of misery, Light Falls drags the listener through a long, slow journey that allows them to really appreciate the fine, grim details.

—JEFF TREPPEL

WRETCH

8

Wretch

BAD OMEN

A master’s return

American metal is better off when Karl Simon is making music. The rise of his band, the Gates of Slumber, from unknown Indiana band to critics’ darling, helped bring classic, melodic heavy metal back into the consciousness of extreme scenesters over the last decade, with such superb albums as 2008’s Conqueror and 2011’s The Wretch endearing the band to many.

After all, who could resist the pull of Simon’s Sabbath-meets-Vitus riffing and his stately, near-psychedelic melodies?

All things come to an end, sadly, but the demise of Gates was especially tragic: Bassist Jason McCash died a year after the band split up, and Simon decided that the Gates of Slumber would be forever laid to rest with McCash. His musical career, however, is far from over, and Simon is back with a new trio named Wretch, and just as Conqueror brought a breath of fresh air to underground metal, the new project marks the return of a master of the form whose musical output was dearly missed over the past several years.

If there’s one aspect that separates Wretch from the Gates of Slumber, it’s the grittiness of the new project. The music still swings like classic 1970s Black Sabbath, but the riffs lean more toward the street-level grime of Saint Vitus, with a little ’70s Judas Priest aggression thrown in. Urgency, psychedelia, theatricality and contemplation find common ground, all brought forth by Simon’s expressive guitar work and impassioned singing. It’s the kind of doom and gloom that leaves you buoyant and empowered, music bursting with vitality.

—ADRIEN BEGRAND

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Fragile Existence Cataclysms and Beginnings

To my knowledge, metal has never fawned over the automobile the same way rock, blues and country’s “Mercury Blues” has been getting crazy ’bout a Mercury since 1948. And no, Primal Fear’s “Formula One” and the “The Mechanix” don’t count in the slightest. I still care less about cars than just about anything else, but that’s not going to stop “The Boner” from comparing bands to gas guzzlers. —KEVIN STEWART-PANKO

Fragile Existence’s flow between death metal’s subgenres (i.e. brutal, death ’n’ roll, groove, old school) while edging toward the creation of their own left-hand path with a track like “Four Walls of Emptiness” is akin to the milquetoast Pontiac you see around town covered in band logo bumper stickers: a little bit of everything covers a standard issue base to create something that’ll pique the interest of passers-by. www.fragileexistence.ca

Khazaddum In Dwarven Halls A death metal band that’s based its totality around Tolkien means that my listening to them is equal to the many times I’ve lifted the hood of my broken down car and confusedly stared at the engine, not knowing what I was looking for or at. But it’s pretty good if you like Nile, Morbid Angel, Magic and musty bookstores. Play “Thorin Oakenshield” for your cosplaying girlfriend and get lucky like you’ve never got lucky before! khazaddumband.bandcamp.com

The Mountain Man Bloodlust Atala Shaman’s Path of the Serpent California’s Atala sound like they’re jamming in a ’70s shaggin’ wagon, complete with air-brushed fantasy scene on the side, random panties hanging from the rearview and the smell of skunk embedded in the carpeting. Look for these duuudes and their van to host their own heavy metal parking lot… at a YOB show. www.atalarock.com

Engraved Darkness Diabolical Scriptures Being that this Dayton, OH, quartet is the most black metal band of this month’s crop of hopefuls, the comparison will be with the newer model Dodge Viper, a car that should only ever be made available in said color. The Viper’s safety record kinda sucks, so it’s ironically appropriate that Engraved Darkness is pretty good at death metal too! www.facebook.com/EngravedDarkness

Enslaved by Apathy Demo If sweep picking and extraneous guitar noodling were electricity, these Atlantans would be the electric car of the deathcore/death metal world. Just as you can’t power a Chevy Volt or Tesla Model S without a power source, Enslaved by Apathy would be nowhere without its guitarists busting out those crazy moves. www.facebook.com/EnslavedbyApathy666

Exhortation Oracle of Bones A quick guess tells me Cleburne, TX is quite a-ways away from Canada. Too bad the Toyota Matrix isn’t available in the Lone Star state, or any other state for that matter, as the Canadian-only car is described as “sturdy, reliable, but not flashy,” just like the double-dutching thrash these youngsters purvey. The Matrix can last for years with limited maintenance. Exhortation has the material, let’s hope they have similar longevity. www.exhortationband.com

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Ever watch those commercials where F-150s and Silverados are driven through inhospitable terrain and think to yourself, “Who would drop a small fortune on a vehicle for which they have no practical use then drive it across a rope bridge, along a canyon’s precipice and over a minefield?” I’ll tell you who, the fucking Mountain Man! Because they play like Mastodon and Gojira tag-team wrestling Bigfoot and Sasquatch at the only appropriate venue: the bed of a full-size pickup. mountainmanmetal.bandcamp.com

Patent Demo This Montréal trio don’t evoke a specific car model as much they do a multi-vehicle pileup of open-wheel racers in a hailstorm. Imagine John Zorn and Scott Hull staying in for the night to pound energy drinks and watch Cronenberg’s Crash until the idea of aluminum baseball bat jousting is brought up. www.facebook.com/patentmtl

Sludgehammer The Fallen Sun Sludgehammer is hardly sludge-y or very hammer-y, tending more toward a rough-shod Revocation-meetsMastodon-meets-Pantera instead of anything involving Graves at Sea, Thou or others more suitable to their moniker. It’s like when you hear about vehicles called Mustangs, Cobras or Avalanches and realize they’re just another means of getting from point A to point B. sludgehammermusic.bandcamp.com

Suppressive Fire Bedlam I’d never heard of the Koenigsegg Agera R before today, but it’s apparently the fastest production car on the planet available to the public. Raleigh’s Suppressive Fire is the fastest band on this page, but instead of excessively revving up their punk and Teutonic/Bay Area thrash influences, they included some kick-ass half-time skank riffs and mosh parts. Because no one can drive 273 mph all the time. www.facebook.com/suppressivefire

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“It sounds like doom crawling towards you, scratching away at your flesh and soul. It’s crazy good stuff.” –Nerdist

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MATT OLIVO’S

Peavey 6505 Piranha Micro Head is Jaw-Droopingly Awesome This month we unbox Peavey’s latest standout competitor in the oversaturated (pun intended) mini amp game.

The aptly named 6505 Piranha Micro Head—because of its diminutive size and powerful bite—truly lives up to being a member of Peavey’s esteemed 6505 family. The patriarch being Peavey’s face-removing flagship 6505 120-watt amp series. This is the sound heard on countless metal albums and seen on stages from Milwaukee to Middle Earth.

In between is the 6505 MH, a dual channel mini head that packs all the goodness of big daddy in a lower wattage, lower cost bundle. Last but not least is the scrappy little brother with an attitude problem, Piranha. Swim on over, if you dare to learn more!

UNDER THE HOOD

By design, the Piranha’s DNA carries with it the tonal characteristics of its family. All of the thrash, chunk, darkness and rage is handed down and distilled into a single channel, dual mode, 20-watt head (4 OHMS). The minimalist controls include gain, EQ and volume; a push button on the front panel provides a crunch/lead gain staging. The EQ control is a sweepable mid-range sweet spot that takes you from a narrow “Notch” to a wide or “Full” expansion of middle tones. The signal path is accentuated with the aforementioned single 12AX7 preamp tube, and the output section is solid state. There’s also handy Phones and Aux In inputs on the front panel—perfect for discreetly practicing your deedly-deedlys. On the back there’s a buffered Effects Loop and Speaker Output (4 OHMS max). The Effects Loop Send can also be used as a preamp output for driving a larger amp or direct recording. Also included is a rugged, padded nylon carrying case.

SOUND

Using a universal scale reference, the Piranha’s size is roughly three cans of beer lying down, side-by-side. Its all black, die cast metal shell is smartly trimmed with a silver honeycombed grating above the controls that provides a choice view of the Piranha’s single 12AX7 preamp tube bathed in an eerie, red LED glow. The control section consists of three chicken head knobs with silver backplates. The namesake company logo and a cool Piranha graphic adorn the top, and frontfacing silver logo graphics bookend the unit.

Our signal path was essentially Piranha wearing some big boy pants. We used our Randall, USAmade, RC 4x12 loaded with Celestion Greenbacks paired with a rare, lawsuit-edition ESP Eclipse I equipped with Seymour Duncan pups. With the no-bull control design, setup time was minimal and we were up and running with the Crunch channel with a tasteful 6 o’clock gain level. The NWOBHM/Classic Rock tone was nicely captured here with discernible tube harmonics and dynamics. This is the gain level that you “work” with your picking and fingering to get your tone, and the labor is rewarded with a pleasing, reciprocal response from the amp. A flip of the mode switch to “Lead” with a gain increase, and we’re in the metal city limits proper. This is where the 6505 lineage shines through. With all the gain dimed, you can achieve a harmonically rich, satisfying, toothy crunch, bark, thrash and shred. In this mode we discovered that the EQ control can significantly contribute to accurately dialing in more genre-specific tonal idiosyncrasies. The overall tube tone and response is palpable—and when cranked up, this Piranha thinks it’s a shark!

Matt Olivo is the founding guitarist of

SUMMARY

extreme metal trailblazers Repulsion, whose Horrified LP ranks as Decibel’s #1 grindcore album of all time.

Don’t let the size fool you! The features, price point and flexibility of the Peavey 6505 Piranha translates to a great value.

LOOK

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UNDERTONES

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NÜROSIS SCOTT KELLY (VOCALIST/GUITARIST): We were fresh off Times of Grace and really feeling inspired in our creativity. The tour opened up so many new ideas for us in our music. It was like anything was possible.

STEVE VON TILL (VOCALIST/GUITARIST): Literally anything.

BRANDON EGGLESTON (NOTED ENGINEER AND FAN):

I was pretty into that band at the time. And a few years before I’d been pretty into the Deftones. I will still defend some of the music people shit on from that era. But I think I speak for everybody who’d liked either kind of music that the world did not need a Neurosis nü-metal album.

KELLY: I had a bunch of business cards—people had been bugging us since the Pantera tour. “You could be so huge. Think about kids in the flyover states— how are they going to get access to your music?” All the shit. But it gets to you after a while.

VON TILL: The deal with Relapse allowed us to make records with Neurot—it was worded pretty openly because we hadn’t expected anybody else to make any offers we cared about. We had somebody look at it and thought we were technically free to do whatever. As it turned out, that was not the case, but we had to follow our vision.

DAVE EDWARDSON (BASSIST): I guess Interscope hadn’t gotten the memo that the days of the big budgets were out, or that everybody was wise to fake indies or whatever. But they cut us a huge check, and then when the record came out the insignia on the label said “Relaps.” Same font and everything, just no E. 9 6 : O C T O B E R 2 0 16 : D E C I B E L

MATTHEW F. JACOBSON (PRESIDENT/FOUNDER,

They settled, I’m not allowed to tell you for how much. I drive a ’68 Barracuda that looks like it just came off the production line, if that tells you anything.

JASON ROEDER (DRUMMER): Whatever Neurosis decides to do, I’m part of that process. We are a family. Scott and Steve shared their idea with me at a soundcheck in Pittsburgh and I said, why not? A lot of these bands are really making music that speaks to people, so why not try to speak in that language, see what opens up? I bought and studied albums by Drowning Pool, Staind… a whole lot of bands.

Crazy Town. Alien Ant Farm. Kept my mind open. I will say that the Alien Ant Farm stuff is a pretty difficult pill to swallow. ANThology is over an hour long.

STEVE ALBINI (ENGINEER): This style of music had name-specific producers who were good at it, big names you couldn’t even talk to without an intermediary. Several of them became quite wealthy during that era. I suggested to the band that a “just the head” approach benefits no-one, and gave them a few names, but they were set on having me record it. I drew the line at the turntables, though. Happy to record them; not going to play them.

TIM MIDGETT (BASSIST/VOCALIST, SILKWORM): We were recording in B and they said Steve wasn’t willing to play the turntables but they needed a fresh pair of ears. I was paid $500 for the work.

I don’t stand by the work, but I stand by getting paid to do it, let’s be serious here.

RELAPSE RECORDS):

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EGGLESTON: [sings] The pain! The pain of being insaaaaane! Wick-wick-wick! [laughs] Yeah, that song sucked.

ALBINI: No session is more or less excruciating than another, no, not unless the people are assholes, and Neurosis are not assholes. I enjoyed the session, and the album gives a fair representation of who they were as a band at that time. Having said that, objectively speaking, it’s terrible music. Just appalling. Worse than dying. I’m pretty sure the guys agree with me about this.

MIDGETT: [sings] Open wiiiide / for suiciiide! [laughs] Yeah, I have to say, I was familiar with their earlier work, and that chorus, all the minor harmonies and that growl, I don’t think there’s a human being alive who wouldn’t laugh at that. Laugh for several minutes without interruption. [sings] Be my guiiiiide / low octane suiciiiiide! Wick wick wick!

VON TILL: [makes turntable-scratching motion with right hand] Wick wick wick! Yeah, I don’t know. I stand by our decision to explore our creativity.

KELLY: It builds character to play to smaller crowds.

ROEDER: I do not myself listen to the album often.

ALBINI: There was talk at Kuma’s Corner about dropping them from the menu after the album came out. Or renaming the burger Whole$ale Dizasster Enterprize, after the album itself. I always try to pronounce it with the z’s intact. Gives it that extra little something.

EDWARDSON: “Relaps.” Really tells you all you need to know.

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