Mar 102025
 

(written by Islander)

It often happens that we, like everyone else, find our first exposure to an album in a single song provided in advance of the album release, even when we later find ourselves premiering the entire record. That is what happened here in the case of Fust, the apocalyptic fourth album by the sludge/doom band Nomadic Rituals from Northern Ireland that will soon be released by our friends at Cursed Monk Records.

One of their early singles from the album was “Change“. It greeted our ears with clobbering beats and demonic snarls, with vicious sizzling tones and shrill demented decibels. The song’s mangling low-frequencies lurch like some enormous primeval beast; the vocals scream and bay at the moon; the beats crack and tumble.

The music also pounds like a sledgehammer and seems to moan in agony, and the beasts come out in the doubled vocals too. It might have ended there, but doesn’t: the drums vividly clatter; the guitars go off like sirens; the low end brutally gouges with gruesome claws; the voices scream bloody murder.

As a welcome sign placed before listeners, “Change” was very fucking intense, an experience in rage and ruin, like a welcome sign made of skull and crossbones. How indicative was it of the album as a whole? You’re about to find out. Continue reading »

Jan 182025
 

(written by Islander)

I’m going to a memorial service today for a friend who died of brain cancer. First time I’ve been in a church since the last church funeral I attended, which was pre-covid. During covid I attended two memorial services via zoom, one for my best friend, the other for my most important mentor, both of them killed by the same disease that then kept their friends and family from remembering them in a shared physical space.

The arc of life being what it is, the longer you survive, the more chances you’ll have to show up for those who succumbed before you have. I really don’t want to go to today’s service, or any of them. Who does? But at some point in the distant past I learned from what other people did when I lost family members I loved: I learned the importance to the survivors of showing up, of being present, even if you don’t utter a word. Most of the words you might utter would sound so clichéd anyway that they’d risk coming off as phony even if they aren’t.

I make this dreary report only to explain why I’m late in posting this Saturday roundup and why it’s shorter than I wish it were. My head has been clouded by sorrow and dread since waking up, remembering the last times I sat with my friend when he could no longer speak and now daunted by the prospect of what’s coming later today. All that slowed me way down, though the music I did manage to investigate blew away those clouds, even if only temporarily, and even if sometimes they replaced them with other clouds. Continue reading »