Torn by the Fox of the
Crescent Moon. Opens in medias res-ishly with unusually-straightforward
(for Earth) metal riff (an awesome one) occasionally punctuated by sitar-like
guitars draped over it, then some thirds and/or minor thirds wafting across the
sound field, barely noticed, not unlike irony in the south, or the sweet smell
of the little sugar in a proper Earl Grey. Heavier than their last two records
(three, really; it's the Kill Bill dilemma: is it one movie in two parts, or
two movies? One, I think, so by that rationale, I'm talking about Earth's last
two records, The Bees Made Honey in the
Lion’s Skull, and Angels of Darkness,
Demons of Light. Got that? Sure you do; you're a smart kid), and a bit more
rhythmic, in that there's a bit less rubato and the whole liquid, gooey sonic
mess is more coagulated, hangs together more tightly, and in that, comes off as
even heavier, even more ominous. It's nine minutes, nearly, but you don't
notice: the mark of good writing/composing. Last twenty seconds it lumbers
downward, knees failing the sonic behemoth, the aural leviathan, and the
clangor and clamor of the percussive pandemonium roiling downward into dust
from which it shall be indistinguishable, like a detonated building, the roof
suddenly so much nearer sea level....
No idea about that title, though.
There is a Serpent
Coming. Sounds more like the previous records, though vocals enter after
about a minute; reinforces Earth's similarity to a sick, Crimean cholera
hospital blues preacher (just imagine it: Jesus, do I have to conjure all the
imagery here?)-- his choir's behind him, lapsteel to feedback singers, all
fading into this, their slow inexorable death from the dysentery-spewing
disease....
Or maybe radiation poisoning. Yeah, that simile works
better. Radiation poisoning. Their gray-blue skin mottled with dehydration and
cellular Armageddon, smiling from the morphine. Fading.... Out.
From the Zodiacal
Light. Also with the singing; the female singer works a bit better here;
overall, not as good as the instrumental tracks. Grows on you, especially the
"swelling" vocal styles, which seem like the sonic equivalent of
molten gold in a lava lamp, swimming up into pitch so slowly you doubt it's
gonna happen, but every four bars, always does. Something like waiting for
every sunrise with the tiny, tiny chance that the great burning ball in the sky
won't make it up in time. Title? As is the norm with Earth, they almost all
sound like they're intentionally oblique/cryptic, like nearly everything
Pandoran psychos say out in the Borderlands. This one's twelve minutes, but
around the eight-minute mark, you do notice the length. By twelve minutes you
wish it was as succinct as Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner. The song.
Even Hell has its
Heroes. Now that's a title. That's a title. That's what I'm talking about.
That title is fresh, funky, fly, the bomb, bootylicious and dope. No diggity.
Seriously, no diggity. Sounds almost like acoustic Sunn 0))) --no surprise
considering their bassist-- one chord; don't even need to call it a
"tonic" since there aren't other tones, okay there are, but they're
pretty frickin' rare. I'm going for colorful exaggeration here, people. If I
said, "Mostly in E, but drops to D for a second, then goes back to
E," your eyes would prolly glaze over. Amirite? Also, occasionally hits a
F. Also nearly ten minutes, but it's a fun ten. It's a fun ten.
Rooks Across the Gates.
Opens with alien wind chimes. You half expect a green, radioactive Mr. Burns to
show up and wish you love. Then, without warning, an absolute Goddamn flurry of
third chords flitting about each other, sometimes seemingly not in tune, yet
somehow working, the dramatic tension making the final resolve more satisfying,
like the click into place of a seatbelt, or the slide on an automatic. Like a
kaleidoscope that ever so rarely becomes one color, then back, to all the
varieties in light, competing for space/ dancing. Also with the singing of devils, deals, loss,
regret, nostalgia, twilight sojourns. Of just kingdoms long dead from
treachery.
Of barbarians in the distance, and barbarians... at the
gate.
The entire song is the last note of lesser songs-- just
ringing out, fading, across nine minutes instead of the thirty seconds you
might expect.
I'm writing this at work; the setting is encouraging me to
be more prolix. More loquacious. Verbose, even. I'm also trying to look annoyed
--so I look busy-- as I enjoy the afterlife damnation out of this record.
Badgers Bane. No
apostrophe. A morose, down-tuned pop band's requiem. That they play, not one
written for them. Aaron Copeland's requiem mass written on laudanum.
- Horn
Link to Earth's Bandcamp Page: http://earthsl.bandcamp.com/album/primitive-and-deadly
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