Smoke Mountain are blood — two brothers and a sister-in-law bound by family and fuzz. With The Rider, they’ve not just leveled up — they’ve dropped a slab of doom so heavy it warps time. This is their masterpiece.
Opener “Hell or Paradise” lurches to life with a slow, pounding crawl — the kind of riff that feels like it’s been unearthed from the crypts of Sabbath. The air gets thick fast, and Sarah Pitts’ smoky, soul-scorching vocals cut through the haze like a ritual chant. Shades of Layne Staley flicker through her delivery, especially on “Bringer of Doom” and the haunting “The Way to Heaven,” adding eerie depth and raw, emotional weight.
The riffs? Monolithic. Guitars churn with filthy fuzz and molten groove. The bass doesn’t just rumble — it grinds. And the drums? Like thunder rolling over a desert wasteland. It’s all drenched in vintage doom worship — think Pentagram, Witchfinder General, but filtered through a modern lens of Windhand and Lucifer.
“Demon” digs in with swampy swagger, oozing menace and melody. Then the title track kicks down the door — “The Rider” brings the gallop, throwing a jolt of speed and aggression into the haze without ever losing that hypnotic, head-nodding gravity.
Following up Queen of Sin, this record sharpens every edge. The riffs hit harder. The grooves run deeper. And there’s a psychedelic shimmer just under the surface — like desert heat rippling off asphalt. The Rider isn’t just heavier. It’s smarter. Tighter. Wilder.
This is stoner doom done right — thick, dirty, and straight from the gut. A hidden gem, sure, but not for long. Smoke Mountain aren’t just riding the wave. They are the wave.
No filler. No compromise. Just riffs, smoke, and soul.
-Helge Neumann
Comments