I have been a fan of Clutch for going on 20 years, for almost as long as the band have been around, but they had always been a group I would say I “really like.” I might even use the word “love” but in that hyperbolic way where I probably do not truly mean it. In other words Clutch albums did not resonate deeply with me nor rank among my favorites of any given year, despite the fact that they are often praiseworthy.

Earth Rocker is different. One thing truly remarkable about Clutch is that since their inception in 1990 the band have contained the same four members: Dan Maines (bass), Jean-Paul Gaster (drums), Tim Sult (guitar) and of course frontman Neil Fallon (vocals/guitar/keyboard). How many bands can you name that have NEVER lost an original member in 23 years? Some powerful force binds these gentlemen and here that force has them sounding incredibly potent and vital, quite possibly more vital than ever before.

For one thing I do not think I have ever realized how good of a drummer Gaster is. The production likely has plenty to do with it but his percussive backdrop is crisp, punchy and utterly flawless at all times. The title track showcases that better than any other but the blazing assault of “Crucial Velocity” is no slouch, and the rolls and cymbal clangs of “The Wolf Man Kindly Requests...” add great character.

The core of what makes this album so appealing though is how stripped down and mean it sounds. Clutch have always been a no-frills band but their honest heavy rock also has a fair amount of quirkiness to it whereas Earth Rocker often goes back to the roots of rock itself. “D.C. Sound Attack!” pours on the blues with a harmonica-ridden intro and stays in that vein through its entirety. About two minutes from the end, after Fallon bangs away on a cowbell for a little charming and genuine Americana, Sult’s guitar licks stand out as fundamentally bluesy and downright vicious. “Unto the Breach,” while lyrically being about Doctor Who (there’s that quirkiness I mentioned), is absolutely furious, driving and relentless. The guitar oozes with grime, all leather and sunglasses and Harleys roaring down the highway. It is very George Thorogood in an iconic way. For a fat dose of pure blues, however, you need not look beyond the amazing “Gone Cold.” Sometimes Clutch go off their own beaten trail but never before like they do it here. Fallon’s voice is low, more speaking than singing the verses, with a quiet desperation and a sincerity that melds perfectly into the acoustic blues/country/folk vibe of the track. Placed in the middle of the album it works brilliantly to add diversity and color to the record as a whole. “Cyborg Bette” is another wonder of blues- drenched rock and motherfucking roll, with explosive chops that have the band channeling AC/DC. “The Face” was not a track that stood out in early listens but over time it became one of my favorites. I have never referred to Clutch as “epic” before but here the term most certainly applies. There is something deeply meaningful in this song, something passionate that gives me chills, and Fallon sounds at the top of his game. There are actually several tracks where his voice achieves new levels of furor and interest, another way in which this album shakes off any cobwebs the band may have accumulated over the years.

Earth Rocker gels on a level that makes Clutch sound new and fresh, yet sublimely tight and integrated, moving effortlessly as a cohesive unit. It also advances them from the echelons of good to truly great.

“Wishing and hoping is getting me nothing...”

These first seven words of Goatess might well have been used to describe the plight of the stoner rock fan over the last ten or so years. Oh sure, there have been some impressive releases but the likes of Shallow, Lowrider, Astroqueen, early Natas and a few others have never really been seen since the late ‘90s/early ‘00s, leaving a longing for a truly satisfying slab of fuzz.

Enter Goatess. Fronted by Christian Linderson, a.k.a. Chritus, who brings some serious pedigree with stints in Lord Vicar, Count Raven and even Saint Vitus, these otherwise newcomers have some instant credibility. Even if they had not, their music would have earned that anyway. The magic of this release is that it’s a stoner record and a doom record and manages to expertly do both at the same time. The overall vibe is that of classic doom and the first three tracks stick to the formula reasonably well. “Know Your Animal” spends the first couple minutes in a lazy groove before flooding the speakers with monstrous fuzzy riffs, “Alpha Omega” is a blues-based beast of grinding power, and “Ripe” intersperses trudging riffmongery with fast and rocking sections. But only when you arrive at “Full Moon at Noon” does the glorious hybrid nature of this band become fully evident. Again playing heavily against a blues base, the rhythm rocks with wild abandon, flailing with irresistible groove. At its midsection, however, it unveils swirling psychedelic riffs straight out of seminal Astroqueen or Truckfighters material. From there it locks into total stoner bliss, smothering the eardrums in heaps of beautifully distorted crunch and haze through to the end of track. It sounds totally familiar but oh so very, very good. Quintessential stoner. Should any naysayers find this more contemporary approach less palatable, they should surely be silenced by the colossal two-part “Oracle.” Part 1 is moody, almost acoustic in style, both dark and dreamy. Part 2 is pure doom gold. Iconic riffs flatten all in their path, stomping in a slow tempo that raises the horns to Black Sabbath. Epic doom.

Speaking of Sabbath, comparisons between Chritus and Ozzy are inevitable given the vocal style here. The phrase “never say die” in “Know Your Animal” doesn’t help matters either. But while such thoughts are expected, Lindgren never comes off as derivative nor a copycat. In fact it’s one of those things you even stop noticing after repeated listens. “King One” and “Tentacles of Zen” round out the disc in fine doomy fashion, the former a shuddering behemoth of electrifying intensity, the latter also delivering a sludgy attack but decorated with harmonically fuzzy flourishes before diverging into sultry Middle Eastern melodies. For the finale it returns to thunderous bottom-heavy riffs and one last guitar echo that could wash against the shores of infinity.

Goatess is both classic and modern and sounds refreshing precisely because of that. It is the first album in the stoner doom genre that has thoroughly delighted me in a long time. Maybe “wishing and hoping” eventually pan out after all.

For a time three of the four original members of seminal desert rock band Kyuss reunited and performed under the moniker Kyuss Lives! What ensued was a bitter legal dispute brought on by the one remaining member, Josh Homme, who was later joined by one-time Kyuss bassist Scott Reeder in alleging that the name Kyuss could not be used without their involvement. Vocalist John Garcia and drummer Brant Bjork lost the battle and thus Vista Chino were born.

In retrospect I now see this outcome as a blessing and Vista Chino’s resolution to put the past behind them and move forward is written all over this album. Hell, it’s right there in the title: Peace; as in, we’re at peace now and content to do our own thing. More than that, the lyrics are riddled with what can easily be interpreted as references to the legal fight. That’s all subjective of course but there are also too many of them to be ignored. From “Dargona Dragona:”

     I know what you are
     I know it so bad
     It took your whole life to know

But then:

     If there is one thing
     One thing to know
     Know that I love you and Just know this, know this

From “Sweet Remain:”

     And they lost their souls
     When they lost their ways
     And we fought to the bone,
     But the sweet will remain

From “Planets 1 & 2:”

     Erase this pain of treasons
     Behaviors of the clones
     Deny the urge to hate
     Control and isolate
     The war is finally over...
     It’s over

Although there is the occasional vehemence, the tone is overwhelmingly positive as if to say “Yes we are angry but we forgive you and we will always cherish the good times.”

All that exposition and philosophy aside, Peace is a red-hot smoking slab of stoner rock goodness. Bruno Fevery can never replicate Josh’s classic guitar tone but he comes close and he can most certainly play a mean guitar. Brant Bjork is an understated percussive maestro, his shuffling beats sounding easygoing but also crackling with sharp discipline. And John Garcia sounds older but plenty potent and deeply soulful.

This album is one that gets better and reveals more with every listen. “Dargona Dragona” was the first “single” in a sense, the track that was first made available in advance of the album. At first I thought it satisfying enough but rather simple. Simple it may be, but a deliciously grinding groove machine is most definitely is. “Planets 1 & 2” is an intriguing journey that actually features Brant Bjork handling vocals for the first half. It kicks off with beautifully fuzzy harmony, then rocks hard with an old school aesthetic in line with “Green Machine” from Blues for the Red Sun. As Garcia resumes vocals for the second half, the track grows fatter, much fatter, with a chunky, blown- out low end and glorious Kyuss-like guitar wailing. But the best example of a grower becoming a favorite is the sprawling finale “The Gambling Moose.” An intoxicating dose of blues-drenched rock and roll, the guitar peals so feverishly as to nearly be speaking, and Garcia’s cries are equally feverish and impassioned.

And then there are tracks that were instant love affairs. “Adara” has a vaguely Soundgarden-like opening before moving into a groovy Middle Eastern melody line. The chorus rocks like hell, slamming through short and jagged guitar riffs while Garcia croons fantastically. “Barcelonian” is smooth and has a deep ache about it, similar to “Catamaran,” one of my all-time favorite Kyuss songs. “Acidize” has a wicked edge, its dirty sun-baked distortion a pure delight.

The greatest joy of this album may simply be that it is NOT Kyuss. Yes there are shades and flavors and nods here and there to that iconic sound but Vista Chino are unquestionably new and different. They are their own band. Peace proves what we all probably should have known to begin with: new name or old name, these veteran rockers are the masters of the genre and they effortlessly reduce all pretenders and imitators to nothing but dust in the desert wind.

I missed the early boat on New Hampshire’s Vattnet Viskar, discovering them through their self-titled 2012 EP only when it landed on someone’s Best of 2012 list. One particular track on that EP blew me away and left me desperate for more. How timely, then, that 2013 should bring their debut full-length.

Vattnet Viskar are this year’s Ash Borer in a sense -- tight, professional, with a keen and deadly edge to their sound and style. Nothing is rough or sloppy here. No muddy analog production for effect (not that there’s anything wrong with that). Just skilled, precise black metal that cuts right to the bone and gives praise to the Earth and all natural forces. But where Ash Borer are cold, oh so cold, there is a lot of warmth in the Vattnet Viskar sound. Whether in the gentle interlude of “Breath of the Almighty,” the graceful “Ascend,” or the closing acoustic moments of “Apex,” Sky Swallower often soothes as well as it seethes.

Make no mistake, though -- there are numerous moments of blackened bliss to be found. “New Alchemy” has a take-no-prisoners approach as it opens the album with grinding ferocity and sets the stage for what is to follow. Other highlights are the dazzling guitar melody early on in “Breath of the Almighty” or the furious breakdown near the end of “Fog of Apathy.” “Breath of the Almighty” is a truly stellar track throughout, actually, a monster of epic scale and fiery pagan ardor. “Apex” too is wholly monumental, its intro particularly radiant, ablaze with the immensity of all the cosmos distilled into a musical essence.

It is becoming redundant to say it but the band’s style aligns most closely with the Cascadian grandeur of early Skagos and Wolves in the Throne Room; redundant because more and more bands seem to warrant such a comparison. Being a rabid fan of the style I am certainly not complaining, but one does have to wonder about a possible tipping point where a sub-genre begins to lose its integrity and starts spawning pale imitators. Vattnet Viskar, thankfully, are anything but.

There is an odd phenomenon around Deafheaven that makes them beloved by a wide assortment of people: real black metal fans, ironic hipster black metal fans, alternative fans, flat-out weird music fans, and so on. I am not entirely sure why this is as they are not wholly unique in their melding of shoegaze/alternative/emo with scathing black metal but they seem to have captured a good deal of attention. That is not to say it is undeserved, for certainly 2011’s Roads to Judah was a black metal masterpiece. Sunbather is more of a grower, and veers farther away from black metal while often being even more intense.

As before, the song titles alone are pretty unblackened but the opening of “Dream House” isn’t, exploding into warp speed almost instantly. Yet atop this blackened base are poured a ton of glittering, upbeat major chords. This album brings the emo/hardcore element much more to the forefront, sounding rather like a black metal Underoath. Still, one would be unwise to doubt the chops of these speed freaks as their mastery over fast yet accurate playing could lock horns with the best. George Clarke’s vocals are also no joke, a relentless offensive of acid and bile.

After ripping it up for five or so minutes “Dream House” becomes, well, rather dreamy. It’s sort of a happy song really, but in a hazy way in which it is easy to become lost. “Irresistible” is precisely that, despite being an instrumental ditty that again errs on the side of happy. Yet there is also a deep and lovely melancholy about it. Though simplistic it is quite enchanting. After these first two songs the title track sounds darker yet it too becomes lighter in tone as it goes on. When around the five-minute mark it does a quick stop/start, then pours on furious menace with alarming intensity it is a totally godlike moment.

One aspect of the album of which I am less fond are the ambient/sampled sections. The first half of “Please Remember” is a shifting mass of sound that comes to a machine-like feedback-ridden head before finishing out as more traditionally acoustic, and “Windows” is a bit of a distraction by being a wash of low electronics and slow piano mixed with snippets of a preacher and then what seems like a benign street conversation. Thankfully these “songs” are surrounded by black metal powerhouses “Vertigo” and “The Pecan Tree.” The former is not just the longest track on the album but the most straight-up black metal, mostly lacking the emo frills of others. It strikes hardest in a moment of total blackened ecstasy with stunning melodies set against a crazy time signature that feels arrhythmic but is utterly enveloping. The latter is a storming, thrashing beast from the first second, flailing savagely and unrepentantly almost as if it knows it is the finale and is intent on leaving a mark. It mellows considerably in its second half but like earlier tracks delivers an intoxicating style that is both upbeat and dreary. In that way you can almost compare it to The Cure.

Sunbather has a lot of diversity to offer an open-minded music fan. From leanings to alternative, shoegaze, hardcore, new wave and even brief flirtations with surf rock, it also attacks with merciless and bloodthirsty rage when it wishes. All in all proof positive that American black metal continues to be vibrant and adaptable.

The arena often referred to as “post-hardcore” was intensely vibrant about ten years ago when Isis and Cult of Luna were neck and neck while Neurosis, their progenitor, were putting out the best album of their career. Though inevitable imitators have come along, Isis have fallen into relative obscurity through lack of substantial material and Neurosis are doing their own thing as always, refusing to be pigeonholed.

Cult of Luna, though always formidable, are now the unquestionable kings of the pack. They were fairly prolific for a time with a new album every two years or so yet we have been forced to wait a whole five years for this one. Turns out it is worth the wait. Vertikal represents a bit of a shift for the band toward somewhat “tamer” material -- but only in the way a ravenous tiger is tamer than a slightly more ravenous tiger. After the spacey intro of “The One,” “I: The Weapon” immediately rushes in with surging power and throbs with chunky bass and groaning keyboards, but in its final moments becomes almost wistful, sounding like Red Sparowes as it echoes into a melancholy dusk. “Disharmonia” goes the opposite direction, gentle if ominous at first and shimmering with melodies that echo and tantalize, then dropping the hammer of harsh, bellowing vocals and thudding riffery before subsiding again.

CoL are one of those bands that seem to contain an excessive number of members. Presently there are no fewer than EIGHT of them -- hell you could split them into two separate bands and they’d still have more members than some groups -- leading one to question: what are they all doing? Well in addition to creating a thick and rich sound with diverse percussion (“I: The Weapon” sounds like it has castanets in it) they make full use of a dedicated keyboardist. Like Neurosis’ Honor Found in Decay there is a whole other dimension to this music due to the keyboard work alone, and in fact it is a core component in making the overall presentation of this album so successful.

“Synchronicity” is a perfect example, with lots of robotic swells, mechanical gurgles and whirring machinery swirling through a miasma of activity until giving way to fat, crushing riffs in the band’s signature style. “Vicarious Redemption” is a staggering 18:45 in length though that never really occurs to you as you are borne upon its heaving gray waves. Its first six minutes are dominated by almost nothing BUT keyboards that create a post-Apocalyptic dronescape of dire portent, and even after other instrumentation and vocals enter, the keys are filling every gap with sound, at times even sounding like coyote howling. Later their warped pulsations are a great segue into a break rich with melodic guitar lines.

For me one of CoL’s defining traits is that on every album they have one moment that is so obscenely heavy that it dwarfs all the heaviness around it. Here “Disharmonia” contains that moment but it is handled differently than before. The closing moments of the track are thick, viscous, moving at a plod and, like most of the album, awash in keyboards. Then suddenly the keys drop away and there are only drums, vocals and deliciously low guitar. The riffs are murky, bubbling up as if through sludge, and that is what gives them their weight. They are not bombastically heavy and yet still manage to convey that awe-inspiring moment of unbridled power.

One minor quibble about this disc is that the digipak version containing the bonus track “The Flow Reversed” actually ends up causing distraction. The bonus song is not at all bad; in fact it is excellent but its placement at the end is flawed. Previous track “Passing Through” would have otherwise been the final track and it’s one of those tracks that was absolutely meant to be a finale. A sparse and achingly lovely song with airy and ethereal vocals, the voice becomes haunting, monastic and disembodied by song’s end. It is an incredibly fitting way to bring this awesome collection of songs to a close and it should be left alone to do that.

Vertikal is a lumbering technological behemoth, its iron-clad footsteps that of some magnificent machine. It runs smoothly, its spots of rust and grime a testament to its longevity and battle scars. The same can easily be said of Cult of Luna themselves. They can have nine, ten or twenty members for all I care. I have little doubt that they would all contribute meaningfully and work in fluid cohesion. After fifteen years in existence their skills are amazingly honed and they have created a work of singular elegance and strength.

I first listened to Soma while driving in my car, a place where I have a customized system heavy on bass due to the addition of a powered subwoofer. I think my first reaction to the opening strains of the album was something in the vein of “Holy shit.” Soma is heavy. Monstrously heavy. Back in 2000 Electric Wizard released Dopethrone which has since stood as the heaviest slab of filthy stoner/sludge/doom ever recorded. Soma doesn’t unseat it, but it is more than fair to say it is its successor.

The guitar tone here is not as dirty and distorted as the ‘Wizard’s but man is it thick. Thick like a sequoia falling on your goddamn head. Massive, suffocating riffs dominate the sound, crunching and resonating with alarming power and depth. They get inside your skull, get inside your chest, burrow into every corner of your body and rattle you from the inside out.

As much as opener “Orchard” stuns with riff destruction on a grand scale, “Woodbine” seems even heavier, pulsating and rippling with a bottom end rivaling tectonic plate shifts. By the time it nears its final minutes it goes even lower, becoming a shuddering beast of awesome and terrifying power. “Feral Bones” contributes to the crushfest but then the band show that they understand the value of switching things up to avoid becoming stale. “Evergreen” is to Soma what “House Carpenter” is to SubRosa’s No Help for the Mighty Ones: a brilliant oasis of quiet beauty in a sea of punishing sludge. Entirely acoustic, with Dorthia Cottrell’s vocals sounding gorgeously lush and airy, this track is absolutely hypnotic, soothing the burn of the merciless attack that came before.

Perhaps for being the track that follows, or simply because it has more than enough amperage in its own right, “Cassock” is a fire-breathing leviathan of pure and magical pain. Mountains rumble and giants tremble at its passing, so heavily does it tread with megaton blasts of atomic riffage.

Windhand’s songs are all lengthy ones but none of them compare to megalithic closer “Boleskine.” Clocking in at 30:30 it takes you on a journey through a doom-laden wasteland, complete with howling Apocalyptic winds. Opening with that wind and some deceptively mild acoustics, its sludge engine grinds to life like a long-dormant Godzilla, slowly shaking off the pall of sleep while reducing everything around it to ruin. Halfway through it disintegrates into droning feedback, then resumes its windy acoustics, then spends another 12 minutes wallowing in punishing seismic riffs that oh-so-slowly fade away, leaving nothing but the scathing, relentless wind. An absolutely gargantuan song to end an absolutely gargantuan album.

Heaviness isn’t everything. But Windhand know how to do it and do it right. Soma is a doomed triumph, a bombastic tour de force that must be heard to be believed. Within the genre it is unlikely to run across anything that can seriously contend with it, that is until the band release a new album. Or so we can hope.

Fen’s previous album, Epoch, was a big disappointment to me simply because I found it interminably boring. I revisited it relatively recently and I think I may have just failed to spend enough time with it to understand it. But the past is the past and Dustwalker presented no such trouble. In fact I became so enamored with it that earlier in the year I suspected it would be in my Top 5. Obviously it isn't but it took a hell of a run at it.

The churning Burzum-like buzz of “Consequence,” coupled with bewitching melodies and the anguished cries of “I cannot escape the consequence of what I’ve done!” make this first track instantly appealing. The rocking staccato guitars later in the song don’t hurt either. “Hands of Dust,” conversely, starts out gently with a shimmering (and foreshadowing) surfy guitar that warbles through a splendid haze. Melancholy and ethereal, the song doesn’t hit a blackened pace until near the end, but prior to that it revs up to a thrashy break with chunky guitars that punch a mean groove, followed by pulsating bass. Fen show a rock ‘n’ roll sensibility that only serves to make their largely blackened approach sound that much more interesting.

As good as these first two tracks are, the album’s zenith is reached on “Spectre.” Now, I can’t let it go unsaid that this song can seem off-putting on first (or even repeated) listens. Much of it is a country folk song; it even has steel slide guitar to complete the mood. More noteworthy is that the vocalist’s approach is frankly pretty fruity, singing airily while his British accent comes through and sounds like The Beatles high on Ecstasy performing a minstrel show. And yet none of that matters. At the halfway point the song becomes purely instrumental and utterly engrossing. A guitar, still with a mournful country twinge, carries a melody that would fit right in on the debut album by slowcore masters Spain. Before long it morphs into glimmering surf guitar but you realize it’s playing a melody that is essentially black metal in nature. That’s right -- black surf metal. Such a concept would never even have occurred to me but Fen deliver it with aplomb. This section of the song is so cosmically transcendent that after hearing it dozens upon dozens of times it still holds me rapt and transfixed in stunned awe.

“Wolf Sun” then shakes things up by storming out sounding distinctly like Algaion circa 1997, afterward switching over to an almost poppy style with a mixture of harsh and clean vocals. Ever the chameleons, the band suddenly pull out distinctive guitar riffing that reeks of classic Sentenced. Lastly, the final bass notes of the songs are straight out of mid-’80s Cure. This track is a wild ride!

“The Black Sound” and “Walking the Crowpath” round out the album. Both are sonically dense and thus less accessible than the other tracks but both offer much to appreciate. The piercing, Anathema-like high notes of “The Black Sound” are effective in creating atmosphere while the guitar shimmer is mesmerizing, and the drums go into a cool shuffle beat near the end. It’s one of those songs that you miss on the first several listens; it takes time to sink in. “Walking the Crowpath” is a sprawling journey, the album’s longest song, and takes its sweet time building an atmospheric foundation before finally kicking into blacker territory during the last third of it. When it reaches that point it buries the needle with pent-up aggression.

With Dustwalker Fen have made an album of diversity with fabulous twists and turns while also dishing out some raging atmospheric black metal. They are clearly unafraid to do whatever suits their own desires and I applaud that in any band, but it’s all the sweeter when the results are this rewarding.

When it comes to atmospheric, shoegazey black metal the French have had their run of things. Amesoeurs, Alcest and Les Discrets, while also all being related to one another, released albums at a steady rate that didn’t leave a fan of the style thirsty for long. But now out of Australia we have newcomer Germ, not just entering the category but thoroughly shaking it up.

Shockingly, Germ is but one man: Tim Yatras. Germ is his personal pseudonym as well as the band name. I am always amazed by one-man bands, especially when they are this damn good. Playing all the instruments yourself while also turning out brilliant compositions? That’s serious, almost unfathomable talent. In the seemingly inevitable connection back to the French scene, though, Tim is joined by Audrey Sylvain of Amesoeurs/Peste Noire handling some vocal duties. After the ambient “Intro” the proper start of the disc is the remarkable “Butterfly.” Take the aspects of the greatest Alcest songs -- buzzing black metal guitars merged with spellbinding melodies and atmospheric keyboards -- and you basically have the formula of this song. Sylvain’s vocals are even there to help it along. Oh but then there’s the shrieking. And I do mean SHRIEKING, like a meth- addicted banshee that was just told she can never have another fix. These are hair-raising, inhuman screams that might induce the same reaction as fingernails on a chalkboard except that they’re totally fantastic and elevate the song from great to spectacular. There is also the sudden and unexpected injection of lively piano that stylistically falls somewhere in the space between jazz, Jerry Lee Lewis, and the Peanuts theme song. It is frankly a little weird but that is also its charm. Little do we know at this point that it is merely a harbinger of delightful weirdness to come.

“The Stain of Past Regrets” continues down a similar stylistic path, including more brain-melting screams, but for the fact that we also get introduced to Yatras’ clean vocals. They’re a bit odd but not unfitting. More odd still, however, is the flaming rock ‘n’ roll guitar solo that comes out of the blue. It’s the real deal, too, flying up and down the fretboard at lightning speed. Wait, so Germ is not only playing all these instruments but is also some wild guitar virtuoso? Grief gets crazier by the minute.

Let’s not forget that shoegaze black metal goths like to dance too. The all-too-aptly named “Departures” takes us away from shrill cries and blackened melodies for a foray into electronica, subsiding into an ambient wash. It is brief, though, and flattened by the galloping onslaught of “Memorial Address,” a pretty classic Alcest-sounding track assuming you’ve grown accustomed to the piercing ululations by now. That is, until another guitar solo begins wailing and this time it is decidedly hard rock in feel. I am not kidding. Does Joe Satriani make an uncredited guest appearance on the album or something?

The song is bookended by more depressive dance music in the form of “An End.” “Beneath the Cliffs” features a glimmering, spacey synth backdrop that plays a fascinating foil to its bleak, scathing darkness, while “Blue as the Sky, Powerful as the Waves” is classic shoegaze, summoning the spirit of The Cure’s early works until driving guitar riffs begin slamming against a fast trudge of a tempo and airy keyboards drown the whole thing in a suffocating gray. Lest you begin to find some comfort zone, the album completely switches gears yet again. “How Can I?” and “I Can See It in the Stars” are possessed by Pink Floyd, almost shockingly so. On first listen they are fully disarming, as if you’ve suddenly switched to a different album, and that’s saying a lot when you consider what a rollercoaster ride it has been up to this point. Yet their inclusion ultimately works beautifully to create amazing diversity while staying true to the tone of the album. “I Can See It in the Stars” is the more Floydian of the two, due largely to the lush vocals and nearly orchestral surges, but “How Can I?” is my preference. Quite honestly it is basically a pop song with nothing but piano, some drum machine beats, and Yatras singing not just cleanly but urgently and desperately, the emotion gushing out of the chorus. It’s best not to attempt to wrap your brain around how this song can even fit into this album, but rather to accept it for simply being completely riveting.

“It’s Over...” moves things firmly back into a brooding state of ebony as what is likely the heaviest track on the disc. Pummeling double bass and more howling coalesce into a snarling beast of a song that then steps on the gas to go full-on speed freak. “Withering in Hell” has spooky keyboards reminiscent of Type O Negative and culminates with a rich and engulfing atmosphere. Finally, “Ghost Tree Pt. 3” (parts 1 and 2 were previously released online) puts a cap on this expedition of mayhem by drowning in a cold and lonely sea of ambience, going so far as to briefly include the sound of a child weeping. It makes for a chilling and desolate end. Grief is true to the path of the atmospheric black metal genre while simultaneously turning the entire thing on its head. It smashes together a bizarre spice mix of guitar rock, electronica, and progressive lushness and pours it over the already-charred main dish, then fires it in the ovens of either Hell or a magical fairy world. I can’t decide which. Highly recommended for mopey goths, fans of unusual music, and freaks in general.

“I sat by the ocean and drank a potion, baby, to erase you...”

So begins the second track of the sixth album by Queens of the Stone Age. There is something about this album, and this song in particular, that made it THE quintessential summer soundtrack for me. With a release date of June 4 it was poised to be just that and yet there is something pervasive here that made it so suitable to spin over and over and over again whilst driving in the car with the windows down. A track called “My God is the Sun” doesn’t hurt either.

Fifteen years on from their classic debut release, Josh Homme and company are sounding better than they have since the early days. The aforementioned “I Sat by the Ocean” is perhaps a throwback to the first album, exhibiting a loose swagger that made that seminal release incredibly appealing. Yet many of these other tracks showcase an evolution in sound. One of the most notable new parallels is that which can be drawn to David Bowie. Homme’s voice in the verses of “If I Had a Tail” have a distinctly soulful Bowie quality about them. “Kalopsia,” while a dead ringer for a loungy Mr. Bungle track during the verses, this time uses the chorus to go all Bowie and the resemblance is almost uncanny. This perception is helped by the rocking guitar riffs that have an open, spacious feel to them and could be modern takes on The Man Who Sold the World.

Bowie references aside, the vocals are grand overall. Homme remains a seductive singer, his high range particularly enchanting. The breakdown of “If I Had a Tail” features his crooning at its best. His deep melancholy on “The Vampyre of Time and Memory,” due in no small part to the way his every word and breath are absolutely crystal clear, is a revelation and spectacular new territory for the seasoned vocalist.

“Fairweather Friends” is pure rock goodness, illuminated by honky tonk piano (courtesy of none other than Elton John!) and filled with blazing, impassioned guitar lines. “Smooth Sailing” could have been lifted straight from the first Eagles of Death Metal record. Homme puts on his Carlo von Sexron/Baby Duck alter ego as this blues-drenched rock monster sways and grooves with total abandon.

There are some rather dark tracks here as well, most notably the title track/finale which features lovely piano and rounds out with brief strings. And again here Homme’s vocals are sublime. On the opposite end of the album, opener “Keep Your Eyes Peeled” is thick as hell, the bass chords a thudding, resonating mass of gelatin; and while the track rocks pretty hard even at a slow pace, it has a sultry grimness to it.

Undoubtedly their best since Songs for the Deaf, and quite possibly since their debut, ...Like Clockwork is simply a triumph. I had a hard time breaking away from it after I first got it and upon revisiting it I only loved it more and more. An advancement in their sound while being neither pretentious nor pompous, it contains not a single note of filler and is crazily, wonderfully addictive.

Gods, there is just no end to the bevy of magnificent bands dishing out blackened pagan hymns -- and I couldn’t be happier. Frigoris probably aren’t the first pagan black metal to come out of Germany, but they’re certainly the first of which I am aware. Their Teutonic nature is made immediately obvious too; all the song titles and lyrics are in German.

If you are at all into this style of music then Frigoris are a wellspring of total black metal greatness. Largely comparable to Agalloch and The Morningside, especially in the way they juxtapose exquisite acoustic passages with fiery speed-infused rampages and divine melodies, Wind contains track after track of obsidian exaltation done in a classy, flawless style.

“Windgeflüster” (which translates to “wind whispering”) possesses a literal title as it spends two minutes setting the atmosphere while vocalist Dominik Winter whispers with his distinctly German accent. “Zwischenwelten” pours on the Agalloch-like bliss immediately but later makes its own special mark with some unusual and entrancing guitar lines. After two or so minutes of “Im Keim Ertrunken” lulling you into submission with a quiet intro and the sound of running water, a withering cry gives way to a wicked melodic assault and the song goes into full blast mode, then remains wrathfully epic to the end. “Frühlingsnacht” is extremely Agallochian and could fit comfortably on Pale Folklore or The Mantle. The introduction of female vocals, sounding not unlike Moss of Moonlight, later in the track is a common enough addition to this genre of music but it works well here. Instrumental “Hauch” could also easily be a fixture on The Mantle and has the same sparkling precision to the playing. Hauntingly beautiful stuff. So too with the closing minutes of the album in the lush finale of “Wenn die Maske Bricht.”

But when Frigoris want to go vicious on you, watch out. This album is filled with any number of spellbinding sections but none are more jaw-dropping than one in “...Und Asche Rinnt Durch Meine Hände.” With roughly three minutes left to spare, a guitar riff fades away and is followed by a nearly acoustic section that builds tension and then ruptures with unchecked intensity. The seething, frothing, frenetic break is the sort of moment of which every melodic black metal fan dreams and it’s sure to make one’s eyes roll back in a seizure of adrenalized rapture. In conjunction with the fevered melodies Winter unleashes a long, impossibly long, scream that cleaves the air and makes your hair stand on end. Pure and absolute black metal genius.

If I have one complaint about this album it’s that the songs are too short. Several are approximately seven minutes and one eclipses eight, while a couple are sub-six. Come on, you krazy krauts, this is the kind of stuff worth utterly wallowing in; bring on the double-digit track times and do it up right!

Ah well, you can’t have everything. But with Frigoris you can have a lot: power and grace, sublime melodies, and a pervasive and soul-rending pagan atmosphere. Frigoris do not just enter my pantheon of revered black metal bands, they charge upon its stage, burning and raging, and leave an indelible stamp.

While Cascadia and the San Francisco Bay Area have been the hotbeds for amazing North American pagan black metal for many years now, there have been outliers that have brought us some very choice selections as well. Hailing from Massachusetts, Obsidian Tongue may well be my greatest discovery of 2013. On a related note, Hypnotic Dirge Records, upon which these lads now find themselves, is probably the best label I discovered last year. It’s chock-full of goodies from quality artists, but I digress.

A Nest of Ravens in the Throat of Time is the sophomore release for OT but as I have indicated they were previously unknown to me. In a nutshell they can perhaps be described as a mix of early Skagos and the mighty forefathers of the scene, Agalloch. Agalloch vocalist John Haughm sometimes uses an even, monastic vocal style that OT vocalist Brendan Hayter adopts here as well. First track “Brothers in the Stars” showcases these vocals about two minutes in, interspersed with mid-tempo black metal that occasionally goes to a full sprint and delivers excellent scaled melodies throughout. When the vocals aren’t being chanted they’re solidly harsh, neither special nor off-putting, and they fit the music well.

One of the most appealing aspects of this album is that the guitars are not just melodic but sometimes unusual, such as in “Black Hole in Human Form” where they take on a sort of buzzy yet digitally-enhanced quality as if burbling up from some artificial intelligence. Fascinating and very cool. The track ends with gentle guitar in a near-acoustic style, another common characteristic of music in this genre, but well-executed here.

In a year veritably overflowing with great black metal there is a particular reason why this album stands out for me and that is atmosphere. There is a raw and primal pagan nature at work here and nowhere is that more evident than in “My Hands Were Made to Hold the Wind.” The title alone is enough to inspire pantheistic notions but the guitar melodies drive that home tenfold. The song culminates in a stunning melodic explosion of high, almost trilling notes that are indescribably epic. “The Birth of Tragedy” brings extra ferocity to its melodic attack before it settles into a very Agallochian acoustic interlude that also rather smacks of early Opeth, while “Individuation” has a rocking gallop that erupts into blackened speed backed by more monastic vocals.

As if to quell any thoughts that the Agalloch influences are due only to obsessive imitation, the title track features none other than the man himself -- John Haughm of Agalloch -- on guest vocals! The song is a grand one, easily mistakable for being Agalloch from the very first bars. Haughm goes with his clean, higher vocal to start, sounding practically choral even by himself. The guitar notes are clean and resonant, conveying a heartbreaking bleakness. From only guitar and vocals the track transitions to a middle clip and Haughm switches over to his raspy blackened style. A driving melody emerges to finish off the song, and the album, with a stirring sense of both elegance and deep longing, ultimately becoming hypnotically blackened in texture. For obvious reasons the song is pure Agalloch through and through and that only serves to enhance its potent effect.

A Nest of Ravens in the Throat of Time firmly implants Obsidian Tongue in a list of bands to watch. There is a vaguely amateurish quality to some parts of the album that are part of its charm but if their songwriting skills continue to grow the band will be a major force in the black metal arena.

When it comes to American black metal my tastes run toward the pagan. Nature, pantheism, the Great Cycle, all that good stuff. But I also hold admiration for a band that quietly ignited the scene as it exists today. That band is Weakling and their Dead as Dreams recording is a seminal moment in not just US black metal but black metal at large. For the first time in the 13 years since that album was released I think something else has managed to mirror its essence and that something is Leucosis.

Opener “Anaesthesia” is the longest track on the album and it takes its time with a slow, languid build that creates suspense. It spends well over four minutes lulling you into a hypnotic state before it unleashes a black brigade of noise. Even then it is not nearly as fast as it could be but it is dark, very dark, with a pervasive sense of cold and isolation. Like Weakling, Leucosis are gifted at creating an aura of grim antipathy. The guitar tone is jagged and dissonant, sort of echoey and mechanical as if you’re trapped in a metal box and slowly being driven mad by ricocheting sound.

One of my favorite aspects of Leucosis is that it can sometimes be quite doomy. It doesn’t have the bottom end that true doom would but the tempos sometimes move at a trudge and manage to sound brutally heavy even without low tuning. “Anaesthesia” is very much that way in the aforementioned intro, but far more so in its last third. Buzzing riffs detonate and ripple through the inky blackness of space while almost stream-of-consciousness drum fills skitter through the ether. It is both compelling and unsettling. The song dies in a cold and broken crackle like stars winking out in an imploding universe.

No matter where you go on this album the vibe is one of steely and overwhelming malice. Even the pleasantly gentle opening of “Taiga” sounds uneasy, as if you’ve found some quiet solitude but are still riddled with dread. From there it only brims with more enmity, becoming a stewing cauldron of blackened doom. It eventually picks up speed, first to a middle pace, then spinning into a whirlwind of spellbinding melody.

I will liken this album to one other classic BM release, Wolves in the Throne Room’s Diadem of 12 Stars, partially because they do share some melodic characteristics but mostly because they share something more intangible and personal. For whatever reason both of these albums took an exceedingly long time to click with me. In the early stages I always felt there was more beneath the surface of my objective appreciation, as if true greatness were lying within if I could only just unlock it. And in both cases when the veil was finally pulled back, absolute revelation ensued.

Even if others should find themselves in the same boat there is one “giveaway” track in the form of “Grasp.” With its relentless percussive engine, mesmerizing guitar buzz and subtle melodies, it is instantly attractive. In the context of the full album, however, you come to realize that only means it is the most simplistic. But hey, if it serves as a hook to reel others in then more power to it. “Aponea” was also an early favorite even before I fully grasped the genius of the overall package. Its beguiling chord shifts and WITTR-like melodies are immensely engaging.

I love a good black metal release that feels epic and seems like something you’d want to be listening to as you survey icy Norwegian fjords or stand atop a windswept mountain peak. But none of that applies to Leucosis. This is music of terror and the malcontent, of slowly withering inside from the malignancy of hate. In its wake it will leave you reeling and shell-shocked and wanting to experience it all over again.

Well SubRosa have done it again -- almost. 2011’s No Help for the Mighty Ones was a work of almost shocking genius. I said it then and I will say it now: no other release that year even came close to unseating it. Its utter dominance was never up for debate.

More Constant Than the Gods is a trickier animal. At first that is not so apparent, as opener “The Usher” is the strongest track of the disc and a song of special magnificence. Deeply emotional and heartfelt, it runs over 14 minutes in length yet feels nowhere near that long. It is a dark and beautiful love song and the object of that love appears to be Death. Its highlight comes roughly two- thirds of the way through with an especially moving break that contains the album’s namesake:

     You’re more constant than the stars
     Because they change their paths with the seasons You’re more constant than the moon
     Because she hides her face in shadows
     You’re more constant than the sun
     Because one day her embrace will melt the Earth
     You’re more constant than the gods
     Because sometimes when we call, they don’t answer at all

This poignant verse is followed by enormous, ringing doom riffs that bounce around your skull and electrify the senses. The dynamics are masterful and literally spine-tingling and it is difficult to overstate the mind-shattering power of this song.

“Ghosts of a Dead Empire” is nearly equally impressive right out of the gate, hammering home dirty, distorted riffs at a brutal trudge. A great song throughout, it is elevated to sublime at its conclusion when it downshifts to massive, resonating chords on a pummeled soundscape. Coupled with more powerful lyrics delivered in Rebecca Vernon’s disquieting deadpan style, it is total doom bliss.

A trademark aspect of the SubRosa sound is the use of violin in a rather unorthodox manner. On their previous album these violins were a critical piece of the magic, sounding perverse and sickly and often teetering on the edge of madness. Here they are used differently, in some cases more traditionally such as in the middle sections of “Ghosts of a Dead Empire” and “Cosey Mo,” but often with short, high chords throughout most tracks that lend an eerie quality. It is reassuring to hear that the band does not fall prey to gimmick, as can too easily happen when such instruments are injected into rock or metal.

“Fat of the Ram” is certainly the most obtuse track of the set and eluded me for quite some time. I do ultimately believe it is the weakest track here but that isn’t saying much when you’re talking about bands with the caliber of SubRosa. It still achieves greatness, again through the use of dynamics, when just prior to its closing minutes a hazy, lonely guitar section is overtaken by gorgeous dissonance both in the form of colossal riffs and urgent violin.

“Affliction” is a personal favorite due largely to a pleasant shock of echoey, shimmering surf guitar at its intro, but it’s cold and haunting, like Dick Dale on Quaaludes. Followed by and later joined with dense and smothering doom riffery, this song is a juggernaut of sonic glory, absolutely brilliant in its force and deftness.

“No Safe Harbor” brings the record to a close in dark and lovely fashion. Another track that required many listens to fully comprehend, its beauty is ultimately irresistible. Introducing yet more varied instrumentation, it treats the listener to piano, flute, cello and even hammered dulcimer. Largely a quiet and gentle tune, the vocals veer into a breathy PJ Harvey style that I adore. At the midway point the flute alights with a birdlike warble while droning guitar pours down in a suffocating descent and forms the backbone of the track until all that is left is the mesmerizing and mystical strains of the hammered dulcimer. Amazing.

While More Constant Than the Gods is a touch less consistent than its predecessor, it is nonetheless a momentous collection of music from a band with uncanny talent. If they continue to create material of this quality they will secure their place as one of the greatest bands of the genre. They may have already done just that.

Pacific Northwest, is your wellspring of mind-blowing pagan black metal as deep and infinite as it is rich? The mystical land of Cascadia bestows upon us blessed heathens yet another breathtaking platter of Gaian fury, heart-rending melody, and blackened joy. Hailing from Olympia, Washington, home of the mighty Wolves in the Throne Room; and featuring members of Fauna, another pagan BM band that has made their mark on the scene, perhaps the brilliance of Sadhaka comes as no surprise.

As “Dissolution” begins its slow ascent it reminds distinctly of Altar of Plagues’ masterful White Tomb. It briefly alights the pagan fires in a blinding assault then shifts to a section that I can only liken to one of my all-time favorite and underappreciated albums: Algaion’s General Enmity. The thrashy rhythms and power-metal-esque melodies instantly take me back to that 1997 classic that is so near and dear to my heart. If you don’t know the reference, go get educated.

From there “Dissolution” displays what is the unfailing hallmark of this spectacular release -- dizzying, heavenly, soul-wrenching, epic melodies. Like all great Cascadian releases that have come before, melody is at the burning core of these inspired hymns to the natural world.

Next comes a twist, though. “Padmasambhava,” while being wholly epic in scope, is not your average Cascadian animal. Over the course of its 13+ minutes it is mostly slow-moving, yet there is something indescribably monumental about its guitar chords. Over and over the main rhythm line repeats yet I never grow weary of it. It is as if the band capture the sound of the Earth itself -- persistent, evocative and unassailable. The midway point does bring speed -- frenzied and raging speed doused in more sublime melody -- but it is relatively short-lived and that unstoppable rhythm line returns, marching ever onward into infinity.

“Impermanence” mines the caverns of classic Skagos to send you reeling headlong into lush and vertiginous melodies so breathtaking that they are nearly painful. With five minutes remaining it shifts down into lower gear and assumes a posture not unlike “Padmasambhava,” riffs marching like an unstoppable legion while melodies dance across the surface like moonlight sparkling across an inky lake. To finish, an onslaught of superb melodies pour down in blinding brilliance, first matched by rolling percussion then suddenly set against a different rhythm structure that makes them stand out even more and climax into almost incomprehensible wonderment.

By the time finale “Ancient Ones” rolls around, one feels that the list of superlatives to describe the sheer magnificence of this work might be exhausted. Yet Sadhaka may well have left the best for last. The transition from “Impermanence” is seamless and first brings chimes and ancient-sounding percussion that conjure images of our ancestors performing a ritual around a dying fire. After a lovely intro that you just know is setting you up for something big, the subsequent burst of hyperspeed blackened vehemence coupled with whirling, staggering melody still comes as a brain-paralyzing shock that leaves you dazed in awe. While your mind is drowning in almost unbearable ecstasy, Sadhaka up the ante and drop everything except a buzzsaw guitar, then hit even harder with searing melodies that threaten to burn a hole through the core of the universe itself. This stuff, right here, is as good as pagan black metal gets. Wolves in the Throne Room, Skagos, Fauna -- every Cascadian band and every other similar band the world over such as Altar of Plagues and Wildernessking -- were born out of this sort of magical fervor, this devotion to and obsession with nature that elicits a seismic emotional outpouring of nearly unimaginable power. It just does not get any better.

Sadhaka had me convinced a thousand times over by this point but they strike at my heart once more in the final moments of the album by bringing in a guitar line that again hearkens to Algaion, and almost unbelievably to the closing moments of General Enmity. It seems that both bands possess a mutual and uncanny understanding of how to instill a song and album with the perfect atmosphere that connotes finality.

Terma is a grandiose recording by any measure but these little twists -- the chugging mid- paced riffs that sound almost as epic as the melodies and the Algaion parallels -- elevate it even more. In an ever-widening sea of pagan black metal bands, Sadhaka show they have what it takes to be at the very head of the movement.