Legendary underground cartoonist Jack Jackson wrote and drew this excellent Lovecraftian tale of cosmic horror amid the arid deserts of Texas during the first clashes between the natives and the Spanish missionaries. A dense, beautiful, horrific work - just ripe for the plucking.
This is a nice cross-section of what was bubbling up in the Japanese psych underground during the nineties. I know little about most of these bands, aside from the dependably weird Ghost and noise maestro Keiji Haino, a real lifer in the scene. A nice discovery for me on this one was White Heaven, an early project from Michio Kurihara, a Zorn-type character who later became part of YBO2. Other names include the long-running High Rise, Marble Sheep, Verzerk, and the awesome Fushitsusha. Brace yourself for a psychedelic shitstorm of Old Testament proportions and
According to Lemmy's excellent autobiography White Line Fever, this little seven inch is the last straw that finally caused Fast Eddie Clarke to walk away from Motörhead. Well, it's his loss, because this record is a gem. Who can resist a Lemmy/Wendy O. duet on this Tammy Wynette classic? What makes it work for me is the seeming total lack of irony or artifice in evidence. Judge for yourself, and go watch the Lemmy movie.
Another heaping helping of Aussie doom plops down on your plate this evening, dearie, and it's already cold! Hahaha!
Here is a wacko Roiobison, Backstreet Boys, Sham 69 to Sesame Street, songs ranging from Black Sabbath in Exodus, an album of covers from this Japanese hardcore band freak. Really strange, more diverse and more fun than it has a right to. These "Japan only" One can guess, I can do something worth less than this it?
Usually when one is discussing post-apocalyptic metal, the conversation revolves around "extreme" subgenres like funeral doom, or crusty thrash, or what-have-you; less often do we find a modifier-free metal record charting the end of civilization in the Manilla Road mode. Here's a good example, a polar opposite of all those sludgy, filth-caked doom cookies - one could call it "power metal" is one were an asshole, but here in the Swamp we just call it heavy. Germany's bombastic combo Wasteland, and their collected demo recordings (named after a questionable Fred Williamson movie), while still nicely raw and lo-fi, sound thick and trot along at a brisk head-nodding gallop. They're no Manilla Road, obviously, but they're enough to make even the saddest kvlt pandapuss smile a little whilst awaiting Armageddon.
Stellar, heart-wrenching funeral doom from the mighty Damon Good, he of Cauldron Black Ram, Portal, Stargazer, etc. I don't have it in me tonight to elaborate fully on this startling LP, weary and spent as I am, yet I must share it with the Swamp nonetheless. Absolutely monumental and dense as a dying sun.
Another little overlooked EP from 2010, this time from Muncie's Maax. Pretty straightforward Venom/Motörhead/Darkthrone crust n' roll concerning booze, Satan, witches, axes, fire, and other delights. For fans of Midnight, Aura Noir, blacking out, and fucking yourself.
The stars have aligned perfectly for another thoroughly Lovecraftian tome of badness, so here's a rotten hunk of metal to sink your choppers into, you gob! Occult one-man death metal from Denver signed to the mighty Razorback Records, Crypticus truly plumbs the depths of black magic and weird science on this album. Maddeningly bereft of a lyric sheet, we can't draw solid lines between the works of old uncle Howard and the abominable experiments here but there is a distinct Herbert West/Charles Dexter Ward/Doctor Muñoz vibe, with writhing things in jars and crackling electrical coils and beings unseen swimming through the air just outside of our perception.
Originally written for and rejected by The Byrds by one P.F. Sloan, "Eve of Destruction," which aimed for anthemic Cold War righteousness but landed closer to goofy, gloomy cheesiness, was first popularized by Barry McGuire and subsequently covered by scores of other artist, few of which succeeded in making it listenable. The Dickies did it best, in my opinion: playing at breakneck speed, slurring the half-baked Dylanisms of the lyrics into multi-syllabic and profanity-laced gibberish, and wrapping it all up in just over two minutes. Better yet, they often slotted it into their live set between theme songs from cartoons, further deflating the pretentious wind-baggery yet somehow still conveying the sense of impending catastrophe that perpetually looms over the head of our self-destructive, petty little race of monkeys.
Not much brain power left to sling around after a long day, so let's go with a no-brainer: Accept's stone classic Restless and Wild. Anybody with an affinity for heavy metal should have this, as it contains the indispensable "Fast as a Shark" as the punchy opener and lays down song after song of rock-solid bullshit-free rock and roll. Lots of animal metaphors, seemingly millions of razor-sharp riffs, and even a spooky ballad really make this one a high point for this sometimes snooze-inducing band.
Plagued with a series of strange dreams and awakening to find my tap water running brown and odorous, it seems appropriate to go ahead and post this nasty little bit of weirdness, as surely my day will only get odder from here on out. The Leather Nun, from future metal hotspot Gothenburg way back in the seventies, played a primitive version of post-punk industrial comparable but not exactly similar to acts like Psychic TV and Throbbing Gristle. This is a seven inch record, with the first song being an anarchic, almost bluesy stomper; the second being a Suicide/Pere Ubu noise scrape; the third being a bass-driven sinister sort of cabaret; and then some primitive drum machine thuds. Fuck, what happens now?
Rough week last week here in the Swamp, little ones, but we soldier on. Today's special is proggy proto-metal courtesy of Captain Beyond. Bits of Hendrix, Black Sabbath, and Trower sparkle through on this second LP, but it is assuredly its own beast. According to that cover, in fact, it's a psychedelic robot clown with a corkscrew for a dick!
The Reverend Gary Davis was a legendary and long-lived performer who claimed to have written hundreds of public domain songs from "Baby Let Me Lay It on You" to "Cocaine Blues" to "Samson and Delilah." His cavernous barn of a voice and jaw-dropping guitar playing were compounded by a wry sense of mischief and ego and hubris to match his talent. He was a favorite of a late friend of mine taken from us far too young. This is for her.
An early demo from Britain's traditionalist doom-mongers Warning. Truly epic, and glacially slow, but with a fine sense of song-craft and melody largely absent or suppressed in most works of the genre. A crushing, exhausting, purging experience later perfected on their full length Watching from a Distance. Three songs here, twenty five minutes.
This is what happened:
I'm posting on a quick break from other realms with but precious minutes to spare, which is probably what made me think of this, the pinnacle achievement of powerviolence-mongers Slap-A-Ham. 84 songs in 12 minutes: grind, noise, sludge, poop.
This is the first release by Dead Moon, the longest-running (so far) band led by punk lifer Fred Cole, a veteran of the sixties and seventies scenes who's staked out his own little plot of land and will seemingly hold it down forever. For those new to his style this is dark blues-burdened rock n' roll punk with demons on its shoulder and hellhounds on its trail. Covers of Elvis, Blue Cheer, and "Hey Joe" and several originals revolve around the ominous theme of love turned sour and crimes of passion. If you enjoy this one there's about 6 million other Dead Moon records and then there's the fifty other bands the man's been in as well. 
Well, as per the usual Swamp policy of listening to gross squishy death metal as a means of dealing with a crushing hangover, here's Autopsy's slobbering classic Mental Funeral, which sums it up eloquently enough. Take two of these and call me in the morning.
It's no secret that the first album by the Scorpions, Lonesome Crow, is widely regarded as a classic 70's heavy psych record, quite different than their later, more famous eighties doofus rock. For some reason (perhaps it's that awful cover) this follow-up gets much less attention, despite its weird exuberance and catchy forward momentum. Despite the loss of prodigy guitarist Michael Shencker to UFO there's a lot of interesting stuff going on; the Scorps still hadn't settled fully into the hard rock fondue that would begin to solidify on their next record. I really could dissect this one at length but alas I must exit the Swamp forthwith, so strap some planes to your feet, put on your toaster helmet, and
Snatched from out of the ether, here is a heady little slab of Texas psych from the group known in the sixties as Playboys of Edinburg. In 1971 they changed their name to Poe and released this album. Based on the life and writings of psychic and astral projectionist Edgar Cayce, it's a trippy ride through the spheres of existence, grounded in bluesy grit and Little Richard-style piano but constantly swerving into strange tangents and weaving short song fragments into a weird tapestry of occult exploration and transmissions from the neighboring planes. 
Having recently been informed of our being awarded the coveted Trappy Award for best new blog and seeing as how this is our 300th post together, let's return to Swamp favorites The Lamp of Thoth and their magnum opus Portents, Omens & Dooms. I've posted their more recent EP Sing as You Slay and the demo from side project Arkham Witch to little fanfare, but The Lamp of Thoth remain a shining of example of many things I find dear: Lovecraftian dread, doomish swagger, stoicism and sense of purpose but not at the expense of a sense of humor, broad-minded scholasticism, epic riffment, etc. Ignore them at your own peril, gentle reader!
Tonight's invocation is a hefty slab of funereal doom courtesy of Ireland's literary-minded Wreck of the Hesperus on their only full length. While not quite the squishy amorphous ooze of Tyranny or Catacombs, this is certainly a far cry from the relatively upbeat stylings of your traditional doom ensemble. It's foul and raspy and stretched nigh to oblivion, and despite the sub-aquatic theme I get a dry dusty bone-rattle ambiance from it, but it still sounds like a live band playing in a room together. There's a distinct death/doom hue in keeping with the style all the wee ones are so in tune with these days as well - not exactly normative songwriting but not a random lump of squirtly noises either. Not that there's anything wrong with that...
