This is Howlin' Wolf's new album...

Well, it's been a long and grueling week here in the Swamp, and it's not over yet, no sir. All throughout my labors today I fantasized about diving into a frigid booze ocean and absorbing large quantities of it via osmosis, whilst pontificating about a weighty wonderful album and thus grinding the jagged edges of reality down into tolerable squishy nudges. Now that my daily duties have been fulfilled and I sit down before you, I have no idea which record I was daydreaming about, and all of the elaborate sentences I constructed in my mind have evaporated. Ah well, so what?

Here's an interesting one though: Aging bluesman Howlin' Wolf, once a larger-than-life figure of menace and mystery among his inferiors, is by 1970 frail and sickly. His longtime rival/labelmate Muddy Waters has released the transcendent "Electric Mud," a wild psychedelic rejiggering of his old standards with a hungry young whiteboy band, to critical disdain and large piles of cash money. Their label, the once-vital Chess, is struggling to stay afloat and, energized by that success, forces its other surviving 800 lb. gorilla into the same corner. This is the result.

Much has been said about this, from the predictable purist sneering to the retroactive acclaim of figures like Chuck D (who claimed both records as early influences). Personally, I take comfort in it and find myself drawn to it after long stretches of work, angst, and hollowness. Wolf may have claimed to hate it, but he sounds like he's having a blast. He recorded a similar, tighter session in London two years later with a much more unsavory psych band that included racist douchebag Eric Clapton, "fusion" pioneer Steve Winwood, and the rhythm section of original blues biters the Rolling Stones. Muddy and Chuck Berry, both quickly overcoming their skepticism when faced with sizable percentages, would do the same. History bends in strange curves in the wake of these albums, in retrospect, but I stand in defiance of those who say this one is an empty cash-in or a novelty.

"Why don't you take them wah-wahs and all that other shit and go throw it off in the lake — on your way to the barber shop?"

Darkthrone - Too Old Too Cold

Still buried in the snow here in the Swamp, and the whiskey is running out. The mood is right for this EP by the mighty Darkthrone, which marked the first threads of punk weaving through their sound. Desperation, dehydration, cabin fever, and righteous indignation are the order of the day.
Second to none
Like an angel unfucking born
Down with people

Massaker - First Attack

A charming little demo from Brazilian retro thrash unit Massaker - lots to like here. Shades of Nuclear Assault, Bathory, Sarcafago, The Accused, Septic Death maybe...
I can't determine from the burbly lyrics and vague Metallum page but I believe these young lads might be Christians as well, which would just be the icing on the comedy cake here, believe me. Even if it's not true, this is a primitive and ugly chronicle of adolescent war on society (complete with theme song), exactly as it should be. Take a look at this photo and judge not, lest ye be judged...
Massaker Attack!

Mourn

Another lost little gem of female-fronted witchy doom, Mourn can be seen as a forerunner to the style that Jex Thoth, Blood Ceremony, Windhand, and The Devil's Blood are toiling over their cauldrons for today. Lately I just can't get enough of this stuff and this early example, circa 1995, is like a beacon out of time. It is unfortunate that this ensemble called it quits immediately after this release, as they clearly were bursting with ideas and energy - a few more albums and they maybe could've been as important and influential as your Sleeps or your Electric Wizards. Still, we have this to entrance and seduce us.
Forever more.

Radio Birdman - Radios Appear

A classic first LP by legendary Sydney punkers Radio Birdman, Radios Appear is a whirlwind ride of surf guitars, psychedelic angst, and adventurous weirdness. Along with the Saints, Radio Birdman rescued the Austrailian music world from mediocrity and birthed a nationwide scene in a few short years. They were all dark sunglasses, swagger and sweat, twang and tweak. And there's a Roky Erickson cover!
Aloha Douchebags!

HUMAN SANTAPEDE

HO

Attack of the One Man Bands

What we have here is just what it says on the box: two cds of one man bands (non black metal variety), almost sixty songs, for the low low price of your soul. Most of these characters are of the Hasil Adkins school of slightly inept hillbilly rock n' roll, although many of them are surely not real hillbillies. Ah, who cares though, looking at the list of names is like perusing a roster of low-rent villains: Al Foul, Toothless George, Chuck Violence, Guitar Fucker, Uncle Butcher, etc. Not a huge amount of variety here, as it's a pretty narrow sub-genre, but like your solitary bedroom black metal grinches it's more about passion and emotion than writing songs or learning to play.
Music for the Asses.

The True Endless - In the Swamp

Another fine entry in God Is Myth's low-print run Lovecraft series, this time some black metal from the void of space from the mysterious The True Endless. Structured around Lovecraft's short story Polaris, a dreamlike tale of a mysterious city whose gilded domes conceal dark secrets, this short release is over almost before it began, lingering hauntingly in the mind even after the details have begun to bleed.
Slumber, watcher, till the spheres,
Six and twenty thousand years
Have revolv'd, and I return
To the spot where now I burn.

Death Dealers

Speaking of morbid, here's something so twisted that it might make you a bad person just for listening to it, let alone posting it on your blog thing. This is a compilation of country and punk music about serial killers, interspersed with interviews with actual serial killers. Unfortunately (or perhaps not), this version isn't entirely complete: interviews with John Wayne Gacy, Jeffrey Dahmer, and Albert DeSalvo were scrambled in the great hard drive crash of 2010, and unsurprisingly I can't find this anywhere else on the internet. All of the songs are present, however, from Red River Dave's laid back "California Hippie Murders" to The Bugs' disgustingly sincere twin odes to DeSalvo's Boston Strangler incarnation. I really can't condone this, but it's a fascinating document. Make of it what you will.
Do you think I'm psycho, Mama?

It's Casual - Stop Listening To Bad Music

Self-explanatory.

Joseph Spence - Happy All the Time

A bit of a palate cleanser here for you after all that morbidity from last week. Joseph Spence is the most famous proponent of the Bahamian guitar style, a mixture of American blues and pop with calypso and wild improvisation. A large part of his appeal, aside from the deft and circular guitar playing, is his voice: a gravelly, gurgling rasp spit out in bursts of scatting gibberish, garbled English, girlish high-pitched wailing, deep epiglottal humming, and the occasional mad roar. It's infectious in its subtle charming madness, teasing parts of your brain that might not get much of a workout if you just sit around and listen to heavy metal all the time, you grumpy bastard!
Out On The Rolling Sea

Judas Iscariot - To Embrace the Corpses Bleeding

Last day of Blind Dead Week here in the Swamp, so let's get down to business. This one may be a bit of a stretch: you have to squint a bit to convince yourself that's a Templar on the cover, and maybe some sort of ship's rigging, and though some of the songs obviously involve the undead, they're no lyric sheet so we can't be more specific. Oh well, it was either this or another Hooded Menace album, so humor me.

That said, we have another black metal thunderstorm here, suitably epic and magisterial, from crucial American band Judas Iscariot. You know the drill: whistling winds, blast beats, croaked cryptic vocals, bumblebee guitars - all of them of the highest caliber, the panache of their performance counterbalancing the lack of exotic ingredients. Charmingly they've left some tape errors remain on the tape rather than digitally correcting them, adding an extra layer of texture and character as well.
The Dead Burst Forth From Their Tombs

Uruk-Hai - Unholy Medieval Congregation

Another Spanish ensemble here, playing some raw and ragged black metal unburdened by progressivism or beauty. This is no-frills old school meat-and-potatoes blackness. Uruk-Hai's album from this year, "Archi Catedra Nigra Diaboli," explores similar themes (including the delightfully ESL "The Night of Skeletons Dead Monks") and is worth seeking out if you enjoy this, but I had to go with this one because of that cover.
Last day of Blind Dead Week is tomorrow; I'd better come up with something good, eh?
Under the Embrace of the Black Plague