The Mailbox Giveth: Dusted Angel & Tournament
Dusted Angel
The Thorn EP
Corruption Recordings
As Sleep and Sabbath come to mind, the heavily weighted arms of guitarists Eric Feiber and Scott Stevens forceful in their expression, Dusted Angel (featuring former members of SST homebodies, Bl’ast) aren’t necessarily slugging their way into new territory. But, their three song 7,” The Thorn EP, is nevertheless magnetic riff-wise, the result of its indisputable allegiance to Iommi. The production isn’t quite there, but the music compensates.
Dusted Angel - The Thorn
Tournament
Years Old
Forcefield Records
Sort of machined like Big Black, sort of six-strung like The Jesus Lizard or Mission Of Burma, debut LP from the Brooklyn pseduo-metallic Tournament is fascinatingly modern for owing so much to the scathing and abrasive indie rock of yore. Their riffs are like repetitious bouts of something hurtful or antagonizing, doomed or melancholic phrases that you can’t help but listen to while knowing full well that blissful ignorance would be the sane option. The prevalent rut of a guitar line in “Smokelore” almost reminds me of PiL’s “Poptones,” pronounced in the same rut of a construct while “Good, Thanks. You?” opens with a pent up intro like Helmet’s “Unsung.” Comparable or not though, Years Old is enigmatic in that it’s good, but you’re not sure why.
Sincerely,
Letters From A Tapehead
The Thorn EP
Corruption Recordings
As Sleep and Sabbath come to mind, the heavily weighted arms of guitarists Eric Feiber and Scott Stevens forceful in their expression, Dusted Angel (featuring former members of SST homebodies, Bl’ast) aren’t necessarily slugging their way into new territory. But, their three song 7,” The Thorn EP, is nevertheless magnetic riff-wise, the result of its indisputable allegiance to Iommi. The production isn’t quite there, but the music compensates.Dusted Angel - The Thorn
TournamentYears Old
Forcefield Records
Sort of machined like Big Black, sort of six-strung like The Jesus Lizard or Mission Of Burma, debut LP from the Brooklyn pseduo-metallic Tournament is fascinatingly modern for owing so much to the scathing and abrasive indie rock of yore. Their riffs are like repetitious bouts of something hurtful or antagonizing, doomed or melancholic phrases that you can’t help but listen to while knowing full well that blissful ignorance would be the sane option. The prevalent rut of a guitar line in “Smokelore” almost reminds me of PiL’s “Poptones,” pronounced in the same rut of a construct while “Good, Thanks. You?” opens with a pent up intro like Helmet’s “Unsung.” Comparable or not though, Years Old is enigmatic in that it’s good, but you’re not sure why.
Sincerely,
Letters From A Tapehead
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