Howdy folks. It's your good buddy, the Big J, here to tell you about this fabulous new record that I've been listening to. Now I know what you're all asking: "Big J, how fabulous is it?" Pretty goddamn fabulous is my reply. Let's get started. Oh, and as a pre-cursor: Please forward all complaints to somone else.
So who is this new supergroup? None other than Chicago's very own INDIAN! That's right, that crazy trio of doom metal demons is back at it again! Wooo! Hurrah! Thunderous applause! This piece of droning, killer metal is brought to you by Seventh Rule Records -- "for when six rules just ain't enough!"
Now when I first popped this little ditty onto my iPod, I was a bit confused. The opening track was some slightly post-rock, major chorded guitar riff with noises over it. What in the bejesus? That's when track two, "Ration," kicked in with the same riff but with a backing straight up tom 'n snare drumbeat. "I guess this is pretty okay," I thought. And then the cymbals and low-end bass came in and it blasted into everything you'd ever want or expect of a doom metal band, but with howler monkey on steroids with raw hamburger vocal chord vocals over the top of it. Did I say over the top of it? Because that would be wrong. The most prominent thing on this whole release is the guitar.
And the whole album sounds like that. Slowed down metal riffs heavy on guitar. Thank you and good night!
Nah, I'm just joshing ya. Indian has a knack for droning on a riff as long as you can take it, bringing you to the point of breaking and then switching it up, carrying you through another droning pattern that makes you nod your head and scowl.
Following the stop time rendition at the end of "Ration" comes "Dead Weight," which is just that; never before has a song title so accurately described a song before! By the way, that's a compliment. It's doom metal. But don't let that put you off. They have just as many three-minute songs as they do nine-minute songs. And with moving riffs like the openers to "Los Nietos" and "Tied and Gagged," I'll be surprised as balls if you get bored.
As a trio, Indian is able to rock their shit wihtout letting it get too complicated and contrived. All three instruments and the vocals follow strict patterns and forms, complimenting each other in the best of ways. Though the droning guitar and its constant use of feedback as a viable noise is at the forefront, it's actually the low-end supplied by the bass and the beat smashed out on the drums that makes Indian what it is. This shit is fresher than a carrot in your crisper, and remains that way each time through, while that carrot in your crisper will eventually decay.
"Loophole Noose" makes it's way through five and a half minutes of feedback and ambient noise structures before it breaks into metal riffs. And I find myself not bored one bit during that build.
Capping off the album is the droning, chugging, somewhat sludgy "Worshipper of Sores." It kills off the album by breaking into mid-tempo, striaght-forward 4/4 for the first time on the album, blowing not only my mind but a straight hole through the seat of my pants.
Make sure you're not wearing a pair of underwear that you like when listening to this album. This shit is so heavy that it'll make your shit turn to lead.