CROM 4 Split LP
|Label:||Head of Crom|
SLABDRAGGER. Best name ever for a band? Maybe. Godsake, this band are mental brilliant. James Plotkin, a Head of Crom go-to man for mastering has his token sound all over this, making the tunes sound stabby as fuck. Slabdragger are a sludge band. Apparently they like to get pissed and smoke weed and make music; well it fucking sounds like the best thing for them because the two tracks here, 'Alchemistress' and 'Burden' are as good as you are likely to hear from three guys who smoke dope and drink beer. 'Alchemistress' opens up with a fairly cheerful-sounding bass line before it all goes tits up and evil.
Sounding like the band have gone all the way and downtuned their roadkill cat gut strings to E, they punish us with a tune as good as any of the Sludge titans they probably worship. This shit should be banned it's that good. Ultimo shagging music. Echoey Deadite vocals creep over the bass and muddy brown guitars that go off on a psycho lickathon at the end. Perfect. 'Burden' opens with war elephant riffs trampling all over Vice readers. This track is slower and more vicious. From out of nowhere the tempo changes, drums speed up and the riffs get faster. Something has woken up, angry and sniffing it's fingers. If you listen to this song and don’t want to head bang, you are scum.
Meadows, from Sudbury, Suffolk describe themselves as "ABRASIVE CRUST SLUDGECORE WITH VIOLENT ERUPTIONS OF GRIND, THRASH, AND HEAVY DOOM". It's uncanny, that is eggs fuckin zacktley what they sound like. Again, this band benefit from a great Plotkin master. 'Superscammell', opens up with a crotch-grinding crust riff that sets up the whole fucking side of this vinyl perfectly. Three mins forty four seconds of rah rah vocals and a fucking almighty charge, it then dips and enters slower territory. Sexual. 'Baling Twine' is a pissed-up brawler of a tune, pure finger fucking grinding sludge doom. 'Howell of the Wind' follows more or less the same pattern. There's enough ferocious patter in this track to make you believe you could demolish a house with your bare hands. It prepares us for the beastly beautiful final track 'Loaded to the Gunwales', which firebombs all our junk with million ton splurgriffic riffs. It goes crust daft at the end then back to pure Iommi worship. Sensual.
Head of Crom, like yer auld da here, is the fucking label that keeps on giving. With so many highlights (both bands, the mastering and the artwork from in-demand London tattoo artist Scott Move) this is a must-have record for fans of decent music that will blow the hair off your vadge and baws. A split album, available on vinyl or CD for 'a couple of weeks saved up dinner money', if any sexy boy or burds see you with it, all I'm saying is, dinner will be served.
Posted: Sat 29 September 2012