Black Pyramid
II

Brief excerpt from a frugal weekend with a doom-loving friend, including my very first listen to ''II'', the newly released second full-length album by the American Black Pyramid, a remarkable (or supposedly so) new asset in the star-spangled stoner/doom scene.

F "Hey Declino, have you seen my bitter orange soda bottle?"

D "Oops... forgive me Fra, I was using it to make a sailboat... you know, my irresistible passion for DIY... Could you do me a favor? When you get up to pee, can you try to aim for the toilet bowl? If it's not a problem, eh!"

F "But then, what's that over there?"

D "The sink!"

F "Oh f**k! To make it up to you, I'll go down and get some ribollita, then we can enjoy it with the new Black Pyramid album, a piece of work so solid it could shave Billy Gibbons and Dusty Hill in person, believe me!"

D "Let's see... the cover is appropriately psychedelic/flamboyant, but what troubled faces they have... I wonder about one thing: how is it possible that nowadays to play stoner/doom you must have a stoner's beard, a beer belly as bloated as if you were Galeazzi, and sideburns and/or a goatee longer than 10 cm? And you have to get drunk until you lose consciousness? Look at me: how rosy my cheeks are! Like a baby's bottom!"

F "Yes, but luckily you stopped playing a long time ago! And didn't you know that 'there's so much pleasure between the fuzz'? Listen for a moment: what happened to my chicken salad? Did that mop-haired girl you brought over last night eat it?"

D "No no, it got moldy, I got rid of it."

F "But who, the girl?"

D "Haha... alright, cut it out... put on that record because I'm really in the mood to unclog my ears; is it as chunky as the first one?"

F "Yes, maybe even better... or maybe not... how should I know... it has nothing groundbreaking or innovative if that's what you want to know. But it sounds damn good. Apart from singer Andy Beresky who went off to pick strawberries in Burundi, there haven't been major upheavals; it's the usual heavy doom (battle doom for the well-thinkers across the ocean) well-rounded with a thick spread of ''hobo stoner'' as you like it. The opener ''Endless Agony'' seems clear about that, don't you think?"

D "If you say so..."

F "In my opinion, it's a great track and ''Mercy's Bane'' follows suit. The trick is soon revealed: great riffs filled with electric current, hyper-pomposity like it's raining and an aristocratic taste for the song form that's really not bad. Two songs that flow by with pleasure, two songs that rock-radio could and should put in rotation for weeks if only they'd stop stuffing it with those thumb-sucking Nickelback and similar sub-crap... Hey, Declino, you are crazy about Matt Pike, right? Well: think of High on Fire, catch ''Sons of Chaos'' and tell me if they aren't just a bit leaner!"

D "Ok. Stop. Halt everything. Let's be clear: if you want to remain my friend for the rest of my life don't mention Mike's name in vain, ok?"

F "Alright... but how touchy you are... it was just to have a point of reference, damn! You should stop guzzling that bottle of Jack, you know. It's three in the afternoon and we've only been awake for a couple of hours. I saw some cedrata in the fridge if you're interested or maybe it was green tea, I don't remember..."

D "Look, that's grappa!"

F "Ah, there we go! Now I understand why my cedrata and aperol from last night was a little robust..."

D "Gosh, what a drag this... what's it called... ''Dreams of the Dead''. Who are they? The lumberjack cousins of The Sword to whom they've secretly stolen all the lumber? Iron Maiden forced into a full immersion in the entire (even the posthumous) Conan the Barbarian cycle?"

F "Well, yes, maybe a little trim in the central break wouldn't have hurt; but did you hear those guitar surges and those poignant arpeggios? Goosebump-inducing!"

D "More than a trim I would've given it a good chop honestly... anyway now you'll really get goosebumps: in the excitement of the guitar surge I knocked over the ashtray. I need to go outside to get the broom to clean up and it's a miracle if I can figure out where my shoes went!"

F "...but don't you feel this epic fragrance, almost desert-like, even a bit psychedelic that permeates the air? Don't you feel a punch in the stomach that, like a mirage, grabs you and throws you into a horde of real ghosts and then into the jaws of total hallucination..."

D "What are you talking about?!"

F "...don't you feel the beauty of these solos, of this plethora of melodic riffs that repeat, hypnotizing you, for all fifteen minutes of the concluding, enigmatic ''Into the Dawn''? Don't you feel the beauty of a work that, despite a halo of déjà-vu, has its own vivid and enthralling identity?

D "Maybe... right now all I feel is a tremendous chill in my feet and an immeasurable desire to listen to ''Sleep's Holy Mountain'' again... Alright, fine, I've got it; I'll go down to get the broom... if I can find those damn shoes, damn it... Anyway Fra, just to be clear, if these are the must-have hot-albums from an experienced doomster you'll try to peddle to me in 2012, then we're in for a cold one... Maybe now I understand why your prodigious blog gets a grand total of 10 visitors a week!"