Conan
Horseback Battle Hammer

When I hear the adjectives "slow" and "heavy", I often wonder if anyone has ever had the (mis)fortune of listening to a certain band called Conan, a British trio, characterized by two primary elements for authority and originality: 1) amplifiers as tall as towers, but of the most deformed Gothic/Romanesque cathedrals; 2) indefinably low tunings, beyond the detuning itself, guaranteed by the use of b-tone guitars, but of the worst kind.

"Horseback Battle Hammer " (2010), is produced by Aurora Borealis, and it's a 4-track EP whose burdensome entity leaves all Lady Gaga fans disappointed, but delights the chewers of the most occult, malignant and visionary doom-stoner ever seen on the European scene, if not even worldwide. What to say? It's frightening, but in earnest. If Electric Wizard ensured a certain range of melodic comprehension, heaviness aside, Conan goes beyond, in every sense. Barrages comparable to earthquakes, propagate from nowhere to spread omnidirectionally to the hapless listeners who are lucky enough to be invested with delicate monstrosity. Yes, because this seemingly minimal band hides an original use of low frequency modulation: so low as to include reaching the famous and much-hated clip of Gigi D'Alessio's fans, but only for a short while, as if by magic.

"Krull", the first track, is the perfect representation of a massive Viking journey via ocean, heading to Iceland. Small problem: the cargo, surely not made up of weapons, nor gold, but rather a ton of hallucinogenic herbs sold by some Phoenician archaeo-alchemist up for tricks on the much-rivals and competing sea explorers. And the waters become so deep and dark as to mistake the ocean for the universe itself. Everything is a magnetic-sound wave, everything is dark, black as pitch and pestiferous, shaken only at the seventh minute by an impetuous snow storm in a stoner style to the point of giving hope back to a track that for 6 minutes does not even leave the antithesis of a shadow. "Satsumo", the second track, is instead a song that reminds me of the horrific sea monsters that populate the fantasy of Nordic tales: obese, scaled, and rough as well as slimy, this doommarine colossus emerges from the water to unleash all its unchallenged fury on the sailors. Seaweed flies, pieces of saliva, and whatever else the beast torn apart by the vocalist's piercing chants can hurl from the depths of the waves. "Dying Giant", the third track, fits well with our all-drone Pan-Scandinavian story: the gigantic monster thrashes about, mortally wounded, emits a slow, colossal scream, and with unheard-of noise lets its kilometer-long tail collapse onto the opaque ocean surface. It will disappear in an suffocating way, sinking, and the solemn and liberating cries of a crew that raises their swords to the sky dodging death's grip just avoided, but alas, to no avail. From afar, the mist is defeated by the compact and spectral shape of a land whose coast appears imposing and gray. Silence reigns on board, tension spreads, dominating the soul: they row vigorously, drenched by the brackish waters propelled by the impetuous wind, and funeral drum echoes never heard, raw and massive at the same time. "Sea Lord", the fourth and final track: finally, the awaited docking. A dissonant litany leads the way to an inland wrapped in the opacity of the overhanging clouds. Everywhere, the bright green strikes observation and contrasts with orgies of frozen waterfalls by the polar climate. Then, suddenly, the unspeakable: a granite temple, elusive to possible measurements, hits without notice the environment of an island about which nothing is known. On its facade, carved in low relief, the entire epic of an ancient civilization, vanished in anti-diluvian epochs: fish-men engaged in acts of worship towards the image of the Lord of the Abyss. A man shouts to the company, and points at dismembered human bodies sacrificed, on the side of the arcane building. Panic overrides reason, and they flee from that infernal place, where the most extreme disgrace and pagan obscenity mark the very smell of the air. Many retreat to the ship, many set sail to flee. The earth trembles, and the rocks crumble into pieces. Distortions reign supreme, bordering on semi-cacophony.

Having escaped death, the survivors will return to their villages and will say they've seen it all and more. But even more, they will tell their wives and children to stay away from that cursed tragedy that is "Horseback Battle Hammer." To you however, I implore you to give a chance to this extremely original EP, a technical test for the subsequent album of the three crazies in question, which I hope may be released as soon as possible!

I introduced everything talking about adjectives, and I mean to conclude with the only adjective suitable to this band: doping. Rather, Lovecraftian.

For fans of the genre, listening is highly recommended.