Down
NOLA

THE REVIEW

And to think I didn't even believe in the existence of Sludge. Hardcore Punk with Doom and Southern Rock influences? What?!
I've always classified everything that's musical and reminiscent of the '70s, is hazy, psychedelic, overloaded with fuzz, and terribly desert-like as Stoner; I was wrong.

Oh, how wrong I was!

Maybe it's because the smoke is better in New Orleans (NO), Louisiana (LA). Maybe it makes you angrier than ever. Maybe it's because these four good fellas - Phil "Boar" Anselmo (Pantera), Pepper Keenan (Corrosion of Conformity), Kirk Windstein (Crowbar), Jimmy Bower (Crowbar), and Todd Strange (Crowbar) - seem like the bastard sons of Black Sabbath.

With the afore-mentioned Stoner, Down has everything and nothing in common: forget psychedelic marches, soft soundscapes with vocal, bass, guitar effects and any other devilry, intricate, twisted, dreamlike, and disorienting songs. Done? Good.

The four from New Orleans are not dreamy and twisted at all. They're mad as hell. Listening to their album is like getting hit with a 5cm sawed-off shotgun blast, with everything it entails.

Now, I don't know if this is a good thing or not, but it's certainly what I needed.

The platter opens with an unrestrained initial trio (Temptations Wings/Lifer/Pillars Of Eternity): Keenan's seismic riffs are the best heard since good old Iommi, flowing without taking any prisoners. Anselmo's voice is ugly, hoarse, perfect for creating the atmosphere that saturates the album's songs.
Let me linger on the riffs: guys, do you hear them? They're indescribable: a wall of a few simple notes that kick you in the face.
Special mention goes to that big guy on the drums, Jimmy Bower: the worthy heir of John Bonham, no doubt. A rock-solid, no-frills drumming, colossal in its sonic majesty; getting hammered has never been so enjoyable, really!

The album proceeds, between blues riffs taken to the extreme, odes to marijuana and Louisiana, until reaching that little gem that is Jail: a drop of silence in a sea of furious watts.
The atmosphere softens, everything slows down, stops. A "Planet Caravan 25 years later" leads us to a personal reflection, still worn out by the adrenaline of the previous songs.
The band brings out magical arpeggios, percussion, and even a mandolin. Ahh, a breath of fresh air was needed!

There's barely time to catch a breath - after the tribute, first with music and then with a title, to Led Zeppelin (Pray For The Locust/Swan Song) - before it immediately reaches the peak of the album: that generational anthem that is Bury Me In Smoke, a splendid sludge ride, raw and diabolical to the core, a true declaration to the whole world. Anselmo outdoes himself here, with a text laden with strong tones, mocking death with a ritual joint in hand. Unbeatable.

... It's been an hour since the album started. We're exhausted, sweaty, physically destroyed... but happy. Happy to have shared with four good (yes, yes...) guys the passion for music, the kind played from the heart for the heart, so much genuine rage, a lot of blues, and a lot of '70s attitude. With Down, being angry has never been so much fun.