Earthride
Vampire Circus

Amplifiers and mists. New electromagnetic curses against the stone. And more mist. Damn viscous mist all around.

The Earthride have been wallowing in the stoner-doom swamp more or less since 2000, but Dave Sherman, here frontman, is also the bassist of Spirit Caravan, and drummer Eric Little comes from Internal Void.

Essentially, when they organize the outdoor barbecue with the whole family, they don't use charcoal: they call Satan himself to be the chef. For "Vampire Circus," he cooks them some tasty meat mushes made from goat and to wash down the proud meal, Abraxas, Belphegor, Moloch, and a hell of a lot of other demons bring six-packs of cheap beer.

The stakes are high, and I've sworn a blood oath: a horrible curse on me if I do a track-by-track! Suffice it to say that Dave moans like a damn sticky cross between the hoarseness of Lemmy and Phil Anselmo, articulating muscle contractions, spasms, paranoid thoughts. The guitar tunings are so low they're like the primordial scream of the earth and make you crap your pants. Doom craftsmanship riffing and wah-wah splashes between the quarters of a drum hit with the bare palms by John 'Bonzo' Bonham's zombie: like a murky mix between Pentagram, Electric Wizard, and at the base ZZ Top on morphine and limping Motorhead. And with all this, when they realize they're too heavy, they also throw in some “cheerful licks” of Hammond organ... achieving a stunning opposite effect.

Damn, this album is damnably black and misshapen, organic like mud, burnt sand, a tire skid on the highway to hell. Doom is as withered as the tits of an old witch who has given too much to too many. Stoner lives on old ghosts and new distorters.

Earthride, on the other hand, kick ass. The chef says so too.