Ken Mode
Venerable

Tar

It flows copiously from my speakers, and it's being poured into my ears by Ken Mode. They hail from Canada. And in this country, I believe there's something "wrong," evil lurks there, I'm sure, seriously. I was thinking of Nadja, or Devin Townsend (with Strapping Young Lad). What the hell is wrong with Canadians? (Besides Avril Lavigne, of course)

Discomfort

This is what the opening notes of "Book Of Muscle" suggest to me, scorching sludge, the bass is a damn cast iron elephant that drags along, then when the guitar joins in, it's a full-on first-blood sludge party. I completely lose my mind with the broken rhythms of "Obeying The Iron Will..." and "A Wicked Pike", the latter being one of my favorites, with a son of a bitch of an intro (and of the Jesus Lizard), the voice is on the brink of despair, and the hopping rhythms pull you in like a train, with tight drumming and total degeneration. And Kurt Ballou covers everything with his holy hand, and he knows a thing or two about discomfort, but it's not his usual closed and lo-fi production, there's something else here, evolutions from every corner. They treat us to authentic moments of calm and melody, "Flight Of The Echo Hawk" is pure spatial relaxation, the guitar's echo (indeed) weaves into the piece, becoming pure and simple despair, spinning marvelous melodies, and the same in the little suite "The Irate Jumbuck," where, however, a mad voice reigns, distorting everything, guitars like stoner blades, which suddenly become "silent" veins of metal. "Never Was" instead is for immediate psychosis, introduced by guitars screaming from the cosmos, background sounds of pure unease, then Melvins-like palm muting accompanied by a voice like a breath of death, and the drumming punctuation, leading to a senselessly violent explosion, and that's how we like it. 

Such violent pleasures are rare, like punches to the ears. A saiocco is forever.