Stone Machine Electric – Darkness Dimensions Disillusion (self-released, 26 April 2019)
Good afternoon! Here’s some news that recently came across our desk here at VOH headquarters, which we felt obliged to pass along to you: guitar/drums/vocals “doom jazz” duo Stone Machine Electric have decided to make all their past releases “pay what you can” (including free) on their Bandcamp page. Naturally, that includes their 2016 record Sollicitus es Veritatem which we dug into at that time, right here.
Excluded from this offer is the band’s latest release Darkness Dimensions Disillusion which just came out a few months ago. But fear not, the price is still pretty cheap, or — even better — you can snap up a free download of this album when bundled with one of the band’s t-shirts!
BREAKING NEWS: as an added bonus, just as we were about to go to press with this, we just learned that the band also plans to include a free patch with CD/shirt/cassette orders — but hurry because supplies are very limited!
For those who have heard the release that preceded DDD by nearly three years, and/or have read what we said about it, you’ll recall that this Lone Star State twosome’s primary MO has them working within a vaguely stoner metal and/or psychedelic desert rock millieu, with the inclusion of dark — sometimes bordering on eerie — introductions and instrumental passages of unadulterated atmospheric doom.
And indeed, those expectations are firmly met here. The middle two of the album’s four tracks (“Sand” and “Circle”) tend to be a little more upbeat, just a little more funkier; very much of a crunchy distorted stoner/psych feel that should appeal to fans of Borracho or Clutch — but with just the right amount of that signature Texas boogie vibe.
Bookending these, the much longer first and last tracks definitely bring the atmosphere and the DOOM to the party. Thirteen-minute opener “Sum of Man” builds very slowly, bridging between doomy riffs and an echoey, almost darkwave sort of tone (reminding this listener of MAKE, especially in the drums/cymbals).
And the fourteen-minute closer “Purgatory” follows suit in terms of slowness/darkness/mellowness — at least at first. Eventually the heaviness is cranked up, complete with gravelly bluesy vocals (that range somewhere between Dr. John and Dr. Teeth), while about halfway through the band starts going completely off the rails — turning into more and more of a confused mess, surrounding the repeated line “time does not exist here,” perfectly representing the song’s title lyrically as well as sonically.
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