Sunken Cathedral – Movements 1 & 2 (Black Horizons)
Ryan P. Jobes is quickly becoming a name that’s synonymous with killer records for me. So far I’ve heard this guy head up Night Worship and Cvbe Ov Falsehood, both of which are fucking excellent. Seems like everything this dude touches turns to brooding occult magick. This new project involves him playing everything you can imagine (guitar, harmonium, tape machine, violin, percussion, piano, harpsichord, etc) along with Kimberley Sutton on amplified cello/electronics and Evelyn Davis on a motherfucking pipe organ. Honestly, I was sold right there, but it’s way better than I even hoped. Two side long pieces of perfect drone broken into four movements, this thing is overwhelming, dark, and fucking huge. The drone of the Gods, this is straight up incredible, the pipe organ fuckin dominating your headspace, sucking out the breath of your soul, while the rest of the instruments join forces to create an atmosphere of runic tension, the feeling of being caught & sacrificed while spying on robed shamans worshipping unknown deities, their very presence sending you into a fit of terror while Sunken Cathedral rises up in your ears, droning black & beautiful, a monolith of otherworldly transcendence that you can’t help but hail as your one true master.
Medroxy Progesterone Acetate – The Ghost Of Dried Wells (Black Horizons)
The one & only Medroxy Progesterone Acetate is back with a fuckin beast of a double tape, 2 hours of insanity that gets the deluxe packaging treatment from Black Horizons (side note: the image up there is only an interpretation, a snippet of the full artwork). This is some downright fucked up shit, wavering between diseased drones, black ambient, filthy industrial, nightmarish noise, and drifting shimmer. All sorts of weirdness on here with Darren Bauler taking on most of the responsibilities and various friends adding such talents as “Possession States,” “Concussion Machines,” and “Recording Anomalies.” The sounds are fucking out of this world, disgusting & horrific, festering & boiling drones, straight from the demon’s stomach, voices abound, dazed whispers rambling paranoia and death, haunting your very soul, shrill tinnitus bleeding out of every pore until it’s no longer part of the tape, it’s taken up residence and infected your ears, subtle rhythms grow into discrete beats that sound like old rusted machinery trying to reclaim their previous lives, and strangest of all, the moments of pleasant dreams and blissful ambience, tiny beacons shining out of the rotted wasteland. The bleak & harrowing doesn’t get much better than this.