Old school Doomy stoner rock with fresh swing, conservative in the best sense of the word: Saint Karloff take the challenge Interstellar Voodoo to bring a worthy successor, with Paleolithic War Crimes an.
In fact, the Norwegians not only had to overcome the shadow of their outstanding second work from 2019, but also the loss of bassist Ole Sletner, who died in 2021. Not the easiest requirements for Saint Karloff also.
However, Mads Melvold (vocals, strings, keys) and Adam Suleiman (drums, percussion) continued to work on the material created with Ole until his death, his brother Eivind involved in the development process as a lyricist and designer and Nico Munkvold for the live activities of the Band recruited as a replacement to record a compact, accessible and digestible record in its appearance: this time the total playing time is again around 40 minutes as on the debut All Heed the Black God from seven songs – not like with Interstellar Voodoo from a single, overly long braid.
That Paleolithic War Crimes predisposed does not develop such an expansive presence and freedom-loving appeal as its predecessor, especially since the Osloers appear this time as if they would not always completely uninhibitedly transcend their ideas, and instead shake a snack version of their class into a not completely fulfilling arc of suspense , but is primarily due to the direct, unavoidable relationship that the braver, more radical predecessor involuntarily demands as a comparative value. And conversely, this also means: the material is more pointedly tangible here and the accentuations are laid out without idleness.
In a genre that is generally relatively innovation-resistant and conservative, understand it Saint Karloff so again, moderately variable ingredients in a hardly surprising spectrum based on the elementary parameters – the performance, the songwriting, the staging, the feeling and the sound – refreshing, motivated, energetic and gripping to decline; to interpret the supposedly reactionary traditionalism as a classical virtue, where many facets of the MO as a living matter of interpretation underline that the Norwegians simply continue to have the indefinable certain Something possess that allows an intuitive band to always act above average, even without actual originality or sensational spectacle. Even if Saint Karloff with a view of the overarching whole this time – without appearing really disoriented – applying the levers in a less focused way.
On the other hand, the highlights change practically with every run, and the initial phase in particular ignites immediately. Psychedelic Man rears up heroically on the airside, with an imploring attitude between Kyuss and The Sword, having passionately internalized the riff lessons of Tony Iommi, just as crisp and storming screaming as not taking the easiest way, but letting the retro vibe drift off psychedelic. The singing, which has been criticized in many places as a weak point, comes across as immediately pleasantly unorthodox, downright individually inclined, charmingly crooked, before the soulful organ sounds, due to its renunciation of the aesthetics that countless colleagues actually inevitably alienate Blood Meridian galloping on the highway, rocking with a well-suspended, lively groove, suggesting an almost hippie-esque harmonies in the background of the classic attitude and going with additional percussion into the hips.
The bluesy-breathing interlude dreams Among Stone Columns serves as a reverberation on Planet Caravanbut also as a short breather before the famous Bone Cave Escapea wild one Graveyard-meets-Uncle Acid-Ride in Black Mountain-Style along with folky longing and soloing nonchalance: the basis of the eclectic record may be quickly and absolutely genre-typically categorized, but the color palette used on it is staged more interestingly than the majority of the competition – and each passage contains enough spice to interested in capturing attention.
And having such an unerring knack for snappy little catchy tunes doesn’t hurt either, especially when it comes to picking up on the difficult third album.
It’s really exciting – because it’s more revealing Paleolithic War Crimes however, in its even better second half: Nothing to Come strums there with carefree acoustic guitar in the footsteps of old ones Witchcraft continues, breaks out eruptively in a jam, and connects the organic poles to a freedom-loving flow in progressive folk rock, meanwhile Death Don’t Have No Mercy as an adaptation of Gary Davis’ blues seamlessly assimilated into its own canon coming out of the heavy viscosity without any effort releases the brakes and later puts them back on again, just to be in the great closer Supralux Voyager despite the underlying crux (tight reins tighten the progressively laid-back joy of playing) everything that one can love about the band in particular and in the genre in general, albeit with a certain informality and without flashes of genius, to let grow, completely in oneself losing and thereby also the possible secret of Saint Karloff demonstrated: Where many colleagues quickly wore themselves out as a one-trick pony, the group is still more than just reliable as an all-purpose weapon of vintage stoner rock with its doom hatching (and therefore deserves the upgrade in the points rating, at least with fan glasses). Even if album number 3 decides in case of doubt for the domesticated safety concept instead of that of Interstellar Voodoo issued (and provided the perspective of the band with an unavoidable burden) carte blanche, that’s a not-so-subtle reason for euphoria.
similar posts
Print article