Hey, friends. I’m not coming to you this week offering any fancy coded language or armchair musings on our purpose here within the great stratosphere. Instead, it feels more appropriate to speak straight up. I’ve been trying to get better about approaching my own thoughts pragmatically, and restoring my faith in my own autonomy has me feeling pretty alright. As cool as they can sometimes be, the feels often steer us right off the cliff if we’re not careful. That leads us to the story I heavily contemplated telling today: how I spent Valentine’s Day 2k17. Oh yeah, it’s a fake holiday and blah, blah, blah. Fucking shove it. In the words of my husband John Joseph, “stop using that as an excuse you cheapskates and take your girl out somewhere nice.” I don’t mean to ruin anyone’s day here but all holidays are technically made up. The concept of a holiday period is a creation of the mind. Shit, Christmas was made up to foil the pagans or whatever but that doesn’t keep y’all from going out and punching babies over socks on Black Friday.

But more than any other reason, the whole “Valentine’s Day is bullshit” spiel is bullshit because at the end of the day, we all just want to feel like someone gives at least as a modicum of a shit about us, and if Hallmark wants to cash in on that fact, then so be it. A corporation cashing in on basic human needs??? You don’t fucking say.

Case in point: the feels get pumping and you start getting carried away.

Consequently, I’m not going to torture myself by re-living the whole sad narrative. Self-preservation 1, art 0. But, I will provide the truncated version: I chugged a bottle up champagne after the dude I had been seeing bailed on me for rec basketball, shambled for many blocks while screaming about how I wanted to smash my head into the pavement, ran into my former love triangle-starting neighbor’s buddies and almost outed his cheating, and told my landlord the only water bill I planned on paying was the one to facilitate being waterboarded until I couldn’t hear the sound of his voice anymore. Moral of the story: insult someone in a creative way and they’ll be too impressed to be mad. They might even replace your blown fuses.

Anyway, after a good, hard look in the mirror I knew I needed to set my sights on something more productive, and what’s better than a new writing project? Not shit. So, I’m excited to share with you my new blog, No Fast Bands (https://nofastbands.tumblr.com/), which I’ve challenged myself to update daily unless the roof is caving in on me (which, knowing my house, it just might). Having grown tired of the same old sanitized reporting on the same old formulaic blast beats, I wanted to clear a path for the dirge procession as well as write accompaniment inspired by black, doom, and blackened doom’s philosophical appeals. Fortunately, I also got my hands on some fresh Viva La Bam DVDs to counterbalance some of the pretension.

However, when swimming through the DSBM clickhole, I very occasionally come across some stuff with some faster-paced interludes that doesn’t completely make me grumble. That’s why I’m forever thankful to also have my headstone in the Drunk Graveyard to discuss whatever the fuck I want with the backing of the raddest hosers of the Great White North that I know.

So, here are some albums that aren’t decisively slow or speedy, but can be categorized by their butt fucking ugliness — and I mean that in the most affectionate way possible. Sometimes, one more minute of brooding to Ulver means teetering towards the unfavorable side of the edge, and if you fall, your only shot at survival is embracing the descent into the grit, and maybe ripping a few dicks off along the way.

Psalms Of Suicide (US) – House Of the Dying Self Terminating Sun (2017)

I’m going to waste no time here and start things off with a bang. It hasn’t been since I discovered Kalmankantaja’s Tyhjyys (which, for some reason, is classified under Latin Urban on Apple Music) back in December that I’ve been so enamored with a new find. It’s got a clear point of view consistent with its artwork, some synth that will make you wonder how it was possibly unearthed from the human mind, and a bassline that’ll get you fifty shades of fucked up. Please, if you listen to one album in its entirety this week, let House be it.

Infernal Hate (MEX) – Upset (2008)

It may have taken nearly a decade to find this one, but I’m grateful as hell that I did. The vocals may or may not have been recorded in my shower, but fuck, that’s the thrill of it, right? I respect the shit out of any artist who can get me wondering about what’s lurking in the next room, and I respect them even more if they can make me feel excited about it instead of the same old afraidliness. I’d say Upset is best paired with KG-Red Bull served in a Faygo chalice and a blurry cornhole sesh with a distant cousin.

Ahkqueth (CA) – Demo I (2017)

And when it’s cold and when it’s dark, the Canadians will come through with their super shlongs and delight you with the perfect soundtrack for exploring industrial wastelands with the company of only the Northern winds. Or whatever it is they do up there. Where Ahkqueth excels is in its embodiment of the crunchiness that calls me back to DSBM time and time again. And that’s a talent one cannot simply put a price on. I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume this is a one-man project, so hopefully a full-length will emerge from the depths of the clickhole sooner rather than later.

Grá (SE) – Ending (2015)

This one resonates with me in a lot of ways, but I think the biggest is that it starts out real pretty but once you reach the end of the night and scrub the makeup and accoutrements off, the inner beast is revealed. I especially appreciate the several plays on traditional spoopy melodies, as it highlights the super cool potential of handing an inventive mind something tried and true. Kinda like what happens when you give me some liquid eyeliner, a teasing comb, an hour, and a fifth of Evan Williams.

God bless.

-Jenna