Man, now that is a killer band name; that just makes you want to listen to them. Netherlands lot, Acid Deathtrip are giving me that weird, foaming-at-the-mouth grin and repeating a subliminal chant of “we know you’re going to like this even before the first sludge-damaged riff swamps your brain.” This is busy, but thankfully, it doesn’t feel clustered and ungainly – shaping their sound around some sickeningly groove-splattered riffs, Acid Deathtrip manage to wrap dirty, warped power metal, hip-shaking and sleazy rock ‘n roll and leering blues-hardcore together in a tripping package.
They kick this split EP off with End Of The Line, riding on a thunderously dirty riff that you know smells of greasy chicken wings, stale lager and whisky. Vocalist Bob has some powerful pipes; his throaty, gargled larynx is commanding and full of zealous enthusiasm, backed by the now stamping metallic rock ‘n roll strut. There’s elements of doom thrown in for good measure, as the rhythm section pound out a deep, low-end pummel of chilling dirge under the bong-saturated stoner-guitar wails.
The Fallen begins with a dark, isolating barrage of post-metal shifts and erupting sounds, mixing some creepy samples in for good measure and progresses to get heavier and more twisted in its low-end, despondent attack. The sudden tempo change is jarring to begin with and soon you’ll be crushing beer cans into someone’s skull as Acid Deathtrip fire on all cylinders. It then goes a bit Danzig jamming with Absolute Power, throwing out some excellent battle-metal theatrics alongside emotionally wrought and delightfully hammy-vocals, which I honestly cannot get enough of. My only gripe is that two tracks isn’t enough really.
They kick this split EP off with End Of The Line, riding on a thunderously dirty riff that you know smells of greasy chicken wings, stale lager and whisky..
On the flip-side we have Hangman’s Chair (equally great band name), a four-piece from Paris. Not wanting to be out-done in the heavy stakes, these guys are somewhat serious, but no less crushing. The wave of bludgeoning sound is part-prog metal, part cleansing, destructive oblivion. The brooding, minute long opening on The Rest Is Silence is a stripped-back, eerie buzz of gentle, almost non-existent chords and quiet, low-end humming. Around the 1:30 mark it kicks into life; post-rock guitar chords slash through the stillness, switching from sudden bouts of barely-restrained heaviness, to deeper, more majestic passages of sweeping sound. The last minute is a heady hangover of Cult of Luna-style space-metal that is gut-wrenchingly caustic and seething.
Things aren’t looking any brighter in their world – Gallow’s Dance is submerged or morose, wrought feelings, scrambled acoustic guitars and broken vocals cries. When the rest of the band crash in just before the 3 minute mark, it staggers to it’s feet, still crippled, broken and no less utterly consumed in darkness. There’s an almost psychedelic screech to the guitars, which writhe and spasm (think Crack The Skye–Mastodon in places) with abrupt, shuddering heaviness.
You can buy this Split 12″ from the Reflections Records store, or alternatively stream below!