Review Written by Robert of SIEGE
Label: Patac Records
In an alternate universe of proper 70’s-culture-worship sanity, BLOOD FARMERS Headless Eyes title cut woulda been a cult hit. Same goes for Bullet In My Head from their s/t 1996 pummellouge on Leaf Hound. Not TOO big a’one, though; this shit’s edgy and evil even for an imaginary authentirocktopia.
Alas, we live in an ‘indie-ground’ metal world where growing a beard is cool, and strip-mall-guitar-store stoner has the shelf life of a snoutful of stale bongwater. Ah, gimme a fuckin’ time machine back to when shit like this, early Sabs, Alice Cooper, maybe some early Priest mighta been played here and there on the radio; Blood Farmers woulda fit in perfect, blasting from a rickety Trans Am’s AM radio as we’re barreling suicidally down tree-lined suburban streets, bag a’ brown pot stuffed in the pocket of a ragged denim jacket, their jams fueling parking lot beer fights gone murderously awry. Crank it, and fuckin’ spark one!
And with this latest chapter of their bleak yet richly uncompromising audio odyssey, Blood Farmers rock perched atop the solidified carrion of tradition, building an evil, familiar castle potheads everywhere will re-visit in zombified, blue-hued déjà-vu’s.
Eli Brown’s murderously remorseful howls once again lament over sadistically sinister rhythmic clangs and hammers, Iommesque in their embrace of Sab’s higher challenges (galloping darkly melodic improvised guitar virtuosity) rather than copping out to the neanderthousanth riffage to not-much-else-ville like almost everybody calling themselves ‘doom’ nowadays.
‘The Road Leads To Nowhere’ is Szulkin’s standout, show-stopping Sabbifried dark guitar meditation on ‘The Last House On The Left’ soundtrack, and it’s a sternum-macerating downer, finding Brown’s voice dry, clean, honest and bare of the past’s oft saturating lysergic churn of vocal phase and flange. The effect is like a chilling confession, transporting us back to where guitar rock left off, but making it evil again, yes! Ever-more evil! A guitar harvest only possible from years of bong-addled worship in the shadows cast by the duel altars of Tipton and Downing; this album is Blood Farmers’ grimly shining hour.
Sabbath are older now. We need new metal in the arenas. Please, Satan, let it be bands like this! Let us reach for and acknowledge new, real royalty here; Depravid, Eli and Tad have earned hellish thrones with this demonumental rockument – a restoration of the genre, blood-soaked in vintage horror authenticism, like swampy, resurfacing 16 millimeter suppressed memories of satanic ritual sacrifice.
I am hitchhiking in the rain. Going to see a psychic who says she will contact the spirit of Forrest J Ackerman for me; I shall play the entire ‘Headless Eyes’ for his ghost. He’ll love it!
Oh – and do I even need to even tell ya’s the vinyl is the definitive format? Warm, loud, full, fuckin’…crisp. Beefy lows, unified – 5 out of 5 stars.
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