#yermetalisolde — Public Fediverse posts

A year ago to the day, the metal community tragically lost Brent Hinds. Three weeks from now, metalheads can observe a joyous anniversary involving Hinds: Blood Mountain turns 20. The convergence of these anniversaries must be disorienting for the remaining members of Mastodon, who recently released a tribute to their fallen brother. In the video, Brann Dailor, Bill Kelliher, and Troy Sanders narrate the rise and fall of their camaraderie with Hinds, culminating in a public dispute after his dismissal from the band. Watching old studio footage of his deceased bandmate recording Blood Mountain, however, puts Dailor in a happier mood; he claims Hinds was reaching the height of his creative powers on album three.1 I snagged a copy of Blood Mountain from Best Buy the day it dropped, and it quickly presaged for me the metal giant Mastodon could become. Only now can I appreciate the giant within the giant.

Like most Mastodon fans, I eagerly anticipated Blood Mountain. The “March of the Fire Ants” video on Headbanger’s Ball introduced me to the band, and Leviathan convinced me that these Atlantans were running perpendicular to the New Wave of American Heavy Metal (NWOAHM) they were lumped into. Signing to Reprise Records put major pressure on the band, which they mitigated by keeping Matt Bayles behind the board.2 Mastodon ended up following Leviathan with another concept album, this time with originality: a protagonist ascends the titular mountain to crown its peak with a crystal skull, facing physical, psychological, and mythical tribulations along the way.3 Upon finally hearing it, Blood Mountain struck me as a step up for the band. Kelliher’s off-kilter guitar work felt more consistent, Sanders’s bass choices felt more impactful, and Dailor’s drum-kit clinic felt more purposive. But the album also struck me as structurally similar to Leviathan. An early lyric in “The Wolf is Loose”—when a screaming Hinds likens the protagonist’s predicament to ‘the belly of the whale’—seemed to confirm this similitude.

It was obvious, however, that Blood Mountain’s vocals separated it from previous outings. A making-of documentary shows Hinds exhausted by the lengthier recording process yet energized by the unique blending of his voice with Sanders’s.4 If “The Wolf is Loose” and “Crystal Skull” loosely mimic Leviathan’s raucous opening, Mastodon distinguish Blood Mountain’s one-two punch through Hinds’s voice, shifting between scathing snarls, creepy whispers, and soulful croons. On melodic centerpiece “Colony of Birchmen,” Hinds warbles eerie verses and belts a powerful post-chorus with posthumously poignant lyrics (‘Gone away / My heart’s gone away / Taking everything’). And “This Mortal Soil,” the prog-rock curveball, contains one of Hinds’s most moving choruses. The NWOAHM left me callous to the harsh/clean vocals formula, and Hinds himself jokes that Mastodon sold out with their singsongy major label premiere. Despite my NWOAHM skepticism, Blood Mountain didn’t strike me as vocally formulaic. Hinds’s voice in particular gave Mastodon a weirdo quality that had the band riding its own wave.

Hinds is primarily a guitarist, though, and Blood Mountain contains some of his most expressive playing. He does, of course, lay down tasty solos (“Crystal Skull,” “Colony of Birchmen”). But for my money, Blood Mountain soars when Hinds adds melodic color to kinetic jams with Kelliher, Sanders, and Dailor. The frenetic bridge in “Capillarian Crest” comes to mind, as does freak-out instrumental “Bladecatcher.” Closer “Pendulous Skin” shows Hinds at his most singular on Blood Mountain, guitar-wise. He cites Led Zeppelin as an influence, and it’s hard not to hear the song’s roving acoustic chords as Stairwavian, its solo as Pagean. With “Pendulous Skin,” it’s almost as if the rest of Mastodon handed off Blood Mountain to Hinds, confident he could craft a classic conclusion.5

Blood Mountain stands as a transition between the sludgsterpiece of Leviathan and the more palatable Mastodon to come. Calling it simply a ‘transition album,’ however, would be unjust. Standing tall on its own, Blood Mountain showed me something familiar yet new in 2006—in hindsight, Hinds was responsible for much of this invigorating novelty. Indeed, the album’s classic- and prog-rock flashes excited me for the band’s future. Speaking of the future, Mastodon will be releasing Marrow Deep, their first album without Hinds, a week from now. Today is the day to mourn the loss of a metal giant, and August 28th will be the day to see what Mastodon can create without this giant. September 12th, however, will be the day to celebrate Hinds’s giant contributions: to one of Mastodon’s finest albums and to metaldom more broadly.

It’s not that often that I’ll have difficulty talking about an album that’s hitting its 20 year anniversary soon. In the case of Watching from a Distance, the second (and at the time, final) album from UK doom metal (then-) trio Warning, giving words to the atmosphere, the weight, and the aching hurt emanating from these five songs proved to be more than daunting. It’s not that often that you come across an album that feels like a sonic gutpunch that just doesn’t stop punching you into emotional submission, and guitarist/vocalist/mainman Patrick Walker did so effortlessly. It’s hard to not feel something while listening to the album, then or now. It’s this encapsulation of utter sadness and yearning that would influence many since, and what better time than now to induct Watching from a Distance into the Halls of the Olde?

Warning didn’t come from the more Gothic sounds of their contemporaries (and fellow YMIO inductees) Anathema, My Dying Bride, or Paradise Lost. Lyrically, they also couldn’t be more different. Whereas not many people could sing about fighting the gods like Darren White did, nor can we all take Aaron Stainthorpe’s hand or do we all have the ability to opaque the dissident establishment that we all suffer like Nick Holmes,1 we’ve all encountered the aftermath of a break-up or losing a loved one. If you haven’t, rest assured it’s coming, and no one can articulate the sheer crushing feeling that comes with that like Walker does here, and it’s especially not at the level of maturity he exhibited. No fingers pointed, no blame assigned, no good/bad person(s) to smear… just the aftermath, the pain that comes with it, and the knowledge (or lack thereof) of what to do next to move on.

Take the devastatingly heartbreaking “Bridges,” in which there’s very little variation between riffs and percussive patterns, and that’s on purpose: the rhythm section of bassist Marcus Hatfield and drummer Stuart Springthorpe knew to keep things plodding and controlled by design, further accentuating the repetitive riffs and lyrics of Walker’s. Speaking of, each verse ends with Walker achingly bellowing “I wish you were here with me tonight,” with each passing verse more dire and heartwrenching than the last, with the final pass preceded by “Can someone feel too much?” Tear-inducing on its own, but when it’s immediately followed by Walker harmoniously bellowing towards the end, those who are unprepared2 will be reduced to a quivering pile of sobs. Emotionally decimating.

The other four songs also float by with the grace and delicacy of a cinder block thrown right at your heart and emotions. The closing combo of “Faces” and “Echoes” do a fine job of further bringing the sorrow and pain, with the former lamenting a sense of normalcy amongst the crumble of a failed relationship, while the latter recalls pleasant memories of what was, but will never be again. However, it’s the opening one-two suckerpunch of the title track and “Footprints” that everyone remembers, and with good reason. The title track feels like a moment in time where Walker sees the wreckage of a the relationship and sees what he remembers are the good qualities, but it’s far too late to turn back the clock and repair the damage. And “Footprints”… man, fuck “Footprints” so much. At first a bit more upbeat than “Watching from a Distance,” all seemingly feels almost uplifting when suddenly Walker bares all in the song’s final few minutes, complete with a desperate delivery, complete with an emotionally charged voice that cracks and warbles in a broken manner that I made the mistake of listening to it the first time on my way home from work, and I had to pull over to partake in the ugliest of purging crying sessions. It’s ultra-rare that doom metal can make me feel that way, and Walker and company succeeded in accomplishing this in spades.

It was a sad time when Walker disbanded Warning in 2009, due to the simplest of reasons: artistic integrity and keeping his vision intact, forming the formidable 40 Watt Sun, an acoustic continuation of what Warning achieved. However, with their influence driving the likes of Pallbearer and Khemmis (among others), it was only a matter of time before Warning would return with Hatfield in tow, and now with their long-awaited third album, Rituals of Shame, on the horizon, it’s only fitting to induct Watching from a Distance in the Halls of the Olde. Give this a listen, but bring tissues.