WINDHAND with OLDE at the Garrison (1197 Dundas West), Friday (July 31), 9 pm. $12. rotate.com, ticketfly.com.
Doom metal is the new black metal. Or the new death metal. Or sludge metal? Whatever the last strain of metal that spiked in popularity was, doom metal is that right now.
With big-ticket tours by bands like Yob and Electric Wizard, albums by Pallbearer and Bell Witch earning raves and even a new Cathedral album coming soon, it seems like there’s never been a better time to play low and slow.
“There’s been a resurgence,” says Parker Chandler, bassist of Richmond, Virginia’s Windhand, one of the most talked-about new doom metal bands in recent years.
“The bands getting recognition have been around for so long. Yob are pretty highbrow for the genre. They’ve got these moments – and same with Pallbearer – that push them into the prettier side, and then they’ve got the heavier stuff. I think that appeals to all people.”
On Windhand’s third LP, the excellent Grief’s Infernal Flower (Relapse), they push their own sound down cleaner, brighter, prettier paths. Where their 2013 sophomore record, Soma, played things glacially slow, the new album is shorter, punchier and poppier – by the plodding standards of doom metal, anyway.
Gone are the half-hour epics, pared down into tidier parcels of swirling, pseudo-psychedelic heaviness. And there’s more emphasis on Dorthia Cottrell’s haunting, witchy vocals, which help to distinguish Windhand from the scores of growlier, grumpier doom metal sad sacks.
If Soma was built for sulking on the streetcar while the harsh winter winds whirl around you, Grief’s Infernal Flower feels very much like a summer metal record, perfect for listening to as you watch the sun sink into the lake on a hot night at the beach.
“It’s in contrast to Soma on many levels,” says Chandler. “It’s definitely in a higher register, I guess. It doesn’t have the same feel as a lot of our older stuff. And that’s why we decided to go with it.
“When your entire catalogue is 10-minute songs, and someone comes along with one that’s six minutes, it’s kind of a breath of fresh air,” says Chandler. “I was talking to a friend whose band only has 20-minute songs. They’ll get a 30-minute set at some show, and it’s like, ‘Guess we’re only doing one song!’”
At the Garrison, we’ll get the comparatively terse, upbeat new material tempered by Windhand’s thicker, more plodding back catalogue. It’s another case of doom having something for those who want to nod their heads as well as those who like to bang them.
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