Thursday, January 13, 2011

Ahab--The Call of the Wretched Sea

It's been an increasingly rough week and I haven't gotten to post the way that I like to, which is to say I haven't been drinking and rambling on and on about stuff that nobody cares about.  It's been cold and gray outside, and the standard bum-out that accompanies this weather pattern is in full effect.  Seriously, I like Texas much better when it's too hot to wear sleeves and socks.  The commercials that play around the radio morning shows around here have been predicting the destruction of all because--and I'm not making this up--the streets of Austin are running slick and pearly-white with the semen of syphilitic men.  It's an epidemic!  It might not "hurt that bad," but you still keep shooting your skeet skeet skeet into any available drunken hole on 6th Street.  Then they give it to someone else, because oozing genital sores are easy to overlook and forget about.  DON'T IGNORE THOSE WEEPING CANKERS, GUYS!

With the reaper's clammy grasp upon us due to our reckless sexual congress on Congress (Whoa!) and the weather just being generally miserable, it's clear that the time is ripe for some DOOOOOOOM.

Ahab is one of my doomy pleasure bands.  I'm not a big doom metal guy, but Ahab have what it takes to make me feel like misery clings to us all and the sea will be our ultimate resting place, which is to say "they make me feel aaaalllll right!"  Being nautically themed and named after some boner from a book that nobody has read in the last 60 years give Ahab an interesting gimmick to play up, since most metal bands prefer themes like genital mutilation (Vulvectomy, Prostitute Disfigurement, et al) or the increasingly popular Demons in Space motif enjoyed by The Faceless, Origin, and Brain Drill.  Ahab forsake the normal metal trappings of speed and disturbing-paintings-as-album-art in favor of an oceanic crawl.  In short, they sound like what a gigantic sea-lizard would sound like if it wasn't swallowing cruise ships or fighting giant squids for territorial supremacy.

The Call of the Wretched Sea is a masterpiece of an album.  It's atmospheric and slow, bone-crushingly heavy and marvelously morose.  I used to put Ahab on while I was driving out to scenic Halletsville, TX in my pervert van.  I would rocket down Highway 77 and watch my side mirrors shake in unison under the weight of a thousand waves.  I also imagine there's some seaweed and stuff in the mix.  The guttural vocal stylings complement the music perfectly, even though they could arguably be classified (along with Wormed) as "cartoonish," or "vocals that anyone who's not into metal will instantly start making fun of."  The mix is thick and powerful, an unstoppable force that glides effortlessly along, shattering the bows of any naval cruiser that is foolhardy enough to stand in it's way.

It's like a giant, horned whale with an even more giant whale-dick.

If you haven't checked this tsunami-inducing album out, you should follow your nose and check it out, or go dig their Myspace page if you're one of the few who is opposed to stealing good music from bands that need and deserve your money (poser).  And remember that when life gets you down, Ahab invite you to

"Find your ultimate doom under the seeeeaaaaaa!"

Give in and enter the warm, forgiving ocean, everybody.

No comments:

Post a Comment