Words by Andrew Lampela
Andrew Lampela was an employee and eventual co-owner of the 40-year old institution, Haffa’s Records in Athens, Ohio, just outside of the dark woods from which Skeletonwitch emerged. Over his years there he has played in a number of bands ranging from rock to noise to metal and has taken his lifelong knowledge of music into contributing to a number of publications.
Look. I’ve felt the proxy-guilt from time to time, surrounded by all you year-end optimists, but I dissociate from healthy intentions the second I wake up on a good day. The idea of kicking off a new year by collapsing under the weight of ‘resolutions’ seems self-defeating, even by my standards. My shortcomings run much deeper than some arbitrary calendar change can cure.
I am not so dense, however, that I can’t take a hint, and last year was as forceful a nudge into reflection as I’ve had. As I pull myself from the ungovernable morass of inertia, one maxim rattled through my synapses more than any other, words engraved on my teenage mind through diligent hours of grainy, third generation dubbed-straight-from-premium-cable studies. Refracting through the half-century mark, only now do I truly take the words of the much maligned yet well meaning thinker Sgt. Hulka to heart.
“Lighten up, Francis”
Because that’s the idea, right? Get your shit together enough to enjoy things? Find a work-versus-life routine that doesn’t pulverize you into oblivion? Learn to wade through the echoes of lives without drowning out the present one? It certainly isn’t easy to untether myself from decades of history, but I’ve been here before. Admittedly, I don’t recall ever being this committed to the bit, but this isn’t the first time it’s felt like swimming with weights on just walking out the door in the morning. I am, after all, a creature of habit and comfort, a wet lump of electrified meat trying to put this whole thing to motion in a way that doesn’t result in hyperventilating on the floor, knees tucked to chest, every time the brain gremlins decide to un-repress my greatest failures for no reason.
It’s impossible to avoid living through memories. Our experiences define us, our comparisons allow us to develop our tastes, our habits supply the quirks. To deny my history would be to deny myself the chance to change and grow, to allow myself a little wiggle room before absolutely torching my self-worth without provocation with unsubstantiated kernels of destruction floating through my brain like neural ghost bombs.
Unfortunately, the creature of habit I currently am is only good at failing to recreate the dopamine high of my first kitchen-sink-nachos video for ten immobile hours a day and avoidance naps that have utterly destroyed any hope of a normal sleep schedule. We are duplicitous creatures, chasing the joys while giving in to the lows, yearning for acceptance while reveling in spiritual immolation, knowing every day begins anew while letting the past start your morning with a twenty minute weaponized playlist of Julien Baker songs that really drive home what a piece of shit you’ve been.
Habits are malleable, though, so it’s time to lighten up. More books, less screen. More guitar, less screen. Hitting column deadlines (except this one), less screen. It hasn’t been what I’d call a raging success thus far, but breaking habits that have plagued me for several lifetimes now was never going to be easy. It’s certainly been liberating to cut back on obsessively trying to iron out every single memory of where I have fucked up at life. None of that is true or worthy of obsession. I can only try to be the best version of myself that I have available today.
That’s not to slight memories. We need our pasts to build our futures on, to give the nebulous ‘free will’ a direction, gives us parameters that allow us to be the ‘helps our neighbors’ people or ‘being assholes to librarians’ people. I spent too much time last year wading through the echoes without noticing the pockets of quiet I’ve unconsciously begun to cultivate. It’s taken too long to realize that my past isn’t a reliable narrator, and that maybe I can choose habits that allow me to lighten up and start enjoying those pockets of quiet.
Of course, I’ve picked the absolute worst time in history to wrest the depressive powers of memory from my brain, as the sheer stupidity of what is happening right now is abso-fucking-lutely bonkers. Pulling myself away from the screen right now is nigh impossible. How often do you get to see Empires implode in real time.
America has been stunted so successfully through decades of education cuts, that our collective memories are currently being revised out of existence, banned from being taught. Ethnic cleansing, Nazi marches through our cities, seditionists given pardons, these things are happening right now. Christian Nationalism is the ruling political party, and for a country founded on escaping religious persecution, that is mighty fucked up.
I’ll fully admit it, I’m scared. Faith in the greater good doesn’t hold much water when our elected officials pass vile, hateful, monstrously stupid legislation at a whiplash pace. Maybe we’d be in a better place if all the ‘just do a little research of your own’ Matrix edge lords had payed attention to what research actually entails in High School (while it was still funded). We’d still have a conception of truth at the center of this maelstrom, but I’m truly afraid that we’ve passed the point where truth itself is even relevant.
History has not stopped us from allowing Nancy Mace to hurl epithets on the hallowed Congressional floor, it’s just changed the hateful slur. History has not stopped the Nazi marches, despite a World War being fought less than a hundred years ago, it’s given the march police protection. History can’t even stop the genocide, it just gets a facelift as Palestinians are massacred in the name of beachfront resorts.
I vote, but faith in the greater good can’t possibly hold water when both choices are giant pieces of shit that don’t care about most of the country. There is an obvious reason that Trump won. His rhetoric hit all of the right notes for the America that politics has forgone. Unfortunately, that rhetoric was xenophobic, racist, misogynistic, and chock full of outright lies.
And here we are, watching from the precipice as the world slides face first into a gas station toilet full of flaming turds and broken glass.
So, yeah, it hasn’t been easy, this new “lighten up” me. But I’m trying, man. It’s all you can do. Build habits that benefit your daily life. Help your friends. Protect Trans people. Punch Nazis. Reject these millionaire bozos and their farcical vision of puritanical stupidity. And maybe be a little nicer to yourself. These are impossible times, you’re doing your best in the face of unfathomably cruel actions perpetrated by fucking monsters. I am oh so tired and I know everyone is but we’ve got to find solace in the pockets of silence where we can. Fuck these tyrannical dipshits.
There was a heady time in the early to mid 2000s, where I was nudged through the door of screaming Japanese guitar meltdowns by people that, thankfully, knew “I’d get it.” Sure, I would have probably gotten there eventually through my love for the 60s skronk scene of Brotzmann et al, but Gunn slipping me that first Fushitsusha live album certainly accelerated things. I can’t imagine how different my life would be if I ignored record store clerks or book store clerks. There’s a well of knowledge there that’s deep, and it doesn’t take anything other than interest to strike up that beneficial relationship. Listening to Sumac feels a lot like that mid 2000s period to me, as I had my head spun round and round by new, outside sound worlds. Sure, there’s plenty of Aaron Turner sludge to enjoy on The Healer (Thrill Jockey), but it’s the nebulous, free form, fucked up parts that make me feel like these dudes are the torchbearers of some cool, music dork knowledge. This record is massive. Turner, Brian Cook, and Nick Yacyshyn masterfully ride the waves of feedback, crushing metal, and silence across an hour fifteen. This is dense, uncompromising stuff, and you’ll know if it’s for you within the first five minutes. I have found much solace in these waves the last couple months, and highly recommend losing yourself in this motherfucker as often as you can. A high water mark in an unflinchingly deep catalog.
I hate to speak for them, but I imagine when faced with the age-old “what would you do with a time machine” question, Lifeless Dark definitively decided to go back and get every last bit of 80s reverb they could find to throw on the snare. Forces Of Nature’s Transformation (Side Two) absolutely rips with early Crust-Thrash abandon. I’d normally say forty one minutes is a bit long for this style, but I have listened to the fuck out of Forces… and can definitively say that nope, don’t get bored here. Production is rough but clear, drums are reverbed to the moon and back, the songs are there, this is just a great record. Highly recommend this one.
Look, I’ll listen to the dumbest, most redundant knuckle-dragging Death Metal you can throw at me and chances are, I’m in, no questions. For some reason, Black Metal isn’t afforded such leniency. Shit has to pop or I get bored pretty quick. It honestly surprises me how quickly the new Hulder became one of my favorite records last year. Verses In Oath (20 Buck Spin) is a perfect record. It does what I want while still pushing my boundaries of enjoyment into new places and nudging me into a Black Metal winter. I’ve never had KVLT cred, so the absolutely pristine production on Êra (Vendetta Records) is a boon in these ears. Asarhaddon also take some pretty shoegazey detours throughout, which I like very much regardless of the rules. This one stuck pretty hard in the rotation. On the other side of the coin, I had to check out the Time Lurker based purely on the cover. Will it musically be as ridiculously campy? Nope. Emprise (Les Acteurs de l’Ombre) does exactly what I want a by-the-rules Black Metal album to do, and does it wonderfully. Delayed tremolo picking for days! This one snuck into the rotation again and again, so it’s staying.
I am woefully unfamiliar with Ulcerate catalog. I vaguely remember getting into 2013’s Vermis for a minute, but that’s it. My bad. Cutting The Throat Of God (Debemur Morti) broke through a couple of months ago and I am in. That so many memorable parts come out of such dissonant chaos is pretty wild. Not the same thing, but this album puts me in the realm of Gorguts, as far as connection to Death Metal. Technical, weird shit, that somehow has dynamics to boot. As soon as I slow down on playing this one, definitely jumping into Ulcerate’s back catalog. A recommended favorite.
Dax Riggs is a legend, and if you know his work, you don’t need me to tell you whether or not his first music in fifteen years is worth your time. Full disclosure, I wasn’t much of a fan of Say Goodnight To The World, so didn’t exactly rush to listen to 7 Songs For Spiders (Bright Shadows/Fat Possum), and honestly, as much as I’m glad he’s back to a dronier, full band sound, I was a bit underwhelmed the first handful of listens. No worries, though, clicked in a big way. Lots of layers unfold upon repeated listens, and let me tell you, Dax Riggs is still a goddamn legend. Enjoy those Acid Bath shows I can’t afford to go to, everybody.
Can’t seem to find any links to direct you, but Jeremy von Epp’s The Outward Spiral is well worth tracking down. Technical, melodic instrumental Thrash is an easy sell, admittedly, but there’s quite a bit to enjoy here. “Morning Star” and “Red Shift” are my stand-outs, the perfect balance between I-have-chops and service to the composition. A fantastic EP. Kruelty dropped their own EP, and of course Profane Usurpation (Closed Casket Activities) rules. Duh. Wolfbrigade continue to crush the D-Beat game with Life Knife Death (Metal Blade). Not necessarily metal, but Glories play the type of quiet-loud-quiet instrumental Post-Rock that I think we can all agree is pretty great on An Expanse Of Color (self released), and has become an oasis of nighttime-walking calm for the last couple of months. Also not one of their more metal-leaning releases, but with Other Worlds (self released), Dead Neanderthals rip into some Krautrock and keep being awesome.