Friday, May 03, 2024

an album review and interview with a punk-metal band

The Norwegian band creates a positive-negative charge

In electrostatics, unlike charges attract each other. But on “Negative Music,” you get the sense Haust is repulsed by everything.

The Norwegian band’s new album is a negative charge forced against every direction.

The band debuted in 2008 with “Ride the Relapse.” After a couple albums and a several-year hiatus, the original lineup returns to release “Negative Music.”

The new album pounds mid-tempo, concrete-crushing sounds. The production is solid, and the vocal performance is all in. The music knocks down your eardrums with rhythmic change-ups and syncopation.

Haust vocalist and lyricist Vebjørn Guttormsgaard Møllberg talked to me about negativity, inspiration, and reckoning with dominant economic and social forces.
 

D: I really enjoyed listening to “Negative Music.” This was my first time hearing the band. The album title and press release center on negativity. What is the attraction of negativity?

VGM: For me, this is what attracted me to punk and black metal in the first place. This music is about saying No to harmony both in a musical and social sense. You don’t listen to a band like Darkthrone or Rudimentary Peni to meditate and become Zen. Still, while I am saying this, I realize that maybe some people, including myself, become a more balanced human being by releasing and acting out negativity through music.
 
D: How much of the negativity is social and how much is personal?

VGM: I wish I could say that it’s all social, but it’s definitely not. A lot of the lyrics are about personal issues that also of course are connected to social issues. I hope our audience can see through the I-hate-myself-and-I-want-to-die part and see that at least 80 percent of their depression is caused by capitalism and our neoliberalist, technology-positive, and war-mongering society
 
D: I’ve heard Haust’s debut was inspired in part by the “destructive car-culture” of Notodden. What is the car culture in Notodden? And what was bad about it?

VGM: Three of us grew up in the small town Notodden, two hours from Oslo. It is an old industrial town that was built around factories. In the 80s, most of the factories were shut down, and there has been a growing unemployment rate since then. Around the same time, a lot of people started driving up and down the street of the city center and, slowly, some kind of car-driving milieu developed around this activity. They all have huge sound systems in their cars and play techno and country music so loud that the cars are shaking, making a lot of noise.

I don’t know about how it is today, but when we were teenagers, they were dating girls as young as us (14-17), and we really hated them, and they hated us.

So I wouldn’t say that our debut was inspired by them as much as inspired by our hate against them. We were skater freaks with long hair, and they always shouted “cut your hair and get a job” out of their windows—ironic, since probably a lot of them were unemployed.

Decades later, when I am visiting my hometown, these guys still throw stuff at me out of their windows when I am walking in the city center street.

 
D: The songs on “Negative Music” sound consistently loud and heavy. Do you have to resist including an acoustic or some other style of song?

VGM: This is the music we want to play. If we would play other styles of music, we would start another band.
 
D: “Where Evil Dwells” and “The Vanishing” sound like interludes. What is the intention of these songs and their placement in the album?

VGM: You are right, they are interludes, and the intention is to have some breathing space in between the songs and still maintain the dark, creepy mood.
 
D: How does Norway play into your music? And what kinds of things do you think people around the world should know about Norway?

VGM: We have a love/hate relationship towards our country. We love the nature, and to some extent the values of the social democratic society, but we hate the spoiled holier-than-thou attitude that a lot of Norwegians have. Our small society has gained too much capital in a really short time (since we found oil in the 70s), and there are a lot of newly rich people with really bad attitudes towards the rest of the world.

There is a lot of good music from our country that has inspired us, and some of the best are Emperor, Darkthrone, A-ha, Noxagt, Arne Nordheim, Maja Ratkje, Kafka Prosess, and Biosphere.

Also make sure to check out the new hardcore band Accelerator and the death metal band Nithe that both will be supporting us on our release show in Oslo.


Vebjørn Guttormsgaard Møllberg generously promotes other bands.
 
Meanwhile, his own band opens “Negative Music” with the screeching guitars, damning drums, and abrasive vocal of “Left to Die.” The sound is a howling catharsis caving in with thick distortion and anguished lyrics that reject you—"No room here, no room, no room! There is no room for losers ‘round here! No room, no room!"

The equally unwelcoming and committed vocal on “Dead Ringer” howls “I’m slipping into darkness, I’m slipping into nightmares; I hear a sound, and I wake up—my blood runs cold!” There is an affect in the pronunciations, rolling Rs like something vaguely Hungarian and wrung straight from the lungs. The song even has a burning little guitar lead at 2:20.

Maybe you can become a more balanced human being by releasing “Negative Music.”

Friday, April 26, 2024

a poem about making music

Mid-40s, playing guitar
 
Dissonance and distortion hid subtlety
And, subtly, dissonance and distortion hid
I got old, and I believed I would
But did not feel it until it happened
Music roams
  home roams never to mine
Now I have no sound other than
  what the sound is
    of passing time
 

Friday, April 12, 2024

an album review: "Ravenous" by Waste a Saint

Sing out loud with Waste a Saint


Waste a Saint’s new album starts with an amplifier hum.

The sound of a humming amp is a prelude to a rock show.

Waste a Saint delivers one.

The new album, "Ravenous," rolls out melodic stoner rock lifted by hooks, practiced musicianship, and a highly present vocal that fills hearts. The sound recalls Paranoid-era Sabbath, early Queens of the Stone Age, and the 90s band Spiders.

The amplifier buzz leads opening track “Schizofriendia” to buzz-crunched metal and builds to the chorus’s belted-out lyric: “Eyes in the mirror watching you closely / It’s becoming clearer—no need to be lonely.” The vocal renews the worn path of songs about isolation, about feeling crazy for talking to yourself like you’re someone else.

My first favorite song is “Sore Spot.” The passion flares in the verse with muted guitars and unmuted vocal—“I know you see me see you avoid me, trying to get away and pretend to not know / But I’ll stare into your eyes so you can look away / I’ll call your name until the end so you can hear.” Then the growling guitars gush through a three-chord chorus.

“Dryads” is my second favorite. The production splits guitar parts into left and right channels, and a dissonant note keeps wrestling with the melody. I love the arrangement. The persistent bass expands while the drums swing. The chorus is tight: the guitars take deliberate, confident steps while Bogey Stefansdottir’s voice comes at you.

Waste a Saint plays with consistency, like an older band. "Ravenous," released March 2024, follows the 2022 debut, "Hypercarnivore," which was also released on All Good Clean Records.


Note: After I write about some album like this, I never listen to it again. But “Dryads” might stick in my collection.


Saturday, April 06, 2024

something about David Sedaris’s "Barrel Fever"

David Sedaris debuted in 1994 with Barrel Fever. The book includes "Santaland Diaries"—the essay that made Sedaris famous. He read it on National Public Radio in December 1992, and now NPR plays it every Christmas.

In Barrel Fever's fictional essays, Sedaris writes in first person and assumes the voice of the fantastically oblivious, outrageous, and delusional. 

The essay "Barrel Fever" features the voice of Dolph. Dolph describes the reporter at crime scenes as an “emotional strip miner” because of how they interview the unfortunate. Then Dolph meets a friend for dinner and routine binge drinking at a BYOB restaurant, but the friend declines to drink. Dolph describes their dinner conversation:

Later in the restaurant, figuring he’d changed his mind, I offered Gill one of my beers. He grew quiet for a few moments, tapping his fork against the table before lowering his head and telling me in fits and starts that he couldn’t have anything to drink. “I am, Jesus, Dolph, I am, you know, I’m ... Well, the thing is that I’m ... I am an ... alcoholic.”

“Great,” I said. “Have eight beers.”

Later, Dolph meets his sisters at their late mother’s house after the memorial service.

During that time at our mother’s house my sisters were remote and mechanical, acting as though they were hotel maids, tidying up after a stranger. They spoke as if a terrible chapter of their lives had just ended, and I felt alone in my belief that a much more terrible chapter was about to begin. I overheard them gathered together in the kitchen or talking to their husbands on the telephone, saying, “She was a very sad and angry woman and there’s nothing more to say about it.” Sad? Maybe. Angry? Definitely. But there is always more to say about it. My mother made sure of that.

In the essay “Giantess,” a man flirting with the idea of writing niche erotica describes an episode of Oprah Winfrey’s talk show, in which people forgive people who have ruined their lives.

One woman had testified on behalf of the man who had stabbed her twenty times. Another had embraced the drunk driver who killed her only son. She invites this fellow over to her house for holidays and Sunday dinners.

“He’s like a second son to me now,” she said, reaching over to take his hand. “I wouldn’t trade Craig for anything.” The felon stared at his feet and shrugged his shoulders. I was thinking that a lengthy prison sentence would probably be a lot more comfortable than having to take the place of the person you had killed.

I liked Barrel Fever, especially the titular essay, but found it less compelling than the autobiographical collections, including Me Talk Pretty One Day, Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, and Calypso.

Notes:

  • "Santaland Diaries" was fact-checked and—surprise, surprise—Sedaris exaggerated and even made up some stuff. So an NPR editor called for the essay to be accompanied by a reader alert. That seems stupid, but I guess NPR felt it necessary after some literary frauds were exposed. Still, anyone who has read a few of Sedaris’s autobiographical essays should be able to guess that these are embellished. All real things are.
  • I—along with probably nearly every Sedaris fan—prefer the more autobiographical works.
 

Wednesday, April 03, 2024

out a Wordsworth poem

My Heart Leaps Up
 
–William Wordsworth

My heart leaps up when I behold
   A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
   Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural pie
ty.