Graveyard – Lights Out (2012)
It’s the songs, stoopid. That’s what makes Graveyard such an exciting band – simple, yet impactful, songs. With tunes. And melodies – remember them? There may well be a considerable industry of new bands delivering up late-sixties inspired garage rock at the moment, but Sweden’s Graveyard are certainly amongst the best of them. Having made something of a splash in 2011 with ‘Hisingen Blues’, a raw yet sombre slab of proto-metal doom hewn from the summer of 1968, follow up ‘Lights Out’ was always going to struggle if for no other reason than sequels can never emulate the surprise element of a hit. But Graveyard have once again produced an album which impresses. Wilfully understated in contrast to most hard rock/metal’s tendency to melodrama and sonic hyperbole; and giving pride and place to the vocals where most heavy bands in the 21st century opt for a wall of sound from the guitars, this is a record which stands decidedly on the periphery of the musical landscape – and certainly on the books of uber-metal label Nuclear Blast.
This is certainly the sound of ‘hard rock’ before hard rock existed – before Zeppelin was a cumstain on a groupie’s panties, if you will. The label ‘doom’ is often applied to Graveyard, but it does them a disservice. They are more ‘doom’ in the sense of The Doors dark-side-of-the-trip melancholy than Electric Wizard’s boulder shattered Sabbath-worshipping heaviness – the sound can tend towards introspection, and is certainly nuanced. ‘Goliath’ is like an amped up 1967 Jefferson Airplane on full-tilt; whilst ‘Slow Motion Countdown’ has a whiff of Deep Purple in a laid back moment about it (think ‘When A Blind Man Cries’). It takes confidence to write songs this uncomplicated – confidence that that one riff is good enough, that that one melody is strong enough to be out front. But in Graveyard’s case, the songs stick. The moog-drenched ‘An Industry of Murder’ is a spacey take on late-sixties blues rock of the most jet black variety, whilst ‘The Suits, The Law, and the Uniforms’ is pure outlaw anthem, and certainly the best slice of Southern Rock ever to come from Sweden, capturing as it does the fulcrum between ass shakin’ and fist fightin’ which that genre so depends upon.
Perhaps we’re reaching breaking point with bands like this. But Graveyard – like countrymen Witchcraft – have their own niche. If Rival Sons sit on the Californian sunset end of the late sixties; Graveyard are the nightmarish aftermath of the summer of love that was soon to emerge – same component parts, radically different vibe. The trick to doing it well is not to indulge in rampant nostalgia. And the lyrics here sell it: far from the sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll clichés you fear from a band of this ilk, we get something darker, something introspective or social commentary which makes the whole things feel uncontrived and real. But above all else, it makes it feel organic – and that is when music is at its best.
It’s the songs, stoopid. That’s what makes Graveyard such an exciting band – simple, yet impactful, songs. With tunes. And melodies – remember them? There may well be a considerable industry of new bands delivering up late-sixties inspired garage rock at the moment, but Sweden’s Graveyard are certainly amongst the best of them. Having made something of a splash in 2011 with ‘Hisingen Blues’, a raw yet sombre slab of proto-metal doom hewn from the summer of 1968, follow up ‘Lights Out’ was always going to struggle if for no other reason than sequels can never emulate the surprise element of a hit. But Graveyard have once again produced an album which impresses. Wilfully understated in contrast to most hard rock/metal’s tendency to melodrama and sonic hyperbole; and giving pride and place to the vocals where most heavy bands in the 21st century opt for a wall of sound from the guitars, this is a record which stands decidedly on the periphery of the musical landscape – and certainly on the books of uber-metal label Nuclear Blast.
This is certainly the sound of ‘hard rock’ before hard rock existed – before Zeppelin was a cumstain on a groupie’s panties, if you will. The label ‘doom’ is often applied to Graveyard, but it does them a disservice. They are more ‘doom’ in the sense of The Doors dark-side-of-the-trip melancholy than Electric Wizard’s boulder shattered Sabbath-worshipping heaviness – the sound can tend towards introspection, and is certainly nuanced. ‘Goliath’ is like an amped up 1967 Jefferson Airplane on full-tilt; whilst ‘Slow Motion Countdown’ has a whiff of Deep Purple in a laid back moment about it (think ‘When A Blind Man Cries’). It takes confidence to write songs this uncomplicated – confidence that that one riff is good enough, that that one melody is strong enough to be out front. But in Graveyard’s case, the songs stick. The moog-drenched ‘An Industry of Murder’ is a spacey take on late-sixties blues rock of the most jet black variety, whilst ‘The Suits, The Law, and the Uniforms’ is pure outlaw anthem, and certainly the best slice of Southern Rock ever to come from Sweden, capturing as it does the fulcrum between ass shakin’ and fist fightin’ which that genre so depends upon.
Perhaps we’re reaching breaking point with bands like this. But Graveyard – like countrymen Witchcraft – have their own niche. If Rival Sons sit on the Californian sunset end of the late sixties; Graveyard are the nightmarish aftermath of the summer of love that was soon to emerge – same component parts, radically different vibe. The trick to doing it well is not to indulge in rampant nostalgia. And the lyrics here sell it: far from the sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll clichés you fear from a band of this ilk, we get something darker, something introspective or social commentary which makes the whole things feel uncontrived and real. But above all else, it makes it feel organic – and that is when music is at its best.
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