Records that make you want to get high and smash your head against a wall clearly have opposing missions, but somehow the impulse works on Crown.
Recalling the more vitriolic moments showcased at festivals like Roadburn and Desertfest, Hollow Leg transport you to the darkest, stickiest venues where you gaze into the stage lights and pray that tinnitus won’t be the only thing you take away from the night.
The violent bludgeoning of Seaquake is a signal that these Jacksonville boys mean business, as Scott Angelacos screams his way through five minutes of pungent doom frothed up with a second clear-toned guitar – not enough to diminish their roots of American blues, which comes through on the bluegrass resonance of instrumental interlude Atra. They strike a balance between the roar of sludge and a swinging, albeit half-time, stoner groove. But don’t be fooled by the cymbal- smashing assault gifted by the album’s opening bars; this is still slow, knuckle-dragging stuff.
