Yob Song By Song: Breathing From The Shallows

The Great Cessation is the only Yob album I own on vinyl. Four 180g slabs of smooth, spinning, confusing, doom. Confusing, because, for some reason, on this 2010 Southern Lord reissue, Breathing From The Shallows has been moved from the fourth to second track, pushing The Lie That Is Sin, originally the second track, into third place. I don’t know if this was deliberate or a mistake – having listened to it in the newer order, the jangly break of The Lie That Is Sin breaks up the rolling thunder a bit, but doesn’t hugely alter its flow. However, much like how the back gate artwork of my copy of Sabbath’s Vol 4 was inserted into the jewel case upside down (true story, and please – no further questions), I’m going to embrace the spirit of wabi–sabi and review the album in this order. With no further ado, let’s get ready to ruminate.

Breathing From The Shallows is a stylistic continuation of opener Burning The Altar. Slow and thick, this is one of Yob’s discordant, oppressive tracks. It reminds me of Electric Wizard in that this track revels in its own filth; the intro is discordant, the bass tone is cranked and fuzzy, Scheidt’s all like ‘urgh’ and there’s a weird oscillating background noise. This track is ugly and can’t be bothered to be otherwise. Continuing this comparison to Electric Wizard, alongside the reverberating guitar sound, the reverb on the vocals bestows it with a psych–rock feel. The low–mids have been cut on the latter, giving them the same nasal, Ozzy–esque sound as on Universe Throb, Clear Seeing or Aeons, until Scheidt roars ‘DIE’ (…roaring nasally isn’t possible) after the first verse.

At first the lyrics read as a critique of greed and unfettered money making, rather than Yob’s normal sparring partner of religion:

Where you going with your greed?
Sharpened razor’s edge
burst at the seems

Then the second verse starts with ‘Where you going with your pride?’ I wondered if each of the deadly sins was going to get a slap in turn, but hereafter the lyrics turn to back to greed:

‘[…]eyes like magnets
ambition like cancer
stomach like a drain
never content

I wondered ‘what breathing from the shallows’ meant, and why it had been chosen as a title. The closest phrase to it in common use is shallow breathing, but this is similar in semantics only. The lyrics are about over–consumption – so in this context, maybe they’re about a choice being made to exist rather than to live, through which ‘man becomes the ghost of his own creations’.

At first Breathing From The Shallows was hard work, coming after the density of Burning The Altar, but it grew on meIts oppressive atmosphere hangs lower than the clouds over Britain in November, and it’s structured so that its seven and a half minutes feels just right.

Some artists are known for their phases. Metallica evolved from thrash to straight up heavy metal and beyond. Tom Waits went from drinking man’s–singer–songwriter with a piano to jazzy beatnik to that weird Island Record trilogy. Miles Davis moved from bebop to cool to orchestral to hard bop to fusion. Mastodon were crusty then prog and now hard rock. Fuck knows what Swans were and fuck knows what they are now but they keep on changing. Although it’s a bit much to call just one album a phase, The Great Cessation does feel like Yob’s foray into sludge, especially when compared to their more melodic recent material on Clearing The Path To Ascend and Our Raw Heart. Their next album, 2011’s Atma, was to be far more euphonious than the semi–tones and discord that dominates the majority (although not quite not all) of The Great Cessation. Breathing from the shallows, wallowing in the sludge, and it only gets uglier.


Song By Toad: Long Live The Toad, The Toad is Dead

Mr Toad looking splendid in The Song By Toad logo. Credited to Matthew Young.

From 2008 to 2010 I reviewed a couple of EPs sent to my university radio station. One of these was from a record label called Song By Toad, with two tracks on it by a band called Meursault. Back in the dorms, on it went, and this was the one that might have made my flatmates wish I’d put Gojira back on and stop playing the same thing over and over. It was great; it was a bit folk and a bit, well, je ne sais quoi. From there I went on to discover the Song By Toad record label and podcast.

And what a podcast it was. Folk. Low–fi indie. Swearing. The Scottish music scene. Old stuff like Billy Bragg and The Bonzo Dog Doo–Dah Band (look them up, you won’t regret it). The host getting progressively drunker on gin throughout podcasts. Weird music. More swearing. Listening to it on headphones in the uni library and trying not to laugh out loud.

In all honesty I only liked some of the music Mr Toad played, and some of the music that the record label released, but what I did like about it was that it was always interesting music which, otherwise, I would have never heard. Song By Toad was doing what the fuck it liked and releasing what the fuck it liked, which, it was apparent, would only ever be music Mr Toad (it took me years to realise his real name was actually readily available), did actually really, really, like, regardless of how little extrinsic reward it seemed to generate at times. (He wasn’t shy about his frustrations with the music industry).

Mr Toad called time on ten years of Song By Toad this September, so in celebration of Meursault, folk music, swearing, Mr Toad and trying not to look like a lunatic in the quiet section, have a look around and buy something you like here, listen to some of the old podcasts (iTunes is your best bet) and give this a listen:


Bury me face down
bury me so that I might see the ground
when heaven calls me home
let me see the hellfire down below.


Astral Noize: A Storm of Light

Woke up this morning feeling that life had a point, that today was going to be a good day, that it’s all going to be alright? Let’s sort that out with A Storm of Light’s Anthroscene. Read the Astral Noize review here, alongside reviews of new releases from High on Fire, Windhand, Black Peaks, Un, Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs, Cirith Ungol, Revocation and Author & Punisher.

Burnt By The Riff: Palms

When those squares at NASA finally use that top secret sunlight ear trumpet device¹ they’ve been working on to figure out what noise sunshine makes, they’re going to find that it’s kinda mellow but also kinda heavy, and I’m gonna say, I told you man, I told you, it’s just like Palms’ sole, self–titled album, Palms knew, Palms knew man, then I’m going to stop talking to myself and go lay in the sun listening to Palms.

Characterised by reverb, shimmering guitars, light drumming and Chino Moreno’s clean vocals, Palms is mellow to the point of inducing slow motion. Even the artwork (just look at it. Revel in that glory) seems to have been designed with taking it easy in mind.

Consisting of former Isis² bassist Jeff Caxide, drummer Aaron Harris, guitarist Clifford Meyer and Deftone’s Moreno, the closest it comes to these better known bands is the chilled–out material of the the latter. As such it is more alt–rock than metal (post– or otherwise), there to be sunk into rather than charged along with. It’s generally slow, and the aforementioned shimmering guitars, reverberating vocals and swelling synths create a floating sensation, particularly on fourth track Shortwave Radio. Nothing is in a rush, and when it does get heavy, such as in Mission Sunset, it tends to build up into a My Bloody Valentine–type squall rather than shifting straight from quiet–to–loud.

That said, the sense of pacing is just right; laid back can be too laid back if nothing happens, and Moreno carries some of that signature Deftones tension with him in that breathy croon. Vocals that initially appear to be mellow, upon inspection, often turn to something like that feeling of picking up on a double meaning a second late:

I slipped into your sight,
but didn’t feel anything deep inside[…]
The closer I am,
I notice something’s wrong with you. (Future Warrior)

After four and a half minutes of lyrics along the line of ‘I will never say goodbye, for anything/No I would never say goodbye’, Shortwave Radio finishes on

Ascending into heaven,
while staring into hell.
You’re staring into heaven,
descending into hell.

Through the six songs there is this push and pull, generally between a narrator and a abstruse, knotty lover who tends to only ever assume, or be described in, cryptic terms. However, rather than harshing the mellow, this gives Palms an exploratory feel as it drifts along with these turns and tensions. The running lengths reflect this, running between from five and a half to 10 minutes and averaging at just under eight minutes, but feeling deceptively, rather than tellingly, long. Nevertheless, its laid back nature makes this album good summer listening, drifting along, love life problems and all.

I watched the day go by – Mission Sunset

  1. May not be real.
  2. The seminal post–metal band, not them other lot.

Yob Song By Song: Burning The Altar

We’re putting the band back together.

We’re not on a mission from God.

Wherefore in the Year of Our Lord nine and two thousand, doom would be upon mankind, not in floods and plagues, nor in thunderbolts and smitings, nay, but truly Yob did sayeth ‘Dudes, we’re putting the band back together, we got a new album coming out, it’s called The Great Cessation, Sanford Parker from Minsk recorded it for us, it’s gonna be totally sweet’¹. And the shepherds from Profound Lore did sayeth, ‘Niiiiice, man’, and did go forth with CDs/vinyl/medium of choice into the Promised Land.

And, wherefore, The Great Cessation, as it was told it would be, was Yob’s great recommencing. (OK, enough of that). Yob having disbanded in 2006, drummer Travis Foster contacted Mike Scheidt in 2008 about reconvening. They played a few gigs, then decided it was time to really crush some hopes and dreams and start dispensing the doom again.

Burning The Altar is the track that began Yob’s second coming. Howling wind is interrupted by a bass slide into a guitar tremolo–picking with lots of reverb, discordant and thick whilst underneath the bass lumbers along with the drums. The following main riff is a semitone movement (think of the Jaws theme tune – te/doh/te/doh), a one–fret movement between Bb and A with heavy palm muting and open stabs on the downbeat. After a scream, the vocals enter Ozzy–style; ‘Burning eyes brim with tears/Heavy heart clenched like a fist/Grasping hope with hands in flames’ before the screaming starts at the chorus with ‘Burning the altar/Ashes billow across the sky’. Life is suffering, but closer to something like Cormac McCarthy’s The Road² rather than the first of Buddhism’s four noble truths:

The ignorant rule the weak
With iron law and wrathful deeds
[…]Trumpets to the fall
Hollow psalms
The drums of war
Beating the stretched skin of the fallen.

Tyranny, despotism, death, war, inhumanity – this song may as well have been called Burning The World. The riff that follows on from 7.08, which utilises an Arabic–sounding scale, features a sick descending hammer–on pull–off flourish that sounds like it’s echoing up from a stone vault. Over many listens these lyrics, combined with the lurching semitone riff and creeping lead guitar, reminded me, besides the aforementioned The Road, of :

[…] somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs
[…] what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Comparing a song largely consisting of two chords to W.B. Yeats’ The Second Coming might sound improbable, but think of this comparison on the basis of the theme of horror; the movement of these chords, combined with the apocalyptic imagery, conjures the image of a colossus ominously trudging its way to reshaping the world. Indeed, the album artwork for the remastered version that Relapse put out in 2017 is of a celestial plane being plunged into turmoil, with lightening bolts flying around and birds/winged monkeys flying up out of an abyss.

Verily, most mightily pleasing a commencing for that of a great cessation.


²’He walked out in the gray light and stood and he saw for a brief moment the absolute truth of the world. The cold relentless circling of the interstate earth. Darkness implacable. The blind dogs of the sun in their running. The crushing black vacuum of the universe.’ The Road, Cormac McCarthy.


Song By Song: Age Eternal

In chapter nine of Wuthering Heights Heathcliff loses his shit and skips town for three years. Eventually he reappears in God’s Own Country¹ to chew gum and kick ass, without Emily Brontë ever specifying where he went on his gap yahs. This is an important bit of character formation, but nevertheless, I much prefer it in Batman Begins when Bruce Wayne drops off the face of the earth and the film shows him learning martial arts in Bhutan, or in The Two Towers when Gandalf brawled it out with The Human Torch for one hundred and fifty–two rounds, or how The Count of Monte Cristo includes eight years of Edmond Dantès learning card tricks, weightlifting and how to hotwire cars.

Point being, what happened when Yob called it a day in 2006? Did the former members of Yob save Gotham City? Save Middle Earth? Dig their way out of prison islands? Chew gum, kick ass and become the anti–hero of a lengthy Victorian tragedy/romance/gothic novel which students of English Literature shall forever continue to endure? Travis Foster and Isamu Sato may well have done any of these things for all that anyone seems to know about them during this period. On the other hand, in either late 2005 or early 2006, Mike Scheidt formed a generally–forgotten band called Middian with Will Lindsay of Indian and A Storm of Light and Scott Headrick, bassist and drummer respectively.

Going by their own description, Middian were ‘very much in the vein of YOB, but more angry and mid–paced on average, but still with roots in slow doom and the cosmic vibe that was a part of YOB’². As such, before listening to their sole album Age Eternal, I was expecting it to be a mid–paced trudge and and a poor man’s Yob, forgotten because it was forgettable. As it turns out, I am a poor man’s critic, and Age Eternal is actually rather good.

Doom only in part, it has a different feel to any Yob album. It contains the aforementioned aggression, with opening track Dreamless Eyes coming in fast with punk discordance and the vocals entering with a head–splitter of a scream from Scheidt. It is a diverse listen, with a big slow down of pace five minutes in, and throughout the album the riffs move around a lot more than Yob’s typically do. The teak–thick ending of Dreamless Eyes gives way to the echoing, glassy guitar of second track The Blood of Icarus, just before the rest of the band enter with the sort of riff that makes it hard to move from the floor. The eponymous Age Eternal is light and fluttering where The Celebrant is aggressive, and closing track Sink To The Centre spends a while with a guitar tolling like a bell, but none of that merry shit, more like when Ice–T sampled Black Sabbath and rapped about being in the wrong fuckin’ part of town. This track is more Yob–like, slower and weirder to digest than the other tracks, eventually freaking out into a big psychedelic outro.

Scheidt with short hair. Weird.

Repeated and spaced–out listens (referring to the passage of time, rather than mental state) impressed upon me how good this band really was. It is unmistakably Scheidt playing, but Middian were very much their own band. After this one album, Middian would end under unfavourable circumstances. Unfavourable, rather than unfortunate, as they were effectively sued into paralysis by another band going by the name of Midian, based on the other side of the U.S. in Wisconsin, who issued a cease and desist order in October 2007. Only Middian’s (two d’s) side of the story is readily available, but it looks like Midian (one d) weren’t happy with Middian’s (two d’s) attempts to placate them, and the situation escalated into a federal law suit, which ended with Middian (two d’s) not being allowed (two l’s) to sell their album, being dropped from Metal Blade Records, and disbanding in December 2007.

Having done a bit of research, Midian of one d did not make good on all that litigation by giving the world some decent music. However, as Buddha probably once said, the silver lining to this cloud of shite is that the death of Middian would lead to to the second coming of Yob. As Middian wound up, Scheidt was approached by Foster, fresh from saving Gotham City, about playing a Yob reunion gig. Aaron Rieseberg was recruited to bring the four string thunder (presumably Sato was still busy saving Middle Earth). The gig was good. The gig was loud. Tracks were written. An album was planned. Much like Heathcliff, Yob were back to chew gum, kick ass and play doom.

  1. Yorkshire, of course.
  2. https://web.archive.org/web/20070420214903/http://www.middian.org:80/bio.htm/