THOU "to the chaos wizard youth" 12"
vendetta records # 54
released December 22, 2014
"If you know Thou then you know what to expect. There’s very little change in the basic sound of the band from release to release and this little EP is as nasty as anything the band’s done so far. The droning lumbering intro to opener “The Unnamed Path” really should tell you all you need to know about this band. As a slow and dirty riff slowly builds tension there isn’t always a guaranteed release. The vocals are sandpaper screeches hidden in the muck of the music as the band focus on a steady mid paced riff while giving a whole new meaning to the term breakdown at around the 5 minute mark. “The Witch Cunt” starts with almost clean guitars and a slow building melody before the screeching feedback and drone turns the song into a heavy as fuck dirge. “Helen Hill Will Have Her Revenge On New Orleans” is a song thats almost groovy by Thou standards with the drums propelling the song along in a sort of mid tempo bounce before the guitars kick in and take the song into some very cool sludge. “Skinwalker” closes the EP and is the most aggressive song Thou has done in a while. Equal parts chaotic hardcore and sludge with enough feedback and noise to really close the EP out on high.
Thou just continue to be awesome. There’s no two ways about it. From around the time of the “Malfeasance Retribution” EP in 2008, the band has just failed to put a foot in the wrong direction. The five guys in the band seem to gel remarkably well and the songs consistently kick immense amounts of ass.
If you’re a fan of the band then chances are you’ve heard this already but if you like the doom-sludge school and have never heard Thou then do yourself a favour and check out “To The Chaos Wizard Youth”. This is up there with the classic New Orleans sludge sound." ( globaldomination )
Into the dark night of the soul: emotional balance restored; self-limiting beliefs forsaken; cultivate the Shadow Self; spirituality made visceral. We have healed the religious wounds of a stifling upbringing. We have absolved ourselves of shame and guilt. We have communed with our true ancestors. We have raised the Great Crossroads. We now see the third face of God. In defiance of binary gender, we are made whole and surrender to the unity of synchronicity. And in life, outward reflection. The power of resonance. Like vibrates like. Like amplifies like. In true greatness.
Track Name: The Witch Cunt
This woman is Athena. This woman is Medusa. No longer the vehicle of her male counterpart, she is armed and militant--yet in no way a reflection of the stolid directness, the frank simplicity, the violent impotence of the masculine savage. Compulsion recast as understanding. Constraint recast as protection. This woman is Goldman. This woman is Constantine. Water poured over thick black lines. Stay here. Breathe here. One shape is no shape. A mist to obscure the lines you've drawn. Stay here. Breathe here. Flow out. Moist breath on hot tissue. Flow out. Breathe here. Flow out.
Track Name: Helen Hill Will Have Her Revenge On New Orleans
It's coming for us through the trees. This is a message from the River. This is a sermon from Nature. To see us weep and moan, to see us float or drown. This is a blighted land, infected with the virus of human greed, corruption chokes every breath as we exalt the culture of excess. Inhaled to the depths of our oaken roots. Exhaled as billowing refinery pollution. Indifference subsists in our bones. This is our unspoken history, a bestial temperament obscured by social constraints. And that brief moment when Nature's wrath released us from Modernity's restraints has offered us a glimpse of what boils beneath our skin. But do not confuse causality and cataclysm. This is systemic violence, and we are all guilty. Some day a real rain will come and wash all the scum off the streets. She'll come back as fire and burn all the liars, leave a blanket of ash on the ground.
Track Name: Skinwalker
And at once I realize that the hand I hold is black with corruption, that the gilded rhetoric is a sibilant mantra meant to stifle guilt, that the staunch discipline of tradition is merely the coward's path, and that this descent into compromise is the death of friendship. I've witnessed you slit the throat of the young idealist and impale empathy to the hilt of your sword. You wear a stranger's face. Your eyes hold no recognition. Conceal the vastness of self-betrayal beneath the scientist's cloak, beneath the scholar's mantle, beneath the hedon's frock. Drink the blood of this perverse deception. Escape in inebriation. Bonds consecrated in our most private moments. Loyalty sacrificed in the blaze of denial. My emptiness has built your altar. And I worshipped myself in you forever.