Posted by Christopher Luedtke on May 14, at pm. Lesbian hails from Seattle, Washington. Lesbian has the formula down and their older works show that they can craft some decent albums.
Yes, the name of the band is Lesbian. Far from being a grrl-powered punk rock or electro-powered outfit like LeTigre as one might possibly expect given the namethough, the group is a quartet of tattoo-covered sludge-metalists that come in somewhere between Neurosis, Isis, and Boris. Their debut album is four sprawling songs that average almost fifteen minutes apiece and stretch out to an hour in length, veering between deep stoner riffage, math-like guitar progressions, and even more melodic ambient passages.
Each of the album's four tracks shifts moods, dynamics and styles. In any given song, Lesbian deftly lunges from black metal-style blast-beat-andth-note-guitar-lines into '70s styled stoner rock riffing and then leaps into lush melodic passages reminiscent of Godspeed You Black Emperor!. The band blends the best elements of many styles of metal: doom, thrash, black, progressive and, yes, even good old "heavy" metal.
This story is over 5 years old. Arabic music in general is an acquired taste because of its use of quarter Mar 1am. Buy it.
There are who joy them in the Olympic strife And love the dust they gather in the course; The goal by hot wheels shunn'd, the famous prize, Exalt them to the gods that rule mankind; This joys, if rabbles fickle as the wind Through triple grade of honours bid him rise, That, if his granary has stored away Of Libya 's thousand floors the yield entire; The man who digs his field as did his sire, With honest pride, no Attalus may sway By proffer'd wealth to tempt Myrtoan seas, The timorous captain of a Cyprian bark. The winds that make Icarian billows dark The merchant fears, and hugs the rural ease Of his own village home; but soon, ashamed Of penury, he refits his batter'd craft. There is, who thinks no scorn of Massic draught, Who robs the daylight of an hour unblamed, Now stretch'd beneath the arbute on the sward, Now by some gentle river's sacred spring; Some love the camp, the clarion's joyous ring, And battle, by the mother's soul abhorr'd.
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