Friday, April 12, 2013
Combine on In\\wave recordings
There’s a few ways you could take that band name, they either have taken radically different musical styles perhaps? Maybe they jammed jazz and blast beats together in some unique way? Or this could be a huge piece of harvesting machinery headed straight towards you that won’t even have to slow down as it chops you into little bits. Guess which one probably refers to these guys?
Combine are a four piece from Philly plowing away in a thundering deep end, earth-scorching groove. There’s nothing delicate about this blunt, scraping away, single-mindedly after carving up the room for this cavernous sound. The ground is too smooth; they’re working on separating this once tiny crack into the grand canyon. It’s a Hot Lunch or Dead Meadow sound, a blown up, unearthly psych. Hypnotic buried sounds of ungrounded cables and droning distortion. On "Wrists" they don’t even play their instruments, they just let them sit on the stands and start to hum while drums blast in. When they eventually get to this Sabbath riff, thin vocals yell piped in from another space, a tiny metal box, barely audible in this stoner Sleep sound. Pushing the depths of a slow groove, what it would take to drive this head banging into hypnotic sleep. They are a solid steel lull, moving pallets of bricks with hardcore DC punk vocals talking in the background like metal spoken word. The cymbals might as well be giant high pitch gongs they have such a shattering ‘wooooonnngg’ sound. Sound waves crashing into each other, the wall building higher and higher to devolve and crash back down. Combine seems to be asking, “Why can't we just leave things alone?”
B-Side’s “Sandworms" picks up the speed and pace to yell more hardcore into this almost reminding me of Pigface, working just on that border of impressive sludge that it turns industrial. They could have something in these phaser-y distortions, its surprisingly melodic for being all guitars. Everything falls apart and gets picked back up again, like Z's I think they’re trying for the Avant part of the guard, heavily skilled and pushing the limits of those sounds that are moving guts, deeply penetrating chest cavities in ancient rhythms. The cymbals work against each other in the left and right channel, furiously clawing at the sides of the hole that’s collapsing under its on weight… how far are they going to push the human body?
On Black vinyl...I have it on pretty good authority thought that you should just contact these guys directly at combine.notcolumbine (at) gmail.com for your copy.