Dog Ear Days
Twenty-five minutes of prime spacecase, staring-at-the-drone performed with all the visceral aggression of an industrial band or early Public Image Limited — that’s the most concise summation of Athens GA’s Bambara that I can muster. Dog Ear Days is well attuned to the musical spirit of the moment; this band wouldn’t be out of place sharing stages with Crocodiles, A Place To Bury Strangers, Ceremony, or even Wavves but there’s an extra darkness that sets them slightly apart, out of phase. Bambara seemingly take as much influence from Spacemen 3 and Jesus and Mary Chain as they do Killing Joke, Ministry, pil, and Skin Chamber. The way they physically attack their instruments is downright masochistic, they take a joy in whipping up a noise to the point where your fingers flinch at the thought of blood against guitar strings. And the way the album is recorded is magnificently raw and intimate, every song is like this cavernous gothic wound. The drums and feedback are downright fucking eldritch. Next to this strafing roar, the vocals sound like a corrupted child. For the most part, the songs are unrelenting noise raids, with the occasional mournful procession — ya gotta breathe sometime. What you’re hearing is the ante being upped to 11.