29 July, 2013

Humilific before the Horrific.

Unworthy supplicants, rise from where you kneel so that you may better drape me in your clumsy-tongued honorifics. 

I will not condescend to excuse my absence except to explain that I've written at least five short stories so far this summer, not to mention the novel I've started, or all the weed, speed and shreddin' I've done. 

However, occasionally, yours unruly takes a break from thrashin' IRL to hand out a new miracle for the droves of his faithful biters. 

This installment sees the canonization of Helsinki's Cardinals Folly latest record, Strange Conflicts of the Past; a compilation of early material. 

You'll find this on other blogs, but ripped from bandcamp, in 128 kbps. This, however, is an exclusive Dower Rip, Total Refuse, my Feel Bad Jam of the late, pseudo-autumnal summer. Presented in 320 kbps. Brought to you by Mort Montagne Construction, INC.; in collaboration with my new Larrytown apartment.

22 June, 2013

Git facked!

This post is for Steve and Sam and anyone else who needs to clench their fist and bare their teeth and feel the music slam against them like memories of a hard, dark past.

Total Refuse!

(when "Conditioned to Death" comes back in . . . that's the moment you realize it's been gripping your balls the entire time! )

11 June, 2013

Coping with loss

If you're gonna run from your problems at least jam this.

An emotional breakdown and ur moshing! 


Free download on their bandcamp - now that's a bargain!


Practice being a corpse.


Y'all got room for one more up there?


07 June, 2013

2 Pall Bearaz

Only gonna need 2 pall bearaz cuz my dudes're tough and my coffin'll be empty cuz that shit's gonna be faked.

(These are, like, the only records of Paul Chain's impressive discography that I've been able to find. If you've got any others, please send them to me.)

03 June, 2013

American Metal Classics

 Or; While You Posers were Listening to Papa Roach or The fucking Shins

It's good to look back on the records I listened to in high school and be like: "Fuck yeah!" I didn't know a lot about the classics back then, but I knew what was good at the time. Sure I liked Atreyu's first record, but - in my own depends - that record has riffs. And that's one thing I have always loved: fuckin' riffs, y'all! ('Specially them fuckin' riffs that fuckin' riff for fuckin'!)

And Baltimore's Darkest Hour has riffs like that charming city has multitudes of drug-related homicides. Of said riffs my buddy Ben once remarked that the two guitars sound like they're chasing each other. Which is one of the best descriptions of their sound I've ever heard. I'm not sure what the past couple albums have sounded like, cuz I've never bothered checking them out, but these first two full lengths they put out during the turn of the millennium were ground-breaking. Faster 'n' meaner'n a mother, heavy as fucking shit and pretty fucking intelligent, too. Hell yeah. Fuck. Yeah.

22 May, 2013

Hatred for the Sacred

Faithful vermin, though I do not need or care for your forgiveness, I am not entirely loath to apologizing for my long, cold absence. I've been spending my nights carving a righteous path through the cemetery, jamming the trailblazers and tunnel-diggers of our common pleasure, and thinking, with stony hilarity, of my ever-attentive and lately neglected supplicants. What's ponderous, though, is how you all keep coming maugre my inconsistency. I suppose it's because you're still happily struggling through all the canonized refuse, trying to decipher that forsaken ephemera. Even still, the numbers are climbing. People have become hip to what's happening here at the Dower. All of you once roamed through those vast and brightly illumined halls of the internet but only the most inquiring andeager souls descend to these depths, where is found the Pandemonium of Refuse. But a few days ago, weeks after my last post, I had over 900 views. Tell me: how can that be?

It's not for the writing. I'd like to think so but come on. Most of you are probably Russian teenagers who see this fucking poetry like I see all of the teen Russian blogs I visit: - for Metal! - just a bunch of backwards Rs and things that appear as letters but have no meaning. So, then, it must be for those records that you can't find anywhere else.

28 April, 2013

Caust 2 Caust

From the West Coast comes a supergroup that for some stupid reason I was not even planning on checking out, even though I love all the members' other/¿actual? bands, not failing to mention I also love me some fat, black-end metal and "thick [ol'] slices of Thin" Guizzy . . . Not sure what happened there, but Vhöl's debut is a worthy distraction from the decay of merely being for sure!

On the other hand from another coast we got Woe. Philly boy with some Brooklyn guys. Quietly, Undramatically was a critically-climbed album, people were all over that record. Including 'im who stalks/(now)rocks behind the blog. So the Eye was on Woe's next one. You wouldn't know it to listen to it though. This muhfuck is doing its own thing, not giving a single iota what you think. Luckily, most of us think it's fucking awesome, as we always have. Check this shed out and get in line to head bang already. Also, this is happening, ¿celoso?:

 (Gonna be some dusters and gauntlets and GBK shirts and stringy hair at this one for sure. But besides all the backwoods Pennsyltuckian  trve kvlt Appalachian shit, there'll also be at the very least three awesome bands, including local Bastard Brothers, Möwer. Worth your life.)

13 February, 2013

Wigga's Delight.

 I didn't come up with the title so you can't call me a racist.

That said, let's get down to misappropriating some culture here.

First up we got a record that Danyul from the Front End burnt me. Dude has damn near impeccable taste in music. He doesn't listen to much metal, but what he does is solid, e.g. Harvey Keitel Milk & Agalloch. So Big TomHanks to him for getting me this jam weeks befo' it dropped, and no thanks to my lazy butt for keeping it all to myself for the past fortnight. I kept trying to just, like, download it even though I had it just, like, sitting out in my car. Anyway, this record ain't out yet - that's clear by now, right? - and it's not available anywhere that I could detect, so go ahead and check it out and pretend to be as into it as I actually am and then a few months from now, when everyone's bumpin' it, like, veinticuatroseite, maybe then you'll finally understand how/why/that it's so good, so funky and so . . . trve.

Up next we got two records by the same ban - er . . . group that my buffet buddy Timshel (thou mayest look up that name) from Grocery burnt me. One record is dub; the other is reggae. As far as I can tell the only distinction between them two genres is that dub has echo fx on the vox. Both records sound and feel really great. When I and I was jemming it today on the way home from the gym I and I swear I and I could see, through hims dirty Buick windshield, the lights of Zion rising up over the smoke-clad horizon. It's a beautiful thing to take a chance on a new sound and to enjoy it immediately. However, this ain't your stepdad's reggae. These guys smoke weed and talk about Zion and Babylon and how to live free despite the machinations of politrixians. The message here is putting music over all else, "music is most high." Ff you're not into these jems I'll eat my toppah!

Praise Jah dem two black ladies was walkin' by when we was about to take our promo pic.

06 February, 2013

Hermetic Tragmatica

Cleanse Yourself with Refuse.

(This one goes back through time.)

Listen to this record when your roommate's listening to a record of something happy and hollow. Say FTW and mean it. You've certainly had a day.


Listen to this record when you're perusing AA with a new Henley in your left hand and a spot of Hennessy in your back pocket. Don't bother listening when the guy you kinda know who works there and is just getting off tells you about a show tomorrow night. Just say: "Third floor. Got it. Hey, where are your sweatpants?" Do take him up on his back alleyway J, though.

Listen to this record on your way to the Apple store. You're stupid high and despite being low on gas you're driving all over the east side looking for a parking spot. But you keep passing up good spots because the record feels great and it's so warm in your car. Don't worry, they're gonna replace your earpods for free.

This is what you listen to in the gym right before you break your earpods. You're going HAM on all the equipment Your opening tree pose is so still you're like a Bernini cut. You're pretty sure the young black ladies on the treadmills are making fun of you, cuz you're all serious and stoic, but who cares? You're unstoppable.

This is what you listen to when you sit down to forget to drink your hot chai mate and surf the desolate internet on your phone instead of studying Spanish at 8am.

03 February, 2013

In the penumbra of sagging monuments.

Last night I was sitting on a couch at a team member's (that means coworker in Wholespeak) housewarming party next to another very nice and fair lady team member whom I had recently introduced to Ash Borer after seeing her once at Gooski's (a local tavern that oft hosts metal & punk shows) wearing a Wolves In The Throne Room shirt. I burnt her a copy of Cold of Ages and she loved it. Told me she listened to it like three times in a row, super loud, the day I gave it to her. Well, Ash Borer came up again last night and after we talked about how they're possibly (according to her) and (according to me) definitely better than Wolves . . . she pulled out - no kidding - an old school tape player with iPhone earbuds (a little waxy, they were, yes) and told me I had to listen to her friends' band. I did. And let me tell you, disease-ridden supplicant, I was not eager to remove the earbuds, not even when doing so would've probably been the polite thing to do. Every moment of the song just got better and better. The drummer was blasting so hard my arms hurt; the guitars were as if chasing each other across frozen, desolate plains, eviscerating every hapless creature that stood in their scorching path; and the vocals, man, the vocalist was just goin' straight up HAM on the mic, that's the only way I can think to describe it. Finally I removed the earbuds and like: "Holy crow! Who is that?"

"Shadow Of The Destroyer," she said. 

"Dang, I gotta look them up," I said and meant it. 

"You won't find anything. I'll just make you a copy of the tape."


Now Shadow Of The Destroyer are from Asheville, NC, so don't be surprised when you hear some lingering elements of the bygone early Aughties, even the late Nineties when Metalcore giants like Prayer For Cleansing and Undying still strode the earth and American kids worshiped At The Gates and not Mayhem and Darkthrone. But for the most part what you'll get here with SOTD's demo, and especially with 2010's EP Funeral Dust, is scathing, hateful USBM. Herein lie the kind of tunes you need on a cold day when you're honestly somehow a little tired of listening to Immortal.

Below is a link to both their 2007 demo Harbingers of Dark Truth and the aforementioned 2010 EP Funeral Dust. Enjoy. And thanks to my team member for introducing me to some trve USBM.


30 January, 2013

For Ben, Mike, Tim and Steve.

I was playing "Invisible Ley" and Marge was like: "Who's this? It sounds like the last song on Side A of Abbey Road." Gee, homies, don't you wish it was her who kept the blog around here? Now let me tell you that these guys here - great guys. As my cousin Dagon from the Fallen Spirit (RIP) blog will tell you: "This band is playing great music. All the time!" These guys are kinda like what Burning Love might've sounded like if it had been started by a rowdy crew of Scandinavian nihilists whose Ian MacKawn'heigh was Dennis Liksin and also Ian MacKaye (footballer). Know what I mean?

Check 'em out. ¡Absoluto basura!


Marge made some dessert for y'all. Personally, I love it. And look here now. She's sleeping next to me, all cute and corpse-like, completely unawares of how happy she's made the world.

26 January, 2013

For the ulcer.

Or; Remaining Relevant.

I've just seen Bonnie "Prince" Billy and the Cairo Gang at the Carnegie Lecture Hall in Oakland. It was my first live Will Oldham experience though I've been a fan since McD bought I See A Darkness in . . . Kentucky, was it? I don't think I could've enjoyed the set any more if Bonnie had played even a single song I knew. And even if I had had any feeling below my waist  that feeling would've been to feel cramped anyway. The night was nothing but net. A total swoosh. I ate that last bit of very potent banana bread my guru gave me and I was there, man. The seating was Shakespearean but the acoustics were robust and at times shocking, like seeing Shamu live and getting splashed!

But besides his honey sweet voice and his intense animal eyes and his Southern-gentleman expansive pate, something else I noticed about B"P"B - who's in his early forties now - is that he's still relevant. Think about it, though, Will Oldham was a teenager in the 80s, his twenties were spent in the 90s, during which time he did Sundowners with Bill Callahan, who's also a member of the soon-to-be-mentioned club, and yet the guy's still cool. Many of the professors I've had and have at CCAC also belong to this club I've just created. A little club I like to call the No Forfeit Forties. If my twenties are like my adolescence all over again, in which I have a voice that is sensible because it's still innocent/ignorant to things like having a kid, but no one listens cuz they're either too young and dumb and creeped out or too old and stubborn and beat on then I'm exactly where I was when I was like seven. One's forties, then, according to the Law of Evens, must be a similar time of great understanding/being greatly misunderstood and consequently NGAFing, esp. when one is without kids. (The debate as to whether or not B"P"B has any children is ongoing between Margaret and myself.)

So how does one remain relevant then? Ms. Cavalier, my History of Women prof. - who's 44 I've figured out based on various hints dropped during her lectures - told the class on Friday that she reads (read: checks the sites of) like 5 newspapers every morning, unless she's running late. She listed 'em all off, too, so she was being honest. B"P"B remains relevant because he is so prolific. He's not worried about his hits and triumphs from the past, that much was obvious by his set list tonight. He might as well be melting down his older catalog for the materials to print his new stuff on. He just doesn't look back. As for me, I choose to listen to new music and read new books and see new movies and to hate on all of it as little as possible. Preach awareness everyday, use words when necessary. Negativity will ya age like cigarettes will. And they're all after the same thing anyway: your time.

That being said, here's a record that I actually paid money to download because they're playing around here soon and I really love their demo and I don't know I just wanted to own the EP. I'm hoping they have some vinyl in person. Yeah, these guys are that good. I will buy their record even though I never listen to records anymore because my phonograph is in the living room and I much prefer the solitary confines of my bedroom. Crazy how even typing it out and reading it back to myself doesn't stop me. So give 'em a chance. They might be posers, but you might be a hater. And if you don't at least check it out you'll get old quicker than you ought to.

19 January, 2013

For Ben.

This post is for Ben who's just got a new job here in the city which means he'll be returning very soon to the city to live once more. As a write this he's asleep on the futon out in the living room which disappoints me a little I suppose because he typically sleeps in my room when he crashes here and it'd be nice to be writing this while he was in bed next to me. *Pause*

Last night I was jamming the latest Merchandise record when everyone came home from the bar. I was with a few close friends myself and we were just chillin', passin' around a Mason jar of Bulleit and my roommate's legendary bottomless bowl. The music was right on but only for me as I realized I was the only one dancing. Which isn't atypical but they weren't even laughing and watching me; they just stared at their phones. They're not currently experiencing the heart break I am, I said to myself, and understood that it was despotic of me to subject them to my aural medicine, like pulling up my shirt and jabbing myself with an insulin needle right in front of them - okay, maybe not that bad, but the love/need for Children of Desire was not unanimous. So I put on a John Fahey record. And what happened next is a rare thing in this post-future age: Everyone just listened. We all stopped talking; we all stopped thumbing away at our phones; even the living dead lady who had trailed my roommates home - even she just sat there quietly slowly nodding her head to the music as she hopelessly tumbled further into the K-Hole. The record I put on was 1963's Death Chants, Breakdowns & Military Waltzes, which is not what I'm posting today, because I think the live record I'm posting is a better introduction to John Fahey. The Great Santa Barbara Oil Slick was my first Fahey record and it still remains my favorite. Spanning several of his early outputs TGSBOS is stacked with great jams like the bluesy, twangy, bar-b-que sauce dripping "The Death of the Clayton Peacock," the rejuvenating and down-covered "When Springtime Comes Again," the transcendental "When the Catfish Is In Bloom," and one of my personal favorites: "In Christ There Is No East or West."

So check this record out and stay tuned for more John Fahey, which will be posted sporadically and without regard to anything in the exterior world save my own whims - the way one's blog ought to be maintained.

"With its strong selection of songs and impressive fidelity, The Great Santa Barbara Oil Slick is a worthy summary of where Fahey was at this high point."