Review Summary: Sludge meets soul on Down's debut masterwork, but can you handle the results?
The “supergroup” is a textbook example of something that looks enticing on paper, even drool-worthy to some, but usually fails to deliver when the time comes to release a product with the intent of meeting people’s high hopes for the band. One must remember that a band that features many of one’s favorite musicians doesn’t mean that the musicians in question are accustomed to working together whatsoever. The chemistry oftentimes isn’t there for these kinds of groups, and the tremendous input might unfortunately result in a mediocre output. Heavy metal’s history is spotted with supergroups where many of them have failed to live up to their lofty expectations, and over time this has steadily lessened the expectations for supergroups entirely. Down, a band consisting of five esteemed metal musicians from New Orleans, is absolutely not one of those bands.
Phil Anselmo of Pantera, Pepper Kennan of Corrosion of Conformity, Jimmy Bower of Eyehategod, and Kirk Windstien and Todd Strange of Crowbar came together, seemingly with the intent of blowing us all away with a lethal blast of wholly fulfilling face-melting metal, but actually as a break from their main projects which was meant to be a one-off, not much more. The resulting album, NOLA, ended up becoming an accidental masterpiece of epic proportions. It was a lean beast of that was fed a strict diet of molten southern sludge, heaviness supplements, riffs, riffs, and more riffs. It’s a reminder that the best metal out there doesn’t, maybe shouldn’t, have to be a barrage of complicated riffs or a pyrotechnic display of technical ability. In the words of fellow southern metal musician Ben Falgoust of Goatwhore, “Heavy metal is about Satan and loud f***ing guitars.” Mess with the formula as you’d like, but keep it in mind and respect it the next time you pick up your instrument to write music.
The main thing that Down puts on display with their debut album is a mountainous amount of conviction. There isn’t a single moment on here that sounds phony or contrived in the slightest; every song on this album sounds like they are extensions of the musicians themselves and convey the rawest of emotions, albeit very negative ones. The guitars are thick and saturated in all-tube distortion, and the riffs are burly, tough, and barebones, and the soloing isn’t half bad either. The rhythm section is also competent in its ability to play in a minimalistic fashion while also keeping things moving at a steady pace, but the star of this sludgefest is undoubtedly vocalist Phil Anselmo. His vocals here are absolutely hellish; he sounds vicious beyond words like a demonic monster from hell that’s been unchained, ready to seek vengeance on all who have wronged him. He shrieks, growls, and screams with an absurd level passion, making this arguably one of the greatest vocal performances in metal history. Once you hear him growl the word “smoke” on “Hail the Leaf”, you’ll never forget it.
The fact that these guys can play their hearts out is a plus, but all of that passion doesn’t automatically equate to tunefulness. So, can these guys write a decent song? The answer to that is yes, absolutely, without question. With Down, it all comes down to the power of the almighty riff, and if this album is any indication, these guitarists must be the masters of it. You’re just treated with one great riff after another on songs like “Lifer” and “Hail the Leaf”, and each sludge-caked motif segues into the next perfectly, which means that things move along nicely and nothing becomes boring. The consistency on this album is another thing to admire; there isn’t a single lackluster riff to be found here and every song is based on one of them, which equals to total headbanging enjoyment. But this collection of songs is a little more than just bludgeoning heaviness, just look at the track “Jail”, for example. “Jail” is a stylistic curveball that’s comprised entirely of acoustic guitars, bongos, keyboards, and Anselmo singing in a voice that does not recall the demonic monster mentioned earlier. It’s a moving piece that’s a perfectly placed reprieve from all the brutality surrounding it. On the opposite end of the spectrum, the album’s heaviest blow comes in the form of the closing track “Bury Me in Smoke.” The mute picking rhythms here are devastating, and the way Phil, Pepper, and Kirk rise together to arrive at the chorus is awe-inspiring. The album comes to a close as the final riff pounds its way out of existence, and way this album ends leaves you feeling like you’ve just trudged through the muck and mire and came out alive, invigorated even.
Only a few times in modern metal history has a band took an approach so simple and primal, forsaking complication and high concepts, and made something so convincing and potent. You feel the grit and grime of the South through Phil Anselmo’s screeches and Pepper’s soulful, bluesy solos, and this collection of pummeling tunes will hopefully allow you to walk away having seen their world through a new, darker, nihilistic perspective. Basically, you’re looking through “The Eyes of the South” as the band puts it, and if you can handle the vision, you have just experienced heavy metal perfection.
