Originally written by Chris Chellis.
WhiteBuzz come careening out of the gate with the sludge of EyeHateGod and the enchanting vocal melody of Om on their debut effort, Book of Whyte. An hour-long affair that boasts just five tracks, the first four averaging about 16 minutes each, it demands a certain mindset, to say the least. Those suffering from ADHD might not make it through, but the rest of us will be rather handsomely rewarded.
Let us be clear from the outset. This is headphone music. Incense and glow-sticks at night music. Cerebral music. And by that I mean to say you won’t be listening to this to pump you up before the big game. Book of Whyte belongs as far from any gym or sport as Ryan Leaf. That said, if you’re looking to lie back and trip out to sweet, succulent sludge WhiteBuzz is your man, or men rather. So let’s dial it up to 11 and find out what the impatient are missing.
Like a radio signal taking its time to kick in, opening track “Pentaprisma” crawls forth from static pits in a lethargic haze. With just a handful of riffs to call its own and over 15 minutes to fill, it better throw an uppercut soon. And it does, just a few minutes in there’s a stringy little tune not unlike something found on a Leather Nun record. But with the snap of a finger we’re pulled back into the mist and phase two begins. Subdued and almost melancholic, there’s an aura of reflection to this new direction, and one begins to understand this song is almost an album all its own. Toward the end the song comes full circle but with a hint of psychedelia and feedback.
The truth is that the rest of the album follows suit in a similar pattern. Epic has never been a more fitting descriptor for a band so deeply imbedded in sludge. There’s a new thread to be tracked and ridden with each song but the end result is the same; hypnotism by music. Unlike bands of a similar ilk, however, WhiteBuzz seems to be able to pull just as easily from softer influences as heavier ones, which gives Book of Whyte a broader appeal.
If there’s anything that could have been done to make this a more perfect release trimming the fat or putting a few songs into the vault would have been one of them. There’s something limiting about an emotionally demanding sludge album clocking in at over an hour. This easily could have been divided into three or even four separate EPs. In a sense, this is a dark and rich chocolate mousse concocted by an overzealous chef preparing dessert for a table of 5 but wanting to feed the world. Regardless, I am a fat but happy diner.
