Originally written by Ian Chainey
Domovoyd‘s debut long-player, Oh, Sensibility, is psych-minded astro-metal charged by interstellar gamma rays. Oh, sorta like Ufommamut? The doomonauts slather these songs with jams, vibrating the soul with effects-heavy amp abuse while blasting holes in the ozone with sole-stomping fuzzed-up supernovas. Oh, sorta like Comets on Fire? Though their space-walking sections are weightless, they’re tethered to a ship with an engine clocked to a krautrock tempo. They throw out all types of noise into the void, all of it eventually bouncing back and reforming into a sludgey singularity. Oh, sorta like Pharaoh Overlord?
Oh, sorta like ___________?
That’s kind of it in a nutshell. Oh, Sensibility suffers a temporary fate, one which won’t be a problem in 2020, but is a very real issue for music addicts in 2013: There’s a ton of this stuff on the market. Metalheads and their metal heads are over-saturated with the kind of downtuned psych aiming for the stars or the similarly infinite space between the ears. Yet, this is no fault of Domovoyd or any other up-and-coming practitioner of the stoned drone. One can’t pick when creativity will strike; no one holds off on a riff because the time doesn’t feel right. And, a few years down the road — when we can pick and choose our favorites from this era without having the “decision” foisted upon us by an anonymous horde of PR lackeys goading scared-shitless-of-silence blogs into posting/re-positing their dreck — these young, often-brilliant, never-not-deafing Finns will sit near the top of the heap.
At the moment, though? It’s okay to be burned out. Regardless, make sure you remember the name. Following a well-received EP (which is available to stream via their Bandcamp), Domovoyd delivers on its potential with fifty-two minutes of heavy everything. Belying their age, it’s not clumsy in the least. The only thing the dudes drop are more tabs.
Oh, Sensibility‘s virtues are wrapped up in distortion, harnessing the Kevin Shieldsian superpower to make albums played at low-volumes sound louder than the voice of God. Flapping around on their painter’s palette are a bunch of birds-of-a-feather touchstones: Electric Wizard‘s ohm-ing incantations, cyclical progressions recalling the hearing-reaper himself Kawabata Makoto, and the fuse-igniting, daisy-chained pedal boards common with synesthesia-afflicted six-string maniacs, to name a few. Nevertheless, they’re different enough to stand out in a lineup of Sons of Otises and Demon Death Judges. Our own Erik Highter described the group as the Ufommamut Experience, acknowledging their relative rhythmic freedom and sense of swing is like dropping the combo of Redding/Mitchell inside the aforementioned’s lockstep, dubby lumbering. Plus, cuts such as “By Taking Breath” reveal flannel lining Domovoyd‘s vest, making with the Muddy Banks grunge dynamics; just, you know, in a way suggesting Cobain came as he was during their spirit walk.
Still, unless you’re attuned to its SETI frequency, Oh, Sensibility will be rather one-note, possibly considered riff-less. This isn’t the album that acts as an open invitation to the hotbox. Those needing highly structured songs requiring a flowchart for maximum wankability will be more irritated than a neat freak in a dust factory. Domovoyd plays it not-so-fast, but fairly loose, recording the majority of their segments live. (Apparently, the vocals were laid down in the shadow of a sand dune which is one of those factoids you’ll remember forever much to the chagrin of anyone near you.) This is appropriate, capturing a certain stage spontaneity since the fellas must crush in concert. But, their phasers could use a setting other than in the red. As a chore companion, concentration security guard, or any other passive listening experience, the onslaught is actually a benefit; it’s sublime sense deprivation. When giving this sucker your full-attention, though, it becomes mired in its own desire to be a physical encounter. “Effuvial Condenser” has the greatest peaks and valleys and it ranges from ALL CAPS to ALL CAPS, BOLDED. Even the Goblin-y whispered chant of “eee-lectric charge” sears. Sometimes you want something which won’t make your third eye wince.
All in all, these are minor quibbles. Domovoyd has transformed the buzz of their instruments into a bong-shaped dog whistle commanding the attention of all weedians. This album, given the right external variables, can be a corker. It’s a stoomer with spectacular intensions. If it doesn’t touch down on your runway now, worry not; it’ll keep circling until you’re ready. Be that as it may, don’t be surprised when other creatures start wearing the comparison like a scout badge.
Oh, sorta like Oh, Sensibility?
