Dog Magic is a full-on art move by erstwhile doom metal merchants Zoroaster. The Atlanta trio has always had an artsy, proggy edge to its Melvins-inspired sludge, but the epic Dog Magic turns the corner from slow-as-molasses thud-rock to something entirely different. The hugely long songs (half of the six tracks break the ten-minute mark) stagger back and forth between riff-heavy thrash and ominous low-register hums punctuated by Dan Scanlan's monolithic drum thwacks. But the edges of these songs are filigreed with ...
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Dog Magic is a full-on art move by erstwhile doom metal merchants Zoroaster. The Atlanta trio has always had an artsy, proggy edge to its Melvins-inspired sludge, but the epic Dog Magic turns the corner from slow-as-molasses thud-rock to something entirely different. The hugely long songs (half of the six tracks break the ten-minute mark) stagger back and forth between riff-heavy thrash and ominous low-register hums punctuated by Dan Scanlan's monolithic drum thwacks. But the edges of these songs are filigreed with unexpected textures like spacy sci-fi theremins and burbling vintage synthesizers, group vocal parts that sound like the indistinct chanting of shadowy, disreputable monks, and -- most unexpectedly -- woozy brass parts that sound like a Balkan brass band being tortured in the very bowels of Hades. In other words, rather than the cartoony venom of most contemporary metal, Zoroaster have graduated into something closer to the epic post-rock of heavy but cerebral acts like Mono and Godspeed You Black Emperor! Is there such a thing as post-metal? There may be now. ~ Stewart Mason, Rovi
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