Tagged: Headless Kross

20 for ’15 – The Playlist

Well, it’s nearly the middle of February already – so it seems as good a time as any to wrap up this round up of the previous years best songs. They don’t call me The Timely Content Kid for nothing. Also some might call having 25 songs on a top 20 list something of a cop out. To which I have no real argument.

It was a great year for music though and I think this list demonstrates just how good. Especially since it was a year in which I didn’t find much time to delve into all that much hip hop – Busdriver and Milo narrowly missed the cut for the list but that was about it for my rap listening in 2015, bar a couple of L’Orange produced albums – and almost completely ignored what was by all accounts an excellent year for black metal. It was a year of Too Much Music and this, for better or worse, is how I spent it. And given how much fun I’ve had putting this list together I’m leaning towards, “for better.”

20 for ’15: Headless Kross – Rural Juror

Part 5 of a 20 part rundown of my favourite tracks of 2015

Y’know up until that foul year of our lord 2015 the concept of psychedelic doom is something that had never really occurred to me. Which is kind of odd: I’d been listening to loads of stuff that apparently falls under that banner. Or at least has labelled as such by the kind of people who spend their evening labelling things. Whoever they are. And when you think about it the two genres share a lot of traits: repetition, ludicrous song lengths, guitar solos, reverb, long hair, dry ice, beards, drugs. It’s actually quite a natural fit. And speaking as someone rather fond of getting lost in lengthy riff fests, and who isn’t put off by unnatural levels of guitar fuzz, guttural howling and/or grunting, it’s a pairing that ought to be seen out in the wild more often.

Rural Juror is an excellent case in point. It had me at the title – being a man who binge watches 30 Rock at least once a year as I am – but the tectonically paced riffing really won me over. It takes several minutes for the fuzz to really kick in, a few more for the vocalist to wake up, a few more than that for them to remember they’ve got a synthesiser knocking about the studio – in the time it takes Rural Juror to lumber to it’s end most punk bands have released an album, broken up and have been coaxed into reforming for Coachella. That might not sound like an endorsement but for me that’s just dandy – some days nothing sounds more perfect than being dragged slowly through a forest of riffs, each more fuzzy than the last (you could easily get nicely toasted taking a shot every time you hear them stomp down on a different pedal), until all your faculties have been worn away leaving nothing but blind allegiance to the Church of the One Riff.