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THE OBLIGING VICTIMS
Autumn Creeping EP

Self-released (2022)
Rating: 8.5/10

Here’s one of 2022’s most compelling releases. The Obliging Victims are the brainchild of one Kelley Kombrinck, a Cincinnati dude who, in rather eerie fashion, mashes together 60s psychedelia, satanic 70s brooding, proto-doom rock, and trippy, lo-fi oddness.

Considering the amount of bong-obsessed clones attempting occult rock / doom today, I’d suggest you pick this peculiarity up instead. Kombrinck has a very laid back tone, but his style has an ominous feel even as he in unwavering fashion fluidly narrates the handful of tracks on offer.

Although the likes of ‘Bitten’ provide a far more driven, doom metal style of fuzziness, it’s the fantastic ‘Somethin’s Creepin’ Up’ which raises the heckles as Kombrinck, almost lazily, conjures up an almost lounge-rock style of summery subtlety coated with foreboding lyrics which act as warnings of impending doom and dread.

Why I’m constantly reflecting on the Manson crimes while playing this opus I’ll never truly know, but it has that weird feel to it; a summer of love design and yet the haze is a mere, thin veil before the gates to Hell open behind it. Due to his tone, Kombrinck somehow evokes so many images of places I’ve never been but can imagine in dreams and nightmares where darkness is always lurking around the corner beyond that bush which blooms with such beautiful flowers.

So yes, it’s a trippy record nodding towards the San Francisco psych scene of the late 60s where behind every flowery smile there was a drugged-up sleaziness, relayed here with the fuzzy guitar tone that weaves between Kombrinck’s seemingly upbeat yet for me, disconcerting tones. ‘A Survivor’s Story’ is haunting, and almost autumnal as crisp, brown leaves fall to the patter of the trickling guitar tone.

Those not convinced of its metallic guise needs to learn that this record is very much part one of a saga Kombrinck has entitled the ‘Seasons Of The Hungry Dead’ whereby a small, peaceful town is ransacked by the rising dead, and what better to way to encapsulate such horror than the doomy traipse of ‘Autumn Of The Hungry Dead’ with its thick, bluesy smog that exudes strong whiffs of those late 70s and early 80s doom escapades.

Autumn Creeping is such an involving platter; one blessed with quirkiness and seasonal changes while forever remaining laced by an overwhelming feeling of dread. Kombrinck never resorts to anything overtly evil or satanic in his journey because his style is just so effortlessly compelling and somehow ethereal without the cheap thrills. This is storytelling that belongs somewhere between Stephen King’s Night Shift book of short stories and one of Charles Manson’s unnerving ditties, and yet all the while the normality of summer months we so crave is just a step away from the bewitching bonfire smoke skies of All Hallows’ Eve.

Neil Arnold

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