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WITCHSNAKE
Deathcult Of The Snake

Helter Skelter Productions (2023)
Rating: 6.5/10

There seems to be a rule whereby a majority of doom / sludge / occult bands have to use the words “witch”, “snake” and, more annoyingly, “wizard” into their moniker or album title. Here is another band of such ilk, being Milan. Italy-based stoners Witchsnake (not to be confused with the Canadian doom act of the same name who released a brace of EPs in 2015).

What you get here is the routine weed-soaked fuzz fronted by the ghost of Motörhead’s Lemmy! This sort of fluff does seem to only apply to those who spend too much time in a marijuana fog machine because those outside the loop may find this rather dull, even in its squalid nature. The riffs are thick and heavy, almost as if they were constructed on a bad trip. They veer towards a clogging doom but have more in common with an under-valued and damply remote 60s psych-cum-garage syrup.

(Un)naturally, because of its look, this seven track swamp of glue exudes an occult vibe, but just like those Dennis Wheatley novels decades ago the cover art is more rewarding than the cheese within. From stuffy opener ‘Outlaw’ and right through to closer ‘Laughing Among The Ruins’ one gets the feeling as if they have dropped into a 70s satanic biker movie but left coated in soot and phlegm.

Sure, the album has a creepy nature as if one has stumbled into an underground club littered with drugged up go-go girls and Manson family members, but with each sickly, oozing riff my patience is tested; suggestion then that I should be on some acid trip to appreciate this fuzzy mess. Some of the more psychedelic axe work, such as on the title track, is mildly entertaining as are those gravelled vocals where lead man Al sounds like he’s been chewing scraps of charcoal and coating his lungs with antifrost.

My favourite track here is ‘Inject The Venom’, simply due to that bluesy psych nature that tends to separate it from the fuzz, but if you want something genuinely seedy, gutter-scraping and evil then I’d recommend serial killer obsessives Church Of Misery, or just journey into the bowels of the 60s psych scene for more thrilling and less gloopy escapades.

Neil Arnold

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