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WOOD WITCH
Eyes Of Darkness

Self-released (2022)
Rating: 7.5/10

Even though we’ve heard such occult-driven drivel time and time again, Virginia Beach clan Wood Witch is more than happy to lumber from the forest, with black candles in hands and cloaks dragging, and set up its altar for midnight rendezvous.

Yep, this is archaic doom metal wrapped up in good if predictable artwork and booming to the zenith through the pipes of Daniel Perry, who is as equally stern with his guitar work. You’ll be entranced by such dark delights as ‘The Witch’s Bell’, ‘Pentagram’, ‘Lamia’ and ‘Rise From The Tomb’ which are all ideal soundtracks for an All Hallows Eve romp by the fireside and to the flicker of golden pumpkin eyes.

Wood Witch – whose line-up is completed by bassist Wade Johnson and drummer Ryan Mardre – are more than capable at relaying spooky tales within their framework of simplistic and quite effective traditional doom. It all trudges along rather nicely, casting long shadows over the carpet of crisp leaves and disturbing the dormant fumes that lay atop the old graves like a permanent mist.

The title track splendidly awakens from its tomb, heaving its great lid aside to the moan of a lumbering riff before a classic Black Sabbath-like gallop intrudes and there we are, on horseback, and taken on a journey through a land where the ashes of burned witches still smoulder and join with the pallid sky. Perry has a more persistent tone this time, almost solemnly crying to the grey clouds in despair.

This is all very evocative stuff as numerous occult images are served up. The stormy rumble of ‘Hecate’s Kiss’ majestically trudges through damp soil into the heart of folk horror, while ‘The Offering’ oozes like cemetery syrup, suitably discharged in glutinous horror as the stark bass trickles to escape it.

As I say, this is very good, solid doom metal and it’s a ceremony I wholeheartedly recommend you take part in even if you feel like you’ve been here many times before. Sure, it’s tried and tested in its oaken gloop, but some nights, when all is silent and bonfire scent fills the nostrils, there’s no other place I’d rather be.

Neil Arnold

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