Lingering Death
Dopethrone are resolutely a genre piece. From the Electric Wizard referencing name and the kitsch voice samples to the frequent narcotic references they appear to be everything you would expect from the stoner-doom end of the metal spectrum. The fact that they layer this up with black as tar themes delivered through the rasping, almost black metal vocals of Vincent Houde is another, much more interesting thing. Naming this record after their homestead, the rough around the edges working class Hochelaga district in Quebec is instructive. Songs like Scum Fuck Blues spell out their experiences and expectations loud and clear: “Smoke, drink, die... Nothing left to lose. Scum fuck blues.” Like the riffs on this album this feels like a sentiment that others are doomed to repeat.
Whilst the doom is thick and foreboding on Hochelaga Dopethrone aren’t always about that. The riffs are simple and often catchy and songs like Vagabong don’t wallow preferring to drink to forget and just rock out. Opener Sludgekicker does exactly what it says on the tin providing thick, goopy riffs battered along by troglodyte tub thumping from drummer Big Borman. Structurally the songs are much more conventional, less psychedelic than the tripped out dark fantasies of the band that gave Dopethrone their moniker closer in tone to Eyehategod. Whereas Oborn and co will happily let distortion and texture fog a song into a hazy middle distance these three Canadians are more direct, preferring to stay up close and filthy with few exceptions.
Chameleon Witch maintains the gritty monotone riffing but does add wandering lead guitar providing some respite. Scum Fuck Blues, however, is the grim centrepiece of the record and could be Dopethrone’s signature song. It buzzes and bleeds into Dry Hitter whose opening riff is the nastiest thus far as Houde rails through his toking ritual. Warning sirens beckon the opening gnarled riff into the light amid a hail of gunfire on Bullets a sludgy, NOLA derived bruiser that quickly retreats to shadow. It’s a song that lashes out when forced into a corner. The agony of withdrawal is soundtracked on Riff Dealer and it’s fair to say Dopethrone aren’t sunshine, girls and brightly coloured bongs stoners, this isn’t Fu Manchu. This is dark and thrill-less as the last track attests.
Dopethrone know that with this kind of music quality is preferable to quantity; there’s no need for a double album of downtuned riffs and drug references if that’s your stock in trade. Seven songs of bleak, heavy sludge-blues is all that is required reminding us that in times of trouble you can always rely on the riff dealers.