Electric Wizard and Moss at Camden's Electric Ballroom

Moss

Camden’s Electric Ballroom swam in a mirage of dank human sweat and the aroma of cheap ale as Moss and Electric Wizard entranced worshiping throngs with their signature brands of nihilistic doom metal. My clothes vibrated in tempo with walls of bass and emaciated vocals as the thundering altar of Satan hypnotized everyone who paid their fifteen quid. I arrived at Electric Ballroom after stonily and albeit in the proper fashion for a night of proper stoner metal-forgetting my oyster card and keys, both on separate occasions. Despite my foggy misadventure, as I first graced the grimy ballroom floors, Moss had only made it a quarter of the way into their first number-a drone-out epic of Tolkien-esque proportions that ended 12 minutes later.

 I was extremely impressed by Moss. The three-piece Southampton band formed in 2000 and despite releasing several split EPs and three full-length records, they rarely ever perform live. Surely one can imagine how anyone with an insatiable appetite for doom would literally be shitting themselves at the prospect of having their eardrums blasted by Moss. 

Moss’s vocalist, Olly Pearson, leaves one aghast with mouth gapping, literally speechless and even a little bit confused at how a human can distort their vocals chords to sound so abrasive and disorienting.  But after inflecting a 20-minute tirade of mystical growls that could echo even in a flat, barren desert, Pearson whipped out his Sabbath tribute repertoire, paying homage to a young Ozzy Osbourne who would probably have shed a tear if he was present and still physically capable. Moss played a total of four songs in a forty-minute set and emitted a dense storm of esoteric, otherworldly and deeply trancelike soundscapes. The bands satanic ethos mirrors that of their sound and also their affinity for the nihilistic and cosmic philosophies of H.P. Lovecraft. Seeing Moss was a real treat and I personally can’t wait to make all my friends back in California extremely jealous when I tell them that they will never see this band. Hooray me.  

Jus Osborne of Electric Wizard

Oh yeah, it’s probably worth mentioning that Electric Wizard headlined this event. Forging a name for themselves in the early nineties and prevailing as one of the most seminal acts within the Doom genre and among UK metal bands, Electric Wizard hails from Dorset and rocks with extreme soul, intensity and a striking presence that does justice to their formidable reputation. When taking the stage, the Wizard doesn’t assume a superfluous and self-celebratory demeanor. They identify with the audience members as kin, and collectively share with rather than indulge the crowd. Aside from my overbearing urge to emit an heir of extreme eloquence, I will cut the shit and just simply say that Electric Wizard graced the stage like total bad-asses.

The band’s sound derives from early proto-doom predecessors Saint Vitus and Black Sabbath. Slow, groovy intoxicating riffs pour their way in and out of heavily rhythmic, lengthy songs.

Electric Wizard opened their set after an already raucous crowd began to turn riotous during the half hour interval subsequent to Moss’ finale.   They entered the stage in proper fashion, typical of rock n roll forebears and contemporaries with beers, smokes, axes and plenty of denim on hand. They opened their set with the nine-minute epic “Funerapolis” off of the album Dopethrone. Now, I had heard how great this band was live and even given my high expectations, when the first note of “Funerapolis” resonated I nearly fainted and collapsed onto my two smaller female companions. Once I managed to gather my senses and recollect my composure, I willfully head banged and thrashed about for the next hour as Electric Wizard’s energetic, Sabbath inspired medley’s infiltrated my brain with extreme volume and passion.

I would recommend anybody who likes heavy rock even in the vaguest sense to check out Electric Wizard. And if you happen to be in the UK, see them live because you will not regret it. 




Sam Blum