Sometimes groovy, mostly an overhyped snoozefest – 52%
The_Desolate_One, September 28th, 2019
Before they split up, this trio of traditional doomsters from Finland, a country better known for funeral doom and melodic death/doom, was all the rage in the then trendy stoner/sludge/doom scene. It is within such a context that they produced an anthem like “Doom Over the World,” a song that really only makes sense as a self-conscious celebration of that feeling, when it suddenly seemed, at least in certain circles, like everyone was listening to doom (just look at the boom of acts featured in Roadburn between 2001 and 2007). Coming at a snail pace, with absolutely massive crushing Sabbathy riffs, it’s really no wonder Reverend Bizarre made such a noise.
However, as I listen to them now, many years later, I fail to see what’s so great about an album like II: Crush the Insects, praised as it was. You see, the thing about doom (and stoner) metal is that listening to crushing, slow riffs feels good, especially live, when you literally feel them crashing over you like a tsunami, bathing you in their evil aura. But this is deceptive, as it leads one to believe that just playing the same riff over and over and over and over, simply because it feels good, like you’re getting a sonic massage, is acceptable songwriting. So it’s easy for a band, talented as they might be (and Reverend Bizarre is talented, I grant you that), to fall into this kind of self-indulgence.
But OK, you know this is a negative review, so let me get this out of the way first: there are some quite enjoyable things in this album. I like Albert Witchfinder’s brand of histrionic vocals in the vein of Saint Vitus, which are all over the place, switching from chanting to nearly growling to the occasional falsetto and what I can only describe as very boastful, full-chested, heroic recitation. They also nailed the guitar sound, which feels like a 50 ft brick wall collapsing over your head. And when they play mid-paced groovy doom, they make some excellent, rocking riffs. The songs written in that mood — “Doom Over the World,” “The Devil Rides Out,” and “Cromwell” — are absolutely addictive.
However, these three songs make up only the first 18 minutes of this album, and “The Devil Rides Out,” as awesome as its main riff is, already comes close to wearing out its welcome (you’ll start feeling weary as that riff comes up for the third time and there’s still half of its 6 minutes left before it’s over). But by the time “Slave of Satan” rears its heavy head, everything’s ruined. This is so slow, you can listen to it at 2x speed and it stills sounds like a doom metal song. Even at 2x speed, though, it’s hard to discern any logic in what the guitar’s doing, what it’s playing can’t even be called riffs, really. It’s just loose notes and chords, meandering without going anywhere, for 13 migraine-inducing minutes. This falls somewhere around the most drawn out types of doom, though devoid of the miserable but majestic feel of Skepticism’s or Shape of Despair’s funeral doom, the psychedelia of Dopesmoker or the plain, fun inventive weirdness of the Melvins.
The four remaining songs then, all of which clock in at between 8 and almost 12 minutes, follow this same pattern, either featuring no riffs at all or running a riff to the ground—“Fucking Wizard” being the worst offender, as it repeats its tritone forever, without variation. To make matters worse, this is a blatant ripoff of Black Sabbath’s “Black Sabbath.” And the lyrics are bloody stupid to boot—one somewhat funny idea extended on a Procrustean bed. The only long song here that truly goes anywhere is “By This Axe I Rule!”, which is still kind of stupid, but has an evil-sounding bass that drives it through its riffless first part, and then beautifully bursts into that nice, crushing groove.
All things considered, it’s hard not to see Reverend Bizarre as a parody of the doom genre. There’s the self-awareness, the lack of earnestness or personal songs and doing it all by the numbers, the deliberate cranking of all that is doomy up to eleven, the faux-Britishness—noticeable both in the fake accent and the obsession with British history what with puritans and Oliver Cromwell (whose song doesn’t even make sense and bizarrely alludes to Crowley in the end. Is mixing up Cromwell and Crowley the joke here? If it is, I guess it is kind of funny). My take is that if you were to get the three listenable songs from II: Crush the Insects and add the good songs there are from their other two full-length albums, which also suffer from the same issue of parodic self-indulgence, then you could maybe get a whole hour of pretty sweet material. I think this is the only way to actually enjoy Reverend Bizarre without being stoned out of your mind.
rafazardly 