TMP harness an off putting and unfriendly vibe over the course of these five epics of fucked up doom and gloom. Part Mugwart/Beaten back to Pure southern scum, part Grief/early Buzzov*en slug trail terror and part Yobian, psychedelic glory, the quintet rounded out by Justin (guitar), Ahmasi (bass) and Joey (drums) are one of the most unique entities going in the American sludge/doom underworld right now. The instruments are laden with effects and cosmic ambience, but the riffs, low-end and general groove clamp down on a number of scathing, world decimating moments that will keep your head nodding and your whiskey bottle empty, as this is music perfectly accompanied by a big, plentiful fifth of Wild Turkey.
Beasley is as pissed off as ever; whispering and screaming like a demon beneath a blanket of blown out distortion and suffocation. Drummer Joey is a particularly key component to the mix, locking down the band’s sound with a requisite doomified crunch, but also getting wild and fill crazy in the vein of John Stanier’s tightest Helmet performances.
TMP wraps a threatening aura around your head from the very first note. Beasley’s haggard scream thunders in the distance, before the volume kicks in full bore with twin guitars blazing through plundering riffs and psychedelic leads alike, as the effects swirl around your ears from a seemingly inexplicable number of amps and directions. This is a cyclone of endless noise and drugged out vocal shouts, with a grasp on overdriven Beaten Back to Pure metal as played by Kirk Fisher with Mike Scheidt coordinating the affair and offering musical mysticism. There’s a moment of sampling, with cleaner dissonant guitars that frighteningly feels as if the song’s going to come out of your speakers and beat the living fuck out of you, as you sit there knowing damn well the band is holding back for one last outburst at the end, to create a proper emotional catharsis.
Lush bass lines provide the perfect foundation for Vince and Justin to weave their shimmering, doom influenced chord progressions around. Less than a minute slowly wanders by in this glorious, almost Hawkwind meets Yob passage.
You want a sick scream you go to Charlie. You want a sick riff/groove and production job, you go to Vince. You get them both here, and with three other giants backing them up…well the sky is the limit. The groove in this part of the song is one that can be effortlessly lumped into the legendary realm, with Joey’s pounding emphasis on fills and complexity adding even more life to the unholy din.
Fans of that whole psyched out doom/sludge movement such as Yob, Soulpreacher, Sleep and Warhorse will eat this tune up for their three daily squares from here to eternity. Sludge fans…you need this, so pick up their releases and see if you can wrangle this record off of one of the band members. Shit this good, cannot be doomed to obscurity! ~ Slightly edited Hellride review
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