Crossing an ocean and more than a few international borders in pursuit of the almighty riff has taken up a bit more time than I'd expected, but after a European metal-induced hiatus of sorts, Grim Kim is back to spread the good word about the best bands you've never heard of. I've settled into a lovely little flat in North London (which, oddly enough, looks a helluva lot like my usual West Philly stomping ground) and am comin' atcha fully armed with a slew of deliciously dirty new bands to shove down your throats. Ironically enough, this first-ever European edition of Revelations of Doom focuses on an American band, from the very same East Coast that I (usually) call home. This one's for the old guard – the true sludge freaks, the dedicated doom 'heads, and the diehard amplifiers worshippers out there. Sit back, light up, and get ready for some pain.
Much like Athens, Georgia, the unassuming little burg called Richmond, Virginia has emerged as an epicenter of sorts for modern metal and hardcore. While most of you are already familiar with some of her more well-known sonic offspring (Lamb of God, Municipal Waste, Cannabis Corpse) it's RVA's lesser-known, underground bands that kids should really be losing their shit over, whether it be Bastard Sapling (who put out the single best demo recording of 2007), Battlemaster, Inter Arma, Ravn, or the subject of this edition of Revelations of Doom – Cough. Weedeater. Electric Wizard. Iron Monkey. Grief. Corrupted. Eyehategod. Sleep. Buried at Sea. Sourvein. It's easy enough to drop names and draw comparisons to other like-minded and undoubtedly inspirational bands, but doing so would render a great disservice unto Cough. Their latest full-length, Sigillum Luciferi, sees the band in a very, very dark place indeed – they're caught dragging the waters of a polluted river of human misery, and everything's coming up corpses. Their debut full-length is a down-tuned masterpiece of harrowing, nihilistic sludge, bathed in feedback and slower than time. I also high;y suggest some high grade kush for your skullcap. The strings on the guitars seem to seep resin somewhere deep into the hole. We all know that familiar hole. The hole Cough emotes is crucial to observe. Desperate, raw-throaty vocals, lurching riffs, and crushing heaviness are the hallmarks of this release, though once in awhile, Cough slyly throw in a few spacey, tranced-out moments that, for just a split second, allow you to imagine a feeble beam of sunlight cutting through the filth and carving out an iota of breathing room, before the omnipresent muck sucks you back down into the blackness. Yeah, they're that kind of band.