You know how it is, you get comfy with something you know and feel familiar with for a minute or two, then it explodes in to an outpouring of harsh sludge which flattens me to the floor.
Drude hail from Indiana, and I am guessing that it’s Eerie, Indiana (I’m showing my age, aren’t I?) as they mix and contort their sound along the lines of reality distortion expected of some Sam Rami horror movie.
After the opening horror of “Drude,” we slow down to a bong pace for “Barbelo,” as it builds slowly layer upon layer like silt at the bottom of a river… and the music swirls around as the smoke begins to rise.
Five tracks, just shy of 40 minutes from the band formerly known as Burn the Army, Drude deliver colossal tunes with massive slow burning riffs that allow me to close my eyes and forget the world, just for a moment or two. In this world of Drude, Trump has no teeth. “Oasu” brings in the post-rock elements of that dissonant slightly detached sound, leading in to “Demure,” which continues this feeling but in a slightly more up-beat manner.
What I don’t understand is the cover. It looks like a chicken playing bagpipes made of an Ancient Greek philosopher’s head. Maybe that sums up Drude quite well.