Zamonian Occultism

Kurt Cobain said one thing: the only tie-dye shirt he would wear would be dyed with the blood of Jerry Garcia. And the stoner-doom band Mother Bear sounds exactly like that: something between patchouli and piss, between a burnt-out tube in the guitar amp and a kicked-over acrylic bong.

The riffs are as bone-dry as the permanent cardboard mouth of a pimply teenager. Singer Jonas sounds as if he's gulping down a little bit of the previous night's Pernod through his oily throat and drummer Florian's snares are reminiscent of the muffled sound you heard the last time your ex-girlfriend threw a heavy glass ashtray at your skull during an argument. With their second album “Orm 2”, the three losers from Dortmund show impressively that you don't have to come from Louisiana, Palm Desert or Dorset to write dull doom songs about fantasy novels and ignore the mold problem in the rehearsal room. The soundtrack for people whose only interpersonal contact consists of regularly shouting at the cashier at the supermarket, for 30-year-olds who still hang out on pissed-up halfpipes and don't pay child support or are simply too shy to admit that they would much rather read Walter Moers than watch mediocre sexploitation films with a half-hard willy.

Get the fuck out of my room mom!

– WIFI GOLD

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