There’s no real argument here that Black Prism have arrived to well and truly rock the five Killer Bs: Beer, Beards, Bikes, Broads and Black Sabbath. This brand new, reverb-toting, LA mob wears their influences not just on their sleeves, but up their armpits, on their bandanas and most likely all wore Ozzy-branded underwear to record this debut 7” vinyl. Citing the inspirations of the ever-present Sabbs alongside the more modern retroisms of Uncle Acid & The Deadbeats and Kadavar, you’re surely already 50% of the way towards knowing exactly how these bruisers shake down. But does ‘Satan’s Country’ actually pedal hard enough to keep up with the rest of the proto-doom peloton?
For the most part, yes it does. This is fun, foot-stomping, boogielicious doom akin to Witchfinder General gate-crashing a debauched house-party, riding their choppers through the fence, downing the keg in one gulp and blowing up the family stereo. The title track, complete with a video crammed to the brim with grainy images of nude, pentagramic romps and bizarre devil-worshipping rituals, cruises through a field of ‘70s-soaked riffs and glass-bending vocal lines, lynching every bemused bystander in its path. There’s no threat here, nothing truly sinister, just good, loud, crucifix-hurling good times and a genuinely well-honed production quality ensures it sounds legit enough throughout.
B-side ‘Yrtnuoc S’Natas’ (I’ll give you five seconds to realise what that spells backwards) is essentially the entire track in reverse and aside from a jerkier feel to the central riff, it stands alone as its own acid-baked entity reasonably well. If you like cassette tapes that stick, vinyl that clicks and cackles along with disconcertingly backward vocal lines then this one’s definitely for you. Having whet your doom whistle with this cheeky preview, Black Prism promise to be back in early 2014 with a full-length album in their side-car which will no doubt sound like a priest in a headlock set to a backdrop of Cathedral-esque grooves. Splendid.
Scribed by: Pete Green