Album Reviews

Garage punk rock is supposed to sound raw, gnarly and ham-fisted. On the rambunctious "Domesticated Dog" and on parts of "Blue Light on the Floor," Mt. Eerie let the spit, the fists and the piss and vinegar fly, and they don't care who gets coated in the sticky mess of bodily fluids. Mt. Eerie braintrust Phil Elverum—it's basically Elverum collaborating with a bunch of other musicians—claims that the Black Wooden Ceiling Opening EP is a bit of an ode to black metal, but most true, non-hipster metal fans won't be buying that line of sarcasm. Rather, the record is distorted, discordant punk that screams with shrill feedback and the kind of bluster that'll chip the paint off the walls. It's a mere six songs in length, but this thing has moments that impact like a wrecking ball to an ulcered stomach. "Don't Smoke" is particularly unpleasant, in a noisy, "This record should have been released by Am Rep Records back in the day" sorta way.

Mr. Elverum works in noise, the way some artists work in watercolors. His fair, faint voice fades into the background of the leaden riffs. Throughout the course of this EP, Mt. Eerie is loud, fuzzed and proud, as if packaging the most unlistenable chunks of noise was the most pleasant and desired thing in the world. It's ballsy, and it's also a bit of a bird flip to everyone outside indie rock circles. But it is interesting to see Elverum plunk down noise after bloody noise.

— Amy Sciarretto
06.11.08