Cloakroom melds melody with metal
Soft-spoken melancholy meets walloping low-end brawn in this Indiana trio
What’s the deal?
Hailing from the northwestern Indiana factory belt, Cloakroom is a dauntingly dynamic power trio that juxtaposes singer/guitarist Doyle Martin’s soft-spoken Midwestern melancholy with walloping low-end brawn delivered at a patiently bruising pace that would have had the band labelled “slowcore” alongside the likes of Codeine, Cell and Hum during the 1990s.
“Slowcore” is, admittedly, a better label than “stoner emo,” a (not en- tirely inaccurate) description the band applied to itself without a great deal of seriousness not long after its formation in 2012, and which bedevils it to this day.
For those who like to connect their slowcore dots, Hum guitarist Matt Talbott is responsible for the meaty analogue production that helped propel the sad-’n’-sludgy songs on Cloakroom’s terrific debut LP, Further Out, to depths of tectonic heaviosity only imagined on 2013’s already rather hefty Infinity EP.
So, yes, Cloakroom is clearly aware and appreciative of its lineage.
It’s also sufficiently powerless to resist an aching, melty melody that at times recalls Red House Painters in a metal mood.
No complaints here. Sum up what you do in a few simple sentences. “Cloakroom makes music to try and help ease mankind’s transition from independent, sentient being to its eventual enslavement by our reptilian overlords. We also play slow, heavy rock that is sometimes pretty and we occasionally tour.”
What’s a song I need to hear right now?
“Starchild Skull.” Makes me think of an imaginary shoegaze outtake from In Utero, or maybe Steve Albini producing early Swervedriver. Either way: win.
Where can I see them play?
At the Smiling Buddha with Wild-honey and Hindsight, Jan. 4.