Oranssi Pazuzu

11PARANOIA­S THE DOME, LON­DON

Metal Hammer (UK) - - Subterrane­a - ALEX DELLER

FIN­NISH COS­MO­NAUTS IN­DUCE A PEAK EX­PE­RI­ENCE

11PARANOIA­S [7] OPEN their set to a lonely vista: the Dome’s cav­ernous space bor­der­ing on tum­ble­weed ter­ri­tory as a scat­ter­ing of early­birds toe the sticky floor and tuck into their first pints of the night. As the riffs pour forth, how­ever, a crowd be­gins to file slowly in, met­al­heads gath­er­ing like acolytes called to wor­ship at a skull-shaped moun­tain by an an­cient mage play­ing a sin­gle des­o­late note on a hu­man thigh bone. Front­man Adam Richard­son locks the band in place with tarry bass notes and Ozzy­down-a-well vo­cals as gui­tarist Mike Vest, el­bows po­litely tucked in, qui­etly writhes while rooted to the spot, the band smear­ing the greasy bound­aries be­tween vast, drugshit­ted doom and bleary-eyed Hawk­wind ven­er­a­tion. If 11Paranoia­s cast the runes then ORANSSI PAZUZU

[9] ful­fil the prophecy, the five mild-man­nered Finns set­ting some­thing in mo­tion that seems to have cos­mic sig­nif­i­cance. While osten­si­bly a black metal act, the band ply some­thing far more ex­per­i­men­tal than Dark­throne wor­ship, touch­ing base with Can, Faust and Sil­ver Ap­ples as they slip be­tween gen­res and tinker with the very warp and weft of time, space and hu­man con­scious­ness. True, it’s un­de­ni­ably heavy, but while front­man Jun-His’s shriek­ing face threat­ens to fold in on it­self his band­mates are at work con­jur­ing some­thing swirlingly el­e­gant and en­sur­ing his howled-up lungs serve as fur­ther slimy tex­ture for their kalei­do­scopic vi­sion.

From the threat­en­ing lunge of Vino Verso to the nu­anced head­fuck of Lahja – one of many high­points from 2016’s ex­tra­or­di­nary Värähtelij­ä full-length – the band demon­strate not just ex­tra­or­di­nary power, but also a unique unity of vi­sion. Each mem­ber ap­pears wholly im­mersed in a strange lit­tle bub­ble of his own creation, yet re­mains in tune with the wider hive mind: gui­tarist Moit skips bare­foot be­tween a flick­er­ing bank of FX pedals, EviL (yes, re­ally) in­vokes whirling synth pat­terns and bassist Ontto, sport­ing an Eraser­head patch on his dap­per suit jacket, wrings the life from his Rick­en­backer be­fore kneel­ing pen­i­tently at the foot of a tee­ter­ing men­hir of am­pli­fiers. The cu­mu­la­tive ef­fect is dizzy­ing, im­bu­ing the songs with a strange, elas­tic qual­ity that makes them seem never-end­ing while at the same time all too brief. By the time the quintet are drag­ging their fi­nal song to its hym­nal cli­max, ev­ery head in the now­packed room is shak­ing raptly in uni­son, and with the sun at its high­est point on the day of the sum­mer sol­stice you can’t help but won­der whether there might be some deep, deep mag­ick at work here. All hail Oranssi Pazuzu!

the 11Paranoia­s trip light fan­tas­tic Oranssi Pazuzu: Jun-His plots a course from ten­sion to as­cen­sion

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