JC Cansdale-Cook
Bio
I answered the Call of the Riff in 2014 and have written largely about doom metal and stoner rock (and their many subsidiaries) ever since. I am The Motorfuzzin' Ibex!
Now I am cautiously treading into the murky depths of fiction writing.
Stories (6/0)
Scattered
Fuck. My mind is a messy, whirling vortex of noise. In the time of writing those first two sentences I have since installed Grammarly on my Chromebook, becomes confused as to how to actually install it on, and started playing an ASMR video courtesy of Calliope Whispers. Whilst finishing this sentence I have since skipped the Grammarly app and simply downloaded the Chrome extension.
By JC Cansdale-Cook3 years ago in Psyche
Rostro del Sol - Rostrol del Sol
Becoming kissed by the sun can leave one delirious, left in a daze fuelled by a dizzying olfactory concoction of melting tarmac and flora in full bloom. A state of wandering intoxication heightened by the alarming midday heat unveils a nonsensical universe of curiously bizarre organisms; wandering in plain sight hidden only by sobriety's sheltering lucidity, a veil now burnt to a crisp, their resemblance to the conscious world is familiar yet somehow tenuous: something feels remarkably unusual in this place, these creatures feel different to the touch - fuzzier, more colourful - and their stare comes from somewhere other than their eyes. Are these their truest incarnations, or just playful trickery inflicted upon our perception? There's no real danger in finding out for yourself but luckily there exists a pathway without incurring heat stroke: found within the frenzied jive of Rostro del Sol's equally sun-drenched frequencies, theirs is a jubilant highway of sound unlike any you'll ever traverse within three lifetimes.
By JC Cansdale-Cook3 years ago in Beat
Asphyx - Necroceros
Hurtling through the vast cosmic wastelands surrounding our miniscule insignificance is a tyrant of unimaginable power, hellbent on the annihilation of existence. Purging its way through galaxies and star systems its horror knows no bounds, leaving not a shred of what once was in its wake; nothingness - beyond nothingness - lies in ruin, its untimely death forgotten in the blink of an eye. In actuality. what appears to be a brief extermination on the outside, this is a demise unending: a state of continuous hell, of agonising death and torturous rebirth - a cycle of gut-wrenching pain as the fabric of matter is digested on a glacial scale. Necroceros is its name and Earth is its next destination. No amount of preparation, of survivalist training, of dollars spent, can protect you from the excruciating end of days we are to be subjected too - Asphyx, gleefully, would not have this any other way!
By JC Cansdale-Cook3 years ago in Beat
Sonic Flower - Sonic Flower + Rides Again
It's a psychedelic boogie showtime! Shaking down in the vaults for nigh on 16 years would test the mettle of even the hardiest of tunes, for being bereft of sunlight and outside company does peculiar things to wildly free minds. But with just one listen to the jams kicking down these solid doors it is clear they've been the soundtrack to their own eclectic shindig as carefree and as out of their minds as before those same doors were bolted shut. Who the hell knows just what kind of kaleidoscopic and epileptic light shows jived to the crazed, tripped-out ideas birthed from Tatsu Mikami's warped brain, waiting to ensnare any passers-by in their mind-bending exhibition! Now that these tunes have finally been let loose unto an unsuspecting public, they are free to join their brethren in Sonic Flower and morphing the humdrum of any night into one scorching psych-fuelled freak-out as they Ride Again! Sonic Flower are back baby!
By JC Cansdale-Cook3 years ago in Beat
Tribulation - When The Gloom Becomes Sound
From the very instant that harrowing death knell begins to drone, it dawns on you: a sudden, morose realisation something lurks in the shadows, stalking, creeping, always there. For how long it has lingered in the twilight abyss you cannot be sure, but cloaked by the dimness of candlelight its gains you notice more and more, the whisper on the nape of your neck now a chill crawling down your spine like jagged, bony fingers. Stopping dead in your tracks, recalibrating and reorientating to no avail, 'tis not the panic setting in tripling your heart rate - 'tis the beckoning quiet, the breath of time standing still, as piercing yellow eyes stare into the back of your skull. This is When The Gloom Becomes Sound, retreating into the eternal dark with a snarl, dread all-encompassing, the deafening echo of blood pulsing forcing you to turn your head. Nothing there but the pitch-black swallowing you whole. You are now at Tribulation's mercy.
By JC Cansdale-Cook3 years ago in Beat
Miss Lava - Doom Machine
Primordial once were the forces commandeering this planetary body, a chaotic governance of fire, of magma, of thunder and of lightning. A swirling ball of turbulence and darkness for aeons, it would take millenia for a recognizable if not continually changing view to form where we now call home. Much like our rampant geological history, Miss Lava's sprawling journey to the present has been an explosive one, filled with a fervent, raucous energy much akin to the genre godfathers, dominated by a driven electricity surging from their fingertips deep into our auditory canals; theirs has been a sound ejected from stacks to keep the huddled masses in an endless dance, firing grooves out of all cylinders with bombastic force. But ever since 2016's Sonic Debris the Portuguese powerhouse have pursued bigger and bolder visions, channeling a gaseous resonance pulsing from the depths waiting for just one spark near the surface. As a result, what you hear on Doom Machine is not simply just more voluminous or expansive: these are tones so dense and fluid they flood the senses, dragging you down towards a world of everlasting love by the feet.
By JC Cansdale-Cook3 years ago in Beat
