Well the requests for reviews keep coming in and as long as the bands don’t suck, this one definitely does not suck, I don’t mind doing them. In a way I appreciate the opportunity as otherwise this place would be mired in the past and I encourage everyone to not only appreciate the history of music, but to realize that it’s history is unfolding all the time. Unfolding is what Fire in the Cave do. Doom at it’s finest, which for me is where metal is at these days. Here’s what the band have to say for themselves…
“To them, I said, the truth would be literally nothing but the shadows of the images.” – Socrates. Fire in the Cave is a band from Orlando, Florida. The group is comprised of the final lineup of the now disassembled band: Bad Actor. Blistering riffs become sluggish spells of hypnosis constructed in movements. Each sonic assault surrounds every sense passing through moments of suffocating heaviness that fade into psychedelic tranquility. The band is lyrically driven by themes of environmental psychology, disgust for spiritual proselytization and the inherent beauty in the tribal instinct of mankind.” Our self-titled debut was tracked and mixed by Scott Angelacos and Jeff McAlear at High Five Audio in Deland, FL and mastered by Collin Jordan at Boiler Room Audio in Chicago, IL.
The first tune did not grab me right away, but the second tune really hit the spot and then going back to that first tune I found it hit the spot as well. Long tunes, about 8 minutes each, which don’t usually float my boat, but these kept my attention from begining to end, as I said, they unfold. I wish I had big words for these big songs (there’s just two), but my burnt out brain limits me to words like raw, fat, burly, meaty,chunky and evil. The drug days are over for me (maybe a little late) but I imagine these guys would go well with a bong load and I double dog dare you to give them listen after dropping a tab or two of acid. This is the stuff Witchy Poo from H.R. Puffenstuf would listen to. As you would expect from a band that calls themselves doom, you get some heavy, ploding stuff with over the top vocals. The lyrics are layered with metaphor, weaving a sort of story, dream or vision. I’ve got that 2nd tune for you but you can listen to them both at their Bandcamp page and then you can download for “name your price” (kind of a cool idea). There’s a comp of Florida metal bands on that same page that may be worth your time, I just noticed it and haven’t given it a listen yet. This will be coming out on cassette (do you still have a player, I do) soon, so keep your eye’s peeled (another good way to describe the music, eye peeling). Anyway, give it a listen…
The lyrics so you can sing along (hahaha)…
This civilized swamp, in which we dig our toes, it withers our skin and strengthens our foes. Freed locusts pour upward from the thicket where I saw her collapse. Towards the forefront sky they rise, breathe and circle toward the west.
To my waist I’d been deepened in palpable sorrows, emitted from her wails and wishes. I knew not where this town called Christ she spoke of lie, and I’d surely not heard of its men.
I am the warmth that burns safety through this fenwick. I walk upon my land ankle deep in living water.
I wade through pockets of serpents, and primitive sluggish fins. I live among an exiled leader, and his howling maddened children. Their leader, Doran Amory, had grown them out of flaws that he shed unto his soil.
His family stands before me in my final steps out of the marshes.
With mire behind me, Doran offers me his lukewarm hail. “Aaden these foreign colonies, they continue their weak and mournful crusade. They fear the light, and welcome caliginosity.”
I told him of concerns with locusts breeding where there shines no light.
This sweltering climate had driven the servile hosts through pyrexic neurosis. Away from ushering pyres.
When they’d heard of my most recent meal we both decide must act quickly, for Doran knew where their temple lie, and tonight it must burn bright.
With rifles at our backs, we charge onward, toward the sounds of hymnal desolation. These intruders will, soon know the ire of our kin.
