S ND Y P RL RS, 2012
It's tempting to file Rex, by S ND Y P RL RS (read: Sunday Parlours), in the same pile of the post-SunnO))) experimental drone-metal that's proliferated in the last decade. Something in my brain objects, though. Yes, all the hallmarks are here: guitars distorted and distended into fields of aural gravel; chords that change with the patience of a (Satanic) saint. Rex feels heavy, but without feeling heavy metal. There's a dearth of Iommic riffage. In it's place they've conjured a yearning quality—a mournfulness that evokes the blues, but nothing like Zepplin's stomping, early swagger. This is a blues as an abstract feeling, similar to Loren Connors' more obfuscated missives, like St. Vincent's Newsboy Home. Where Rex ought to rage and quake, it shudders and aches.