It took Witch Mountain over a decade to release their sophomore album, and less than a year to record its follow-up. A rolling stone gathers no moss, after all, and once this Portland quartet finally got moving, they kicked right into high gear, and haven't slowed down since. 2011's South of Salem seemingly came out of nowhere; it took critics and doomhounds alike by surprise, and launched the band into the spotlight. Witch Mountain's name began to pop up all over the place-- at Scion shows, in rave reviews, upon Adult Swim compilations, on tour dates with Wino's Premonition 13-- and a record deal with tastemakers Profound Lore soon arrived to sweeten their success. Now, with Cauldron of the Wild, they are doing their damndest to capitalize on that buzz, and ride the waves of positive energy as far as they'll go. Luckily for them, and for us too, their new album is more than worth the trip.
The band as a whole is impressively talented, and each member more than pulls his or her weight, but the vocals in particular are an unavoidable and entrancing highlight. Uta Plotkin's voice should be declared a national treasure, of the doomed nation if not the whole damn American music scene. Bluesy, ballsy, sensual, and commanding, this lady's powerful pipes make this band what it is, and when she chooses to exercise the fullness of her dizzyingly elastic range (as in, for example, her rumbling death growls on "Veil of the Forgotten"), the result is electrifying. In turns haunting and brash, Plotkin's voice and phrasing bring her strange, otherwordly lyrics to life, whether the pictures she paints depict a murderous girl child, a deadly fever, or a faraway love. On 12-minute slow burner "Aurelia", the instrumentals back off, and give her space to breathe, which she deftly uses to showcase a sweet, more delicate side of her usually smoky delivery.
One mustn't forget, though, that at its core, this is doom metal. Main guitarist Rob Wrong's Black Sabbath meets Hendrix wearing a Saint Vitus shirt vibe and fuzzed-out approach couldn't be more perfect for this style of music. The mind-melting solo that spirals through the first 45 seconds of "Shelter" and reappears throughout says it all, really (and come to think of it Uta's whispering about "glittering shrapnel" sums her up pretty well, too). Plotkin's voice may be Witch Mountain's heart, but Wrong's guitar leads and magic fingers give them soul. Not to be outdone, new bassist Neal Munson holds down the low end admirably and adeptly, and drummer Nate Carson keeps it all together, hitting harder than ever and providing an axis for Plotkin and Wrong to vamp around. "Solid" doesn't begin to describe this record.
Closer "Never Know" is a quiet, last-call of a song, one that slowly slinks in and curls up by the fire, betting you won't notice until it's too late to turn away. It's all Uta here, clad in raggedy blues, with only the faintest snap of a snare and a handful of sleepy guitar licks to keep her warm. She channels the classic wronged-woman vibe of the old Delta sirens, all honeyed threats and throaty whispers. Halfway through the lull, the beast awakens, and that woman howls it out loud, over a drugged dirge of bass and axe and funeral drums. It's an unexpected turn, and a damn fine way to end an album. Witch Mountain have proved that they've still got plenty of tricks tucked away up their wizards' sleeves and that, if we know what's good for us, we'll keep one eye open, and turn it towards Salem.
