you know sometimes – quite often – I get stuck with a riff, or with a little detail. It’s quite common for a metalhead: after a couple of listenings, the whole album is almost forgotten, and you keep coming back to the same song, over and over, the counter flies, and in a while you would like that particular piece of metal to be heard in every corner of the town, night and day. Your inner-headbanging never stops, your inner-air-guitaring sometimes reaches the surface.
I owe the last occurrence of this brilliant phenomenon to Italian doomsters Messa, and to their first lp Belfry. It’s a good album, actually very good: well written, assembled, played & sung, and I’d like to write to you about its many virtues: the classic feeling, the riff outfit, the unusual episodes, the burning guitar solos (including several nice hommages, to the Skynyrds for instance), the clarinet & the sax (Blood is excellent), the nice cover and the rain, etc., but… But this evening two of its riffs took the stage, and now I hear only them, anything but them: the main riff of Babalon, and the second riff of Outermost.
So, get the album, but first I urge you to listen to those riffs: they are open-winged, they have a sad smile, a melancholic twist, they are a little slower than what you could expect, they are sticky like glue, and elegant like an old man move.
Yours heavily, mp