Pitchfork

On paper, Steve Albini's production style is the exact antithesis of what you'd want for your metal opus: big dank drumz and shrill, almost choked guitars, all gussied up in superfluous reverb and an air-tight low end. I've never listened to an Albini-produced band and not thought my ears were clogged. Sure, the man's 'nuff-said production credits go on and on, but I often wonder if a band like Mclusky would sound even more punishing if they were left out in the open, free of the silo 'verb and guitar strangulation.

Still, Albini remains the preferred penis pump of underground rock acts of all stripes. He's on the speed dials of bands looking to get huge in that other sense. High on Fire already own one of the burliest sounds in metal, so what they were hoping to gain by phoning Albini isn't clear. The two seem an unlikely marriage anyway: High of Fire unleash a competent fury that thrives on warm-ish, tube amp'd guitars, and mainlined adrenal essence-- a far cry from Albini's balled-fist, hyper-compressed sludge treatments. 2002's Surrounded By Thieves was a tight-wound stoned-dead masterpiece; if the band were aching for change, they sure didn't play like it.

High on Fire fans rejoice: Blessed Black Wings is the band you know and fear. Albini's influence is discreet, serving only to calcify the band's laser-cut attack. My only complaint with the sound is that Matt Pike's vocals-- more tuneful and comprehensible than the genre protocol-- are mixed down, so only the most glottal elements seep through. But perched atop Albini's distended low end, High on Fire are as toothy as they are flesh-searing. Previously, the band's raw energy was trapped in a self-imposed oubliette of standard gloom-n-doom; on Blessed Black Wings, they've busted out, terrorizing the masses with a sharper, more agile sound that will appeal to fans of Mastodon's Leviathan. But unlike Mastodon or prog-metal clairvoyants Converge, High on Fire don't seem the slightest bit preoccupied with the future; they're content to do what they do best as long as there are subtle unexplored pockets of terrain to be squatted on.

Blessed Black Wings catapults full-throttle from the gate and scorches at 11 for nearly an hour, halting only for the occasional full-band kick. Avoiding polyrhythmic arabesques, High on Fire are almost antigravity: Their energy seems like it could last forever. Opener "Devilution" (now there's a subtle pun) splits the earth and stitches it back together, sending tom-bashing tremors through a landscape of bilious chugging and Voice of God vocals. "The Face of Oblivion" is less incendiary but no smaller, steering through a slow sooty opening before turning around in a smooth, economical breakdown that's grandiose sans bravado.

Other highlights include "To Cross the Bridge"-- a seven-minute epic that does the acoustic/electric guitar duel better than Converge or erstwhile Metallica by combining traits of both-- and "Anointing of Seer", whose gelatinous plunder gives way to a resplendent, fleeting riff around the 2:30 mark. Up in the elevated mercury of these six- and seven-minute sculptures, things can get muggy, but in terms of shear bombast, Albini has seldom worked with a more independently powerful group of musicians.