GRAVEYARD

Whether a reflection of the dark times we live in, or simply because their name seems to demand it, GRAVEYARD have been steadily becoming darker and heavier in recent times. The Swedish band's early albums adhered to a solid, reliable diet of occult-tinged, psychedelic heavy rock, and were plainly of sufficiently high quality to stand out from the post-stoner hordes. But since their short-lived split in 2016 and subsequent reunion a year later, Gothenburg's grooviest riff wielders have developed a harder edge. Both 2018's semi-ironically named "Peace" and 2023's perfunctorily titled "6" were measurably heavier and more intense than any previous efforts as the trio's current and best lineup really hit their stride, dispensing with much of their former, pastoral mellifluousness and focusing with much more grit and gravity on the dirtiest of riffs. Not surprisingly, "Fever" goes even further. With a sound that strikes a sublime balance between the distorted-landline-psych of UNCLE ACID & THE DEADBEATS and the more furious and full-blooded riff worship of KADAVAR and SOLACE, GRAVEYARD's seventh album is easily recognizable as the band's most thunderous yet.

There have been a few moments in GRAVEYARD's recorded story so far when they have seemed too tightly tethered to the retro-rock mast. That is no longer the case, and "Fever" exhibits a freshness, both in terms of songwriting and production, that suits the trio perfectly, making every riff resound with purpose and power. But the real key to this album lies in the varied and vivacious dynamic flow of these uniformly excellent tunes. Although spiritually linked to the fuzz-driven heaviness of the late '60s and early '70s, the opening "Back From The Grave" is oddly contemporary and blessed with vicious, sharp edges that belie the fusty, analogue nature of the production. Built upon a pendulous, balls-out swing that is too exhilarating to be a mere facsimile, this reckless dismantling of the blues feels genuinely dangerous and mildly hallucinatory, as if the acid is slowly kicking in as the amplifiers begin to warm up. In contrast, "Tongue Tied" is an explosive exercise in yobbish pub rock that very nearly strays into ADMIRAL SIR CLOUDESELY SHOVELL territory, replete with an overwhelming sense that pint glasses are bouncing off the walls. Next, "A Better Cut (Note To Self)" is slower, heavier and palpably steeped in something stronger than beer, as frontman Joakim Nilsson roars away like a swirling, one-man whirlwind of adrenalin and rage. "Year Of The Horse" strips everything down to archetypal and dogged stoner rock with a sting in its tail; "A Means To An End" is glam-tinged, belligerent boogie rock with extra testosterone in its swaggering gait; and the grimly spooky "Time To Tell" revels in its garage-bound dynamics, before floating away on dense, lysergic, blues metal syrup.

A final trilogy of tunes ups the ante even further. "Don't Shoot" is bewitching, occult clatter with faint echoes of erstwhile brethren WITCHCRAFT; "Room Tempered" is a gnarly, punked-up squall that owes its scorched beard and blown mind to the GROUNDHOGS; and closing epic "Dead Note" rattles through the Swedes' sonic Rolodex, wringing atmospheric magic from a heady brew constructed from dollops of mellow psychedelia and a series of walloping, weather-beaten crescendos. GRAVEYARD are acting purely on instinct at this point in their careers, and "Fever" is the sensational, authentic and quietly magical result.