So, apparently Damiera broke up.  And only two months after I first discovered their music.  I’m hugely bummed by this news.  I can’t imagine having a label release our album and fund an international tour only to call it quits, but I guess stuff like that happens all the time.  Personally, if I were able to ditch my day job to play full-time with my band, it would take nothing less than an act of God to convince me to go back.  Meanwhile, I’m sure Nickleback will be together forever, cranking out album after album until the sun explodes.  There’s no justice in the world of music I suppose.

In other news, in case you’ve been feeling like I need to start another project in order for you to really satisfy your need for an Ultrajoebot fix, you can go check out my other band (which doesn’t really exist), Curse of the Deep Sea Panda.  It’s an outlet for Keith and me to unleash our happy pop songs on the world, three minutes at a time.  And don’t worry, no pandas were drowned in the recording of these songs.  Some booking company actually contacted us to offer us some shows, so in the event that Jeff gets married and moves to Canada, or Jeremy goes to dentist school, maybe we’ll throw some gigs together.  But most likely these songs will live in online form only.

With the current metalcore scene producing a new band every minute, each one tuning their guitars just as low as the last one, it’s easy to get lost.  Someone screams indiscernibly over pounding double bass, which then alternates with a catchy, melodic anthem of a chorus, and the occasional breakdown is thrown in for good measure.  The formula sounds great for about 15 minutes, after which the monotony takes over and the repetitive hollow structures start blending the interchangeable songs into a calculated blur, leaving you desperate for something with actual substance.  Going to see a show with four metalcore bands on the bill can be like listening to Atreyu on your iPod on the way to the venue, to see an Atreyu tribute band open for Atreyu.  When the house music blasts over the PA in between sets, you’re probably in store for some more Atreyu.

So it’s great to hear one of the bands who pioneered the genre, continuing to break new ground, unafraid of pushing the envelope even further.  On their new album Versions, Miami veterans Poison The Well largely abandon the hardcore roots that they had already begun shying away from on 2003’s You Come Before You.  Instead of the slow, chunky palm-muted riffs that were so heavily featured on their earlier work, Versions finds guitarist Ryan Primack employing a more blues-influenced style, exploring the whole spectrum of his instrument.  Like the dirty tone and dissonant chord voicings used to such brutal effect by bands like Tomahawk, it’s less of a swampy crunch and more of a spaghetti western jangle.  It’s loud, noisy, and beautifully discordant, but most of all, it doesn’t sound like anything their peers are doing.

The band also experiments with new instruments to produce some surprising textures, like the brass and guiro combination in “Riverside,” or the Portishead-esque Rhodes in “You Will Not Be Welcomed.”  The frantic tambourine in “Letter Thing” might even be reminiscent of a hyper blues hoedown, if not for Jeff Moreira’s brutal screams that propel the song‘s breakneck pace, begging, “Give me sunshine, make me happy.”  His vocals always preserve the delicate balance between a restrained, brooding tension, and completely over-the-top, end-of-the-world screeching.  Where the album sometimes falls short is the band’s reluctance to allow the occasional memorable sing-along choruses that were so carefully distributed throughout You Come Before You.  The strange and ambiguous tonalities that make up the bulk of these songs are refreshingly original, but a smattering of more accessible hooks could better sustain the sense of balance throughout.

Versions has a spectacular range, from the hushed and twisted atmosphere created by “Slow Good Morning” to the trademark earth-shaking cacophony of songs like “Naïve Monarch.”  In a scene so plagued by imitators with no real depth, we rely on bands like Poison The Well to remind us why we got into heavy music in the first place, and to hopefully revitalize the genre for everyone else.  No one expects them to rehash their past work, which is a blessing in a way, because an album like Tear From The Red wouldn’t have nearly the emotional impact today that it did five years ago.  It puts the band in the perfect position to create whatever kind of music they want to, and luckily the gamble pays off.  In the end, it’s as impossible as it is pointless to compare Versions to their back catalogue, so I think it’s enough to say that it stands up perfectly well on its own.