Goya – 777

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(Opoponax Records)

Bold statement time: This is the album Sabbath fans were hoping for from the abomination that was 13. Have I piqued your interest? Good.

I’ve been meaning to review this for ages but put simply, I have been too busy listening to it. If you like riffs and groove-laden laid-back awesomeness then this is probably your cup of tea or (stagnant bong water).

With just six songs, clocking in at just over 50 mins, this very much has the feeling of an LP. You remember, those spinning black things with grooves? But even though this is tipping a very large brimmed and flouncy hat to the 70s, it sounds really fresh without being a sound-a-like for fans of whoever. This is no Homme and Friends or Truckfighters.

The album opens with The Rights Of Hashage and straight away you can’t help but nod along in the way only an intoxicating monster riff can induce. In fact it’s such a great opening track that you barely notice that nine minutes have passed while you nodded. As soon as the double layered guitar solos kicked in I was in an air guitar frenzy. I think I may be in love with three guys that play ‘the doom’.

Let’s slow things down a bit though, because I’m not the kind of girl that puts out on the first date. Goya have got me gushing at the gusset, but they’re going to have to work hard to finish me off. Necromance ups the tempo but still—the riffs. THE RIFFS! Ok boys, I’m ears-akimbo. Impregnate me with your doomy-stonery seed. Yes, right there. Right in my weeping ear holes.

Night Creeps follows and the guitars are just all of the awesome. If you aren’t pulling a silly face while bending that imaginary guitar string you have no soul. That voice has all of the desolate brilliance that Ozzy’s had circa Black Sabbath. Did I mention this is a bit Sabbathy? I like Sabbath. I think Goya do too. This delivers Iommi-loving riffs and guitar freakouts in spades.

Never over-complicated or sounding deliberately clichéd (*cough* Uncle Acid *cough* Ghost *cough*) this has a timeless feeling in the same way Sabbath, the Doors, or Crimson did in their prime; none of whom do now for various death, infirmity and being-shit related reasons.

Have I convinced you yet?

Death’s Approaching Lullaby is another 12-minute plus riffsplosion and is utterly relentless. Blackfire has such a bouncy riff that it envelops your body and forces your standard head nod into a full-body strut. Closer Bad Vibes starts out all doomy gloomy, and soon drags you under its hypnotic power. As it draws to a close I’m left dirty, alone and wanting more. I leaf through our old love letters and have a little cry to myself about all the good times we had.

Look, you should really stop reading this and get 777 plugged directly into your brain. This is not just a collection of songs pasted together. It seems to my uneducated ears that thought has been put into making an actual album. If this had been released in the mid-70s it would be described as genre defining. It’s that good. Do I really need to say more?

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