Portland’s BREATH don’t just play doom, they inhale it. Slow, deliberate, and thick with the weight of centuries, their new album Brahman (out October 24th via Argonauta Records) isn’t here to bludgeon you with riffs. It’s here to unfold them, like a scroll of forgotten wisdom, one crushing note at a time.
Meditative doom is a tricky beast: too often, it’s either all crush, no soul, or all soul, no teeth. BREATH thread the needle. This isn’t background music for your next yoga session; it’s a sonic pilgrimage, where the low-end groan of the bass meets the shimmer of Lauren Hatch’s keys and the ritualistic pulse of TJ Minnich’s djembe. Think OM’s hypnotic groove meeting Earth’s desert sprawl, with a whisper of Ravi Shankar’s raga in the margins. The addition of Rob Wrong (Witch Mountain, The Skull) on guitars only deepens the alchemy: his leads don’t scream, they chant.
The album’s spine? Stillness as a weapon. Tracks like "Monastery of the Seven Sages" and "Hy-Brasil" aren’t just songs; they’re incantations, built on serpentine riffs and a rhythm section that moves like tectonic plates. Steven O’Kelly’s vocals, more spoken invocation than traditional growl, anchor the whole thing in something ancient, something true. And yes, the Cedars of Lebanon track hits like a slow-motion avalanche, but it’s the spaces between the notes that’ll haunt you.
BREATH aren’t reinventing doom. They’re remembering it: stripping it back to its essence: heaviness as meditation, repetition as ritual. If Primeval Transmissions was their thesis, Brahman is the deep breath before the plunge. No frills, no bullshit, just the void staring back.
Stream "Monastery of the Seven Sages" now and let it sit with you. Like all good mantras, it demands patience.
If you’ve ever wondered what Black Sabbath would sound like if they’d studied gamelan instead of blues, well… here’s your answer.
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