At some point in the late ’60s, a certain brand of loud guitar music
began to form. Black Sabbath’s doomy plod was the rough base for this
new sound, though it also drew from the work of obscure ’60s bands
labeled “psychedelic” (mostly because nobody else knew what to call
guitar music that buried the vocals and refused to play nice). Over the
past 40 years, much of this music has been called “heavy metal,” even
though this particular music has little investment in charging forward
or telling stories, and metal often does. Eventually,“heavy music”
became the going term for this sound; local promoter Adam Shore has
created a concert series called Blackened that specializes in booking
“heavy” acts. This appellation works slightly better than most genre
names because it is so loose — and there is no single way to describe
heavy bands. All are loud, some painfully so; most are centered around a
traditional rock-band setup, though some aren’t; and all of them make
some part of the experience unusually intense.
New York’s the Psychic Paramount is as heavy as it gets. The guitar, bass and drums trio uses no singing, and stretches most of its songs past the five-minute mark. Last week at Death By Audio in Brooklyn, The Daily watched the band play to a small, passionate crowd (made up mostly of men in their late 30s with beards). The room filled with smoke, and the band was backlit with strong lights that made the members’ faces impossible to see. When the music was over, it felt like we’d all been driven around the block in a van full of bowling balls, blindfolded, and then placed back where we had started. (In a good way.) Not ones to play shows or record often, the band answered a few questions from The Daily.
You have been together a fairly long time but haven’t released many recordings. What’s the story?
Drew St. Ivany, guitarist: [Bassist] Ben Armstrong and I were in Laddio Bolocko until that band broke up in 2000. We formed the Psychic Paramount in November 2002 and did a tour in France and Italy with drummer Tatsuya Nakatani. The band lasted only two or three weeks. The decision was made to reignite the band in 2004, and we began rehearsing in New York. [Drummer] Jeff Conaway, who played in Sabers, was introduced to us by mutual friends. We went into the studio shortly after and recorded “Gamelan Into the Mink Supernatural.”
We decided to start work on a new album in 2007. In 2008, we went into a studio and recorded basic tracks for the album, which were ditched. Another two or three years went by in a flash. Finally, we went in to another studio and rerecorded everything in 2009, and finished mixing it in 2010.
During all that time, we toured sporadically in Europe and the United States. To say we spent an excessive amount of time experimenting and exploring new ideas in our studio is an understatement. There are heaps of abandoned material.
The combination of backlighting, smoke and music is fairly assaultive. How do you navigate the line between music and pure overload?
Drew: We tend to navigate recklessly, and sometimes exciting things happen. It’s not fail-safe. We want the show to be action-packed, sonically, but we’re not trying to be aggressive. People have different thresholds.
Jeff: It can be jarring. Our friend Aran Tharp was in charge of the lighting and smoke at Death by Audio. During certain shows, he is shooting film and has a hand-held spotlight.
Someone called out Big Black’s “Jordan, Minnesota” at the beginning of the show. That song is over 20 years old — what does a reference like that mean to you guys?
Jeff: I thought they were saying “Jojo Monshtafo.”
Drew: I guess the atmosphere reminded them of Big Black. We should have brought firecrackers.
Are there other bands you feel a kinship with now?
Drew: Aluk Todolo.
Jeff: I always had a great time at Coptic Light shows, but they are defunct now. I thought we fit well together.
Music like the Psychic Paramount’s is probably not hugely commercial. In light of that, what do you see as the mission of the band?
Drew: There is no good way to justify an addiction.
Jeff: I always think of it as making what you would want to hear yourself. Not only are we heavy, but there is no singing. I love the challenge of making instrumental music, and so many times singers and/or lyrics are the downfall of otherwise good music.
New York’s the Psychic Paramount is as heavy as it gets. The guitar, bass and drums trio uses no singing, and stretches most of its songs past the five-minute mark. Last week at Death By Audio in Brooklyn, The Daily watched the band play to a small, passionate crowd (made up mostly of men in their late 30s with beards). The room filled with smoke, and the band was backlit with strong lights that made the members’ faces impossible to see. When the music was over, it felt like we’d all been driven around the block in a van full of bowling balls, blindfolded, and then placed back where we had started. (In a good way.) Not ones to play shows or record often, the band answered a few questions from The Daily.
You have been together a fairly long time but haven’t released many recordings. What’s the story?
Drew St. Ivany, guitarist: [Bassist] Ben Armstrong and I were in Laddio Bolocko until that band broke up in 2000. We formed the Psychic Paramount in November 2002 and did a tour in France and Italy with drummer Tatsuya Nakatani. The band lasted only two or three weeks. The decision was made to reignite the band in 2004, and we began rehearsing in New York. [Drummer] Jeff Conaway, who played in Sabers, was introduced to us by mutual friends. We went into the studio shortly after and recorded “Gamelan Into the Mink Supernatural.”
We decided to start work on a new album in 2007. In 2008, we went into a studio and recorded basic tracks for the album, which were ditched. Another two or three years went by in a flash. Finally, we went in to another studio and rerecorded everything in 2009, and finished mixing it in 2010.
During all that time, we toured sporadically in Europe and the United States. To say we spent an excessive amount of time experimenting and exploring new ideas in our studio is an understatement. There are heaps of abandoned material.
The combination of backlighting, smoke and music is fairly assaultive. How do you navigate the line between music and pure overload?
Drew: We tend to navigate recklessly, and sometimes exciting things happen. It’s not fail-safe. We want the show to be action-packed, sonically, but we’re not trying to be aggressive. People have different thresholds.
Jeff: It can be jarring. Our friend Aran Tharp was in charge of the lighting and smoke at Death by Audio. During certain shows, he is shooting film and has a hand-held spotlight.
Someone called out Big Black’s “Jordan, Minnesota” at the beginning of the show. That song is over 20 years old — what does a reference like that mean to you guys?
Jeff: I thought they were saying “Jojo Monshtafo.”
Drew: I guess the atmosphere reminded them of Big Black. We should have brought firecrackers.
Are there other bands you feel a kinship with now?
Drew: Aluk Todolo.
Jeff: I always had a great time at Coptic Light shows, but they are defunct now. I thought we fit well together.
Music like the Psychic Paramount’s is probably not hugely commercial. In light of that, what do you see as the mission of the band?
Drew: There is no good way to justify an addiction.
Jeff: I always think of it as making what you would want to hear yourself. Not only are we heavy, but there is no singing. I love the challenge of making instrumental music, and so many times singers and/or lyrics are the downfall of otherwise good music.
