Blackhoods await in lethargic patience. Violent wind whips around their robs and dark cloth snap and echo in abandon. Dirt scrapes along the forest floor. Crickets chirp, but are heard merely as a feint steady rhythm to the blasting wind. Screeching notes seer in pensive fury around limbs, trunks, and branches, Blackhoods stand firm in the gust of weather. Then outcries the “Doomhound.”
All at once, their robes are caught from under their legs and are ripped off them both. And as a match catches light on the rough-strike pad, Blackhoods — once robed — are now ablaze, raising their hands open, beholding the moon between fingertips. Flames flicker into blue and white as their skin sizzles and silence swelters. Being is believing when the “Doomhound” sirens for a kill: roasted.
Stream”Doomhound” track tease below off the new Blackhood’s tape Sunk on Not Not Fun that came out close to the end of the year.
• Blackhoods: http://blackhoods.bandcamp.com
• Not Not Fun: http://www.notnotfun.com
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