#demeter capsalis

[doomanddead]

Fiends & Fuzz: A Peek into Druid Stone's Undead Poets Society

Here at Doom and Dead we shine a light on the doom, drone, and psych acts you’ve never heard of. Every month we choose a new release that deserves more attention than it’s gotten. This month’s pick is from the Virginia band Druid Stone. 

Take stoner doom and acid rock. Now mash them together and throw them against the wall in your parents’ basement. Unspool a VHS tape of your favorite black and white horror movie and toss that on for good measure. Light the whole thing on fire. Poke through that ashes with a broken guitar pickup and that’s where you’ll find Druid Stone, the passion project of Demeter Capsalis. Druid Stone’s new LP, Undead Poets Society, embodies a love of homemade music in its purest form, complete with shitty mics and devil-may-care swagger. The songs on Undead Poets Society approach prickly topics like suicide and self-destructive behavior with a wink and a nod. Nothing is off limits. Every track oozes with the rock-and-roll attitude of a misfit unapologetically living out loud. So slip this one under your tongue and join me for a meeting of the Undead Poets Society. 

Bride of Satan comes barreling out of the gate ready to get high and kick ass. It’s a wild psychedelic jam with a 3-foot thick layer of scuzz on top — a fitting ode to a monstrous relationship. 

Little Wing (Neil Young cover) is a trippy take on a mellow folk classic. It’s a song that finds beauty in every season, now made cheekier and darker. The album notes say “inspiration by LSD and satan,” and that’s exactly what what Druid Stone brings to this cover.

The Wood of Self-Murderers Waltz is a morose little ditty that feels like it’s informed by the previous track. There may be a folksy twist to the melody, but this creation is 100% Druid Stone right down to its gushing mutant heart. The song’s lyrics are from the perspective of someone who already committed suicide, a doleful tale cautioning any who continue down this path. Things take a sharp turn and our surroundings become more ominous. The band’s signature doomed psychedelia takes over. There’s cacophony over the airwaves. Audio clips from Dawn of the Dead carve out space between ecstatic riffs.

With growling lows and a wailing guitar, The 13th Floor is one of the heaviest hitters on the LP. This track is as self-destructive and disillusioned as they come — a manic rock golem sutured up with searing psychedelic licks and incubated in a vat of fuzz. Capsalis’ brassy attitude shines through the chaos, reminding us “baby, we can jump if we get bored.” Halfway through, things grind down to a lumbrous doom metal crawl.  The track tunnels down lower and slower until the riff hits bedrock and the spell gradually unravels. 

Killing a Vampire (for A.C.F.) is melodic and melancholy with a blush of anger that would make Alanis proud. Not fooled by a vampire with a “suave facade,” Capsalis vows to kill him over and over from one life to the next. It’s the perfect anthem for your next breakup or that boss that whose bullshit you see right through. 

The centerpiece of the LP is Undead Poets Society. The bass line grabs control from the very beginning, kicking in your door and strapping a rocket under your ass. Druid Stone rides the riff across the sky all the way to the fucking moon. It’s an LSD-fueled tumble through the cosmos with a catchy hook you’ll be humming all day. There might not be any escape for the undead, but with riffs like these, just leave my ass here in hell.

The album closes on (Lately I feel like) I’m Begging, Shelob. It’s a melancholy tune portending an ominous fate and pleading for the sweet relief of sedation. The acid trip rolls on with doomy licks and visions of destruction. Wild effects wander the landscape as apocalyptic riffs rain down. The last vestiges of the song linger and I find myself clinging on, not ready for things to end. 

Undead Poets Society is a revolving door of homespun movie monsters, each laid bare and framed in fuzz. Every wart and hump (heh heh) is on display in all its unabashed glory. Druid Stone’s black sense of humor is a magical elixir that permeates the senses and gives everything new life. Many of the songs on this LP feel like tongue-in-cheek warnings from creatures who could not save themselves. I recommend this to ill-fated ghouls, unabashed kooks, and all those who go bump in the night.