There’s a certain kind of doom album that doesn’t just sound heavy – it feels both heavy and raw at the same time. Not just in the low-end rumble of the riffs or the sheer weight of distortion, but in its atmosphere, the way it pulls you under like slow-moving tar. The Rider is that kind of record.
From the first notes, the band establishes a presence – ominous, earthy, and massive. They’re not in a rush to get anywhere, and that’s the whole point. This is occult doom that takes its time, lets the spaces between the notes breathe, and then crushes down when it damn well pleases. It’s a natural evolution from Queen of Sin – still drenched in fuzz and occult mysticism, but there’s a confidence here, a sense that Smoke Mountain knows exactly what they want this music to do.
The riffs are huge. The tone is aturated and grimy, the kind that makes you want to close your eyes and just sink into it. There’s a heavy nod to the classic lineage of Sabbath and Pentagram. And then there’s the grunge creeping through the cracks. Not in any obvious, surface-level way, but in the feeling – that same worn-down, world-weary quality that made Alice In Chains sound so menacing in their own right.
Vocally, there’s an eerie, almost ceremonial quality – like some old-world invocation rather than just another doom growl or bluesy wail. It pulls you in, makes you lean closer, and then the next riff lands like a slow-motion landslide. Lyrically, it’s the kind of stuff that sticks in your mind – vivid, ominous, full of shadows and whispered warnings. But it never over-explains. There’s mystery here, and that’s part of what makes it work so well.
The album cover is pure doom—strange, eerie, and impossible to ignore. A ghostly-eyed girl rides a bicycle straight into chaos, surrounded by flames, skulls, and writhing tentacles, all set against an unnervingly vivid purple backdrop. It’s the kind of imagery that sticks with you, unsettling in a way you can’t quite put your finger on. There’s something off about it, like a bad dream you half-remember. The girl on the bike feels out of place, fragile against the destruction around her, which makes it even creepier. The big stone cross looming in the background adds a heavy, almost funeral-like weight, making you think about death, fate, and everything crumbling to dust. And those tentacles? They twist through the scene like something out of a nightmare, pulling the whole thing into Lovecraftian horror territory. It’s not just a cool artwork – it feels like the album sounds. Dark, hypnotic, and crawling with something just beyond your grasp.
More than anything, The Rider just feels like an album made by a band who know exactly where they belong. They’re not out to prove anything, they’re not following trends, they’re just doing the thing – and doing it well. It’s an album that exists entirely in its own fog-drenched world, and if you’re willing to step inside, it won’t let you go easily.
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Released by Argonauta Records on March 28th, 2025
Music source for review – Grand Sounds PR
