Jan. 27--Black Sabbath may have bid farewell to Chicago at a concert last Friday, but a timely and convincing evidence of the band's influence on contemporary music arrived at Thalia Hall on Tuesday in the form of Sleep. The San Jose, Calif.-based trio, Sabbath's closest sonic descendants, hypnotized a sold-out crowd at the first of a two-night stand by playing heavier than its legendary predecessors likely ever thought possible. Each song was an epic adventure, an excuse to venture into far-out imaginary realms and flee the mundane.
The group harbored the same intentions when it formed in the early 1990s. Its slow, low-tuned, groove-based metal attracted an underground following and became emblematic of so-called "stoner rock" -- a style perfected on the 1996 album "Dopesmoker," comprised of a lone 63-minute-plus track. After the band's record label refused to release it, Sleep broke up, cementing a cult-favorite status that reached peak heights after the members reunited in 2009.
Save for guitarist Matt Pike's recent sobriety and ascendance as the leader of High on Fire, not much has changed in the years since -- particularly not the seismic waves of sound or decibel levels that caused bones to vibrate. Throughout the 95-minute set, Sleep utilized extreme volume not as an embellishment but as an additional instrument. Projected by a wall of amplifiers and sustained by distortion, single chords took on the form of an orchestra of guitars roaring in unison. It was often impossible to tell when one sequence of notes ended and another began. The technique allowed the group to build layers of repetition and rewarded the patience demanded by such steady heft.
Incredibly disciplined, Sleep approached its journeys with weed priests, flying reptiles and magic caravans with spiritual devotion. Bassist and vocalist Al Cisneros served as the narrator, who chanted more than he sang. While the words frequently bordered on unintelligible, Sleep's mystical tales of escaping oceans ("Aquarian"), staring into the rays of a rising sun ("Holy Mountain") and crossing sun-baked deserts ("Dopesmoker") -- usually all pursuant to the goal of smoking pot -- harmonized with its lumbering momentum and stormy sensuality.
Tasked with developing a relentless series of riffs, the shirtless Pike reveled in the seemingly incompatible mix of structure and freedom afforded by the songs. He exercised restraint during unhurried tempo changes that gave fare such as "From Beyond" its cavernous openness and bottom-up architecture. Yet he also injected psychedelic solos that came on like meteor showers streaking across the band's darkened outer-space landscapes. In Sleep's universe, even people fleeing the human race and riding dragons to Mars ("Dragonaut") need a guiding light.
Bob Gendron is a freelance critic.
ctc-arts@tribpub.com
