"Imagine if someone put a microphone to rows of ocean waves battering a rocky shore and then ran the result through distortion pedals and a wall of eight-foot amplifiers."
"Little wonder that doom-metal bands have names that wouldn’t be out of place at the local yoga center: Om, Ocean, Earth. It’s extreme-volume therapy, a spa treatment in black Satan T-shirts."
Welcome to the dark side, Mr. Hagan. If all-encompassing doom/drone floats your boat, then someone needs to send you the Black Boned Angel discography, immediately.