They are known as Conan and they are as heavy as interplanetary thunder amplified through the roaring black hole anus of Azathoth. A three piece, in the grand tradition of many fabulous three pieces (I instantly think of Sleep, Cream, Blue Cheer and High On Fire, to name but a few) that hold a tight line and an iron-grip command over the uber-synchronised chord changes and tempo-shifts of the holy trio of bass, drums and guitar. Two men have the task of vocalising wretched thoughts over the turgid weight of Conan. They bear it well, for the task is immense.
Way back, in 2006, Conan formed as a two piece. The years dragged by and now they are three – Jon Davis on guitar and vocals, John McNulty on bass and vocals and Paul O'Neill on drums. Conan are silently modest but their plans are obvious to even the blind fool amongst us: they seek nothing less than the crushing of a million skulls. Believe this you scrawny motherfucker; they will achieve it.
With a filthy ocean-sized sound like the ten-fold bastard offspring of the Melvins and Moss and Discharge (slowed down to a creaking groaning standstill) and brain fried krautfuck-space-rock and chugging heavy metal monstrosity from the deep sweating south of the states, Conan pierce your eye and inject your headspace with a huge swell of furious rising depression and distant narcotic alienation. They come raging and roaring out of the Wirral archipelago and the old port of Liverpool, and they intend on blasting your aching bollocks off. Buy or borrow 'Horseback Battle Hammer' and experience the most down-tuned brutality heard since Sleep's 'Dopesmoker' first hit these aural caverns, back in the day…HEAR THE ROAR OF BATTLE! SMELL THE STENCH OF SPILT BLOOD! A THOUSAND HEADS PILED HIGH LIKE A GRIM MOUND OF SUFFERING – A BLASPHEMY TO NATURE! HAIL CONAN! THE AXE FALLS!