Rosetta West - 'God of the Dead'

If their recent live LP 'Gravity Sessions' was the purge, 'God of the Dead' is the feverish apparition of what's to comes. Rosetta West’s latest full-length sidesteps modern rock’s obsession with polish, digging instead into a primal, half-forgotten blues-rock juggernaut.

From the opening lurch of 'Boneyard Blues', the Illinois cult outfit make it clear they’re not here to strut. This is a song that staggers, snarls, and seduces, its riffs caked in fuzz and bad intentions, and its rhythm section swaying like it just crawled out of some backroom bar at dawn. The album unspools like a tarot spread read by a stranger who already knows your secrets. 'Tao Teh King' cloaked in mystic drone, 'Chain Smoke' coiling in skeletal funk, 'Susanna Jones' unfolding like a gothic novella, all lipstick smears and candlewax shadows.

Joseph Demagore’s voice is the guiding flame here. Cracked but commanding, equal parts preacher and prophet, channelling visions that sound less written than unearthed. Even when the words blur, you feel their weight, as though they’ve been carried too long and finally spoken aloud.

Behind him, Rosetta West operate in controlled chaos. Weaver and Scratch switch drum duties like rival stormbringers, while Orpheus Jones’ bass slinks through the mix like a shadow you can’t shake. The guitars don’t aim for beauty; they buzz, wail, and scream, possessed by the ghosts of Sabbath, Delta blues, and some unnamed desert god. While guest appearances like Louis Constant’s low-end heartbeat on 'Midnight' or Caden Cratch’s thundering stomp on 'Boneyard Blues' slip seamlessly into the mythos.

What 'God of the Dead' creates is a place. Somewhere between a dive-bar blues set, a peyote-soaked Sabbath ritual, and a fever dream where Americana’s bones are rattled by post-punk spirits. It’s music that demands your presence, something to sink into, candlelight flickering, volume loud enough to shake loose whatever you’ve been keeping buried.

Rosetta West have never cared where they fit, and 'God of the Dead' proves they’re at their best in the wilderness. Where the edges fray, the air gets strange, and the magic still happens.