Godcaster
Godcaster
RAMP LOCAL
The ancient Greeks believed that in the beginning, there was nothing but an empty void called Chaos. Godcaster seems to have that origin story as well—a sort of calculated disarray that comes with lighting up fireworks in a Philly basement, with riffs like those heard on their debut single “She’s a Gun” that can make you dizzy. Now, though, they’re spinning a new creation myth, one that’s so sure of itself that you can’t help but be obsessed with their progression.
A deliberate step away from the zany art-rock that defined their 2020 debut Long Haired Locust, their self-titled LP is a heavy-hitter. There’s no time for the glitter-glamor of their past—they come in hot (quite literally, as the album opener describes a meteor bursting through the atmosphere), but it always feels so obviously intentional. Steeped in mythology and silver-bullet night terror imagery, it's a smoldering album that makes you second-guess everything you knew before you hit play.
The best part, though, is that they move with clear direction. There’s nothing accidental, a point proven by “Draw Breath Cry Out” and “Didactic Flashing Antidote,” two serious and decisive cuts. The pair of 10-plus minute songs parallel each other in the way that they make your head spin, describing as they do exhaustion-induced hypnosis and the bombing of the sun. Still, there’s an underpinning play with lightness, whether it’s “Vivian Heck” feeling like a lullaby and kiss goodnight or the gentle acoustics on “Pluto Shoots His Gaze Into the Sun,” which feels more like spring than summer—a soft look at a confusing world.
Through a baptism by fire, Godcaster ends up exactly where they need to be, and honestly, we’re all so lucky.
