Dopelord rose from the underground to deliver a thirty minute set at the Paris Mondial du Tatouage that played like an occult ritual straight out of a Mario Bava film. Built on massive, fuzz soaked riffs, lysergic leads, bone crushing low end and ghostly howls, their songs revolve unapologetically around dread, dope and the almighty Satan. It is heavy, hypnotic and deliberately oppressive, the kind of sound that presses down on the room and refuses to let go.
Rooted firmly in the Sabbathian (Sabbathesque?) lineage of Saint Vitus, Cathedral and Sleep, Dopelord approach the form with reverence rather than revisionism. Nothing here is ironic or half hearted, and every note is played with intent and purpose. The result was a slow burning, skull crushing performance that left the crowd dazed, flattened and a little hazy from the contact high.
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