ALBUM REVIEW: Violence Dimension – Conan

April 26, 2025 Adam Robertshaw

Six studio albums, a couple of live offerings and a handful of EPs deep, you know what you’re going to get with a new CONAN release. Their brand of self-proclaimed ‘caveman battle doom’ is so singular that even in a scene where bands playing slow, fuzz drenched doom riffs are ten a penny you can recognise Jon Davis’ crew within the space a few notes.

That’s not to say CONAN’s seventh studio album, Violence Dimension (Heavy Psych Sounds) is simply a rinse and repeat effort. With every release, the trio not only manage to improve in quality, but the sonic parameters in which they set themselves become ever more flexible. So while you know more or less what to expect, it’s not without a few welcomed surprises along the way.

Nine minute opener Foeman’s Flesh blasts things of in typically punishing fashion, a gruelling one note riff building into a mid-paced stomp with John’s trademark yell piercing through the din. When the groove switches up and the pace quickens utter devastation ensues, before things mellow out slightly with a surprisingly melodic bass solo of sorts from new recruit, David Ryley (formerly of UK sludge legends FUDGE TUNNEL).

While CONAN is undoubtedly Jon Davis’ band, him being the principal songwriter, sole founder member and driving force behind the band, the rotation of new drummers and bass players every few albums has helped to keep the band sounding fresh. And Ryley’s imprint is all over Violence Dimension, whether that’s in the tasteful runs behind the crushing outro riff of the otherwise thrashy number Total Bicep or his growled vocal contributions on the title track.

Speaking of which it’s an interesting choice for the band to name the album after Violence Dimension, with it being perhaps the most atypical CONAN track to date, and certainly a stand-out moment of the entire record. For the most part of its 10 minute run time it’s a decidedly laid-back affair, it’s clean(ish) tones and bluesy melody channeling SLEEP at their most bonged-out. Plus it’s mostly instrumental, with the only vocals being Ryley’s aforementioned death growls in the final crushing minute.

Drummer Johnny King is on fine form too, keeping solid backbeats to the slower sections of songs, and providing an intense energy when it;s time to put pedal to metal, such as on the 45 minute grindcore whirlwind that is Warpsword. On closer Oceans Of Boiling Skin, the amount swing he puts into the opening groove will get even the most po-faced of doom fans bouncing round their rooms with an ecstatic grin on their face. When it’s played live it’s sure to cause more than a few neck injuries.

The band’s almost inhuman commitment to touring has paid dividends in the fact that not only are their chops tight as hell, but their songwriting is taught, even in the lengthier numbers. They know exactly how many repetitions of a riff their audience can take before it’s time to drop the hammer on a breakdown, or better still such as on Total Bicep, bring in the same riff…but slower. Every one of these songs (apart from the closer but we’ll get to that later) is bound to cause utter carnage at their future live shows. None more so than the savage attack of Frozen Edges Of The Wound, which begins with a rollocking headbanger of a riff and ends with a swirling bit of D-beat hardcore.

The whole thing sounds absolutely massive too, even for them. The guitars and bass are both saturated with so much low and and fuzz, each strike or a chord sounds like a volcanic eruption, and the drums are punchier than on any other CONAN record. Once again it’s been produced by long-time co-producer and former bass player Chris Fielding, at Foel Studios, and it would seem that stepping away from playing duties in the band has allowed him to channel more of his energy into capturing their performance in the studio. All the albums he’s produced with CONAN are huge sounding, but this one is particularly monstrous.

Ending the album is the 12 minute drone instrumental Vortexxion, which sounds as if it was recorded in one take with just one guitar, a couple of amps cranked to 11, a stack of pedals and a wall of speakers generating waves of feedback between sparsely struck chords. It’s straight out of the SUNN O))) playbook. It seems since 2022’s Evidence Of Immortality, which ended with 14 minutes of synth drone, Davis has found a fondness for ending his albums this way, although in this instance it is a little superfluous. The album could have ended with the previous track and have been just as enjoyable.

Whether the drone finally is for you or not, a journey to the Violence Dimension is definitely one you should strap yourselves in for.

Rating 8/10