I’ve always imagined Grails as the perfect band to write a soundtrack for some twisted, backwoods, zombie-thriller, chock full of blood-sucking, Voodoo-worshipping vampires and scantily clad women who conveniently run into dead ends, fearful of their impending fate, yet awkwardly excited by the idea of shiny, silver fangs plunging into their unsexed flesh.

Dirty. Macabre. Fun. That’s pretty much Bringing Off Impurities in a nutshell. And oh yeah, I nearly forgot -- really damn good. But fortunately, or unfortunately for those squeamish folks out there, I like to ramble on and conjure up ridiculous stories to explain what music is capable of.

Fresh off the Black Tar Prophecies series and newly signed to Temporary Residence, Grails' fourth studio release unmuzzles their fondness for the smolder of 70’s experimental rock and casts a massive, murky shadow across the field of white lilies the post-rock gardener has let run rampant this year. Not to say the release is evil-incarnate; in fact, despite the wicked undertones that boil beneath the surface, Burning off Impurities seems to be less serious than previous records in the Grails catalog. Comfortable in its sound, and clearly not influenced by the recent upshift in the appearance of epic instrumental rock bands, the disc opens with “Soft Temple,” a galvanizing sock to the jaw, born of thick drums and laced with plucked strings that instantly remind the listener this music is from the earth itself—not the clouds above. While carrying the Grails signature grunge, the rhythm is dilated as the track progresses and the song becomes simply huge - loud, thick, and unavoidable.

The seven remaining songs are built on the smoldering ashes of “Soft Temple.” Each piece wallows in strange, tribal roots, but manages to still maintain its own unique flavor amongst the other tracks on the disc. “Silk Rd” is a prime example of the above-mentioned less-than-serious attitude. An 8 minute jaunt that explodes into a psychedelic free-for-all half way through, the track is rife with molasses bass lines and persuasive folkish guitar work. The end effect is a smothered sunset, beautiful in its implosion of suffocated colors, with a few lazy rays still managing to poke through the muck.

Burning Off Impurities plays as a collection of songs against civilization. Rather than instrumental passages built on star-scraping architecture, the album is distinctly opposite in nature and appears aimed at destroying such petty monuments to heavenly music. Again, this is not to say the quality here is lacking; it’s absolutely profound. It’s simply different -- almost animalistic in nature -- as if the music is pouring out of the flesh of its makers rather than being contrived on paper or in a classically constructed studio.

“Drawn Curtains” and “Outer Banks” are both fuzzed out, from-the-forest tracks that trudge their combined 12 minute length between louder, more climactic songs. The 70s experimental mood is evident here as drug-induced, coma hazed notes slither beneath pulpy drums and the entrails of traditional string work. A brief resurrection fumbles forward on “Dead Vine Blues” with seductive finger picking and a blowback of jangly, open-hearted strumming. The mood is quickly muted though, as “Origin-ing”, the album’s most organic, muddy track, sucks listeners in like an ocean of quicksand. An amalgamation of everything thrown down on this album prior, “Origin-ing” initially reverts back to the leviathan that lead off the album, “Soft Temple,” but slowly drifts and twists into a smirched-out ambient soundscape of rusted claustrophobia. The closing title track appears to have eavesdropped on “Origin-ing,” as it’s packed with a similar snarled, terrestrial atmosphere, but is eventually impaled by an outburst of pseudo-vagabond jazz before gently burying itself with an echo of chamber bells.

Again, and in closing, the atmosphere that germinates throughout the album is colossal. It warps its way into your ear holes and without hesitation expunges itself through your pores, crisping the surrounding air with a sense of complete gratification. I suppose the imagery drafted in the opening paragraph is completely personal, but whether these songs conjure up images of backwoods folk monsters, Southern porch hounds, or simply blackness, they will exhaust your senses and leave you with a bold taste of Earth on your tongue.

-Jonathan Brooks