Earth

The first version of Earth began in the early '90s as a still river inside the rapids of Seattle grunge. The band felt like it would last forever: Dylan Carlson's penchant for stretching metal riffs into lengthy drones suggested that his band's music was infinite, and their records were just slices of a bigger, eternal sound. That sound did in fact spawn a tributary group—Sunn 0))), since evolved—and a genre—drone metal, which still roars. But Carlson and Earth seemed to have vanished in the mid-90's.

When they re-emerged around 2002, Earth brought a new innovation: The same slow, long sounds could be recast as a kind of dusty, twangy post-rock. Carlson's guitar playing had become even more masterful, meshing with the patient swing of drummer Adrienne Davies to conjure images of moon-lit deserts, decaying cathedrals and shootouts between ghosts. Since their rebirth, that sound has stayed pretty steady, but Carlson has gradually added subtle shifts that only become perceptible once you sink pretty far into each Earth album. Take the presence of legendary jazz guitarist Bill Frisell on 2008's The Bees Made Honey in the Lion's Skull—you might not have any idea he's involved until you read the credits, but once you do, the textures he adds are apparent.

On their latest album, Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light 1, lineup changes again produce nuanced differences. Bassist Karl Blau and cellist Lori Goldston meld with Carlson and Davies in ways that make the group's trademark sway feel more thoughtful, perhaps even more brainy. That's not to say this is music to scratch a beard to. Earth's primal tones retain their gut-level power, seemingly shaking the ground each time Carlson drags his pick across a guitar string. But really, that's the way he's always played. Maybe Earth actually will last forever. —Marc Masters