Castile – Magenta EP

Castile has been a Columbus band to watch in the Tuned Up camp for a minute. We first head about them via drummer Austin Nill, who years ago drummed with The Wind and the Sea, one of the first local bands we ever covered as a blog.

Nill holds down the rhythm as part of the grunge trio Castile, which have been a band for about two years. The summer of 2016, they supported God Alone, the sludge/shoegaze side project of The Devil Wears Prada frontman Mike Hranica. Since I first saw this power trio that year they have really come into their own, and Magenta is evidence of that.

Both the EP and the band’s live show are equally urgent and loud. Riff after riff pummels my eardrums on this quick, hard-hitting release. Four songs was adequate for the band to whet the appetites of prospective listeners. “Leave em wanting more” as the old show business adage says. ┬áPlay too long and you risk losing the interest of new listeners.

The Magenta EP basically showcases one sound on repeat for four songs. Some may view this as a negative, but since Castile knows when to leave people wanting more, I have no problem with this. Sometimes you just want to stand in a dark room with a beer and let the angst and riffs wash over you, and that’s what Castile is adept at embracing. The lyrics are often repetitive and Shane Vanover’s wails get lost in the layers of sound. It’s all one cohesive unit – not necessarily something you’d sing along to. But if there was a song that could be considered anthemic on this EP it would probably be “Say Her” – in spite of being loud the whole time the band still manages to work in a crescendo, and the refrain “and I will…” will probably be echoing in my head when I go to bed tonight. It’s a fitting bookend to the dark groove that intros the EP in “Sandbox.” I get this mental image of drummer Austin Nill leering at the crowd over the foreboding beat.

Castile was a fun surprise to help move winter along and I hope to book these guys on another Tuned Up show soon.

Castile: Facebook | bandcamp