Baroness
– Yellow & Green
You don’t drop a double album like Yellow & Green unless you’re chasing something bigger than volume. For Baroness, that “something” wasn’t just metal, sludge, or even the Southern prog they’d previously carved their name into—it was escape velocity. Not from their roots, but from the gravity of expectation. The riffs are still there, but they’re smoother, dreamier, and often buried under layered melodies that owe more to AOR and Floyd than Sabbath.
Best of…
This is where Baroness took a sharp turn and didn’t look back. It’s a record that feels transitional—like a band wading chest-deep into a river they don’t fully understand but are determined to cross. Yellow & Green isn’t about big solos or brute force. It’s about mood, texture, and resolve. John Baizley, who nearly died in a bus crash shortly after the album’s release, sings like someone already processing the event in slow motion. There’s a haunted, lived-in quality to his voice here—especially on “Eula” and “Foolsong.”
Across both discs, the band leans into vulnerability and precision without sounding neutered. They’re exploring what heaviness means when it’s no longer about volume. Some listeners missed the brawn. Others found a different kind of weight—the kind that lingers in your throat, not your chest. It’s a gutsy, sometimes meandering sprawl. But it’s also the sound of Baroness growing up and out.
Choice Tracks
Take My Bones Away
This is the hinge between old Baroness and the new ambition. The chorus barrels forward with clean vocals and guitar tones that shimmer more than shred. It’s catchy, huge, and sounds like something written to blow out the back of a theater, not a basement.
March to the Sea
Swaggering and self-loathing in equal measure. It rides a tight groove that feels like it’s constantly coiling inward before bursting out with anguish. The line “there’s a horse and I’m riding it hard” isn’t subtle—but it is earned.
Little Things
Slower, weirder, and way more atmospheric than expected. The mix lets the bass breathe while the guitars twitch like distant lightning. It feels like the band intentionally left open space—and it works.
Cocainium
A left-field, almost sexy track. The title’s ridiculous, but the groove is undeniable—like Queens of the Stone Age on a sedative. Minimal lyrics, all vibe.
Eula
Yellow album-closer that sounds like a requiem. Acoustic lines climb into roaring catharsis, with Baizley wringing emotion from every phrase. It’s one of their finest moments—haunting, open-hearted, and completely without irony.
Yellow & Green didn’t please everyone, but that was never the point. It’s Baroness trading fists for reach, distortion for detail. It asks you to listen harder, sit longer, and feel differently. And for those who did, the reward is still echoing.