Khanate is comprised of James Plotkin, Stephen O’Malley, Alan Dubin and Tim Wyskida. Together, they make terrifying music.
The cramped corner of hell that Khanate takes the listener to, sonically and psychologically, has almost nothing in common with the doom bands that populate stoner-oriented music festivals across the globe. Khanate is doom as a foregone conclusion, as merciless atmospheric pressure, as a blunt object to crack you over the skull with, slowly, repeatedly, and forever.
The band’s self-titled debut was immediately unsettling. Originally released in the fall of 2001, it spread five songs across a suffocating hour, setting a new standard for slow-motion tension in extreme music. In referencing Mikhail Bulgakov’s surrealist samizdat The Master and Margarita (“Torching Koroviev”) and featuring a song about wearing someone else’s skin (“Skin Coat”), the album struck a deft balance between high-minded literature and homicidal atrocity. This is the tightrope that Khanate walks, stretched between the most rarefied corners of the imagination and the psych ward.
Like so many experimental artists before them, Khanate formed in New York City. In 2000, multi-instrumentalist and producer James Plotkin was introduced to guitarist Stephen O’Malley at an Isis show by then-Discordance Axis drummer Dave Witte. At the time, Plotkin and vocalist Alan Dubin were working together in a project called Shadowcast, but their history stretched back to the late ’80s with avant grindcore band O.L.D.
In 2003, Things Viral increased the band’s reputation for striking fear into the fragile psyches of anyone who paid close enough attention. “Pieces of us in my hands, on the floor, in my pockets/red glory,” Dubin howls on opener “Commuted,” setting the stage for Khanate’s second installment of existential dread. Dripping in death, murder and desperation, the album is somehow less forgiving than its predecessor. Which was probably the point.
When they emerged in 2023 with the surprise album To Be Cruel, the elapsed time only served to underscore the consistency—and dominance—of their original reign. With three stultifying songs stretched across an oppressive and hideous hour, To Be Cruel revived what even its creators thought unrevivable. It also proved what many had long suspected: Though they may have inspired many, there is only one true Khanate.
Long may they continue to terrify us.