In 1991, Down crawled out from under New Orleans as a full-blown sonic mutiny against speed and cleanliness while giving a middle finger to the idea that metal should ever be safe, sober, or polite.

At the center of the wreckage stands Phil Anselmo, suffocating inside Pantera’s tight and sharp precision. He wants the sludge crawl of riffs that doesn’t chase but patiently waits until your puny legs give out. Around him gathered Pepper Keenan (Corrosion of Conformity), Kirk Windstein (Crowbar), Todd Strange, and Jimmy Bower (Eyehategod)—a lineup so stacked with doom credentials it felt illegal.

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NOLA (1995): THE SOUND OF THE SOUTH COLLAPSING

DOWN’s debut, NOLA, was recorded cheaply, released quietly, and destined to become scripture, oozing out of the swamp to fuse Black Sabbath’s monolithic riff worship with Southern blues rot and the lingering regret of the American South.

Tracks like “Stone the Crow,” “Bury Me in Smoke,” and “Temptation’s Wings” were so fucking heavy that they leaned on you until you passed the hell out. Anselmo ditched the high-gloss aggression of Pantera for a drawling, venomous sneer, sounding like a preacher who lost his faith but kept the fire.

NOLA bombed commercially. Of course it fucking did. America wasn’t ready for metal that crawled instead of sprinted. But word spread the old-fashioned way, brothers and sisters. It spread through burned CDs, whispered recommendations, and filthy clubs. Over time, NOLA became a holy relic, influencing doom, sludge, stoner metal, and any band that realized speed was overrated.

DISAPPEARANCE, DETOURS, AND INTERNAL COMBUSTION

DOWN never behaved like a normal band because none of its members had time for normal. Pantera imploded. Corrosion of Conformity surged. Crowbar and Eyehategod stayed gloriously miserable. DOWN slipped into the background, reappearing only when the planets aligned or someone had enough riffs to justify waking the beast.

This chaos birthed Down II: A Bustle in Your Hedgerow (2002), an album that said, “What if NOLA… but weirder?” Psychedelic, sprawling, occasionally indulgent, it felt like Sabbath wandering through the desert with a head full of mushrooms and bad memories. Fans were divided. Purists complained. Others recognized it for what it was: a band of madmen refusing to repeat itself.

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OVER THE UNDER AND THE WEIGHT OF EXPECTATION

By 2007’s Over the Under, DOWN sounded battle-hardened. They embraced sounds that were tighter and angrier as they replaced mystical wonderings for a confrontational attitude. The riffs still crushed, but the atmosphere felt like the walls were closing in. This was DOWN responding to a changing metal landscape without any compromising. The damn band was still allergic to trends and still operating on their own stubborn timeline. God bless’em!

Then came tragedy. Dimebag Darrell’s death cast a long shadow over everything connected to Pantera’s legacy while Anselmo became a lightning rod for controversy. DOWN carried on, but the weight was undeniable. The music was becoming baggage set to distortion.

THE EP ERA AND A BAND THAT REFUSES TO DIE

Rather than bow and fade out gracefully, DOWN did what DOWN does best: they fucking lurched forward. Between 2012 and 2014, the band released a series of EPs (Down IV Part I & II) that saw them returning to stripped-down heaviness and reaffirming their roots of riffs like concrete blocks and grooves that crawl under your skin.

Lineups shifted. Todd Strange exited. Kirk Windstein eventually stepped away. But DOWN persisted—not as a legacy act, but as a recurring infection in the bloodstream of heavy music.

WHY DOWN STILL MATTERS

DOWN matters because they proved metal didn’t need to get faster, shinier, or more technical to evolve. Sometimes evolution means slowing down until every note hurts. They bridged sludge, doom, Southern rock, and hardcore into something primal and personal, making heaviness feel human again.

DOWN is the sound of friends making music for themselves, accidentally changing the genre while doing it. No hype or bullshit. Just riffs, sweat, and a refusal to clean up. God bless those motherfuckers!