To truly understand and appreciate Josiah’s We Lay On Cold Stone, you need to hear the earlier records or at least place it in context with the rest. It’s not an easy listen, but precisely because of that, it offers something deeper than just a groove-oriented album you play while drinking beer. This record comes from a much deeper place where fuzz no longer measures the weight of the riffs, but the passage of time itself.
In the early-to-mid 2000s, the trio of Matthew Bethancourt (guitar, vocals), Sie Beasley (bass), and Chris Jones (drums) built their sound around thick riffs and heavy grooves. I’m deliberately not calling it stoner rock, though it certainly was back then; yet, thanks to Matthew, there was already a hint of something more expansive—something the rhythm section held perfectly in balance. The first albums (Out of the First Rays, Into The Outside) showed a tight, powerful trio in full command of their craft.
By the time No Time (2007) arrived, Josiah was at its creative peak everything was in place: fuzz, energy, dynamics, and that raw, instinctive force that defined them.
And then, the momentum suddenly broke. The band was preparing for a Rockpalast tour when Bethancourt pulled the plug. As he later said, “We weren’t doing the music justice.”
Procession (2010) became a kind of closure a collection of unreleased studio cuts, a Buffalo cover, and a few live tracks from Sweden. Fans could only guess: was this a pause or the end? In truth, the band had already let go of the idea of continuing. Bethancourt didn’t stop making music he simply switched languages.
In the following years, he began working from his own home studio, which led to The Kings of Frog Island and later Cherry Choke. The physical power of stoner rock was replaced by psychedelic atmosphere, texture, and inward exploration. If Josiah was the body, then The Kings of Frog Island was the soul. The focus shifted from riff-driven energy to mood, echo, hazy vocals, and floating guitar textures. Bethancourt was gradually moving away from his former self, becoming more mature and self-aware in the process.
Through home recording, he gained not only technical freedom but also emotional independence the kind of introspection that ultimately culminated in We Lay On Cold Stone. The album was largely created in Bethancourt’s home studio, with Sie Beasley and DC Lockton handling the rhythm section a natural continuation of the sound he had refined in previous projects. Released by Blues Funeral Recordings as part of the PostWax Vol. II series in 2021, and later reissued by Heavy Psych Sounds in 2023, it marked Josiah’s return not as a repetition of the past, but as its release.
The opening track, Rats, perfectly symbolizes this transition. It’s the only song that still carries the old Josiah pulse: the tight, cyclical riff, the heavy bassline, and that driving energy the band once thrived on. It feels as if Bethancourt deliberately wanted to summon his former self one last time before letting it go. The song is short, direct, and built on classic Josiah structures but the sound has changed. The drums are dry, the guitars restrained, the vocals more tired, deeper, and more honest. It’s not about triumph anymore it’s about acceptance. “I know what was and now I say goodbye.” Rats is like a door opening one final time toward the past, only to close for good.
Through this song, Bethancourt seals off the unfinished chapter that Procession left hanging.
After Rats, the album trades groove for weight and introspection. The riffs don’t attack they float.
The drums no longer push forward they hold back. We Lay On Cold Stone feels like a ritual, not a new beginning but a final resonance. Bethancourt’s voice reaches deeper than ever before; the fuzz no longer radiates power, but time and distance. This Josiah isn’t about tearing down club walls anymore it’s about making peace with its own past.
So We Lay On Cold Stone isn’t the grand comeback album that role belongs more to the rechtaW EP.
It’s rather an answer to the challenge left by No Time a kind of spiritual sibling record, drawn from the same source but speaking in a different voice: more tired, wiser, and more honest.
It’s much more a sonic document of closure where every riff is a memory, and every pause, a confession. AMEN!
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