|
>
AMPLIFIED HEAT - "IN FOR SIN"
AXEHANDLE - "S/T"
BLACK MANTA - "FUCK THEM ALL BUT SIX"
CAPRICORNS - "S/T"
CONQUEST OF STEEL - "S/T"
C.O.C - "IN THE ARMS OF GOD"
CROWBAR - "LIFESBLOOD FOR THE DOWNTRODDEN"
DEAD MEADOW - "FEATHERS"
>>MORE ROADBURN PICS: Pt.II | Pt.III
|
|
|
AMPLIFIED HEAT
"IN FOR SIN" [ CD/LP - Arclight Records ]
What do y'all get if you mix the heady delights of Mudhoney, Hound Dog Taylor, Danko Jones, Supersuckers, George
Thorogood, Blues Explosion, Link Wray, Yardbirds together? Some kissin' sweet rock sounds, the
makings of a damn fine record collection and quite possibly the wellspring of inspiration
for one of the greatest bands you've never heard of...
Amplified Heat are 3 Texan crawdaddies who exude an inebriated, wild, rawkus and infectious blues power; yes
sireeeee, bawb, the brother's Ortiz got soul like Keith Richard's got drugs...
This perfectly monikered, roadhouse blues power trio blast off the starting block with the truly
intoxicating, "In For Sin" and Chris Ortiz's deafening guitar tone has all the boisterous over-driven
machismo of the Yardbirds but stripped nerve-ending raw and played with the kind of destructo, sweat-blood
intensity which transfers from the stereo to the listener with all the alacrity of a murderous
machete.... SHEEEEEEEEE-IT! MAN ALIVE!!! That riff got motion to spare... and it'll rock ya baby, ALLLLL fucking
night long....YEAHHHHH!!!
While Amplified Heat don't have a terribly unique sound, they do nonetheless have a timeless quality
which bodes well for the shelf life of their blistering debut, "In For Sin" and besides, I'll take grit
and passion over originality any fucking day, and this is by no means a criticism, lordy
no, AC/DC aren't gods because of any startling sonic re-inventions, fuck no, theirs is a rare musical
genius, BALLISTIC SIMPLICITY, and Amplified Heat explode with a volatile, twin-barelled, acid-burn, tequila
blues which is 100% blood n' guts and zero pretension, which makes it ALL GOOD in
my book.
They charge through pedal-to-the-metal blues breakers like 'Roadrunner' and the magnificently
belligerent, boot-stompin' 'Wagon Wheel' [a personal favourite] at a gloriously frantic pace, buck-wild
G-Tars punch divots in speaker cones, and all the while gonzoid drummer Chris Ortiz [drums, Tambourine, Maracas]
pounds them skins like they bum-fucked his wife... PHEW-WEE!
Chris is clearly a talented drummer, as I found myself 'air drumming' his groovy fills more than
once during the many repeated, and wildly pleasurable playings of "In for Sin."
'Fever' opens with the ubiquitous refrain of 'I woke up this mornin' and Chris 'O pulls
off a convincing Keith Moon freak-out and the remaining Ortiz Brothers hack and slash what was once
a standard blues riff, leaving little but a bloodied, beaten and gurgling stump... TOTAL DEATH-FUZZ-TONE
BLOOZE!
'The Gunny' is a full-on swamp-punk boogie with a propulsive Cramps goo-goo muck scuzz-tone that'll
singe yer pubes right down ta ya pelvic bone, and again, Jim 'O fucking wails on that Telecaster, sparse, brawny
G-tar playing that is gutsy rather than vainglorious, flashy noodling, as y'all can take the anodyne, precision
blues of Eric Clapton and shove 'em down yer poo hole -give me the visceral riffage of cats
like Cropper, Gibbons, Guy, Hound Dog Taylor, Thorogood, Johnny Winter, Luther Allison... and that's
what I groove about Jim Ortiz's guitar playing. It ain't pretty, UH-HUH, man, his chops are fucking
uglier and meaner than a Coroner's bone saw... this dude plays it like he means it here.
Also included here is a track from one of their previous incarnations as, Mass Abomination [1992] and
while it isn't the Tequila punk-blues they perfected as Amplified Heat it doesn't sound incongruous, as
the potent Black Flag chug of 'Trapped' makes for some mighty fine listenin' and it's a wonder
Sub Pop didn't pick up on these dudes back then, as Jim's thick Ginn-Iommi lurch has much
to commend it.
Album closer, 'Reflections' is a honey-smooth, blissful, fuzzed-out blues psyche that contains
a particularly fine acidic Roky Erickson solo from Jim Ortiz -YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
The Hidden cover Track is a doozie, and a very fine choice as it captures the raw essence of the
band quite succinctly, no point saying what it is as it will ruin the surprise. It isn't often
you get a studio album that captures the organic thrills and heady rush of a live performance
but producer David Elizondo does a sterling job of keeping the flash fire rock-burn of Amplified Heat
at molten temperatures... AMPLIFIED HEAT ARE TRULY SMOKIN'...
...Good work Mr. Elizondo!
Album standouts are: 'In for sin', 'Wagon Wheel' 'Fever' 'The Gunny' [this gonzoid
track got a riff with a kick meaner than blind-dog moonshine laced with mescaline]
Fans of Mudhoney, Dr. Feelgood, Hound Dog Taylor etc will dig the burn on
Amplified heat.
STANCE FACTOR: MAXIMUM TWO-HEADED-DOG STANCE!
jason
|
|
|
|
AXEHANDLE
"S/T" [ CD - Small Stone Records ]
The fact that Axehandle is comprised of 3/5 of Alabama Thunderpussy is not
what drew me to this album. What made me giddy about this release was when I
read that there were two drummers ripping away "not in a jam band kind of
way, but in a crushing tribal way." Even at that, Erik Larson said, "We wanted
to create a sort of soundscape with the songs." Hot damn! That's enough to
spark anyone's curiosity.
Replaying [more times than I'd care to admit] the album's excellent first track,
"Face Down", on the Small Stone Records Jukebox caused my anticipation to
turn rabid. If this song was any indication to the rest of Axehandle's debut
self-titled release there was no doubt in my mind that this album would be
nothing short of savage greatness.
But NAY! This CD is, sadly, not all it's made out to be. The root of the
problem lies in the fact that, as a whole, it's not as amazing as it
could be. It lacks focus. Sections, even whole tracks, just aren't up to
par. Instances like these suck the life out of the precious moments when you
can really hear what makes Axehandle stand out...
Indeed, there are moments when, lyrically, vocalist / guitarist Ryan Lake puts
you right there with him; eyes blazing with lust and fury, the sweet taste
of blood tickling your tongue, or on the floor screaming in helpless agony
for someone to stop some psycho bitch from eating you for dinner. These are
the moments that take us to the primal, animalistic areas of our psyche that
we intentionally disregard.
These are also moments when drummers Brian Cox and Erik Larson feed
off of each other without mimicking what the other just played, no matter
how aggressively performed. When the thick guitars roll along, the
drumming is the force behind their motion. Sometimes, when Lake spaces it out,
Cox and Larson proceed to keep their presence known. Again, this is
Axehandle; you know, the band with the two drummers.
Sadly, there are times when Cox and Larson play the same beat simultaneously
with the occasional flam scattered here and there. No, no, no, flams and
ghost notes don't cut it, gents. This is another slight beef I have with
this CD. The drumming, again, as a whole, isn't all it could be. The rhythmic
potential and lead was not fully achieved.
I wonder if the band might have put TOO much effort trying to create their
desired "soundscape." In doing so, 1/2 of the material wouldn't sound out of
place on an Alabama Thunderpussy album. And that's fine...for ATP. But, for
now, I want to hear Axehandle.
In the end, is it worth checking out? Absolutely. You may have to pussyfoot
around for a little bit, but sure and true, Axehandle WILL seize you with
their "Imminent Dominance. Imminent Dominance. Imminent Dominance. Imminent
Dominance."
dr.jones
|
|
|
|
BLACK MANTA
"FUCK THEM ALL BUT SIX" [ CD - PsychDOOMelic Records ]
This is a new emission from the righteous and doom-crazed PsychDOOMelic Records, a fine
Hungarian label whose doomented roster includes such monolithic riff warriors such as Ramesses, Negative
Reaction, Dream Death, Wall of Sleep and the mighty Pentagram. So, anything sent to me with the
unpronounceable moniker of PsychDOOMelic emblazoned on the spine generates muchas interest in this
befogged brainpan of mine.
This being Blank Manta's debut could mean that they are still searching for a sonic identity and have
yet to iron out all the inconsistencies a nascent group can be hamstrung by -gleefully this is not the
case with this obstreperous 7 tracker... And the clue to the possible bombardment within is
two-fold; a) On drums we have Doom legend Joe 'Pentagram' Hasselvander and b) the production
is by genre wizard Chris Kozlowski, so you don't have to be Lester Bangs in order to
envisage the possible blast of heaviosity that may well be buried within this silver disc.
BLACK MANTA PLAYS BOMB ROCK EXCLUSIVELY!
This mantra is emblazoned on the back of the liner notes, and while I was unaware of this new
substrata of rock, you might find this to be a far from glib statement... as soon as the brief
lone guitar interlude of 'Sargtrager' ends, Black Manta punch-out a battle-scarred, Iron Fist first
deep into your unprepared solar plexus...
'Days of Yore' is an excitable, crazy-loud, explosive, hunk of Fuzz-in-excelsis DC thunder-biker-rock doom. Grab
your cocks and take a deep breath as this riff grenade is HEAVY, it's BIG, it's HAIRY, and greasier
than KFC's slop bucket. And it sure as fuck ain't clever, but if you, like me, enjoy the dizzying
sensation of having the minute fissures if your skull harangued by a brutish, sludgier than
a Tar Enema, Gibson buzz-saw grind, WHOOOOOAAAHHHHHHH! LET THE SLUDGE FEAST BEGIN!!!
Listening to "Fuck Them All But Six" first thing in the morning is akin to mistakenly dropping
your testicles into a steaming pan with your 3 minute eggs...
When music is this raw and unsubtle, you need a band who convincingly deliver THEE HEAVEE like
the world is going to implode if they stop burning out rifferama the size of Rhino Hams, and
these Hirsute, dirge goblins do just that...
Essentially you get 5 meaty, bellicose tracks, as the sonic bookends of 'Sartrager' and 'Beerdigung' are
little more than brief, guitar flangings... which do little to telegraph the mammoth girth of
Walter White's Bass or the ultra-distorted G-tar of Hillel, whose tones effortlessly mimic
that of a wounded Brontosaurus heaving amongst a rapidly thickening vat of Amber...
This type of near ridiculous amounts of volume and barely controlled distortion is a glowing
testimonial to the Rock N' Roll artistry of Chris Kozlowski, who is clearly one of
the finest producers in the game, and he has a unique ability to instill all his projects with
a gloriously warm and organic "live" feeling...
For all you "tone" geeks, look no further as "Fuck Them All But Six" is a veritable almanac of
carnivorous, belching, low-geared buzz-tone! As expected the Drums are handled with great
efficacy by Joe Hasselvander, but the real find here [outside of the monstrous buzz-tone] are
the TOTAL ROCK vocal stylings of... 'cough' Mr....er..."SKULL."
I'd like to think his parents were prescient enough to see their son had a glorious set of lung-pipes and
gave him that moniker, but I think not. Skull can fucking wail man, as you'd need someone with
some muscular discharge in their larynx to compete with the endless barrage of APOCALYPTIC BUZZ
pumping out behind them. It is no exaggeration to say that at moments he manages to pull of a convincing
Danzig-esque bray, especially on the blistering titular track...
Now I'm not saying that calling yourself, Skull isn't a trifle cartoonish, but when your voice
is as metal as SKULL, what are ya' supposed to be called??? Evelyn Waugh just ain't gonna work, mate!
'Fuck Them All But Six', 'Entropy' and 'Apocalyptic Visions' are prime examples of what Blank Manta
excel at, and that is blow the living shit out of your speakers within micro-seconds of the first power-chords
being struck, and Skull's cavernous vocals are quite magnificent here, full-bloodied and confident
with a distinctly 'Evil Elvis' vintage. Look out for this dude HE ROCKS THE SHIT OUTTA THAT MIKE.
Lorks! if they can pack that much dynamism in a studio, hell only knows what kinda racket these
dudes kick out live...I genuinely hope to witness this someday.
Blank Manta clearly have the potential to record an album of considerable bombast, the shock waves
of which should be felt way outside the cloistered world of underground Riff Rock.
Fans of Earthride, Danzig, Doom and explosive devices will find much to enjoy here.
STANCE: MAXIMUM 'EVIL ELVIS' STANCE
jason
|
|
|
|
CAPRICORNS
"S/T" [ CD - Rise Above Records ]
Capricorns are going to be massive, not in terms of ephemeral popularity but in the sheer scale
and intergalactic breadth of sound, and should more than a smattering of gushing cognoscenti
warm to the planetoidal sounds of these enigmatic riff meisters. I will be dead chuffed, as for once I
shall be amongst like-minded folk who know a good thing when it thunders riff after
gargantuan riff into their cowering brain pans...
Outside of the marvellous Witchcraft, Capricorns could well be the most idiosyncratic band
on the doom-centric micro label, Rise Above Records...
>From what I could glean before hearing this boisterous EP is that these ex-members of Orange Goblin, Iron
Monkey, and Bridge & Tunnel had generated some startlingly innovative guitar bombast, which amongst today's
glut of identikit riffage did raise my hopes for something quite special.
But I under anticipated as while there are a mere 3 tracks on this self titled E.P, there's nothing paltry or undernourished about this
monolithic triptych of bass-heavy riff churn, and most perplexing considering the iconic nature of
the differing bands the 'Capricorns' spring from, they bleed very little of their sonic histories
here, as the only granite hard fact is that these cunts know heavy with the kind of
gynaecological intimacy that guarantees your ears are gonna get a good, deep and
decidedly sensuous fucking.
Everything about this E.P is fecund with originality, as they cleverly avoid any voguish
Neurosis pilfering and concentrate on rumbling out staggeringly powerful and downright elegiac
slabs riff thuggery. Their weighty manifesto is neatly broadcast by the first track, 'Queen of Bruises' which
runs the gamut from emotive, near-tremulous bass lines to brutalising, Stygian, doomy mega grooves.
At exactly 3:48 seconds into the damn-busting heaviosity of 'Transcendental Evisceration', the band bring
out the heavy gauge artillery and dive into a deliriously heavy break-down which evokes the heady
speaker-quake of Goatsnake at their sub-sonic best, as there's a scabrous hook to these guitars
which causes the doomy reverberations to remain embedded deep in the cerebellum for weeks.
Comrades in tears is the only track with vocals and is none the worse for it as the bear-in-heat
braying adds another dissonant edge to an already grim and oppressive canvas, making this the
E.P's most abrasive track, managing to instill the listener with a penetrating sense of
pathos which is bizarrely pleasant. And I think that this is the band's rare genius which
is to evoke a myriad of potent emotions in what is ostensibly a very brief timescale... Since many bands
trawl through to the 50 minute mark eliciting little more than a bored and twitchy arsehole!
On the borderline-perfection evidenced on this sublime E.P, Capricorns should well be lauded as one
of THE most essential UK heavy bands of 2005 and might well soon find themselves without peer, as they
could well topple the overrated Isis, and currently make Cult of Luna's pip-squeak dynamics sound about
as threatening as Simply Red. The music on here is genuinely fresh-sounding, and the production
is full and gutsy allowing the borad girth of dense sound to slam into your head like
a monstrous portcullis.
This is one of those very elusive must-own musical experiences.
Fave track: 'Transcendental Evisceration' [ya' gotta check out the earth-shifting breakdown!]
STANCE FACTOR: MAXIMUM 'UBER-GOATSNAKE'-STANCE
jason
|
|
|
|
CONQUEST OF STEEL
"S/T" [ CD - No Face Records ]
The rowdy dominion of Conquest of Steel is populated by five all conquering metallians
whose wearing of denim is clearly a badge of honor rather than fashion statement, who kick out a
retrograde Heavy Metal that is clearly inspired and driven by the O.T.T, be-studded histrionics of
their Very Metal forefathers; Anvil, Accept, Saxon, Raven and Paul Dianno-era 'Maiden.
Conquest of Steel's blatant denial of any worthy metal being produced after 85' clearly provides
much effective grist for Conquest of Steel's thunderous, heavy metal mill, and fortunately this
stoic tunnel vision translates into much neck bruising, sword rattlin', skull an' cross bones, heavy
metal thrills n' Kills. BITCHIN!
Q: How metal are Conquest of Steel?
A: Damning evidence M'lud! Lyrics which equal the ironic, machismo lunacy
of Bad News, To Whit: "Beer Fuelled long-haired rockin' beast, clad in denim & spikes Warrior
of the night, metal like lava coursing through your veins head banging frenzy you've gone insane"... Culled
from the suitably cantankerous, pedal-to-the-metal anthem 'Hard Rockin' Steel'
AND Three, yes, THREE tracks replete the omnipotent phrase of metal. To whit: 'Metal Witch' [a real, head
swingin', riff burnin' barnstormer!] 'Heavy Metal Poisoning', and 'Can't Stop The Metal' and
when the music is as heartfelt, fun and devil horn inducing as this I sure as fuck wouldn't
want it any other way.
Conquest of Steel are wonderfully more-metal-than-thou, a gleeful anachronism as
everything from their Status Quo garb, and slightly reedy, trebly production down to the
sweaty, hair windmilling, G-Tar theatrics of blitzkrieging axe duo, Diesel Dave and
DD Danger!!!
If they'd released this anthemic album back in the day it would probably be dismissed
as being hopelessly dated, which in all honesty it is, but, hey, fuck it, since the date in question
is 1981, how the saintly manowar is that a negative comment?
It 'aint! Metal has ALWAYS been spurned and dismissed as both a social and musical embarrassment, where
much of the prejudice levelled against metal both old and new [NEW not "NU" fuck nuts!] is
woefully misguided, as all those glib, fashionista hacks whose rancorous dismissal
of all things metal was ultimately ill conceived, as 25 years later not only is metal
still with us, it's equally as excessive, decidedly heavier, and remains as hopelessly
unfashionable as it always was. Conquest of Steel's loud and proud take on raucous
NWOBHM is a most welcome edition to the thankfully growing pantheon of contemporary UK Metal.
It's Conquest of Steel's steadfast and zealous love of all things NWOBHM coupled
with their ability to re-invigorate this much loved era of music which really
endears me to their beer-raising, heavy metal antics.
A high-octane, godz of war album, bulging with Sars infectious, galloping, 'screaming for vengeance', ear-fucking
guitar breaks and sublime, bullet-belt Maiden-isms, and all this full-metal wizardry is tastefully grounded
by the solid and potent vocalising of rock overlord Dan Durrant, whose zesty lung pipes
are more than equal match for the band's feisty, Raven-edged riffage.
Conquest of Steel you are found guilty of being uber metal to the point of near-parody, but
you are redeemed by quality song writing, and the sterling use of electrifying thunder
chords fit for Zeus himself.
Fave track: 'Metal Witch' is a stone-bitch of a metal anthem which is armed with a ballistic and
riotously demonstrative air guitar inducing riff which is complete vindication for my 20 yr. long love
of all things METAL! and it's down to the likes of torch carrying metallians like Conquest
of Steel which bode well for another 20 more! [besides I have just put this incendiary track
onto yet another heavy mix CD].
For those about to metal I salute you.
Will appeal to fans of the drainpipe jean'd, sleeveless denim, ever shreddy antics of
Rammer, Goat Horn, vintage Maiden / Accept and fellow UK metal stalwarts Meggido.
STANCE FACTOR: MAXIMUM 'NONE CAN FACE THE STEEL & SURVIVE' STANCE
[The fact that I mention the word metal 23 times in this review is a strong
indicator of this band's authenticity!]
jason
|
|
|
|
C.O.C
"IN THE ARMS OF GOD" [ CD - Sanctuary Records ]
Let me precis this review by stating that C.O.C's previous release, "American Volume Dealer" may well
require re-appraisal as it's a beefy, and downright rollicking rock album and I think quibbling about
the slicker radio-friendly production is churlish and more than a little futile...
But I digress as it's almost five years on from the release of the divisive 'AVD' and the snarling beast of maximum
southern riff slabbage is among us once more, and it would appear from the 12 vigorous tracks on 'In The Arms
of God' that wine isn't the only intoxicant that improves with time as C.O.C front man and all round
rock wizard, Pepper Keenan has surrounded himself with the familiar, protean line-up of, Woody
Weatherman [guitar] Mike Dean [Bass] Stanton Moore [Drums] and the addition of newbie Stanton
Moore adds a devastating punch to the much loved C.O.C bombast.
While AVD was a smooth, sippin' whiskey, "In The Arms of God" is a considerably more potent libation and
apes the confrontation al intensity of their genre defining "Blind" making 'ITAOG' far more of a raucous brew, one
with the immediate kick of 'Absinthe.'
C.O.C are back among us with a bludgeoning rock album that draws liberally from the butch, southern
discord of both "Deliverance" and "Wiseblood" yet adds an exultant and decidedly bulkier
guitar tone. This is clearly a re-invigorated Pepper Keenan, and he enthusiatically grinds
out some superbly meaty, deep-throated Iommi riffage, which will send fans of C.O.C and worshippers
of bruising low-end into differing degrees of gibbering apoplexy.
Outside of the toothsome, gangbusters guitars, what always endeared me to C.O.C were Pepper
Keenan's songwriting prowes, his remarkable and consistent ability to make 6 minute + rock songs
sound like the ideal duration that never once outstay their welcome, which may sound trivial, yet many
bands can barely hold my attention beyond the first derivative riff, and 'In The Arms of God' is the
antithesis of banality since it is positively corpulent with Mr. Keenan's indomitable riffage, and
songs that frequently exceed the 5 minute mark, thus enabling each head-bangin' doozie to
stretch out and breathe, all the while digging those righteous hooks deeper into the listener
allowing scant chance of escape...
"In The Arms of God" begins forcefully with the boisterous southern-boogie of 'Stonebreaker' which, while
a spicy appetiser, in no way prepares one for the astonishing 'Paranoid Opioid' since it is merely seconds
into this elephantine riff that any power chord junkie worth their greying Sabs T-shirt will IMMEDIATELY find
themselves working their fists around the neck of a phantom Gibson and proceed to head-bang vigorously
with nary a shred of concern for the crippling damage such a pendulous and honey-sweet riff will have
on the delicate architecture festooning one's head to your windmilling neck!
'Paranoid Opioid' is a heavy metal orgasm, and unlike the tedious limitations of the male sex organ, after
shooting your rock load, you will be able to gratify yourself immediately with repeated
playings...'Paranoid Opioid' is guaranteed to be a C.O.C crowd pleaser for many years to come!
'Dirty Hands Empty Pockets' is driven by Mike Dean's wonderfully quirky, Minutemen bass shuffle which
translates into the album's most idiosyncratic track with Pepper's doomy, world weary vocals bordering
on film noir narration, and when the pace accelerates to some magnificent chuggage the song is
bookended by a gloriously acidic G-tar freak out.
'Never turns to More' is another of my personal favourites as it is seasoned with some percussive
delights courtesy of the inimitable Moore who locks himself rigidly behind yet another breeze-block heavy, Keenan
riff which sequways into a deliriously fiery lead that is so colourful you can feel it blaze a rainbow trail
across the moist nodes of your reeling mind. And again the boogie bomb grooves are so penetrating and
maddeningly compulsive I nearly head-butted the P.C monitor off my desk [I shit thee not!].
Another C.O.C cracker is the purple-hazed 'So Much Left Behind', a blissful, grooveathon whose woozy, hempadelic
riff, is an absolute stoner's delight as it's sure to light both your fire and bongs with
equal alacrity!
Whereas 'Backslider' is a more twilight, pensive affair, the sonic equivalent of a solitary, maudlin
drinking binge, where the subdued guitars allow Keenan's rich voice to come pleasingly to the fore, and at the
tail end of the track, the guitars suddenly perk up and grind into a cathartic and gloriously
chunky 'Children of The Grave' beat down.
Like any album some tracks are blatantly stronger than others, 'Infinite War' is my least favourite since
the overtly familiar riff resembles a 'Spirit Caravan' knock off, and the acoustic 'Crown of Thorns' is a trifle
slight for my tastes, but the combustive chemistry generated by Keenan, Moore, Dean and Weatherman fortify even
the lesser tracks with considerable gusto. I believe one should never shy away from a using a
cliche, and C.O.C save the [almost] best for last with the Gibson-zilla madness of the titular track
which closes the album with the unflinching finality of a terminal stroke.
But the outright hero of 'In The Arms of God' is the superlative production of career-long C.O.C
collaborator John Custer who not only imbues each track with a sweaty, live immediacy but
thankfully has reinstated the gritty, sandstone guitar crunch that was absent from the
more obsidian American Volume Dealer. Custer's rock-zilla mix has all the kick of a lusty
Kangaroo, allowing the full impact of "In The Arms of God" to pleasurably resonate long after you
have stopped listening to it.
There is so much to recommend about this album, as not only do you get Pepper Keenan's unerring
ability to pen barn-storming, infectious rock songs, the continued and fruitful collaboration of his
dynamic musical compadres make for a compulsive and electrifying audio experience, and Stanton
More's stylish, cement-hard drumming plays an decisive role in the album's success and I sincerely
hope that this line-up remains for many more recordings.
You can always tell quite demonstratively whether an album has the metal chops when you spend most
of the time frantically flailing around the room as if under siege from a squadron of killer locusts... and following
the fifth play-out of 'In The Arms of God' my own secular arms had all the vitality of
a partially masticated Udon noodle!
Standout tracks: 'Paranoid Opioid', 'Never Turns To More.'
STANCE FACTOR: MAXIMUM STANCE
jason
|
|
|
|
CROWBAR
"LIFESBLOOD FOR THE DOWNTRODDEN" [ CD - Candlelight Records ]
The latest album from NOLA sludge commanders Crowbar boasts an all-new line-up, label, and producer, but
wisely, the re-tooled Crowbar avoids tom-fooling with their signature, hand of doom assault...
Should there ever be a need to list the pantheon of all-time heaviest riff warriors, the one name that
should be somewhere near it's apex must unequivocally be, Kirk Windstein... recognition that is richly
deserved as Mr. Windstein locks down monstrous, tar black, dirge-grooves tighter than a mammoth
sprawled on a coffin lid.
Crowbar are genuine masters of economy, and while many bands obsess over a myriad of differing
effects pedals, or become bedazzled by the latest non-linear editing gimmickry... Crowbar remain unfazed
by the tawdry zeitgeist, and have but ONE MIGHTY credo, and this is their unerring belief and
passion in the devastating force of a SLOOOOOOOW, punishing riff. You can't fake what Crowbar do, you can glean
inspiration from them, offer up much overdue respect but you can't plagiarise them...
Kirk's demon-core riffage is startlingly idiosyncratic, pick up, "When Earth's Collide" or "Broken Glass" and
one pig-iron fact is unassailable... Crowbar's brand of "HEAVY" is entirely special, they have taken
the unguent formula patented by Iommi and fused elements of The Melvins apocalyptic dirge-core, and then
and only then did Crowbar deign to crawl out of some reeking Louisiana swamp
pit, unrepentant, roaring, oozing, sluggish and intoxicated by a millennia of primordial slime, armed
only with an arsenal of devastating, corpulent doom-riffs, matched only by the considerable girth
of the original members.
Like fellow axe demi-god, Zakk Wylde, Kirk has had an unerring ability to write punishing riffs that
jellify the spine right from the off, and the only flaw in the Crowbar idiom were his
hyper-aggressive, ill-pitched vocals, but "Lifesblood For The Downtrodden" finds Kirk in excellent
voice -gone are the excruciating grunts of old, now replaced by a sonorous, emotive bellow which
adds much gravitas to the quality of both the songwriting, and pelvis crushing, dump truck
heavy, low-end riff orgy on "Lifesblood For The downtrodden."
And happily the cumulative effect of listening to a Crowbar album being akin to a forceful beating around the head and
torso with an anvil-heavy punch bag, remains -and I for one believe quite fervently that this is
the definitive Crowbar album...
Track 1, 'New Dawn' is fleshed out by a thick, demonstrative riff that instills immediate
confidence in the listener that a 'mature' Crowbar in no way equates to a rusty one, as this, righteous, tempered
fist of lead-bellied metal is ample proof that one can age forcefully and quite, quite disgracefully...
The supporting cast of "Lifesblood For The Downtrodden" is stellar, Rex Brown / Bass [Pantera/Down], Craig
Nunenmacher / Drums [BLS / Crowbar], Warren Riker / production [Down II] add yet more gleeful ballast
to the legendary Crowbar crunch.
'Slave no more', 'Angels wings', and 'Coming Down' are all rock-solid, vintage Crowbar, viz-a-viz the cavernous
bass and evil, pulverising de-tuned guitar brutality ensures that anyone within
spitting distance of this album is gonna get beat down! When someone with Kirk's considerable
presence screams out 'Slave No more' you believe! And Rex Reed's serpenting bass lines
during 'Slave no More' sounds uncannily like old-school Dan Lilker!
While previous Crowbar albums could occasionally get bogged down by a preponderance of maudlin
riffage, Nunenmacher's, hard-nosed, excitable drumming, coupled with Reed's driving bass generates
a much more satisfying and considerably more urgent dynamic, which to these ears gives "Lifesblood For The
Downtrodden" a new-found freshness and vitality.
A prime example of the confidence in Kirk's singing is on 'Coming Down' and 'Fall Back To Zero' where
controlled aggression rather than bestial screeching beguiles rather than alienates.
The album's closer, 'Life's Blood' is an affecting, acoustic ballad performed with considerable
pathos by Kirk, which acts as a suitably haunting finale to a quality, riff-zilla album.
The bruising low-end on the album is considerable, resembling subterranean, engulf-all surges of molten
lava churning away beneath the earth's crust, except bass player, Rex Reed makes his presence
felt, unlike the incremental terrestrial shifts we are blissfully unaware of.
While this is clearly a reflective album it still manages to engulf you in a cloying, rancid
swamp of oppressively dense, coal-black riffage, all of which is handled
quite magnificently by producer, Warren [Down II] Riker, who realises that size is important
where Crowbar is concerned and he orchestrates a genuinely bruising mix which consolidates
the manifold talents of the studio line-up into one tumultuous, crushing masterclass
in Doom-Core.
Will "Lifesblood For The Downtrodden" attract more fans to the fold? One hopes so, but you can take
as a given that long-time Crowbar fans will cherish "Lifesblood For The Downtrodden" as not only a
bludgeoning return to form but hopefully also as a primer for many more quality
Crowbar albums to come.
STANCE FACTOR: MAXIMUM WIDE-LOAD STANCE
jason
|
|
|
|
DEAD MEADOW
"FEATHERS" [ CD - Matador Records ]
Successfully capturing the live essence of the band, Washington DC’s elegiac Dead Meadow venture
deeper into the psychedelic realm with their latest album, "Feathers" – which also marks the debut
of second guitarist, Cory Shane.
The band generate a unique firebrand of environmental, heavy psych which is far beyond any generic
Sabbath-riffage or stonerrock gimmickry. "Feathers" expands upon the distinctive Dead Meadow sound
even further as the album is more experimental, yet paradoxically more accessible than the band’s
previous records.
Characteristic for this album are Jason Simon’ signature guitar riffs -heavily influenced by
droning Eastern music as well as classic rock, blending chiming, acoustic touches with
warm, disorienting ballads.
However, the most fragrant ingredient of "Feathers" are their meandering, grooved-out riff-
heavy journeys, and the band’s ability to fuse their obvious appreciation of 60’s psychedelica, vintage
hard-rock, blues-folk tunes, ambient space-rock with the the literary excesses
of H.P. Lovecraft or J.R.R. Tolkien, and all at considerable volume!
Distant, high pitched vocals evoke a deleriously eerie atmosphere that plays off well against
the spacious, organic production and the band’s loose jamming style.
Exploring new heights, the Dead Meadow saga still continuous with their best album to date -a strong
contender for the album of the year!
walter
|
[ BACK TO TOP | ROADBURN PICKS PT.II | ROADBURN PICKS PT.III | NEW RELEASES ]
|
|
|
