If I could have been worked with any musical act at any point in history, I would have been a roadie for Goatsnake circa the turn of the millennium. No band in history has ever quite so vividly described through sound the godlike feeling of power that comes from riding a sizzling hot Harley across a desert highway. You can bet some good times were had on those tours.
Greg Anderson's biker doom titans are finally releasing their long out of print 2000 CE album Flower Of Disease on Southern Lord, not to mention re-forming for a few dates sometime soon if we're lucky. You know what? I'm gonna say it. Goatsnake were fuckin' awesome. And if you happen to be unacquainted with these monsters, let me just say that you can't argue with a group of rock n' rollers whose credentials include stints in the Obsessed, Sunn O))), Thorr's Hammer, Scream, Asva and Burning Witch. A solid cross section of sludgecore, punk, stoner rock, black metal and doom you think? Nah, Goatsnake don't go in for your obscure genre categorizations. It's just heavy rock, and who can't get behind that? Surely we've all spent enough time rocking out in smoky rec rooms and basements to set aside our differences and enjoy some mammoth riffs, hedonistic manly rock god vocals, massive sing along hooks and a seriously heavy-duty mix courtesy of Nick Raskulinecz.
Here's footage from the first Goatsnake show in 5 years at this year's Roadburn festival at Tillburg in the Netherlands. Enjoy, and pick up this stone classic of a rock n' roll album when it comes out if you know what's good for ya. Maybe if you're really lucky these gunslingers will be rollin' into your town soon.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
The Liars - Sisterworld
Band: The Liars
Album: Sisterworld
Label: Mute
Year: 2010
Rating: 84%
The Liars have been one of the past decade's most inscrutable practitioners of experimental rock. Like former tour-mates Radiohead, they've demonstrated a steadfast determination to follow their muse, including left-field stylistic departures and frequently relocating to other continents to write and record. Texture and rhythm have remained at the forefront of the band's sound throughout, with front man Angus Andrew's heavily processed vocals (bearing more than a passing resemblance to those of Thom Yorke) lending the band an unearthly quality. Most importantly, Liars remain stubbornly committed to exploring new sonic turf and topping themselves with each byzantine, heavily-laboured record. Such creative restlessness makes for a body of work which is unpredictable, frequently baffling and consistently rewarding for adventurous listeners.
'Scissors' kicks off the band's fifth album with narcotic chants and the mournful strains of a cello before exploding into a spastic distorto-rock tantrum. The bait-and-switch is nothing new to this band, but this first full band kick is still fantastically exciting. The song alternates placid with punishing without overstaying its welcome, then quickly slides into the pulsing bass and rickety percussion of 'No Barrier Fun.' "I wanna make it up" moans Andrew over music box and violin backing that wouldn't sound out of place on one of A Silver Mt. Zion's records. The atmosphere is unsettling, with the band crafting moody sounds capes over heavily looped and treated instruments and vocals, drawing out the tension over several tracks. Unlike the fantastical sense of child-like wonder that permeates previous records like 2006's awe-inspiring Drum's Not Dead, Sisterworld is sonically ominous and almost uniformly bleak in tone. The band hasn't sounded so dark since 2004's universally misunderstood sophomore effort They Were Wrong So We Drowned, but this time the attack is more focused and married to some excellent songs. The motorik groove of 'Proud Evolution' shows off an astute understanding of krautrock rhythm and the power of sonic minimalism, while penultimate slow-burner 'Goodnight Everything' uses deep brass horns to amplify the grandeur of its droning chords and triumphantly announce the album's climactic final explosion before settling into the dreamy epilogue, "Too Much, Too Much."
Sisterworld is more about dynamic tension than release, but also offers some of the Liars' most pile-driving rockers yet. Few moments in the Liars' schizophrenic catalog can match the vicious animosity of 'Scarecrows On A Killer Slant.' Over a heavily distorted grinding synth, Andrew screams, "Why'd you shoot the mayor with a gun? 'CAUSE HE BOTHERED YOU!!!" before going on to yell some more about standing in the street and killing everyone. Equally enjoyable, 'The Overachievers' sports a mechanized slaughterhouse tumble of a riff that is helped by Andrew's off-kilter yelps and bilesome diatribes.
The Liars have proven themselves once again to be one of the most consistently inventive and original bands in rock. Examined with the benefit of hindsight, the Liars' career arc no longer looks so jarring when viewed through Sisterworld's damaged lens. Much like the band's 2007 eponymous record, Sisterworld forgoes some of the band's earlier experimental dalliances and rewards listeners with some of the most accessible songwriting of the Liars' career. Don't get me wrong, this is a Liars album, and that means you will hear plenty of noises you may be uncomfortable with the first time through. It might not fit your definition of rock or even music at all. That's normal, and no one ever said these guys were all that easy to listen to. But now that the band has learned how to wrap their sound-manipulation experiments around songs that are at least recognizable as such, more new fans should be on board than ever before. The band's charming conviction and dogged determination to sculpt noise and formless texture into integral components of a unified work of art are admirable traits that win bands fans of the rabid variety. With that in mind, the album works as both a consolidation and a continuation of the band's strengths to date, and will appeal to fans new and old.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Elevator - Light Is To Life As Dark Is To Death
This is a fake compilation intended as a primer to this criminally overlooked Canadian psychedelic group, Elevator. The song 'Wink' which kicks off this compilation, can be heard as the second of the three songs performed in the video. The video itself is actually part 2 of a 1998 3-part short film to which Elevator provided the soundtrack. About 4 minutes in, you will witness this band at the peak of their powers. The tracklist below is that of an imaginary compilation/retrospective record that I intend to curate, should I ever be asked to do so.
Side A
1. Wink (3:07)
2. The Change (2:28)
3. Thick Wall (9:54)
4. You're In A Deep Dark Hole (4:11)
Side B
5. Wait For Tomorrow (3:47)
6. Backteeth (4:06)
7. Rain (3:50)
8. I Wonder What Is Sane (2:12)
9. The Grip On Me (4:30)
10. Hurricane (1:49)
Side C
11. Every Channel (2:15)
12. Black (3:23)
13. Darkness --> Light (15:55)
Side D
14. August (4:31)
15. No Good Trying (2:51)
16. The Only See To Thought (2:19)
17. Deep Underground (2:21)
18. Where Does It End? (7:28)
Known to go under the names of Elevator Through and Elevator to Hell at various points, this band is the main spiritual organ of Halifax's Rick White. White was a member of Moncton, New Brunswick's indie noiseniks Eric's Trip in the mid-90's. Since then he's released an assortment of albums under various versions of the name Elevator, exploring his unique take on lo-fi psychedelic music. With some distribution with Sub Pop, ELevator was a near miss who never broke through in a major way due to being out of time. Truth is, they pre-dated the new weird America scene by about seven years, and whatever clout Sub Pop had was nullified by the fact that no one in independent rock music in 1999 was playing fuzzy lo-fi garage psych the way these guys were.
There is great range in White's songwriting. He conjures up droning walls of noise, clears rooms with fractious feedback onslaughts, intones sonic premonitions from beyond the galaxy, scales the heavens with acid-spiked guitar jams, and soothes the soul with enchanting astral minstrel's tales. Sadly, the band is no longer with us, apparently having called it quits some time after the last release I am aware of by these guys, 2004's August. (Rick White did release a similar album called Memoreaper under his own name in 2007 and has been playing with a re-formed Eric's Trip in the last few years) But because the Elevator discograpgy is so user-unfriendly, I've decided to assemble this imaginary compilation culled from the 4 Elevator full-lengths and 1 soundtrack EP I've found to act as a sampler for the uninitiated.
"Wink" kicks off the proceedings with a growling, overdriven bass line straight out of the 90's hard rock playbook and White's soon-to-be familiar self-hating lyrics, before exploding into a massive psychedelic guitar wrestling session that includes mammoth Bonhamn drum fills and unhealthy amounts of fuzz. The whole thing clocks in at just a hair over 3 minutes, making it a worthy counterpart to the Stooges "I Wanna Be Your Dog," Alice Cooper's "I'm Eighteen," Sab's "Paranoid," Led Zep's "Communication Breakdown," Mountain's "Mississippi Queen" and the MC5's "Kick Out The Jams," or just about any other heavy psych/proto-metal classic one-off you wish to name. The next track "The Change" is a curveball, a psychedelic rave-up with jangly guitar and White's sleepy vocals providing an apt comparison to the Brian Jonestown Massacre. These two tracks give an interesting account of the dichotomy inherent in Elevator's sound. When moved, White can make his band sound like anything he wants.
The 10-minute "Thick Wall" begins as droning, druggy wall of pounding toms and chords repeated ad nauseum before all drops out, revealing simply a pulsating bassline and strummed accoustic guitar. Feedback and what could possibly be a 12-string guitar rise and fall in volume and intensity as White gradually beings to intone his astral notions over a krautrock groove. Eventually all that remains is droning fuzz and some distant moans from White, who then simply brings the song to a conclusion with a gorgeous clean guitar passage which provides the song's only melody. Quickly subsumed by a pounding snare and bouncing bassline, "You're A Deep Dark Hole" is a song which displays all that Elevator do well, including White's soul-searching lyrics and ear for melody, combined with suitably wandering guitar leads bathed in atmospheric reverb over eternally droning Komische grooves.
"Wait For Tomorrow," another one of my favourites from the "Such" soundtrack, opens Side B with possibly the band's most memorable chorus and some deliciously sludgy bass and thunderous toms. "Backteeth" is a slow-moving crusher complete with lumbering riffs and fuzzed-out stoner rock leads. The delicate acoustic passage which opens "Rain" is quickly obliterated by a ragged garage rock stomp that eventually degenerates into a floating sea of cosmic nebulae reminiscent of A Saucerful Of Secrets-era Pink Floyd. " I Wonder What Is Sane" is a fast driving rave-up featuring vortex shifting studio panning and unhealthy amounts of distortion. If you've made it this far without being bothered at all by the muddy recording quality, kudos to you. Very few do. "The Grip On Me" brings the volume down a bit, but not the intensity. A muted Hammond organ and White's skyscraping electro-fuzz guitar provide the song's highlights as it oozes dread and darkness before exploding into a stately march across the finish line. Side B ends with Hurricane, a gorgeous and almost sadly brief acid-folk ditty from the Eeireconciliation album. This beautiful tune blossoms and then whithers into atonal noise in under 2 minutes, its brevity a knowing nod to the transience of life.
"Every Channel," a classic Elevator rocker, opens side C with wild biker rock solos and riffs, and burns full throttle for just a shade over two minutes before fading into the bleak darkness which announces the arrival of "Black." The suffocating dead air hiss of the track soon explodes into a vicious psych thrash freakout similar to a paint-huffing Acid Mothers Temple. White's ethereal vocals pan all across the speakers and then abruptly cut out to reveal the monster title track to 2002's Darkness-->Light album. Probably Elevator's most momentous (and certainly their most monolithic) achievement, this 16 minute behemoth comes on first like Confusion Is Sex-era Sonic Youth's aggro-noise punk before eventually sinking everything into its unspeakably driving bassline. Frantic drumming keeps the pace up while White's galactic intonations about life, love and death are run through all manner of sonic manipulators and effects pedals. By the 4 minute mark, all pretense of a structure has left the song, as only a muddy blend of white noise and crossing sine waves remains. Eventually the rhythm section returns to the fore, delivering an "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida"-esque tour de force that eventually dovetails into feedback strains and snatches of musique concrete mixology. Voices, chimes, strings, found sounds and various other instruments and noises are treated and manipulated, running riot across the soundscape. Eventually, after an urgent bass and drums pummeling, the track finally returns to earth with a return to the speed freak garage burner that opened the album. One final burst of atonal noise concludes the tracks before being sucked back up into the heavens. The listener's third eye has been squeegeed of all perception save that of the cosmic persuasion.
Finally, side D opens with the title track from 2004's August probably the band's most accessible record, due to it's (relatively) well produced and clean sound. The track is a raging slab of hallucinogenic acid-spiked garage rock which later gives way to backmasked vocals and tape loops. Followig it are a trio of songs from 1999's Vague Premonitions. "No Good Trying" is a grungy midtempo rocker that sports some nifty sound effects in addition to its ferocious Bonham-esque drum barrage. "The Only See To Thought" is another fuzzy banburner which storms through a jumble of drum fills and fuzzed out power chords (notice a theme here?) before crashing and burning. "Deep Undergroud" emerges from a fog of formless noise to groove on a solid bass vamp and display more of White's sonic shamanisms and guitar worship. Even if you can understand what he is trying to say, just ignore the lyrics, as they are mostly spacey and metaphysical imagery or strident exultations to drugged states of expanded consciousness. More important here is the sound, which in this case invokes waves churning, thunder crashing and supernovas erupting. "Where Is The End?", the aptly-named finale, does not so much end the record as bring it full circle, remaking the Ouroboros whole and stretching onward into sonic infinity as an infinite loop of propulsive drumming, flesh-searing lava-bass and chiming feedback. Rather than bothering to write an ending to the song and finishing up, White simply lets the tape run out on the track. For all I know, these guys could still be in there jamming on this thing.
So there you have it. This thing will probably never be a reality, and if you are going to the trouble of listening to all these songs in the order I prescribe, you should probably just listen to the full albums, starting with any one of the ones I took this material from. Incidentally, I got started with Elevator when a friend played me Darkness-->Light a couple years back, but really any one will give you a good indication of what they are about. Enjoy this wonderful set of Canadian music, and happy travels!
Note:
Tracks 1 & 5 are taken from the 1998 EP, Soundtrack To The Film, "The Such."
Tracks 2, 3, 7, 14 & 18 are taken from the 2004 LP, August.
Tracks 4, 12 & 13 are taken from the 2002 LP, Darkness --> Light.
Tracks 6, 10 & 11 are taken from the 1997 LP, Eeireconciliation.
Tracks 7, 9, 15, 16 & 17 are taken from the 1999 LP, Vague Premonitions.
At last count their discography includes nearly two dozen releases, including 7" singles, EP's, Mini-LP's, cassettes and live bootlegs, as well as a self-titled LP which I have been unable to locate. Factor in at least a dozen or so soundtrack and compilation appearances, and you can rest assured that what you see here is just a small sliver of what the band has produced.
Side A
1. Wink (3:07)
2. The Change (2:28)
3. Thick Wall (9:54)
4. You're In A Deep Dark Hole (4:11)
Side B
5. Wait For Tomorrow (3:47)
6. Backteeth (4:06)
7. Rain (3:50)
8. I Wonder What Is Sane (2:12)
9. The Grip On Me (4:30)
10. Hurricane (1:49)
Side C
11. Every Channel (2:15)
12. Black (3:23)
13. Darkness --> Light (15:55)
Side D
14. August (4:31)
15. No Good Trying (2:51)
16. The Only See To Thought (2:19)
17. Deep Underground (2:21)
18. Where Does It End? (7:28)
Known to go under the names of Elevator Through and Elevator to Hell at various points, this band is the main spiritual organ of Halifax's Rick White. White was a member of Moncton, New Brunswick's indie noiseniks Eric's Trip in the mid-90's. Since then he's released an assortment of albums under various versions of the name Elevator, exploring his unique take on lo-fi psychedelic music. With some distribution with Sub Pop, ELevator was a near miss who never broke through in a major way due to being out of time. Truth is, they pre-dated the new weird America scene by about seven years, and whatever clout Sub Pop had was nullified by the fact that no one in independent rock music in 1999 was playing fuzzy lo-fi garage psych the way these guys were.
There is great range in White's songwriting. He conjures up droning walls of noise, clears rooms with fractious feedback onslaughts, intones sonic premonitions from beyond the galaxy, scales the heavens with acid-spiked guitar jams, and soothes the soul with enchanting astral minstrel's tales. Sadly, the band is no longer with us, apparently having called it quits some time after the last release I am aware of by these guys, 2004's August. (Rick White did release a similar album called Memoreaper under his own name in 2007 and has been playing with a re-formed Eric's Trip in the last few years) But because the Elevator discograpgy is so user-unfriendly, I've decided to assemble this imaginary compilation culled from the 4 Elevator full-lengths and 1 soundtrack EP I've found to act as a sampler for the uninitiated.
"Wink" kicks off the proceedings with a growling, overdriven bass line straight out of the 90's hard rock playbook and White's soon-to-be familiar self-hating lyrics, before exploding into a massive psychedelic guitar wrestling session that includes mammoth Bonhamn drum fills and unhealthy amounts of fuzz. The whole thing clocks in at just a hair over 3 minutes, making it a worthy counterpart to the Stooges "I Wanna Be Your Dog," Alice Cooper's "I'm Eighteen," Sab's "Paranoid," Led Zep's "Communication Breakdown," Mountain's "Mississippi Queen" and the MC5's "Kick Out The Jams," or just about any other heavy psych/proto-metal classic one-off you wish to name. The next track "The Change" is a curveball, a psychedelic rave-up with jangly guitar and White's sleepy vocals providing an apt comparison to the Brian Jonestown Massacre. These two tracks give an interesting account of the dichotomy inherent in Elevator's sound. When moved, White can make his band sound like anything he wants.
The 10-minute "Thick Wall" begins as droning, druggy wall of pounding toms and chords repeated ad nauseum before all drops out, revealing simply a pulsating bassline and strummed accoustic guitar. Feedback and what could possibly be a 12-string guitar rise and fall in volume and intensity as White gradually beings to intone his astral notions over a krautrock groove. Eventually all that remains is droning fuzz and some distant moans from White, who then simply brings the song to a conclusion with a gorgeous clean guitar passage which provides the song's only melody. Quickly subsumed by a pounding snare and bouncing bassline, "You're A Deep Dark Hole" is a song which displays all that Elevator do well, including White's soul-searching lyrics and ear for melody, combined with suitably wandering guitar leads bathed in atmospheric reverb over eternally droning Komische grooves.
"Wait For Tomorrow," another one of my favourites from the "Such" soundtrack, opens Side B with possibly the band's most memorable chorus and some deliciously sludgy bass and thunderous toms. "Backteeth" is a slow-moving crusher complete with lumbering riffs and fuzzed-out stoner rock leads. The delicate acoustic passage which opens "Rain" is quickly obliterated by a ragged garage rock stomp that eventually degenerates into a floating sea of cosmic nebulae reminiscent of A Saucerful Of Secrets-era Pink Floyd. " I Wonder What Is Sane" is a fast driving rave-up featuring vortex shifting studio panning and unhealthy amounts of distortion. If you've made it this far without being bothered at all by the muddy recording quality, kudos to you. Very few do. "The Grip On Me" brings the volume down a bit, but not the intensity. A muted Hammond organ and White's skyscraping electro-fuzz guitar provide the song's highlights as it oozes dread and darkness before exploding into a stately march across the finish line. Side B ends with Hurricane, a gorgeous and almost sadly brief acid-folk ditty from the Eeireconciliation album. This beautiful tune blossoms and then whithers into atonal noise in under 2 minutes, its brevity a knowing nod to the transience of life.
"Every Channel," a classic Elevator rocker, opens side C with wild biker rock solos and riffs, and burns full throttle for just a shade over two minutes before fading into the bleak darkness which announces the arrival of "Black." The suffocating dead air hiss of the track soon explodes into a vicious psych thrash freakout similar to a paint-huffing Acid Mothers Temple. White's ethereal vocals pan all across the speakers and then abruptly cut out to reveal the monster title track to 2002's Darkness-->Light album. Probably Elevator's most momentous (and certainly their most monolithic) achievement, this 16 minute behemoth comes on first like Confusion Is Sex-era Sonic Youth's aggro-noise punk before eventually sinking everything into its unspeakably driving bassline. Frantic drumming keeps the pace up while White's galactic intonations about life, love and death are run through all manner of sonic manipulators and effects pedals. By the 4 minute mark, all pretense of a structure has left the song, as only a muddy blend of white noise and crossing sine waves remains. Eventually the rhythm section returns to the fore, delivering an "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida"-esque tour de force that eventually dovetails into feedback strains and snatches of musique concrete mixology. Voices, chimes, strings, found sounds and various other instruments and noises are treated and manipulated, running riot across the soundscape. Eventually, after an urgent bass and drums pummeling, the track finally returns to earth with a return to the speed freak garage burner that opened the album. One final burst of atonal noise concludes the tracks before being sucked back up into the heavens. The listener's third eye has been squeegeed of all perception save that of the cosmic persuasion.
Finally, side D opens with the title track from 2004's August probably the band's most accessible record, due to it's (relatively) well produced and clean sound. The track is a raging slab of hallucinogenic acid-spiked garage rock which later gives way to backmasked vocals and tape loops. Followig it are a trio of songs from 1999's Vague Premonitions. "No Good Trying" is a grungy midtempo rocker that sports some nifty sound effects in addition to its ferocious Bonham-esque drum barrage. "The Only See To Thought" is another fuzzy banburner which storms through a jumble of drum fills and fuzzed out power chords (notice a theme here?) before crashing and burning. "Deep Undergroud" emerges from a fog of formless noise to groove on a solid bass vamp and display more of White's sonic shamanisms and guitar worship. Even if you can understand what he is trying to say, just ignore the lyrics, as they are mostly spacey and metaphysical imagery or strident exultations to drugged states of expanded consciousness. More important here is the sound, which in this case invokes waves churning, thunder crashing and supernovas erupting. "Where Is The End?", the aptly-named finale, does not so much end the record as bring it full circle, remaking the Ouroboros whole and stretching onward into sonic infinity as an infinite loop of propulsive drumming, flesh-searing lava-bass and chiming feedback. Rather than bothering to write an ending to the song and finishing up, White simply lets the tape run out on the track. For all I know, these guys could still be in there jamming on this thing.
So there you have it. This thing will probably never be a reality, and if you are going to the trouble of listening to all these songs in the order I prescribe, you should probably just listen to the full albums, starting with any one of the ones I took this material from. Incidentally, I got started with Elevator when a friend played me Darkness-->Light a couple years back, but really any one will give you a good indication of what they are about. Enjoy this wonderful set of Canadian music, and happy travels!
Note:
Tracks 1 & 5 are taken from the 1998 EP, Soundtrack To The Film, "The Such."
Tracks 2, 3, 7, 14 & 18 are taken from the 2004 LP, August.
Tracks 4, 12 & 13 are taken from the 2002 LP, Darkness --> Light.
Tracks 6, 10 & 11 are taken from the 1997 LP, Eeireconciliation.
Tracks 7, 9, 15, 16 & 17 are taken from the 1999 LP, Vague Premonitions.
At last count their discography includes nearly two dozen releases, including 7" singles, EP's, Mini-LP's, cassettes and live bootlegs, as well as a self-titled LP which I have been unable to locate. Factor in at least a dozen or so soundtrack and compilation appearances, and you can rest assured that what you see here is just a small sliver of what the band has produced.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Memorial
April 5th, 1994 - Kurt Cobain dies of a self-inflicted shot gun blast.
April 5th, 2002 - Layne Staley dies of a heroin overdose.
With today marking the 16th and 8th anniversaries of the deaths of two of my favorite rock stars ever, I'm half expecting to hear that Chris Cornell got hit by a bus.
April 5th, 2002 - Layne Staley dies of a heroin overdose.
With today marking the 16th and 8th anniversaries of the deaths of two of my favorite rock stars ever, I'm half expecting to hear that Chris Cornell got hit by a bus.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Over-Gain Optimal Death - Over-Gain Optimal Death
Band: Over-Gain Optimal Death
Album: Over-Gain Optimal Death
Label: Self-Released
Year: 2009
Rating: 75%
Tracklist:
1. Overgain
2. Gov't
3. Aurora
4. R.I.P.
Japanese space freakout gurus Acid Mothers Temple & The Melting Paraiso U.F.O. checked into town last Saturday for the first stop on their 2010 North American tour. They come here every year around late March or early April, although some tragedy has befallen my fellow astral travellers and I every time the Temple have been here in the last three years which has prevented us from catching their galactic live show. The most serious issue was a fuzz-induced freakout last year that literally floored my friend and forced us to leave during the set of the opener, Kinski. What the experience did teach me however was that the legendary psych collective has impeccable taste in choosing opening bands that set the tone for the sonic terror to come, but still leave their own indelible mark on the proceedings.
Our trip to catch Acid Mothers Temple was finally successful this time, but for me, the best part of the night was catching the opener, Pasadena's perfectly-named Over-Gain Optimal Death (OGOD, if that's easier). In the crowd were about a dozen local beardos, a few astonished looking east van hipsters, and a long haired dude that engaged me in a conversation about Kreator. Certainly no more than 30 people were in attendance, but every single person was digging the decimating cosmic racket these terrorists ground into our eardrums. They were an awesome sight, a stone-serious rhythm section that was compellingly intense and completely adverse to any acknowledgment of the crowd whatsoever backing a leather-jacketed wild man on guitar. A shirtless and bald drummer battered his kit with primal ferocity both within and around the beat, never failing to sustain the band's titanic momentum. The raven-haired girl on bass was tall and imposing, doggedly paying the same riffs over and over again on her battered Fender, as if to stop would mean the end of the world. The singer, a short and wiry creature, looked like he had stepped right out of the 70's, sporting biker boots, nuthugger bellbottoms, a greasy FUBAR mane, and a leather jacket with fucking TASSELS on the sleeves. He flailed violently as he bashed and mangled the strings of his weapon, dancing across all manner of pedals and sound manipulators in an effort to coax the most intense sonic incineration out of it that anyone had ever heard. Almost no singing took place, although the guitarist did shout some heavily garbled sounds through an array of warping devices. Everything was cranked several decibels past the pain threshold, and the whole way through all I could think to myself was, "YES, THIS IS ROCK AND ROLL." Half an hour later, they spoke not a word, and simply walked offstage. Enamored, I was dismayed to find that no wax yet exists with these guys' name gracing it, although they have self-released a couple CD's. After hearing one that my friend bought, I'm even more convinced. Seriously, if Acid Mother's Temple is coming to your town, go catch this smoking double bill and be treated to some of the most cosmic psych-thrash speed freak rock n roll you'll ever hear. Check Over-Grain Optimal Death out at OGOD's myspace, and give 'em some love when they're in your town.
"Overgain" kicks off the band's self-titled album with a barn-burner of a riff and launches into a garage rock boogie that constanty threatens to trip over itself. Brain-damaged Comets On Fire electric destruction guitar and piercing feedback weave in and out as the drummer pounds out scattershot Keith Moonisms over a ferocious bassline. The band basically keeps the energy level on full for the next thirty-three minutes; they are nothing if not determined to batter you with sensory overload. This album never lets up. The formula that OGOD uses is simple: Take one heavily fuzzed riff soaked in bongwater, play guitar solo after guitar solo over it with a suburban guitar shop's worth of effects slathered all over them in as many different combinations as possible, repeat as many times as necessary. It's not unusual for OGOD to grind a riff into the ground for 6 or 7 minutes at a time, maybe longer. But for the listener, it is less a test of endurance than an initiation. Get inside their trip, and you won't be counting minutes anymore, you'll just Be.
The best song, "Aurora" takes a planet-sized Electric Wizard riff and has the drummer pound brutal tom fills over top of it for 15 minutes straight while the guitarist blasts off to the Oort Cloud. It's the best song because a) it has the heaviest riff and b) because its the longest. If those don't seem like good reasons to like this song, then it's pretty clear this is not for you. To be fair, some people might complain that they do have a tendency to ride a riff way too long, but that's kinda the point with this stuff. These guys jam, and they do it well. The record is essentially a primer for their explosive live show anyways, and in that regard it gives a pretty good account of itself. Over-Gain Optimal Death do not hold my attention on record as well as a somewhat more seasoned psych-jam band like Earthless, who seem to have spent a little more time crafting their extended jams, shifting dynamics and adding different sections to keep things interesting. What this band lacks in songcraft, they make up for in sheer sonic fury, blazing way past the point of no return until the amps are smoking and the crowds have either left or been stricken with tinnitus. And if that sounds awesome to you, then welcome aboard.
Album: Over-Gain Optimal Death
Label: Self-Released
Year: 2009
Rating: 75%
Tracklist:
1. Overgain
2. Gov't
3. Aurora
4. R.I.P.
Japanese space freakout gurus Acid Mothers Temple & The Melting Paraiso U.F.O. checked into town last Saturday for the first stop on their 2010 North American tour. They come here every year around late March or early April, although some tragedy has befallen my fellow astral travellers and I every time the Temple have been here in the last three years which has prevented us from catching their galactic live show. The most serious issue was a fuzz-induced freakout last year that literally floored my friend and forced us to leave during the set of the opener, Kinski. What the experience did teach me however was that the legendary psych collective has impeccable taste in choosing opening bands that set the tone for the sonic terror to come, but still leave their own indelible mark on the proceedings.
Our trip to catch Acid Mothers Temple was finally successful this time, but for me, the best part of the night was catching the opener, Pasadena's perfectly-named Over-Gain Optimal Death (OGOD, if that's easier). In the crowd were about a dozen local beardos, a few astonished looking east van hipsters, and a long haired dude that engaged me in a conversation about Kreator. Certainly no more than 30 people were in attendance, but every single person was digging the decimating cosmic racket these terrorists ground into our eardrums. They were an awesome sight, a stone-serious rhythm section that was compellingly intense and completely adverse to any acknowledgment of the crowd whatsoever backing a leather-jacketed wild man on guitar. A shirtless and bald drummer battered his kit with primal ferocity both within and around the beat, never failing to sustain the band's titanic momentum. The raven-haired girl on bass was tall and imposing, doggedly paying the same riffs over and over again on her battered Fender, as if to stop would mean the end of the world. The singer, a short and wiry creature, looked like he had stepped right out of the 70's, sporting biker boots, nuthugger bellbottoms, a greasy FUBAR mane, and a leather jacket with fucking TASSELS on the sleeves. He flailed violently as he bashed and mangled the strings of his weapon, dancing across all manner of pedals and sound manipulators in an effort to coax the most intense sonic incineration out of it that anyone had ever heard. Almost no singing took place, although the guitarist did shout some heavily garbled sounds through an array of warping devices. Everything was cranked several decibels past the pain threshold, and the whole way through all I could think to myself was, "YES, THIS IS ROCK AND ROLL." Half an hour later, they spoke not a word, and simply walked offstage. Enamored, I was dismayed to find that no wax yet exists with these guys' name gracing it, although they have self-released a couple CD's. After hearing one that my friend bought, I'm even more convinced. Seriously, if Acid Mother's Temple is coming to your town, go catch this smoking double bill and be treated to some of the most cosmic psych-thrash speed freak rock n roll you'll ever hear. Check Over-Grain Optimal Death out at OGOD's myspace, and give 'em some love when they're in your town.
"Overgain" kicks off the band's self-titled album with a barn-burner of a riff and launches into a garage rock boogie that constanty threatens to trip over itself. Brain-damaged Comets On Fire electric destruction guitar and piercing feedback weave in and out as the drummer pounds out scattershot Keith Moonisms over a ferocious bassline. The band basically keeps the energy level on full for the next thirty-three minutes; they are nothing if not determined to batter you with sensory overload. This album never lets up. The formula that OGOD uses is simple: Take one heavily fuzzed riff soaked in bongwater, play guitar solo after guitar solo over it with a suburban guitar shop's worth of effects slathered all over them in as many different combinations as possible, repeat as many times as necessary. It's not unusual for OGOD to grind a riff into the ground for 6 or 7 minutes at a time, maybe longer. But for the listener, it is less a test of endurance than an initiation. Get inside their trip, and you won't be counting minutes anymore, you'll just Be.
The best song, "Aurora" takes a planet-sized Electric Wizard riff and has the drummer pound brutal tom fills over top of it for 15 minutes straight while the guitarist blasts off to the Oort Cloud. It's the best song because a) it has the heaviest riff and b) because its the longest. If those don't seem like good reasons to like this song, then it's pretty clear this is not for you. To be fair, some people might complain that they do have a tendency to ride a riff way too long, but that's kinda the point with this stuff. These guys jam, and they do it well. The record is essentially a primer for their explosive live show anyways, and in that regard it gives a pretty good account of itself. Over-Gain Optimal Death do not hold my attention on record as well as a somewhat more seasoned psych-jam band like Earthless, who seem to have spent a little more time crafting their extended jams, shifting dynamics and adding different sections to keep things interesting. What this band lacks in songcraft, they make up for in sheer sonic fury, blazing way past the point of no return until the amps are smoking and the crowds have either left or been stricken with tinnitus. And if that sounds awesome to you, then welcome aboard.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Blarney
Man, if you're not going to listen to Thin Lizzy today, then you have a serious imbalance in your rock diet. Everybody needs some good time rock 'n' roll once in a while, so what better way to celebrate St. Patty's Day?
Here's a little something to getcha started. You'll be singing into your green beer and air-guitaring to some harmonized twin leads in no time. You really can't go wrong with any of their mid 70's albums, but here's a little playlist of my own personal favs.
Whiskey In The Jar
The Rocker
Killer Without A Cause
Massacre
Rosalie
Jailbreak
Warrior
The Boys Are Back In Town
Cowboy Song
Emerald
Opium Trail
Johnny The Fox Meets Jimmy The Weed
Do Anything You Want To
Waiting For An Alabi
Roisin Dubh (Black Rose): A Rock Legend
Or you can always just throw on Live & Dangerous, which everyone on earth should own a copy of.
Here's a little something to getcha started. You'll be singing into your green beer and air-guitaring to some harmonized twin leads in no time. You really can't go wrong with any of their mid 70's albums, but here's a little playlist of my own personal favs.
Whiskey In The Jar
The Rocker
Killer Without A Cause
Massacre
Rosalie
Jailbreak
Warrior
The Boys Are Back In Town
Cowboy Song
Emerald
Opium Trail
Johnny The Fox Meets Jimmy The Weed
Do Anything You Want To
Waiting For An Alabi
Roisin Dubh (Black Rose): A Rock Legend
Or you can always just throw on Live & Dangerous, which everyone on earth should own a copy of.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
High On Fire - Snakes For The Divine
Band: High On Fire
Album: Snakes For The Divine
Label: E1
Year: 2010
Rating: 82%
Tracklist:
1. Snakes For The Divine
2. Frost Hammer
3. Bastard Samurai
4. Ghost Neck
5. The Path
6. Fire, Blood & Plague
7. How Dark We Pray
8. Holy Flames Of The Fire Spitter
In High On Fire's world, there is no such thing as progress. The band's primordial assault has remained obstinately unchanged through lineup changes, producer turnover, label swaps and an ever-evolving heavy music landscape. This is not to say that all of their music sounds the same however. Their Jurassic thud has slowly evolved in terms of speed and compositional complexity, steadily growing more 'metal' with each release, but at its core, the music retains the same suffocating obsession with raw power and sheer heaviness that it always had. Each of their previous four albums have built upon what has come before, but hearing Snakes For The Divine for the first time, no one could doubt that this is the same Oakland power trio that shook the earth on 2000's mighty The Art Of Self-Defense.
This is a good thing, because very few bands are capable of producing the kind of noise that High On Fire do; furious battle metal that rages across the landscape like a pack of charging elephants. Midtempo stoner-boogie bands and mathy post-thrash metal bands are a dime a dozen these days, but few musicians have had the good sense and chops to find the sweet spot between Metallica's Kill 'em All, Celtic Frost's To Mega Therion and Black Sabbath's Sabotage. Never sacrificing their primal essence in favor of showing off their considerable chops, High On Fire do what they do better than anyone this side of Motörhead, and here's hoping they keep doing it for years to come.
To be honest, 2007's Death Is This Communion is a mighty tough act to follow. Produced by the legendary Jack Endino, the record was a culmination of everything that High on Fire had striven to perfect. It had a fantastic collection of songs, and managed to tie them all together in such a way that the whole album moved like a multi-headed riff colossus, single minded in its determination to lay waste to the world. Acoustic interludes and Pike's best vocal performances yet made the record an engaging listen that was heavy but varied in texture and mood and easily accessible to both heavy rock and metal fans. A classic heavy metal album by any measure, it made for the most dynamic release of their career.
Snakes For The Divine doesn't quite live up to its predecessor. For starters, it does away with many of the interesting stylistic detours that made Death Is This Communion such a listenable record. It rewarded patience and attention, and encouraged active listening. This album is much more straight forward, basically grabbing hold and scorching along with the heaviness on full the entire 46 minutes. Personally, I believe that High On Fire have the ability to vary their tempo and drum and vocal patterns enough to complement Pike's never-ending supply of riffs and remain engaging throughout, but even the best metal risks exhausting the listener and turning to a destructive blur when left to rage at top intensity for too long.
The production may also be a point of contention for some long-time fans. Instead of sticking with Endino, High On Fire turned to Greg Fidelman, fresh off of producing Slayer's World Painted Blood. This was maybe not the best choice. Slayer has always been addicted to speed, and their chaotic frenzy is often pushed too far for too long at the expense of a truly crushing riff. I listened to 'Angel of Death' on half-speed one time and it just made me wish those guys would just try some Quaaludes or something. Fidelman does do a good job giving High on Fire the sharpest and cleanest production job they've ever had. This serves the band well on more complex pieces like the title track, which seems to sprout viciously serrated riffs the way a hydra grows heads. On hard-charging thrasher 'Fire, Flood & Plague,' Kensel's thunderous pummeling double-bass work has more punch than ever before. Personally however, I preferred the slightly muddier and beefier sound that Endino brought to the band. As technically proficient as they have become, sludge will always be their strongest suit. I can't help but think that a meaty dirge like Snakes highlight 'Bastard Samurai' would have sounded even more crushing with Endino working the boards. Structurally it is actually a better song than Death's equivalent self-titled track. The former exchanges the latter’s torpid grind for a powerful feel of tension and release which results in explosive payoffs and bloodthirsty growls from Pike. Ultimately, your opinion of where this album sits in the High On Fire canon will depend entirely on which side of the fence you sit on.
The performances of all three musicians are masterful, each a true virtuoso on his instrument. High On Fire understands that they don't need to play circles around a riff just to strut their stuff, but that doesn't stop them from dropping some righteous shredding when the occasion demands it. On the wickedly destructive 8-minute war metal gorefest, "How Dark We Prey," they build an enormous wall of droning riffage and get the fuck of its way as it lays waste to everything in its path. Soon after however, they cut this lumbering beast into bloody ribbons by laying down some jaw-droppingly awesome breaks and jacking up the intensity. Matt Pike's savage guitar riffs and Des Kensell's bludgeoning drum assault are more focused and precise than ever before; despite the cleaner sound and more agile compositions, High On Fire have lost none of their elemental ferocity. Jeff Matz, formerly of Zeke, returns for his second album with the band and holds down the low end with authority. His dirty, overdriven tone will liquefy solid tissue at the proper volume.
Pike's vocals here are more prominent in the mix than ever before, and his performance shows how far he has really come in the last decade as a front man. From the hoarse croak he used on the first two records to the wizened bellow that commands legions of banging heads now, his growth has a vocalist been one of the most satisfying aspects of High On Fire's career. The lyrics are the same D&D battle fantasies that Pike has always preferred, and if you're anything like me, you'll think that they're totally awesome (Highlights: SON OF A BITCH WILL BLEED A WHILE!!!" & "FROST HAMMER! FROST HAMMER! FROST HAMMER! FROST HAMMEEEEEEEEER!!!") Pike's voice has also been treated in the studio more than ever before. "Frost Hammer" even features brief snatches of clean harmonized vocal lines which will appeal to fans of Mastodon's Crack The Skye.
If this is your first experience with this band, it will serve as a fine example of what they are all about. Suffice it to say, if you like what Snakes For The Divine has to offer, you can't go wrong by seeking out any of their other releases. For over a decade now this band has remained at the top of its game, and Snakes For The Divine gives every indication that these guys will be slaying ogres and crushing skulls for many battles to come.
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