Band: Mountain
Album: Avalanche
Label: Self-released
Year: 1974
"Most rock critics don't like rock and roll. Their taste is too good." - Leslie West, 1976
"During my lunch-hour I’d walk to 48th Street and gaze at all the guitars in the stores; one day I guess I took too long and my boss told me not to bother coming back. It wasn’t till later that I realized the guitar looked like a woman – it had a nice neck, lots of curves and it only made sounds when I wanted it to." - Leslie West, 2009
I love
Mountain. Leslie West's mammoth guitar tone and harsh bellow defined some of the best heavy rock of the early '70s, and their albums
Climbing and
Nantucket Sleighride have long been favorites of mine, not to mention numerous live albums which range in quality from fantastic to inessential. Unfortunately, the undeniable chemistry between West and his skilled co-writer/bassist/vocalist/producer/arranger Felix Pappalardi also made for a strenuous relationship between the two. The band split after the lukewarm
Flowers Of Evil album in 1972, and West replaced his erstwhile companion with Jack Bruce and continued to pursue his muse for two solid studio records and a live platter under the
West, Bruce & Laing moniker. The pairing was especially ironic given that Pappalardi had been a producer for
Cream from
Disraeli Gears on.
Mountain reconvened in 1974 to record
Avalanche, a record that was poorly received both critically and commercially, and the group broke up the next year. West has attempted a few half-hazard reunions since then, but none included Pappalardi, who was shot and killed by his wife, Gail Collins in 1983. Incidentally, she contributed lyrics to this and other
Mountain releases.
I originally shunned this album as a cynical late career cash grab from a spent group trying the reclaim past glories, and only very recently while on a serious
Mountain/West, Bruce & Laing kick decided to give it a listen. Turns out its actually pretty badass. The press for this record has always been brutal, though knowing what I know about music criticism now I've figured out that a terrible review for a heavy rock band is actually a good thing. By 1974, hard rock was on its way out as the dominant style of popular music, (at least in the minds of the critics, who had never liked it to begin with) and a band purveying the kind of molasses thick sludge that
Mountain specialized in was easy pickings for the burnt-out sixties refugees who made up the core of the rock crit establishment. Given the lineup changes and the fact that
Mountain's only hit, the idiomorphic cowbell rock archetype "Mississippi Queen," was by now almost five years past, it was easy to dismiss this piece of very good hard rock. When combined with the changing popular musical landscape and the rapid corporate homogenization of radio during the mid-70's, its not surprising the kids went looking for other kicks instead. And with typical perversity,
Mountain swam upstream the whole way, knocking out their hardest rocking set of tunes since their debut.
This is very guitar-intensive album. It lacks the blusey kick of the
WB&L records, or the psychedelic flourishes of
Nantucket Sleighride, and instead goes straight for the jugular. There are no concessions to the root forms of proto-metal, only seriously rocky terrain. They don't just share a producer with Cream, but also a serious amount of musical DNA as well. But where
Cream and perhaps even
Led Zeppelin had always been concerned with doing justice to the blues that so obviously inspired their strenuous power-trio jams, Mountain had always taken an approach that was more in line with
Sabbath in that they were quintessentially rock in their approach. The result is that their aesthetic is far more focused (limited, depending on who you talk to) on heavy riffage, and conjuring the physical energy of the jam than either of those bands. Despite the dearth of melodic inspiration, the instrumental work is visceral and intense without overstaying its welcome. There are two forgettable slower songs in the style of their cross-Atlantic contemporaries
Budgie, but much like that band they don't dwell too long on keeping the volume down and get back to rocking soon enough. The rest is a thick, sprawling stew of molten guitar and fuzzed-out bass, all held together by Corky Laing's thunderous backbeat. Even the two covers here, the hoary rock 'n' roll standard "Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On" and the
Stones' "Satisfaction" are re-chisled into a slowed-down and blown-out dynamic that is pure heavy. The production job here scores points as well, as Pappalardi gives the band their heaviest mix yet and still lets the performances breathe.
Although the key elements of prime
Mountain are all in place, there is a noticeable lack of memorable riffs or songs. Nothing here is as instantly memorable as anything on the flawless first side of
Climbing. Parts of the album plod where in the past the band had strutted, but as anyone who has ever sat through all of the live half of
Cream's
Wheels Of Fire knows, sometimes you need to dig through a little electric mud to find the gold. If pushed to choose standout tracks, I'd name the sludgy grind of "Thumbsucker" and the uplifting rocker "Sister Justice" as two of the best, and "You Better Believe It" is a smoking cowbell jam where West and Pappalardi really let loose with a bass and guitar duel that Geezer and Iommi would be proud of. This is the sound of veteran musicians working up a sweat, an enjoyable listen even if the material is less than inspired. Definitely recommended for seventies rock freaks and
Mountain die-hards. Dilettantes would be advised to begin their climb elsewhere.
