Deeper Purple

TOMMY BOLIN - Teaser

Dunno if it was Circus or Shit Parader or one o' them masturbatory guitar hero mags, but as a 14 year-old wannabe axe-master I KNEW I hadda get this album: Lookit this guy! Hair almost down to his waist with multiple dayglo colors, a sharktooth earring... geetar slung down to his knees-- he HAD to be the shit! Plus, he'd replaced thee vaunted Ritchie Blackmore in Deep Purple and had gone toe-to-toe with Billy Cobham and Alphonse Mouzon-- jazz fusion cats, so he must be possessed of badassery (as far as his replacing Joe Walsh in the James Gang: not hard to fill the shoes of someone who's walked barefoot all his life)! 'Sides, I'd already mastered some Yardbirds, Jeff Beck's "Truth" LP and Slughand Crapton with the Bluesbreakers-- obviously I was ready to enter thee Realm of thee Virtuosos, right?

My guitar teacher (RIP you shreddin' motherfucker) simply laughed: "Dude, even if you could conquer this stuff, there ain't a drummer or bass player for 500 miles that'd be able to jam with ya on it." Crestfallen but persistent, I managed to convince him to show me a buncha Bolin licks anyway-- which is why I can fake jazz to this day... if not with a whole lotta competence. Anyway, enough about me-- for a minute there I almost did some "personal thoughts" blogging-type shit (!!). Let's talk some Tommy Bolin!

Knowing what I do now, it's amazing, if not a downright goddamn miracle, that this opus is as good as it is. Tommy is backed by a who's who of People I Wouldn't Cross the Street to Spit On: Davids Foster & Sanborn, Jan "Miami Vice" Hammer, Phil Collins and Jeff "Toto" Porcaro... session hacks and "professionals," every damn last boring one of 'em. Luckily I was ignorant of such things or chances are after readin' the credits it woulda gone back in the bin... with Extreme Prejudice. Glad I didn't though-- "Teaser" is kinda like "They Only Come Out"-era Edgar Winter Group if they were any good (which they were not); it covers a myriad of styles, yet maintains a cohesiveness that, if nothing else, is a credit to the strong personality of Mr. Bolin. Opener "The Grind," immediately brings to mind a Bolan with a slightly different spelling: Marc. It's a killer lil' boogie with a bit o' glam sluttiness snuck in and some incendiary slide licks in the coda. "Homeward Strut" (the one I wanted to learn to play) could pass for Mahavishnu if they'd had any taste; yup, it's pure jazz fusion, but it has a Steve McQueen action flick soundtrack vibe (hopefully alla these musty references ain't Greek to y'all). A long-time fave is "People, People," a pseudo-reggae number with a groove so fat its ass musta been dragging all over the studio. What's most impressive is that even when he dives headfirst into full-on Guitar Hero mode (not the fucking video game!), Bolin's playing is ever-economical-- a note is never wasted. And that, kats & kitties, is why I'm scribing about Tommy Bolin-- not Al DiMeola.

In comments.


NEW BOMB TURKS - The Big Combo [Singles/Outtakes 1994-98]

Say whatcha will about their Epitaph era-- I happen to like "At Rope's End," and I betcha I hate Epitaph Records more'n any ten of ya combined. Shee-it, I didn't like Bad Religion even back when they were supposedly "good." But fuck all that, what we got here is 16 sizzlin' slabs of primo raunch courtesy of Columbus, Ohio's finest garage punk combo (if yer still in the dark bout the Turks, go away 'n' slap yer pud around to yer hentai, loser). You shall thrill to their über-snotty rip through the Nubs' (KBD-resurrected) classic, "Job" that absolutely destroys the original (don't believe me? Compare Mr./Ms. Doubting Thomas). You will gasp in awe at the pulverizing blasts of live snort-- especially the frenzied version of DESTROY-OH-BOY's "Tail Crush"; and lest I forget, there's never been a band more worthy of attacking the Pagans' chestnut, "Eyes of Satan"-- and that's exactly what they do, Slim. This is music for hip-swivellin' and knuckle-dustin'-- and best of all, it all sounds the same, what could be better??!

The Damage:

1 Stick It Out
2 Feel It
3 (Still) Never Will
4 Slung Jury
5 Bachelor's High
6 Professional Againster
7 Jivin' Sister Fanny
8 Streamline Yr Skull
9 Job
10 Veronica Lake
11 Don't Kimosabe Me
12 Fuck It
13 So Long Silver Lining (Live)
14 Hammerless Nail (Live)
15 Tail Crush (Live)
16 Eyes of Satan

In comments.

Atom Bomb, Baybee

SACRILEGE (UK) - Turn Back Trilobite (1989)


I make no bones about it: "Turn Back Trilobite" is my favorite Sacrilege album. It took years for it to cement its place in my heart-- in fact, I absolutely despised it until about five years ago. Certainly it was a shock to the earholes-- I mean, here I was thinking it would be an extension of the powerful, progressive thrash they'd began tinkering with on 1987's "Within the Prophecy"; instead it's ...a doom metal album. And not a fake doom album-- full-on Candlemass-style doom packed with melodrama and grandeur (or "fairytale metal" as Erich would call it).

I think a lotta my initial difficulty with it stemmed from thee lovely Lynda "Tam" Simpson's vox-- her voice sounds flat and uninspired until you allow yourself to succumb to the epic song structures and crushing riffs that surround it. Now, I can't imagine another singer alive or dead that could tackle this material with more verve or emotional intensity. "Father Time (Beneath the Gaze)" is filled with jarring stop/start riffage that tugs ya in several directions at once-- recalling Confessor's experiments in technique-driven doom on "Condemned." Though it could use a less clandestine chorus, Tam's impassioned tenor manages to keep it from tumbling into the atmosphere for the sake of atmosphere abyss. "Into the Sea of Tranquility" is where she truly shines, 12 minutes of Pure Majesty. Axe-master Damian Thompson slowly unravels an ominous barrage of Iommian power chords that veer off into melancholy acoustic interludes while Tam croons, coos and barks with results both bombastic and heartbreaking... a tour de force, by any measure.

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SCIENTISTS (AUS) - The Human Jukebox (1984-86)


As much as I love the fact that the Beasts of Bourbon are still unleashing killer slabs of scuzzy R&R, I can't help but miss the loopy idiosyncrasies of their founder/guitarist, Mr. Kim Salmon. The bloodcurdling gobs of sculpted noise, the murder-obsessed lyrics... that intangible weirdness they so embodied in days past departed with him. Of course, it took many years of slugging it out in Western Australia's remote capitol, Perth, to realize that vision. He is widely considered Perth's first punker, having formed the Cheap Nasties in 1976 (sadly unrecorded), and from there on to a slot with the Exterminators (also sans recordings). The Scientists began as a Kinks-inspired, power pop outfit in 1978; but since that is not the version of the band I'm presenting to y'all, you can read all about the incestuous memberships that included luminaries from other legendary Aussie bands (Hoodoo Gurus, Victims, Johnny's etc) here.

What we got here is the --at least to me-- classic version of the band featuring Salmon (vox/guitar), Boris Sudjovic (bass), Tony Thewlis (lead guitar) and Brett Rixon (drums first 9 tracks; replaced by Phil Hertz and Nick Combe). This is the lineup that took the Cramps' reverb-soaked deconstruction of trash culture and fused it with the stark minimalism of Suicide while tossing away any self-indulgent tendencies of either; then filtered the final product through Australian swamp water. This collection combines their "You Get What You Deserve" EP and the "Human Jukebox" mini-album.

There's no shortage of clueless "hip" types that'll try'n blame these guys for the grunge movement-- don't listen to 'em. After a quick spin of "Atom Bomb Baby" you'll know the likes of Mark Lanegan or Kurt Cobain coulda never torn themselves away from their self-conscious navel-gazing long enough to rock so righteously. This is music made outta pure desperation: four young thugs with no money in their pockets and violence in their hearts.

In comments, dumbass.

Söul Cräft

THE IMPRESSIONS - Check Out Your Mind!

Consider this one a hangover from the last post. Now that Spring has finally sprung, and everybody's hormones are scattering around aimlessly like rats in a slum fire, what could be more appropriate than thee smoooth harmonies of Messrs. Mayfield, Cash and Gooden? Everything from sweet 'n' sexy traditional R&B like the hit single "Can't You See" and "You're Really Something, Sadie," to the scorching, REVOLUTION NOW! iconoclasm of the title track. Many of the devices that have come to be associated with Mayfield's reign as solo star á la "Superfly," are here in abundance: the gigantic brass sections that add yet another layer of drama to ditties already heavy with it, the orchestral arrangements, the scratchy, wah-wah'd guitar figures... this would be Mayfield's final Hurrah with the group. But it's obvious he had to leave; no group coulda been big enough for him to unleash the vision "Check Your Mind!" provides mere sketches for. But what a way to bow out!

In comments.


BAD BRAINS - Quickness

Here we have the ugly middle child of the 'Brains discography. I seldom hear anybody ravin' or railin' against it, as though it never existed or sumpin'. This is where they made the leap to full-on metal, alienating a sizable chunk o' their punk audience in the process. They also managed to raise the hackles of gay rights groups with the (allegedly) homophobic "Don't Blow No Bubbles," which features the infamously stoopid line, "don't blow no fudge buns." Let's tackle that first, shall we? Some points to consider before forever condemning the boys to the --Jah forbid-- politically-incorrect dungeon:

1. HR is a schizophrenic who ignores his medication due to his Rasta beliefs; at least that seems to be the consensus from the various sources I've read and/or have heard from fans/friends.
2. The song seems to me to be more a case of religious zeal than actual hatred; a gesture of compassion towards the health of homosexuals, however misguided. I certainly don't get the impression he wanted his fans to take to the streets and beat up or kill gays. Before you jump to the conclusion that I consider that a genuinely valid excuse though, see # 3.
3. HR is batshit crazy.

The track is very easily skipped-- along with "Prophets Eye" (never could get into their reggae stuff, even though I dig reggae) as both suck as hard as a broken-down hooker with a head fulla crack and a pocket fulla lint (I actually considered leavin' 'em off as the listening experience is far smoother without 'em, but then ya'd end up with an EP)... but enough of this negativity: I have no desire to be an apologist or hand-wringer here. They are what they is. So onto the music itself, which stands the test of time much better than most albums released in 1989.

It wouldn't be completely outta line to suggest that "Quickness" coulda as easily been entitled, "I Against I: The Sequel" (Riffs from the "I" [the album's brief intro] are expanded upon/recycled in "Voyage Into Eternity" for the love of Beelzebub!). They take their funk-punk-metal hybrid to new heights here-- particularly due to the much improved production that adds extra chug to Dr. Know's chugga chugga power-chording and far more prevalent solos that were buried in the mix on previous outings. Obviously inspired by free jazz; they have an unglued, random-gobs-of-paint-thrown-at-the-wall feel, not unlike a steroid-juiced version of James Blood Ulmer. HR is in fine form as well chewin' up syllables and spittin' 'em atcha like shrapnel with total disregard for melody or meter-- particularly on almost-MTV hit, "Soul Craft," and "With the Quickness," which is a celebration of their genre-hopping. Shit, that track has launched entire careers of (much) lesser bands whom I won't dignify by so much as typing their names.

This is far from a masterpiece-- in fact, in hindsight it seems inevitable that the band would implode not long after its release-- be it for reasons I've already touched on, or the painful fact that by the time this opus comes to end, you're left thinking they'd run unmercifully short on ideas. I've never been able to sit through an entire 'Brains LP since, truth be told. So, "Quickness" despite its inconsistencies, will hafta serve as an epitaph for one of the most influential bands of the 1980's.

In comments.

This Stuff'll Getcha Laid

LEON THOMAS - The Leon Thomas Album

When I mentioned Leon Thomas as a huge influence on "Starsailor"-era Tim Buckley, the ever-dimming light bulb flickered in my head: why hadn't I ever featured the man here? Well... I still don't have an answer for that, but I can rectify the situation. Anyway here's what I said to save you the arduous task of scrolling down a coupla posts:

I’m gonna hazard a guess that Buckley had been listening intently to Leon Thomas– particularly his work with Pharaoh Sanders on “Karma.” He liberally borrows Thomas’ conventional-croon-to-absurd-yodel on several tracks...

Even though I was tossing that off somewhat subconsciously, after listening again for the first time in eons to this 1970 LP, his second as leader, I can't believe how damn right I was (not pattin' my damn self on the back, I'm genuinely surprised). The resemblance is uncanny-- keep in mind that Leon's yodel ain't nothin' like what you'd hear in Kentucky Mountain Music from the likes of say, (the rather amazing) Roscoe Holcomb. In fact, here's a quote from the man himself on how he began the use of his vocal trademark; apparently, it was the result of being owed some money:

"I'd been trying to reach this cat for ages with no luck. I was at home and thought 'I'm gonna make this cat pick up the phone'--mentally. I began my yoga exercises and got to the head stand. With one intake of breath, I planned to walk to the phone upside down, dial his number, and make him answer with this mental projection. As I crossed the threshhold of the bedroom, I transcended. I was one place and my body was another. I dropped to the floor, right on my face and my teeth went into my bottom lip. There was blood everywhere.... So I couldn't do my own show with Pharoah. I had eight stitches in my mouth. I couldn't do anything. Pharaoh came by to see me [and he said] you can't pull out. I couldn't smile. I could hardly open my mouth...but I went along anyhow. I got up on the stage and when it came time for me to scat, this sound just came out. It shocked me. I didn't know where it was coming from. I realised it was me and I realised that the ancestors had arrived. Pharoah, standing beside me on stage just raised his eyebrows at me. The ancestors had given me what we call throat articulation and they said to me 'You will sing like this with your mouth CLOSED.' And that was the first time it presented itself to me, in a church. My God! Thank you....It surprises me, it does everything of its own volition. I call it Soularfone. The pygmies call it Umbo Weti....This voice is not me, my voice is ancient. This person you see before you is controlled by ego but my voice is egoless."

Umm.. yeah. Anyway, some of the heaviest hitters of the time lend their services to this opus: drummers Roy Haynes and Billy Cobham (or Kabam! as I like to call him), trumpeter Ernie Royal and saxmen Billy Harper and James Spaulding (who also handles some flute-puffin'). The first three cuts are brief, R&B-infected romps, the standout being an ass-shakin' take on Milt Jackson's Immortal "Bag's Groove." Pleasant enough, but I get me the feelin' that SLN readers will crave the 18-minute "Pharaoh's Tune (The Journey)" where Thomas invites you to saddle up yer camel and take a transcendental journey through the desert (of your mind? Of Egypt? I dunno). Harper and Spaulding trade lines that sound like an approximation of the snake charmer's pungi while Cobham punishes a set o' tablas like they spit on his granny. Thomas' golden throat flutters around on top of it all-- sometimes it's difficult to tell where his invocations end and the horns begin. Being an atheist, you won't catch me using the term "spiritual" very often, but for an accurate description of this piece, no other term seems to suffice.

Project yourself into the comments.


BLACK MERDA - The Folks from Mother's Mixer

If yer a fan of Jimi, Sly, Eddie Hazel/Funkadelic etc., and ya wanna amass a decent collection of knockoffs of so-called "psychedelic soul," the road can get really bumpy. So many of the critically-lauded LP's of the era have more in common with the pseudo-spiritual wank of Santana than "There's a Riot Goin' On." The majority of the relatively "obscure" stuff is available only as high-priced imports, and, in my experience at least, usually ends up beside Mandrill and Purple Image in the trade pile. Well, accuse me of hubris if you must, but here at SLN we like to think we help make the journey a lil' more smooth for y'all-- cuz Black Merda is different; they actually deliver the goods.

Formed in the mid-60's in DEEE-troit by brothers/axeslingers Anthony & Charles Hawkins, their lineup was rounded out by vocalist/bassist Veesee L. Veasey and drummer Tyrone Hite. Originally called the Fabulous Impacts, they provided backing for Motown legends like Edwin Starr (Anthony Hawkins plays guitar on "Agent Double O Soul") and the Spinners. They fell under the spell of Hendrix's "Are You Experienced?," and Black Merda was born-- inking a deal with Chicago's mythic Chess Records.

Their self-titled first album (included in its entirety here) actually predates "Riot"-era Sly by a year (1970)-- amazing when you consider that alla the devices he's been given credit for are already in place: the wakajawaka guitar riffs, doo-wop/gospel-inspired backing vox (lotsa UNNHHH's and OOOOH's) and the social-consciousness of the lyrics, which provide a gritty picture of urban life. The production is a bit on the thin side, but that doesn't diminish the power of shoulda-been hit singles like "Cynthy-Ruth" and the excellent anti-Vietnam rant, "I Don't Want to Die." Their sophomore slab, released on Janus two years later (and also included here in full), has all of the trappings P-Funk would ride to fame-- including their wardrobes-- complete with wide-brimmed fedoras and multi-colored furry jackets (muppet killers!). The production is more professional and fulla punch, and the songwriting is excellent. Most importantly though, their music is never bogged down in soulless jams that aimlessly wander into the free-funk abyss.

Get thine ass to thee comments.

4 Shocking Terror

ZENI GEVA - 10,000 Light Years

For the umpteenth time I'm simply gonna plagiarize myself: Tokyo's three-man demolition unit known as Zeni Geva sound like Slayer with their nuts on fire. KK Null's geetar-shreddin' and commanding bellow will pummel you into whimpering subservience. He fires off relentless salvos of distortion-caked licks that owe as much to Masayuki Takayanagi's inhuman excursions into skronk as they do to Chuck Schuldiner's most unhinged work with Death ("Scream Bloody Gore" for instance). For people who care about such things, Steve Albini consistently works with these guys-- my guess is because it's the closest he'll ever come to brushing against True Greatness. Speaking of which, I'll sum up by nicking a line from thee brilliant Jaz Coleman: "This is music to march to."

In comments.


GRAVE/DEVIATED INSTINCT/DEVOLUTION - Split CD


The rarest of "splits" (doesn't split mean half? I guess "third" sounds kinda stupid)-- one where all three bands involved deliver gasp-inducing, ear-ravaging assaults. First up, we've got Visby, Sweden's Grave. They are nothing less than a death metal institution, releasing album after album of mid-paced, crushing riffage and guttural vox since 1988. Although they've never quite reached the hallowed status of peers/countrymen like Entombed and Dismember, to these ears, they've been far more consistent. The four skull-smashers featured here are embryonic versions of classics that appeared on an 1989 promo disc, as well as various singles. They would re-emerge, fully formed, on the landmark LP, "Into the Grave" and their bruising live set, "Extremely Rotten Live." That trademark buzzsaw guitar sound so closely associated with Scandi-Death of the era is already developed, even at this early stage.

Next, we have Norwich, UK's foremost "Stenchcore" (apparently cuz standing in too close of proximity to these lads was not kind to the proboscis) purveyors, Deviated Instinct. These tracks made their debut originally on the "Nailed" EP-- in fact, D.I. weren't on the vinyl version of this slab, but for whatever reason were added to the CD press. They had, by this point, all but abandoned their unique brand of sloppy hardcore (heard to best effect on the "Rock & Roll Conformity" LP), for a more metallic, Celtic Frost/Hellhammer approach-- vocalist Rob "Mid" Middleton even approximates Tom G. Warrior's "Auugghh's" and "Heeeey's". Go see the lovely & talented Irish Dave for more-- he might even spin a yarn or two about 'em for ya.

Lastly we have another trio of blokes from the UK (Comer Gardens, Worcester, to be precise), short-lived thrash/death combo, Devolution. The three cuts on display here are their entire recorded output-- supposedly the countless delays to bring this release to fruition left 'em pretty disenchanted with the biz. They bring to mind Holland's godly Asphyx-- although vocalist Neumeier can't begin to compare with the strangulated croak of Martin Van Drunen (no one can), they supply some occasionally technically-minded thrash tempered with the more bombastic elements of old school death metal. A pity they didn't stick around-- woulda been interesting to see what they (d)evolved into.

The Goods:

Grave
1. Into the Grave
2. Reborn Miscarriage
3. Eroded
4. Putrefaction Remains
Deviated Instinct
5. Open Wound
6. Slow Death Suck
7. Void
8. Listen to the Sirens
Devolution
9. Mediocracy
10. Negate (This Aftermath)
11. Condemnation/Manipulation

Duh- In comments.

Pantheon

Every so often I think I'll keep adding to this "pantheon": the albums that have become so deeply ingrained in my psyche, that to be without 'em would likely cause a nervous collapse. Yes, I love everything I post here-- in fact, I love music much more than I do myself, and the human species in general. But-- there's completely different levels of love; not everything you listen to is gonna make ya glad to be alive while simultaneously ripping out yer innards. So, whenever you see the word "pantheon" in the title, yer gettin' the very best stuff I can yank outta my collection.


SONNY SHARROCK - Black Woman (1969)


What's a young Coltrane fan to do when he has such crippling asthma that playing the sax is outta the question? In Sonny Sharrock's case, he picked up a guitar and applied similar phrasing to create his own "sheets of sound." He appeared on landmark jazz albums like Pharaoh Sanders' "Tauhid," and "Izipho Zam," made a mindblowing cameo on Miles Davis' "Tribute to Jack Johnson" and played extensively with Herbie Mann. In fact, it was Mann who secured the studio time and contract with Vortex Records that led to this LP, Sharrock's debut as band leader.

Almost as striking as Sonny's rapid fire clusters of notes is his then-wife Linda's orgasmic moans and agonized shrieks that bear more than a little resemblance to Patty Waters' deconstruction of "Black is the Color" (scroll down a few posts) four years previous. I have no idea what state their relationship was in at the time of this recording, but I'd guess it was in constant flux. On the title track, axe and vox combine to create an epic, anthemic sound; on "Peanut," they push and prod each other, extracting a disjointed call-and-response hymn unlike anything recorded before or since.

More Sonny here.

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TIM BUCKLEY - Starsailor (1970)


Tim Buckley had already begun to alienate his folkie fanbase with "Lorca" a few months earlier-- what the hell was up with this golden-voiced disciple of Fred Neil? Why would he release an album filled with meandering free jazz-like structures and vocal gymnastics that made it sound as though he was being disemboweled? Well, if they wuz bewildered by "Lorca," "Starsailor" musta felt like a kick in the groin. Not only was it a continuation of the avant garde themes which in hindsight, he'd barely scratched, it was a full-on operetta revolving around the pit of anguish that burned in his guts; he also began to fully utilize the five and a half octave vocal range he had at his disposal.

I'm gonna hazard a guess that Buckley had been listening intently to Leon Thomas-- particularly his work with Pharaoh Sanders on "Karma." He liberally borrows Thomas' conventional-croon-to-absurd-yodel on several tracks, most notably "Monterey," a dissonant Voodoo Blues that conjures a vibe equal parts atavistic ritual and sleazy mating call. Bunk Gardner, late of the Mothers of Invention, provides some Ornette-esque sax squawk, further pushing the song into uncharted territory-- at least for the early 1970's zeitgeist. "Moulin Rouge" is a brief slice of Franco-Pop that coulda easily been recorded by Edith Piaf-- I only mention it as it is one of the few cuts that provides a respite from the suffocating melancholy and bordering on psychedelic experimentation that makes up the rest of the LP. For instance, the ethereal title track is akin to  smoking far too much DMT, only to discover that instead of encountering the promised elves hiding in the artificial netherworld, you find yourself surrounded by bloodthirsty, shapeless abominations far outside the realms of HP Lovecraft's worst nightmares. Lee Underwood's stellar guitar work also deserves a nod. His connection with Buckley borders on preternatural-- be it the spare, mournful licks he uses to accompany Tim's wounded wail on the oft-covered/butchered "Song to the Siren," or the majestic, fleet-fingered riffs that double Buckley's vocal on "Come Here Woman."

If you're new to the elder Buckley, this may not be the best place to start. I'd recommend "Dream Letter: Live in London" for virgins, as well as for fans of his offspring, a certain Jeff.

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Land of the Relentless Thud

KEIJI HAINO - Tenshi No Gijinka

What could be more logical than an artist renowned for his avant-guitar histrionics than to release an album comprised entirely of free-form percussion and wordless chants? OK, I may be wrong about that-- mebbe his intonations are in Swahili or even Zeuhl for that matter; which is about to the extent that I can decipher a single syllable. Then again, I've always likened Keiji Haino's music to a aural version of William S. Burroughs' "Naked Lunch"-- yunno how you can begin reading it from back to front, from the middle forward or backwards and it still makes an odd kind of sense? Well, ya can do that with Haino's work as well, and it too makes sense-- albeit not in the humdrum linear fashion the human brain normally processes (I have no idea what I meant either).

Feel free to throw alla yer Goblin and Jacula albums-- with the dark, ritualistic atmosphere conjured here, you won't need music that was actually designed to sound ghoulish... Haino accomplishes that without lifting a blackened fingernail. If you subscribe to primitive concepts like the X-ian version of "good" and "evil," this opus falls on the latter side of the spectrum. That's not to say there isn't an arcane beauty to "Tenshi," simply that it'll take several listens for it to fully envelop yer already unbalanced and tortured psyche. Strangest of all is the fact that Keiji's upper-register vocal wailings sound almost exactly like King Diamond (wonder if he ever dons kabuki make-up?)-- no foolin'! I'm sure it makes an odd kinda sense in his mind.

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METALUCIFER - Heavy Metal Drill

I know, I know: here he goes again with that metal bullshit. Well... too goddamn bad-- I happen to love the stuff, and since this is my blog, here's some more for the few of y'all that throw the horns on a regular basis. Metalucifer are an offshoot of Sabbat-- the Hellhammer/Sodom worshippin' black-thrashers from Kuwana, Japan. Much like the j-pcore we regularly celebrate here at SLN, Nippon metal is often twisted into nigh unrecognizable mutant strains notable for larynx-shreddin' vox, chaotic tempos and layers of penetrating noise taken to extremes their forebears never envisioned. Metalucifer ain't one of 'em, though: they be rooted firmly in the Manowar/Judas Priest/Maiden school. The lyrics enshrine the genre itself-- in fact, the first three tracks feature the hallowed words, "heavy metal" in their titles. I'm sure lotsa ya consider that cheesy or dated; me, I love it-- I'm always pleased to find a band that are dedicated to keeping the faith (CRUSH THE POSERS!!). Most importantly (as always), the riffs are fantastic and the guitar harmonies? Well, let's just say that I haven't heard such immaculate, melodic shredding since the Thin Lizzy Robertson/Gorham tag-team's antics on "Live & Dangerous."

Hey! All five of you headbangers: Look in comments!

Lou-Ney Toonz and the Damage Done

LOU REED - Metal Machine Music

Forget the Velvet Underground, disregard the androgynous dude rappin' about junkies and transvestites on "Transformer"-- Lou Reed woulda been a visionary if this opus were his only contribution to popular "culture." Y'see, in his infinite wisdom, Lou recognized that our society was heading towards complete & total depersonalization. Think about it: you come to sites like this to get music-- you can't be bothered to actually interact with a buncha creeps at a record store, can ya? In fact, at least 90 % of you won't so much as leave a comment or even read this post, for that matter-- and I'm not bitchin', simply happens to be a fact. What could be more impersonal than that except to mebbe create an album that involves minimal input from flesh & blood? Turn on the amps, lean the guitar up against 'em, set some levels and walk away to cop some speed or junk or whatever the hell Reed's drug of choice was that week. And yet, as if he knew how valued "user friendliness" would be in this anti-society, he created an album that, almost paradoxically, provided/provides that too in spades.

What could be more user friendly than a product that allows you to remove all the existential detritus that accumulates on your cerebral cortex? All that angst that needs to be blasted away like infantile spray-painted musings on a wall by a high-pressure hose? Think of all of the times humanoids have disappointed you-- their lies, their cowardice. The quirks they possess that make you wanna smack 'em across the room; the pettiness they exhibited that resulted in what seemed like eons of meaningless bickering... and that's to say nothing of your own foibles-- was it really a particularly good idea to ignore the countless knocks of opportunity at your door so that you had more time to satisfy the needs of some wretched creature? All of those times you coulda spoken up but instead, due to the dread of ridicule, or apathy, curled up like a worm in a bonfire... almost as embarrassing as a pimply Jr. High picture, ain't it? But never fear: "Metal Machine Music," despite its reputation as noise for the sake of noise is nothing if not cozy. It is, in fact, Soul Solvent.

Return to the Womb Therapy awaits in the comments.


THROBBING GRISTLE - The First Annual Report

And here is the first generation of Lou's Children-- I woulda thought they were METAL MACHINE MUSIC's Children, but after hearing this, their intentionally held back first LP from the same year (1975), I see they were well ahead of the curve. The de facto birth of industrial music. All of the signifiers/devices are in place: the celebration of Serial Killer as Superstar, the "anti-music" stance is already fully developed with abrasive blasts of manipulated tape loops and analog synth scree; the dalliance with extreme rightist propaganda-- yup, it's all here.

Opener "Very Friendly" chronicles the lives of Ian Brady & Myra Hindley, Britain's infamous Moors Murderers with loving and lurid detail, while a foreboding pulse of static seemingly counts down each victim with glee. I'm so desensitized that at certain points I can't help but stifle a giggle (and I very much doubt I'm in the minority), but all the laughing stops when Gen P-Orridge's mantra, "there's been a m-m-m-murder" is looped for the final four minutes of this eighteen minute, depraved epic. Truly creepy beyond description. "Dead Bait" anticipates the minimalist techno all the young kiddies would be pawing each other with their lil noggins fulla E to, complete with sampled vinyl crackles 'n' pops; "Whorle of Sound," is easily the most corrosive cut-- an impenetrable wall of white noise comprised of shrieking toxic sludge. Cosey's guitar sounds equally inhuman, becoming one with the ear-piercing frequencies and subsonic burps-- undoubtedly the blueprint for "Wall of Sound," which appeared on their 1993 box set.

Cane yourself in the comments.

Can Your Brontosaurus do the Monkey?

PETER HAMMILL - Nadir's Big Chance

"Peter Hammill's great. A true original. I've just liked him for years. If you listen to his solo albums, I'm damn sure Bowie copied a lot out of that geezer. The credit he deserves, has just not been given to him. I love all his stuff" - John Lydon

Whaddaya know? A bit o' (very) rare enlightened insight by the former Mr. Rotten-- not surprising as this LP provided the inspiration for his upper-middle class Brit sneer that has since become standard punk vocalizin'. There's nothing particularly astonishing about his implication that Bowie lifted from Hammill though-- The Thin White Puke never had an original thought in his life (see Reed, Lou and Osterberg, James).

Unlike many of his soon-to-be dinosaur brethren, Peter Hammill saw the writing on the wall: techni-wizard art rock was on its way out, "The Enemy" to be trampled underfoot by young upstarts with spiky hair, safety pins in their noses and possessing only the most fundamental instrumental skills. So, he adopted the alter-ego of Ricky Nadir, a neurotic garage rocker and made one of the most intriguing albums of his career (and that's saying something when you sit down and investigate his body of work-- it's near fucking flawless) ca. 1975.

This masterpiece was brought to my attention by a congenitally loaded, often droolin' sloppy old bastard that useta haunt the head shop I worked at many moons ago. Even in his perpetually altered state he'd noticed I'd been playing the shit out of Hammill's work on Van Der Graaf Generator's "Pawn Hearts" (further proof that prog could be punk kids). Well... bless that waxy-eyed old goat's heart-- at the time I had no idea anyone else was dabbling in the same brand of leather jacketed art wank that Eno seemingly concocted on "Taking Tiger Mountain" and "Warm Jets." Nor was I aware that subject matter like schizophrenia and the artist's fear of his/her audience could be tackled with far more panache and far less pretension than Roger Waters' mind-numbingly egocentric attempt four years later. If yer still in the dark about such things I suggest you...

Look in comments.


HAMMERSMITH GORILLAS - Gorilla Got Me

When we last left our tale of London's Dynamic Duo of mutton chopped guitarist Jesse Hector and his trusty thunder-broomer sidekick Alan Butler, they wuz paving the way for punk with Crushed Butler-- and then? Glad you didn't ask! After playing with a succession of drummers unfit for their degenerate R&R vision (in Tiger and Helter Skelter), they finally discovered sticksman Gary Anderson and formed the Hammersmith Gorillas in 1973. They hooked up with producer Larry Page, known for his work with the Kinks and the Troggs, and whom Hector had worked with in the mid-60's when he was in Mod combo, the Clique (whom you may remember from their great single "She Ain't No Good").

Their first 45, a cromagnon romp through the Kinks' "You Really Got Me" got the blank generation hot 'n' bothered, but that fact didn't translate into decent sales figures. It did cement their reputation as a fearsome live act, giving 'em the opportunity to hit the road with the likes of drinking buddies like the Damned and Eddie & the Hot Rods. According to legend, they supposedly blew the Flamin' Groovies outta their Beatle boots at a gig in Paris, ca. 1976-- which I mention more as a segue than as veritable fact, as I've often considered 'em England's answer to the Groovy Ones. Both bands played the same brand of meat & potatoes, R&B informed rock 'n' roll with slightly bigger fangs than what came before 'em.

NOTE: There is a live set tacked onto the end of this disc-- it has NOT been included. They are considered bonus tracks, and I like to give youse bastards an incentive to buy this stuff!

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Getcha Headcoat On Again

THEE MIGHTY CAESARS - John Lennon's Corpse Revisited

I was gonna write a lengthy screed about this album, but since I already covered Billy Childish months ago, I figgered what be the point? I also realized after rereading Lester Bangs' "Guide to Becoming a Rock Critic," that I'd already written the review a few weeks ago-- all I needed to do was make a few alterations:

…And Rob Tyner Brian Jones Saith from Thee Golden Halls of R&R Valhalla:

“Let there be young Japanese British men who would don thee garb of their native gangsters Thee Yakuza R&B purveyors the Downliners Sect! These torchbearers of Thee Rock shouldst also worship at Thee Altar of DEEE-Troit High Energy Exponents of Revolution like mine Olde Outfit, Thee MC-Fuckin-5 my once-viable outfit, the Rolling Stones! And so shall it be that these Young Men cannot pronounce “Machine Gun Etiquette,” thus giving them an original Nom de Guerre! And it shall be carved in Sacred Tablets that these Vessels of unbridled fury shall permanently bear blisters on their fingers! A-fucking-Men!”

But before this could come to be, Link Wray, drunk on the Holiest of Sacraments–Maker’s Mark, according to many an Ancient Hymn– chopped at the air with his Powerful and Much-Calloused Mitt:

“Silence, Robert Brian! I hath a Proclamation!”

After far too many moments of chilling quietus, interrupted only by occasional hiccups:

“Out with it Father Link! This chipping shit into stone with a spike and hammer is really fucking time-consuming!”

And Father Link rose from thee Pulpit, uncoiling himself to his full, Godly height, and fighting off a stagger howled into thee Hallowed Halls, “These little bastards are guilty of pinching many of my finest flash moves! Yet, they Doth Kicketh Mucho Hiney… So it is Good!”

Get Thou to thee comments. And speaking of St. Lester...


LESTER BANGS & BIRDLAND

...here he is with Joey Ramone's little brother, Mickey Leigh. The two of 'em put together Birdland over several rounds o' cocktails at CBGB. Now let it be said that as a R&R singer, Lester was a great rock writer-- that doesn't mean that this platter ain't worth yer attention though-- particularly if ya dig the idea of early Patti Smith without Patti, which to me, is a damn good thing (not a fan of hers, sorry. In fact, I think she's absolutely fucking dreadful-- not to mention pretentious without peer). With the mounds of incisive wit that he spewed all over the pages of CREEM and (to a lesser extent) the Voice, you'd expect some damn fine lyrics, right? Well that's whatcha get-- as well as a rare look at the man with his guard down-- his Jehovah's Witness upbringing, his father's early exit in a house fire-- all of the demons are put on display, albeit in Lester's ambiguous yet poetic prose.

In comments.

Fools for the Gods

WHITE SPIRIT - S/T (1980)

Let's get something straight once and for all-- the NWOBHM was an ERA (approx. 1976-84 to be anal about it), NOT a sound or style. Seriously, if I hear somebody say something like "so-and-so sounds very NWOBHM" again, my already-simmering disgust for 99.99 % of humanity will manifest itself in acts I'd rather not discuss. If you think Angel Witch and Motörhead sound anything alike, you've either got cardboard ears or are incredibly stupid. Quote sermon unquote.

White Spirit are remembered mainly as the band that launched the career of guitarist Janick Gers, currently plying his trade with Iron Maiden (before that Ian Gillan, Gogmagog and Bruce Dickinson's solo work)-- but White Spirit deserve to be heard on their own terms as they sound absolutely NOTHING like Maiden. Formed in Hartlepool, UK by Gers and drummer Graeme Crallan in 1975, they managed to recruit vocalist Bruce Ruff, bassist Phil Brady, second axeman Mick Tucker and keyboardist Malcolm Pearson during the height of the punk explosion-- no mean feat. I first encountered 'em on Volume II of the legendary "Metal for Muthas" compilations (which also featured the incredible Trespass), where their majestic, keyboard-laden ditty "High Upon High" stuck out like Lemmy at a wine & cheese party.

In all honesty, there ain't much all that metal about 'em-- unless yer one o' those folks who still consider Mk. II Deep Purple to be metal. Which is a perfect reference point: these guys were utterly influenced by Mr. Blackmore & Co. Gers mimics Ritchie's phrasing and pseudo-classical tendencies right down to that lumbering, slowly-bent bass note he used to launch into the majority of his solos. That, with Ruff's leather-lunged yowl and Pearson's nigh-impenetrable morass of keys will initially trick you into believing you're hearing a long-lost Purple LP-- and a damn good one at that. Listen a little longer and harder though, and you'll discover that despite their obvious inspirational handicap, White Spirit excised the sloppy blues-based meandering and lack of focus that often plagued their heroes. They also kicked serious ass-- to prove that point I've added their stripped-down first single, "Backs to the Grind/Cheetah," which is the closest they ever came to playing straight-up heavy metal... and an absolute killer 7-incher it is, with speedy, chunky riffing and banshee-wailing not to be missed!

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Jumping The Shark Part II - This time, it's PERSONAL!

VOIVOD - 'Angel Rat'

Mechanic / MCA 1991

I debated on whether or not to include 'Angel Rat' in the previous post, which I did indeed take as a betrayal (in the same month as C.O.C.'s dull 'Black Album' inspired 'BLIND' no less - thank GOD I discovered Boredoms that year), BUT!

As my taste in music has widened and deepened, 'Angel Rat' has grown on me quite a bit. I remember reading an interview with Snake at the time where he was asked about the downplaying of their more progressive elements and he cheerily said something to the effect of "We got tired of sounding like Rush and decided to go Alice Cooper". This truly sickened me at the time. Of course, Snake was referring to 'Pretties For You' and 'Easy Action' era Cooper, which I can hear now, and not the 'Feed My Frankenstein', Kane Roberts - Rambo slap guitarist- 80's Alice that I thought he meant! That perception, coupled with the comparatively straight songwriting on 'Rat', you can see how that could happen.

Obviously, Voivod were shitting their pants. They were getting HUGE post 'Nothingface', but there was a storm brewing in the (pacific north)west that was changing the heavy metal landscape. Having the then über-sloppy Led-Sabbath-oid Soundgarden and about to rule the world for 30 seconds Faith No More opening, and becoming better received than them, Voivod realized that their intensely technical metal had a limited appeal. Not to mention it was so hard to play they weren't having nearly the fun that Soundgarden seemed to have with their slow motion classic rock-isms (of course, Soundgarden were also high on MDMA, which probably helped).

Generation X were putting what I refer to as their 'Diaper Headphones' on, digging a punkish permutation of the stuff they grew up on - becoming nostalgic for the early 1970's and getting 'back to basics'. Pretty soon the 'GRUNGE PURGE' would rise and the razor sharp futuristic dystopia offered by Voivod would become as passé as Poison, Warrant and the rest of the Glam Rock Goofballs. But unlike the coke addled poodle-do's, Voivod KNEW IT.

What could they do? 'Angel Rat' finds Voivod trying to simplify their approach, reference the 70's (Alice Cooper Band / King Crimson) more explicitly than before (even visually), while trying to keep some of the trademarks that marked their sound (Piggy's bizarre chording, Snake's Franco-English crooning). This wouldn't have been as big of a deal if they hadn't dumped the Voivod lyrical concept.

Since 1984's kick ass debut 'War & Pain', Voivod had been telling the story of Korgüll The Exterminator, the alien scientist/warrior who is the Voivod from which the band took it's name. Initially just a cool and unique way to talk about your typical metal subjects of death and destruction, by 1987's 'Killing Technology' the band had started using it to delve into subjects like slavery, theology, classism, science and eating cockroaches.

While 'Angel Rat' didn't lyrically dive into the world of personal angst like everyone else circa '91 and largely remained in the realm of science fiction, it didn't continue THE STORY!! At the end of 'Nothingface', Korgull the Exterminator was left floating in an ocean. I WANTED - No- NEEDED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED NEXT!! And 'Angel Rat', while certainly thematically nautical, didn't deliver.

Truth is, taken on it's own merit, 'Angel Rat' is a fantastic, mature, Metal record. Whether that's a good or bad thing is relative to you, the listener. Beyond the hard rock shock of opener 'Panorama' (which had me jaw dropped at it's conventionality at the time), there aren't any bad songs on the record. 'The Prow' has the balls to put an ACCORDION in it's outro - and it RULES. Is it as good as any of their previous albums? No. At times the synth augmented passages get a bit too guaze-y for their own good. Is it as bad as their TRUE shark jumping point 'Negatron' (or the entire Eric Forrester era)? HELL no. But in and of itself it is a great record and had another band released it as a debut, it would have been a successful outing.

Now, all that said, who the hell is Kiisti Matsuo and why is she a 'lyrical consultant'?

Dans la mer

You'll go down

Go down where

The Links are

The comments section, dumbass, what're ya new here?