Ted Garber - Live at Strathmore

I’ve got the love/hate thing going on with today’s singer/songwriters. For me, it seems there’s a lot of something going on, but there’s really no substance. Almost like the soul has been sucked out of the songwriter. A lot of ego, a lot of faux sensitivity, a lot of rubbish. By today’s standards, it seems that a singer/songwriter simply needs to know how to or attempt to tap into their sensitive side. Ted Garber takes that standard and crushes it, bringing back the elements of the craft that have been forgotten . . . storytelling that contains vivid imagery, emotional conveyance, pure and honest integrity, and a touch of humor that reminds us that the guy singing is still human. Garber crafted a near perfect album with American Rail, capturing the soulful essence of each tale he told, and handing it over to the listener like a snapshot from every roadside haunt that he visited. Now, with Live at Strathmore, we get the opportunity to hear a brand new set of songs played by a group of world class musicians and the tales have never been more uplifting! 

The Strathmore music program is one of those great programs that can enhance a musician’s songwriting abilities, but I’d rather spend time focusing on the end result . . . the music of Ted Garber. When I heard the rumblings across cyber space that this live album was being crafted, I naturally figured it was going to be a live recording of select tracks from American Rail with a few hidden surprises. What I got was actually the opposite . . . a live recording of hidden surprises and a single re-interpretation of one of American Rail’s gems. Bold, Mr. Garber. Very bold.

Opening with “Sunshine In Your Heart”, we get re-introduced to the soulful, Americana groove that Garber captured on his first release. It’s a little blues-y, very upbeat, and packed with a positive message about cutting the crud from our lives. In classic (yes, classic . . . it’s his fingerprint on the music) Ted Garber fashion, the man crafts lyrics in a way that’s reminiscent of someone like Jim Croce. Clever and witty, never clichéd, and always thoughtful, the lyrics are the strength of the man’s songs. Add that soulful voice and artistic integrity, and listening to Garber croon, you’ll think you’ve known the man all of your life. It’s a real voice, not something mechanized, orchestrated, or produced . . . a voice with such gravity that you can’t help but be pulled closer to it, to understand where this soul actually comes from.  

“Plastic Bag” is the track that probably hits me the hardest on an emotional level. Introspective and powerful, Garber showcases that one doesn’t need a million notes and a million fancy words to convey a message. Stripped down and performed in a jazzier tone than most of his past material, “Plastic Bag” is the song I’ve been toting around of late as a constant reference that I gotta’ remember to check my own nasty baggage at the door if I want to live to my fullest, and I guess . . . you could say this review is a personal thanks to Ted Garber for arming me with yet another weapon on my war against self destruction. Yeah . . . it’s that strong of a tune. Don’t believe me? Buy the record.

For a good hour, Ted Garber entertains a sold out crowd with his fusion of soulful jazz meets blues-y troubadour songs, self described as BluesAmericanaRock. Who am I to disagree? “Achilles’ Heel”, “Sunshine In Fog”, and the heart-warming reinterpretation of “A Lot Like Me” (it’s deep . . . it’s in a fortune cookie) are prime examples of a singer/songwriter who has mastered that balance of tapping the vein of sensitivity without coming across as sappy and trite. Like Van Morrison or the aforementioned Jim Croce, Garber can write a hell of a love song and he sings these songs with a masculinity that gives them an immediacy and power that can’t be ignored. Plus, on this live edition, Garber’s between song banter is priceless and I found myself unapologetically laughing out loud.

“Third Time’s a Charm” features a duet with fellow Strathmore resident Chelsey Green and it’s one of those fun time, happy jazzy romantic songs that is so well crafted and performed that it’s an immediate attention getter. Garber and Green have a natural chemistry on this sultry groove, and the lyrics are so compelling that I find myself taking sides with both characters. Then the trumpet solo . . . sigh . . . it’s a thing of beauty, and by the songs final notes I want to jump to my feet and clap enthusiastically with those in attendance. And then . . . there’s “Don’t Want To Make A Baby, Baby”. Garber enlisted the aid of Philly rapper Jason Ager to pen this hip-hop tinged gem of a funky rocker. It’s an instant classic, filled with humorous and intelligent lyrics about getting down and doing the nasty. It would have been easy to write this one in a crass fashion, but hat’s off to Garber and Ager for injecting a level of class to the tune. Hell . . . the song is so funky that it makes me want to go out and practice my own technique!  

While the songs are naturally the focal point of this performance, Ted Garber’s easy going and fun natured charisma adds an element of familiarity to the recording. You may have just met him, but you’ll think you’ve known him your entire life, and by the end of the performance, you’ll simply love the guy. These tracks are an open door to the intricate weave that makes up the tapestry of the man . . . bright and colorful, full of life, rich in humor, and deep with wisdom. If you don’t find yourself laughing, (maybe even crying), clapping, and cheering along throughout this outstanding set of genre jumping music, then you’re simply dead inside. Live at Strathmore is a slice of true Americana that absolutely can’t be missed!

--Pope 

http://www.tedgarber.com/

http://www.strathmore.org/

Death Wolf - S/T

Big, black, heavy, furry, and ugly. Loud, massive, beastly, foreboding. Devastating, gruesome, grizzly, and ominous. Words. All descriptors of a band called Death Wolf. All words that sum up in no small part the sonic brutality that makes up the band’s self titled album. Is it a debut? I don’t know. I don’t care. The album is easily one of the most intense metal listens I’ve had in awhile. That doesn’t mean that it’s the most musically interesting or compositionally exceptional records out there . . . simply fucking intense. Pure, unabashed and uncompromising heavy metal . . . arguably encompassing all of the characteristics a heavy metal record should have. Music that’s so heavy and discordant, so filled with testosterone, tension, and gusto that one must respect it in fear that it will overwhelm their souls.

Death Wolf were apparently once know as Devils Whorehouse (I know . . . cool name, huh?) and are manned by one of the dudes from Swedish Black Metallers Marduk . . . ultimately, none of that means much to me. Well . . . except the Devils Whorehouse thing. I’ve never listened to Marduk and only know them by reputation, but this much can be said for one not in the know . . . Death Wolf sounds nothing like Marduk. They incorporate these great elements of doom, and stoner, and sludge, and thrash, and speed , and balls-out, fuck-you metal. Combine the demonic crooning of Danzig and mix it with sheer heart attack of Motorhead and then the tonal weight of Neurosis and you get something sorta’ like Death Wolf. At times, Death Wolf remind me of fellow Swedish uncategorizable metallic rockers, Transport League. More rock than metal, but more metal than anything else. Y’know? Yeah. Me either.

Opening volley, “Circle of Abomination” is heaven wrapped up in a three minute metallic chestnut. Firing off with a high speed, up tempo tirade accompanied by a wall of distorted instrumental chaos and a vocal performance that has me thinking of Glenn Danzig hopped up on something darker and heavier than even the darkest moments of Samhain. Listen close enough to the rolling pattern of the drums and you’ll practically visualize a runaway locomotive barreling down the tracks. The utterly brilliant moment of this song is at the 1:40 mark when the bottom drops out this beast and the song chugs along at a dastardly and drastically reduced tempo. The little wah effect on the guitars, the chiming of the bell, the ominous vocal and instrumental tone . . . all weaved around each other to create that perfect amount of tension before fading into the crimson fog from whence this whole creature came from in the first place.

“The Other Hell”, heavy as hell and just as sinister, has me clutching my bedspread close to my throat with eyes wide open in terror. This track wavers back and forth between huge walls of dissonance to moments of sparseness, and once we get to these quieter passages, the vocal performance, like the icy fingers of death brushing softly across the skin, sends chills up the spine. Then is dissolves into waves of feedback and the howl of wolves, becoming the haunting and ominous “Morning Czar Shineth”. What a captivating nugget of sound! Again, sparse when it needs to be and creepy as all fuck when it is, then filled with more notes so heavy and oppressive . . . it’s a classic track that will, like the chorus suggests, will have you beg and beg for more. The bass tone is unreal. The vocal performance is otherworldly. The overall power of this song is the creaking of the gates of hell as the passage slowly opens and the smell of brimstone assails the nostrils. A sudden blast of heat and fire, and we’re reduced to a pile of ash.

“Sword and Flame” picks up the tempo once again. We’re not talking about blackened blastbeats in terms of speed, but a nice and steady, upbeat tempo with instruments chugging away to keep pace. I like that Death Wolf mix up the tempos throughout the album . . . I never get too stuck in one groove. One minute, droning at a slow groove, the next exploding within a fast paced fury. We get to go back to that slower groove on “Wolf’s Pallid Sister”, and we get to experience the closest thing to one of those massive thrash riffs that seem to move a mosh pit from one wall to the opposite. Heavy and throbbing, the groove on this track is dense, but executed with some deftness. Listen to some of the intricate licks these guys slip into the midst of this riff . . . that, my friends, is some tasty stuff! I also love the vocal performance, specifically at the chorus. Great dynamic shift at the midpoint, as well. Again . . . well executed to capture the most tension and intensity possible.

Death Wolf’s self-titled disc is one of those albums that on first listen I thought, ‘This rocks,’ but I wasn’t sure just how much. That first listen was definitely compelling, hell . . . compelling enough for me to want to listen again. And then, by listen number six hundred and sixty-six, it was all I could do to peel the headphones from my head (I’m sure some skin was removed along with the ‘phones)and stop listening to this thing. I mean . . . for as much as I’ve listened to this album and think it rocks, I know deep down in the darkest darkness of my now darkened soul that this thing rocks infinitely more than I think it does. I started this review off with a boatload of adjectives and descriptors of this album, and while they all suffice, you might want to quantify just how big, black, heavy, furry, and ugly . . . Loud, massive, beastly, foreboding . . . Devastating, gruesome, grizzly, and ominous this thing really is. I’d go as far as to say that if you apply a number to any of these words, you’ll need to multiply it . . . by a hundred . . . and then that still may not be enough. One cannot truly describe Death Wolf, one must experience that album, and then no amount of words will accurately depict what that experience was.

--Pope

Buy here: Death Wolf

http://www.deathwolf.net/

Year of the Goat - Lucem Ferre

To the Chinese, this may be the Year of the Rabbit . . . for the rest of us, let’s make this the Year of the Goat!

When I received this promo, all I saw was something describing Year of the Goat as pagan metal. Not very descriptive, but enough to conjure images of blast beats, howling and screeching vocals, and walls of distorted guitars to purvey the darkened angst of a small band of face painted musicians. Well . . . paint me corrected. Year of the Goat may fall into that pagan metal category, and by falling into that category, they’re also tearing down the walls that confine the genre.

What we have with Lucem Ferre is an album, albeit four songs long, that is made up of complicated moods, dark and morose, at times delicate and somber, but complimented with huge movements of power and aggression. Imagine the goth-metal soundings of Katatonia played by Thin Lizzy. There’s this old school, 70’s rock vibe underlying the whole thing, but it’s so immensely dark and foreboding, overwhelming in emotional weight, and textured with elegance. One might even conceivably lump this Lucem Ferre in with the whole doom rock movement, but enough with the categorization! This is a brilliantly executed EP that begs, nay . . . demands to be embraced!

The record opens with “Of Darkness” and is layered with textures of infinite sadness, immediately hurling the listener into a darkened pit of melancholy. Lyrically, the song is all about Satan and his followers, sung with heightened emotion and passion. Now, I’ve never been one to buy into the whole rocking for Satan cause, it’s always felt campy and cheap. Year of the Goat make the subject much more compelling! This is the first time that I’ve heard music that captures the full on essence of the despair one should feel when paying homage to the Prince of Darkness. Listening to this song is damn near depressing if it wasn’t littered with so many magical moments of intrigue. The guitar work is something straight out of 1970’s England, one guitar soloing, then suddenly accompanied by a second, and then a third . . . all instruments harmonizing so fluidly that the comparisons to Thin Lizzy have to be on the forefront of everyone’s mind! The production is a little on the rough side, there’s a haziness over the whole recording, but the performances more than make up for any production deficiencies. In fact, this is one of those cases where a polished product would completely ruin to overall moodiness of the music. The vocals harmonies at the chorus are fantastic, the guitar work stunning, the composition intriguing, the emotion . . . otherworldly.

“Vermillion Clouds” starts off so quiet and serene, again with a dark hue cast over the song, but very somber. The guitar work at the intro of this one is so textured and brimming with an emotional burden that the sadness washes over the soul like so many ocean waves on a desolate and rocky shore. The music gets a tad heavier, pulsing with modern sensibility but still keeping one foot firmly planted in yesterdays rock classics. The vocal performance is beautiful. The singer does a remarkable job of building the emotion of his voice with the lyrical content and the rising tempo of the music, marrying all of these elements to convey a truly special movement. The vocals never go over the top and this singer never tried to do too much with his approach to the songs, and that’s welcome. The guitar work reminds me at times of early, very early Scorpions and by the time the song gets to the mid section and the band starts rocking out in earnest, the riff reminds of something from Steppenwolf. Clocking in at over eight minutes long, “Vermillion Clouds” probably constitutes as the albums “epic” track, and the band does a great job of changing up the dynamics enough to keep the song interesting, but never get up their own asses with this quasi-proggy moment. Well crafted and just one of four gems on this record!

“Dark Lord” is, well . . . about Satan. By the time I get to this portion of the EP, I realize that Year of the Goat, stylistically, is essentially any of the classic rock bands that I grew up listening to playing the absolute darkest music of all time. I’m not talking Sabbath in heaviness . . . I’m thinking more along the lines of Steppenwolf, Thin Lizzy, Jethro Tull, Deep Purple . . . all paying homage to the Dark One and rocking out in their fuzzed out guitar tones, composing rock songs that have movement to them, and blowing my mind the entire time! Again, the vocal performance on this track is adrenalized and filled with an emotional energy that brings Jim Morrison to mind.

And then there’s the instrumental title track. Ambient, atmospheric, and filled with more textural brilliance . . . Year of the Goat has crafted an elegant passage of darkness laced with rays of hope. This EP is immaculate in composition. The musical execution by the various performers has raised the bar in my mind of what I’m looking for in any kind of dark metal, goth-metal, folk metal, pagan metal, ambient metal . . . whatever! Hands down an early contender for my Album of the Year! Lucem Ferre is the perfect album at the perfect time . . . though my only complaint is that it isn’t longer. But as an introduction to Year of the Goat, Lucem Ferre couldn’t be much better. Of further note, this record is being released through in early May through VÁN Records, and I’ll be honest, I’m surprised the guys at Prophecy didn’t have their claws dug deep into this one. So . . . VÁN Records . . . I’ll be keeping an eye on you!

-- Pope

http://www.reverbnation.com/page_object/page_object_bio/artist_1447272

http://www.van-records.de/index.php

Everybody Out! – S/T

As I continue down this path of punk rock discovery, one thing that is readily apparent is that, like most if not all other musical genres, there is wide range of styles. We have all this great crossover stuff, the early British punk, the New York hardcore, the O.C. stuff, and then there’s this Boston punk scene that I’ve always known about, but never paid much attention to. That is, until Racer turned me on to Street Dogs and then it was like someone turned on a light in very dark and cluttered room. I could suddenly see the brilliance of said cluttered room, and I now had the opportunity to really dissect the intricacies of the pieces of clutter littering the room.

Part of the now infamous Pope and Racer Taang! trip, is a band called Everybody Out! They’re a Boston punk outfit made up of Rick Barton, who played guitar in Dropkick Murphy’s, and The Dead Pets/Lost City Angels frontman, Sweeney Todd, and these guys play a most captivating brand of hardcore that I’ve never experienced anything quite like it. Sure . . . there are probably a ton of folks sitting around who know their Boston scene, and that’s fine, I’m not necessarily talking to you. I don’t need to . . . you’re already in the know! I’m trying to reach out to the masses of folk who are stuck in some underground bunker or  . . . Alaska . . . those folks who are unknowingly screaming for a style of music that will have them bouncing around their domiciles, bobbing their heads in time with upbeat swagger, and ultimately singing along as if their voices belonged in some choir for the ages. These are the people who need to be spinning Everybody Out!’s self-titled debut record . . .yes, record. Sure, the CD is fine, but there are tracks on the LP that don’t make it on the CD and they are must have’s!

Everybody Out! is one of those records that you can’t listen to just once . . . it won’t let you. It’s too powerful of a force, and way too compelling and fun to go on to anything else. Opening with “Wide Awake”, the quick count off and the eruption of Sex Pistols-esque punk rock overwhelms the senses. Upbeat and sung with a defiant sneer, and then suddenly launches to a stratospheric raucous tirade, and man! I love every second of this! The chorus, the backing vocals, the immediacy of the face paced tempo, and in classic punk rock fashion, the breakdown with gang vocals sells me on this one way ticket to the Boston underground. Without a pause between tracks, “Everybody Out!” drops in and the living room bounce-a-thon continues. Another up tempo rocker and I dare you to knock sing at the top of your lungs . . . “Everybody out! Everybody out!” . . . it’s simply the most contagious song on the album. The best part for me is when the guys break the song down and hand clap the rhythm while chanting the chorus. The timing of the break is perfect . . . it could have come across as cheesy, but in this case, simply perfect. It totally captures the essence of this recording.

The sing-a-longs continue through “Ghettoblaster” and by the time we get to “Jack The Lad”, filled with its Mighty Mighty Bosstone ska inflections, our singing voices should be in top form to accompany the boys through the back half of the first side of this platter. This song caught me off guard a bit because I wasn’t expecting the horn section, especially the jazz tinged mid portion, but I’ll be damned if this isn’t one of the coolest songs on the record. Seriously . . . this album is getting better and better as it goes along! Everybody Out! shows a great amount of musical diversity throughout, incorporating horns in one song, pianos on the next, straight up guitar, bass, and drums on the next . . . just keep me guessing, lads!

Putting the wraps on side 1 is the song that forced me and Racer to pick this beast up. “Billy Cole” was playing over the P.A. system at Taang! and there was nothing more we could do. We simply had to purchase the record. Without question, one of the finest purchases of the day! Sung with a very Irish cadence, almost in poetic form, “Billy Cole” is the punk rock equivalent of folk music. The boys tell a tale of a couple of people, one being a cat named Billy Cole, who lead completely different lives and probably die completely different deaths, but ultimately are just two people trying to eke their ways through life. Acoustic guitars strum a heavy rhythm and the vocals convey the lyric message that pulls on the heart strings. Then when they introduce Mike, the music turns darker and heavier, more imposing, and fuck! Just buy the record and spin this song over and over again . . . it’s that fucking awesome!

If you still have the energy to flip the platter over and attack side 2, go on ya’! You’ll find yourself bouncing along with more of that upbeat Boston punk sound, complete with even more sing-alongs. But what you’ll get with the vinyl edition that you won’t get from the CD edition is songs like “Boy” and the show stopper, “Home”. “Boy” is another acoustic guitar strummin’ folk-y epic that injects a ton of distorted heaviness and maybe even more raw emotion. “Home” is one of those songs that Racer and would categorize as a patriotic song calling for our troops to get home to the families that love them. Perfectly penned in a lyrical fashion and the music conveys the immediacy for action. It’s enough to make the strongest punker get a little weepy. And, my God . . . the chorus is one that will have you standing on your rooftops, leaning out your high rise windows, shaking your fist and singing along!

If I had heard this album back in 2008 when it was originally released, it would have been sitting comfortably at the top of that year’s Best of List. Truth is, it’s probably even better than I think it is. Everybody Out!’s self-titled album is one of those albums that I don’t want to stop listening to. I’ll be cruising around doing my day to day activities and I’ll be thinking about listening to this record. I’ve actually listened to a couple of other records and couldn’t wait for them to end so I could put this one back on. Upbeat, positive, emotionally raw, solid song craft, good story telling . . . all elements that are included in this album, and it downright rocks! This one is highly recommended regardless of what style of music you gravitate towards. This is a genre crosser and it needs to be on your playlist.

--Pope

Buy here: www.taang.com

http://www.myspace.com/everybodyoutboston

Poison Idea - Kings of Punk

After our whole Taang! experience, and listening to the Attitude Adjustment CD, The Collection, I got to thinking . . . and mind you, it wasn’t the type of stop everything, I need to sequester myself to an abandoned shed for forty days and forty nights type of thinking. This was more of the casual thinking as I sit in a drive-thru waiting for my latest order of gut bomb in a bag to be handed to me. The thought racing around my noodle (mmm, noodles) was, what makes good punk rock? I’m sure everybody reading this will have their opinion as to what makes good punk rock, and it was more of a rhetorical thought than an actual forum question anyway.

After listening to Poison Idea’s Kings of Punk, I feel that I’m that much closer to satisfying a portion of that burning drive-thru question. Kings of Punk is a blistering anti-everything tirade that got me blood boiling, my fists pumping, and my body shaking. The album is high intensity, fast paced, and irreverent as all good punk, in my mind, should be. But here’s the wrinkle, folks . . . and yes, it gets better . . . these guys don’t seemingly just bash their instruments into submission and scream nonsensical obscenities, they create massively moving punk rock epics filled with dynamic shifts in tempo and mood. I would hate to insult the Poison Idea guys by calling this progressive punk, because there isn’t that flighty, soaring silliness that inherent in a lot of prog. But what these do bring is a sense of song craft that’s more challenging that the standard fair of punk rock. I’ve always wondered why if punk rock is supposed to be so intelligent in subject matter that it had to be so 4/4 and standardized to the point that it takes absolutely no conscious effort to listen to it. Poison Idea, thankfully, solved this conundrum for me.

“Lifestyles” kicks off the album in full on classic punk rock fashion. High speed drumming and a wall of distorted guitar chaos, all given an exclamation point with the snotty sneering vocal attack of Jerry A, this is an attention getter from the opening minute. That primal assault on the senses does the job for certain, appealing to that dark and despondent streak that can run through me on the best and worst of days, but then . . . then, these guys pull the figurative E-brake and skid this bitch around a corner so fast that if you were in a pursuit car, you’d be shredding your tires trying to break yourself. Just a hair over a minute into the song, they drop the tempo way down, play distorted arpeggios and give the notes space to breath a bit. Powerful shit! There’s a great deal of stellar musicianship in this track, from the out-of-the-box bass lines to the mournful guitar passages, this song is a spotlight on headiness that hardcore can have.

“Ugly American” is a more mid-tempo crusher and the song is packed with more musical moments of brilliance. Again, great bass licks, heavy guitar riffs, but tastefully played, and the vocals are impassioned and venomous. And, it features one of the elements that’s always made punk rock so cool to me, a strong lyrical message. In the case of “Ugly American” the band launches an all out assault on the neo-Nazi movement and their views of racial inequality. A song with focused rage, though maybe not the most politically correct or tactfully diplomatic, it doesn’t need to be. The point is made that injustice won’t be tolerated and those who have intolerant viewpoints will be looked down upon. All of three minutes long and I feel like I’ve been rocked for an hour.

   

Throughout Kings of Punk, I’ve found myself gravitating towards the songs that have the richest dynamics, such as “Lifestyles”, ”Death Wish Kids”, and “Tormented Imp”.  I dig the change of pace . . . there’s only so much of the hopped up rock n’ roll and massive volume and insane speed that I can handle, so the tempo changes that Poison Idea inject into their songs is welcomed with open ears. “Made To Be Broken” is one of my favorites with its quai-Boston punk intro and bombastic assault on the senses . . . I mean, this screams punk rock in every classic sense of the word. Then as I found myself just about to collapse into a ball of battered flesh and bones, the band changes things up . . . slows the tempo down a bit, but without losing any of the earlier power from the song, and they return to the opening guitar line with punk-y melodic Celtic thing going on. That, my friends, is simply bitchin’ work!

“Tormented Imp” is a cataclysmic grinder full of subtle nuance that took me by complete surprise. Mostly performed in mid-tempo, the intensity on this track is damn near overwhelming. I love the vocal approach, building with intensity and rage from the first to the second . . . and then as we swing from the left to the right, fuck! And the slight breaks that the band place in this one makes the song one of the most compelling and interesting moments on the disc. The metalhead in me is disappointed that the song doesn’t continue longer while the punk rock in me thinks it over stays its welcome. I love it. Excuse me a sec . . . I need to play it again.

Originally released in 1986, while I was jerkin’ myself wild over the musical spectacle that was Metallica’s Master of Puppets, Kings of Punk could easily have been the most important punk rock/hardcore album of the time. It has everything one could want from a punk rock disc . . . high energy, uncompromising, intelligent, and completely unique from any other hardcore from this era. Recommended by the good folks at Taang! Records, I’m thrilled stupid that I paid enough attention and had the good sense to listen to someone other than the voices in my head. I grew up hearing the name Poison Idea in my various circles of friends, but no one ever had the balls to enlighten me to their sound. Now I’ve heard them and now I love them. I suspect my bank account will become more and more empty due to Poison Idea. I suppose I could do worse. A lot worse.

--Pope

Buy here:  www.taang.com

http://homepages.nyu.edu/~cch223/usa/poisonidea_main.html

The Ripple Effect Visits Taang! and Gets an Attitude Adjustment

When Racer makes his way down to San Diego, there’s one thing that inevitably happens . . . wait. Make that two things that inevitably happen. First, we stop at a hole in the wall Mexican restaurant and load up on gut bombs in the form of carne asada burritos. The second is that we take our new found stink and astounding rotund-ness to one of several record stores in the greater San Diego area. Tuesday, March 29^th was no different. After filling ourselves with the delectable flavors of savory beef served up in a zesty salsa and guacamole, all wrapped up neat in its flour tortilla skin, we were a misstep away from literally rolling into Taang! Records on 5^th Street located in the heart of the Hillcrest area.

To walk into this store is like walking into a museum of not just punk rock greatness, but rock n’ roll greatness in all of its various forms. Plastering every vacant inch of wall space, one will find first print editions of Bad Brains, TSOL, Metallica, Sabbath, Dead Kennedys, Sticky Little Fingers, and on and on and on . . . every time that I turned around something new and exciting caught my eye, and then captivated my attention, which then led to long drawn out conversation of said item. Taang! Records isn’t merely a record store for the vinyl collector in your life . . . the place houses tons of CD’s from various genres, though punk and hardcore are the more popular genres littering the bins.

But coolest of all, this store is also the home of Taang! Records the label . . . home of such artists as Gang Green, Dropkick Murphys, Street Dogs, The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Slapshot, Street Dogs, and the band that caught our ears as the tight riffing dissonance blasted from the stores PA system, Attitude Adjustment.

Folks, it’s rare that Racer and I will lift our heads from the random bins of music when we hear music playing over a sound system, but there was something different going on here. The music had such an immediacy to it that we both looked up from our Deep Purple, Black Flag, and CSN(Y) LP’s with wide eyes of amazement, mouthing the words, “Who the fuck is this?” So, not being shy . . . we asked, and found out that we were listening to the brand new recordings from Attitude Adjustment. The band was in Denmark recording their new, as of yet titled album during a few days of down time on their latest European tour.  Mark it down as just one more of those super cool moments in our rock n’ roll lives . . . here we were looking for a Sub Society 7” from 1990 and instead were the first witnesses to brand new Attitude Adjustment songs. We are blessed. You should really get to know us better.

So, upon finding out that this crossover tinged hardcore audio assault was Attitude Adjustment, we figured we had to get our hands on some of their back catalog and get to know them a little better. What I found, with some regret, is that these guys have been around since the late 80’s and sound like the music I should have been listening to instead of a lot of the crap I had on my turntable at the time. 1989 . . . 1990 . . . those were the years when I was stupid crazy about the crossover hardcore soundings of Excel, D.R.I., Suicidal Tendencies, The Accused, Cryptic Slaughter, and somehow or another Attitude Adjustment never registered on my radar. After the racking torments of guilt washed over me, I again recognized that I am indeed human and prone to make mistakes . . . and have subsequently forgiven myself. Now . . . onto Attitude Adjustment.

The disc I picked up is actually their first three efforts compiled onto one release entitled The Collection. The disc features American Paranoia, No More Mr. Nice Guy, and Out of Hand and having the three albums running in chronological order gives me, the new listener, a greater understanding of the bands growth. The 16 tracks that make up American Paranoia are the thrashing tracks of my youth! The songs are short, but filled with the dynamics that characterized the genre . . . fast and up tempo passages that dissolve to mid tempo, riff-tastic portions packed with so much power that one can’t possibly sit still. So jarring in transition, these songs have the ability to lift the listener from the comfort of their chairs and hurl them into a high stepping mosh across the living room. Par for course in this era is the subject matter of the songs . . . ranging for social despondency, suicide, ravages of war, drug abuse, etc. and all of it sung to  soundtrack of aggression that melded the worlds of punk rock and heavy metal. “Grey World”, “Dead Serious”, “Johnny”, “Attitude Adjustment”, and “Bombs” should have been the staples of my adolescent diet as they reflect the ideology of my youth.

Suddenly, No More Mr. Nice Guy explodes from the speakers and the first thing that becomes readily apparent is the production value has completely changed. This latest recording is jam packed with low end that wasn’t there for the first record, and though the overall sound is muddier, it’s no less intense. “To Be Different” is a blast from the darkest regions of the pit and the double bass drum flourishes are an unsuspected elbow into the temple. Count the birdies, kiddies! The musicianship is definitely tighter on this album, as well. Where American Paranoia was loose and full of youthful exuberance, No More Mr. Nice Guy is a tighter fair and focused to a razor sharpness, however, it never loses that punk rock haphazardness. Along with “To Be Different”, “No Explanation” (fuck . . . intense break on this one!), “Born To Lose”, and “Satan Is God” are the stunning achievements from this album. All have that absolute musical power, that classic mix of puck rock irreverence and radical idealism, while simply pummeling anyone in the way with a heavier metallic groove.

Finally, Out of Hand is the natural progression of the previous two albums combined. The oppressive low end of No More Mr. Nice Guy has been evened out and the mid range is more vibrant, yet the songs retain that tight metallic punch while walking hand in hand with the American Paranoia musical chaos. The songs have become longer, the structure a little more complex, the musicianship a step higher . . . like I said, a natural progression of musical growth. “Power of Control” captures all of these elements, even including a pretty impressive guitar solo, which I always thought was cool in hardcore. I never quite understood why it was frowned on by the hardcore scenes to play to one’s talents. “I Can’t Forgive”,  the droning throb of “Sab Song”, “Bed of Nails”, and “Scarred For Life” are greater representatives of the, at the time, newer, more mature Attitude Adjustment.

If, like me, you are unfamiliar with Attitude Adjustment, then The Collection is the hands down best and most economical way of getting to know this stand out group of happy thrashers. The songs, all 41 of them are a snapshot of the crossover hardcore scene of the late 80’s/early 90’s and each album when played sequentially, shows a remarkable musical growth. Now, I sit waiting with baited breath for this brand new album and subsequent tour of the States so I turn the dial back to my more youthful self. Come to think of it . . . I might want to hit the gym a few more times to get into pit shape. Twenty plus years of hardcore thrashing debauchery for Attitude Adjustment? Wow . . . that was a lot of burritos ago.

--Pope

http://www.taang.com/indexmain.html

Gumshen - What You Make It

Every time a new Gumshen CD is hand delivered to me by Postman Sal, I get overwhelmed by a mixture of emotions. First, it’s elation. Sal inevitably cringes and recoils in fear as I burst from behind my desk, give the old dude a bear hug, and thank him for being conceived, his parents for conceiving him, and his parent’s parents for conceiving them. He’ll leave and I’ll return to my chair, staring with that gleeful smirk that I get. Second, I’m overcome with this sense of privilege and power, for I have the new Gumshen in my possession and you don’t . . . Ha! Take that you cretins! Then, there’s the crash of reality. Third, I’m dropped into a mirthful state of depression, for how . . . how many more words can I hammer out to describe what I know will be a sonic thrill ride without repeating myself? I mean, I’ve reviewed the bands last three releases, they have achieved that near God-like stature in my music collection. Where can I go with the written word? And then it hits me . . . WWGD. What Would Gumshen Do?

I had to channel my inner Gumshen. Plain and simple. Even if I never achieve the godhead status of Gumshen with my own craft, the very least I can do is make the attempt. So . . . here goes:

What You Make It is technically the fifth release from this musical wonderment known as Gumshen, the fourth under the actual Gumshen name, and arguments will rage for evermore that this is the best recording to date. That argument will last only as long as you’re playing it . . . and then you’ll go back and drop in March of the Februaries, Super Buffet, or Stew and you’ll swear those are the best. What I’m getting at is this: Gumshen never fail to deliver a product that will please you as a listener, inspire you as an artist, challenge you as an intellect, or frustrate you as a music critic. I say frustrate because writing about these guys is one of those exercises in futility, for one will never actually capture the true essence of the music by merely chucking a bunch of words onto a page. What describer can I possibly plant in front of my nouns and verbs that I haven’t used before? Ah ha! I’ll make up my own! No . . . no, that’s just silly.

“Not Every One Of Us” opens the disc with a great modern pop-rock sound (no . . . not the sugary treat that explodes in your mouth), crisp guitars and keys plinking a simple little melody, the drums join in and help build the tempo, the bass saunters on in and adds the sultry textures . . . and then Ron Hippe’s vocals stop the world and we melt into a puddle of ourselves. At times, I hear a resemblance to Daryl Hall in that voice. Soulful, yet with a playful air, Hippe’s voice gets me on this track much like it did on “Dandelions” (Stew) or “Gone Too Soon” (Super Buffet). The song as a whole is a marvelous piece of music and another great example of how this band can compose a four minute track to sound like a mini-epic. The use of volume swells, added instrumentation at the chorus, changing tempo and mood . . . it’s all worked to perfection to create a song that takes the listener on a journey to soaring heights.

Now follow that track up with “I Know You Girl”, get ready to polish off the platform shoes and get your 70’s dance floor funk going on. The song starts with a cool piano piece that kind of sounds out of place in light of where the song goes, but is way cool nonetheless. Once the band kicks in together, we’re hand delivered a track that should be the highlight of any dance club on this, or any other planet. I can hear it now being remixed by every mix master this-that or another and filling every club with sweaty bodies gyrating to this funky ass bass line. I love the guitar line over the rhythm . . . it’s just the dynamic texture that separates this rhythmic groove sound from all the rest of the hyper hip shakers that have come before it. Classic Gumshen. The re-interpretation of a musical style. Create a sound, push the envelope on where that sound will go, and then push it some more. This track doesn’t just sit comfortably in a funk mode though, we get a little rap and 70’s-style progressive rock in here as well. These guys found a way to break up the groove and take the song into this great guitar and keyboard driven riff, and then they bring it all back to the funk groove . . . all without losing the listener, and in just over four minutes! Fucking brilliant!

“Krypton” is a stunner. Heavy and ominous, introduced by a delayed guitar riff and then propelled through the stratosphere by some heavy rhythms, this song has an overpowering sense of dread to it. This is a side to Gumshen that I had yet to hear, and they tackled the darkened vibes with a natural grace that makes me hope that they’ll explore these tones in the future. The major ear-perking moment occurs at just about 58 seconds into the song. The song goes from a space-y, quasi-psychedelic meandering to a tight and heavy riff, made special by the vocal performance and made spectacular by the backing vocal accompaniment. Very few bands can execute a vocal performance that becomes a focal point of a song, making it more powerful than if performed in a standard vocal approach . . . CS&N(Y) and the prog-tastic soundings of Pure Reason Revolution come to immediate mind of acts who use vocals to such moving emotional and dramatic power. I’m simply amazed. New wrinkle, same band. This track is clocking in at just over three minutes and has more textural dynamics than most fifteen minute prog-epics!

Overall, there’s a darker element underlying this recording than previous Gumshen efforts, and that’s fine by me. Oddly enough, this record has a sparse feeling in comparison to the bands back catalog despite the massive instrumentation. It’s almost like they wrote these songs for a symphony, yet played them as stripped down as possible. The music is still as complex as balancing the national budget, but not unlistenable. Me thinks this has to do with the bands innate ability to work such great melodies into their music . . . that melody acts as a metal detector on an afternoon hike through a minefield. I also love that this band has shown consistent growth year after year after year. Every CD that lands in my lap seems to outdo the one before it, but never completely disregards it either . . . the discs are all complimentary of one another and ultimately chronicle the bands history. If Stew was the infant just learning to walk, we might be looking at What You Make It as a young adolescent seeing the world through the eyes of experience. What the next record will be we will have to wait and see.

Pope

www.gumshen.com

Dornenreich – Flammentriebe

If you’re just tuning in, we have two outs, bottom of the ninth inning . . . bases are loaded and the home team is down by three runs . . . shuffling up to the plate with his head down in his typical shy fashion . . . number 666 . . . Dornenreich steps into the batter’s box for Team Prophecy Productions. I tell ya’ Racer, in all my years of watching the game, breathing in its subtle intricacies, I’ve never seen a team come through in the clutch like this Prophecy team, and we have the makings for yet another instant classic . . . a game that will live on forever in the history books of the greatest games ever played! And would you look at that!!! As if on cue, Dornenreich chases a curveball out of the strike zone . . . lined over the left fielders head . . . and all he can do is watch as the ball easily clears the outfield wall and is now a souvenir for the rabid fans who have waited a lifetime for this moment! Do you believe in miracles? I can’t believe my eyes! Racer . . . any comments? You are the color guy after all.

Sorry about that, folks . . . with spring training starting and baseball right around the corner, I couldn’t fight the urge to draw some bizarrely apt correlation between the sport and the amazing work that Prophecy Production consistently releases, and the talents of these guys from Dornenreich have displayed on their latest release entitled Flammentriebe.

Flammentriebe is black metal with an avant tinge, somewhat shoe-gazer, brutal and brackish, beautiful and morose. I first stumbled on Dornenreich on the Prophecy compilation Whom the Moon a Nightsong Sings and found the track to be one of the most compelling, so once the promo for Flammentriebe made its way to me, suffice it to say that I was more than intrigued, maybe even a wee bit on the excited side. By now, you all should know that I love it when musicians push the boundaries of a musical genre, eclipsing any pre-conceived ideas as to what we all had for said genre, permanently stamping their fingerprint to a musical style for all to witness and absorb through the ages. Dornenreich take that full on aggressive black metal style of music and add fantastic elements that make my ears tickle with excitement . . . beautiful and lush acoustic guitar passages, ambient and atmospheric interludes, violins that add more than a delicate texture, acting as one of the key instruments throughout . . . and then there’s a compositional complexity that is like junk shot into my veins to ease my proggy addiction. To draw comparisons with the outside world, let’s take the ambitious musical nature of Opeth, mix it with the pure, unadulterated natural blackened death styling’s of Khold, mix that all with the show-gazing subtleties of label mates Alcest and Les Discrets, and then add a style that can only be Dornenreich’s alone, y’know . . . those intricate little sounds, moods, and tones that can’t be pinned on any other band. I absolutely love this album!

Dornenreich hail from Austria and Flammentriebe is completely written and performed in the bands native tongue, but that shouldn’t be a turn off to anybody. The emotions transcend any language barrier, and in the case of Flammentriebe, actually makes the songs sound that much more important and immediate. The opening track, “Flammenmensch,” is a five minute gem of utter brilliance! After a tentative plucking of an acoustic guitar introduces us to the album, the electric version of the instrument creates that sonic wall that seems to permeate in the black metal world, then we get the blood curdling screams, and a little double bass drum/blastbeat  cacophony, and it’s all performed the way I love it . . . with immediacy and honesty, and to keep the wary ear entangled in the web of intrigue, Dornenreich change things up with stunning breaks that allow the song to breath and grow more ominous. Here’s where things get really interesting . . . listen closely to the double, triple, tendon-tearing pick attack of the guitars and you’ll hear the violins in tight accompaniment, adding another texture that I’ve never heard before . . . but listen closely coz’ it can get lost in the mix a bit. Totally bitchin’ effect and for me adds a completely different dimension to the music and what could be.

“Der Wunde Trieb” immediately picks up with the violins leading the way, and then stepping back to let the rest of the band beat us senseless. Then, the violins reappear, adding this great mournful and haunting effect to the blistering black metal tirades. Glorious in its darkness and oppressiveness, “Der Wunde Trieb” is epic metal filled with awesome moments of nuance, hefty technical skill, and emotional depth that will take more than a handful of listening sessions to fully comprehend. By the time you get to “Tief im Land” you should be well primed for one of the most beautifully complex and emotionally savage songs on the album. Again, opening with an acoustic guitar and suddenly bursting with electricity, this song is a full on Odyssian journey of experimentation and musical expression. To listen to the way these guys pull back one instrument to allow another to propel the song and then vice versa, it’s like watching a perfectly choreographed chorus line or, better yet, the inner working of a machine at work . . . all the pieces working together to create motion but all those piece doing their own individual job. “Tief im Land” is a clinic on composition and performance that should be taught at every musical institution. So declareth the Pope. . . so let it be done!

“Wolfpuls” and “Wandel Geschehe” follow suit with more of the aforementioned tendencies, violins working in conjunction with the bombast of the traditional black metal soundings, adding an element of class that one doesn’t find with many black metal acts. “Wolfpuls” is more of a grinding, throbbing, pulsating metallic gem while “Wandel Gerschehe” acts more as a wooden hulled ship cresting wave after roiling wave on the open seas, dipping deep into the valleys of despair, then being propelled to the peak of the wave before crashing down again. Both songs will have you lost within yourself, contemplating the greater meaning of it all and wondering why you hadn’t created such masterful work in your own life. “In Allem Weben” is another sterling example of the musical proficiency that Dornenreich seems to wield within their souls, effortlessly piecing passages together that performed by any other band may never come out sounding half this good. Seamlessly flowing from one expressive passage to another, pummeling the senses with malevolent sounds while incorporating more serene and subtle elements to keep the song from being one dimensional, these guys do a masterful job of challenging the listener, but never over-challenging them.

Flammentriebe is easily at the top of this year’s “Must Have” list. Yeah, it’s early in the year and there’s a great chance it will supplanted by another amazing album, but for the time being, I’m going to spin this gem as much as I possibly can. The layers of sound that make up this album keep me interested and help push my imagination to places I haven’t seen in a long, long time. The album rocks, yet it does so in a very intelligent manner . . . kinda’ like a premeditated murder that stumps the world’s greatest detectives. And yes, to conclude the earlier analogy of this piece, it’s a bases clearing game winning grand slam that leaves Dornenreich being carried off on the shoulders of his team mates to the cheers of thousands. Game ball should go to Prophecy for recognizing the raw talents of this band and getting them prepped for the big leagues!

Pope

http://dornenreich.com/

http://www.prophecyproductions.de/front_content.php?idcat=258&idart=397&releaseid=204

The Remedy for Everyday Music – Featuring Ojm, Ride the Sun, The Heat Tape, and the Fuck Knights

Remedy.  I just love the sound of that word.  It’s so definitive.  Something is wrong.  It will be fixed.  It will be corrected.  It will be remedied.

I don’t watch the Grammys (which pretty much sums up my opinions of them) but I did see the musical debacle, assault-to-our-senses, that some people called the Super Bowl Half-time Show.  And I did hear people actually talking post-Grammy about whether Justin Bieber was robbed not winning the Best New Artist Award.  Two events in a compressed period of time that could make you lose complete faith in the music industry.  Lose faith that there are still folks out there busting it out for the sheer love of music and breaking the shit out of a bunch of guitar strings.  It’s even enough to make me lose faith in whether or not there is a God -- for if there is, he certainly wouldn’t be listening to crap like that.

It’s time for a remedy.

Fast and furious, raw and ragged, dangerous and capable of leading small children way astray of societal conventions.  That’s what rock and roll was way back when.  And just as important, if certain snotty-nosed, chemical-addled, offends-to-society have their way, it’s what rock and roll will become again.

Thank God.

Ojm – Volcano

Despite their 4 previous albums, I’d never heard of Italy’s Ojm before Matt from PoisonTree Records dropped this into my lap.  Hitting me as if I’d just opened a letter from the Unibomber, Ojm exploded out of my speakers in a fuzzed out fury of retro-stonified riff mongering.  I mean huge.   What gets me the most about these cats is that they don’t really follow one mainline path towards their rock and roll fury.  Sure we got some nicely fuzzy stoner riffs, but there’s also a big chunk of adrenalinized garage attack going on here, some neo-epic psychedelic pastiche, a saliva-filled mouth of punk spittle, and even a good eye towards retro pop.  In other words we got a tear-down-the-rules blitz of real rock rowdiness.

With production by Dave Catching (Eagles of Death Metal, Queens of the Stone Age), you can get a pretty fair idea of what awaits.  Kicking off with the good-natured fuzz-meets-surf instrumental assault of “Welcome”, Ojm treat each track here as if it was their own personal canvass on which to paint their masterpiece.  And believe me, when they attack that canvas they use a big, fat black marking pen, no tentative pencil or blue line drawings here.  “Venus God” just rocks.  Simply.  I dig the vocals too; kinda spikey and throaty while still being smooth.  Give me texture.  Swath the whole thing in monster-riffs and an eardrum splattering amount of fuzz and I’m more than happy.  “Rainbow,” brings on an irresistibly warped bong-full of hazy riffing and acrid smoke, all drifting within a kick-ass melody.  But wait, there’s more!  Drop in the 7-minute epic psychedelic excursion, “Oceans Heart,” the totally accessible, near pop-perfect strains of “I’ll Be Long,”, the retro-punk stomp “Disorder,” and the two-ton heaviness of “Cocksucker” and we got us that finished master stoner piece-de-resistance. 

Enough to make you forget Justin Bieber was ever born.  Give it a shot.

Ride the Sun – S/T EP

Riding a stoner-fied, desert-dry riff with the ferocity of a lone cowboy taming a bucking bronco, Ride the Sun burst across the arid horizon in flaming, glowing casts of red and gold.  This is gritty, grizzled stoner fuzz of the highest order.  Yep, all the biggies are here, from Sabbath to Kyuss to Fu Manchu.  I even hear a little love for Judas Priest in the flourishes of their riffs.  Big, mean, and a damn enough good time to keep the men from bathing for months.

I particularly love the vocals here; rough and raw, so far down in the throat you can almost hear a little stomach lining, but smooth enough to carry the damn fine melodies.  To me, the vocals sound a bit like the rougher vocals of BTO if the singer’d been gargling with a leftover jug of liquid plummer.  (Speaking of BTO, I don’t think that band gets near enough credit, they’re way more stoner heavy than you might think, just give one listen to Not Fragile).  But I digress.  We’re talking about Ride the Sun here, and there’s lots to say.

“Evil Reasons,” rollicks and gallops across the audio waves with hyped up passion, terminal fuzz and a monolithic bottom end.  “Livin’ Wrong” is just mean and heavy.  When the boys lock onto a riff they ride that baby, ride it hard and dry.  This is chest-beating, suburb-scaring riff-tense stoner, baby.  Dig the harmony dual lead vocals on this one.  Man, it’s so dirty you can almost smell the desert sand still lingering to the unwashed skin.Solos burst out in appropriate shades of fuzz, like an amp run through a garbage disposal.

I think “Compadre” is my favorite cut here, but that’s picking straws blindly out of the stack just for the sake of picking.  Each track here is megalithic heavy, fuzzy, and all kinds of acrid smoke hazy.  For riff mad stone heads, this one shouldn’t be missed.

The Heat Tape – Raccoon Valley Recordings

So raw, so primal, The Heat Tape is positively primitive.  This is caveman-hit-guitar-and-smash-drums, lo-fi, lost-way-in-the-back-of the-garage, garage rock.  Ok, I lied.  It’s not garage rock.  The CD is named after the trailer park where these “gents” live and conduct all their business.  So we need a new genre here.  Trailer Park Rock.  No pretense.  No gloss, or gleam, or hope of glory.  This is near prehistoric distorto-punk with a hankering for a catchy hook and a turn of a phrase. 

With no song clocking in at even 3 minutes (the average time looks to be about 2 minutes flat) The Heat Tape rage out of Makanda, Illinois singing songs of such import as “Skin” (a love song about McDonalds breakfast), “21st Century Turd” (about being a piece of shit), and “Feel No Good” (which is about being a hungover piece of shit.)  Don’t go looking for Stephen Hawkins expanded theories of the physics of Black Holes here.  Just pop open a twelve-pack, hit something hard, and play this quagmire of lo-fi ditties.  For fans of Jay Retard, The Marked Men, and the Thermals.  Yep, that should do it.

Fuck Knights – The Recorded by Gary Burger from The Monks EP

Perhaps the only thing that could make The Heat Tape sound clean and refined is another offering of demento-destructo garage surf punk from the Fuck Knights.  You’ll notice that the CD is titled the “Recorded by Gary Burger . . . EP” not the “produced by Gary Burger” CD.  You see, that would require there actually being some production on this baby rather than a cacophony of frantic, speaker rattling, oil can rock.  But then that wouldn’t be the Fuck Knights, and I wouldn’t enjoy it near as much as this one.

Simply put, the Fuck Knights can fuck the hell out of just about any other lo-fi outfit who dares step into their garage.  Guitars and speakers are set on terminal fuzz mode, Bass is played through a 1967 rusty muffler, and the drummer gave up on a drum kit years ago, instead assembling a litany of acid-eaten barrels to pound on.  And he does, Lord he does.

Despite all the overblown analogies in the previous paragraphs, at their simplest, the Fuck Knights are sheer brilliant, massively distorted and psychotically warped garage punk of the frenzied and frantic variety.  Yet hidden within the vague psychobilly and surf influences, and around the back of the destructo-wall of fuzz and noise, are some catchy as hell melodies and some serious songwriting smarts.  Each song blasts by before you’ve even had a chance to blow your nose, but in that time, the Fuck Knights have unleashed more melodies, dazzling fuzz solos, and near-manic energy than could be found in that entire 30 minute embarrassment of a Super Bowl Halftime Show. 

You want your rock loud and raw, dangerous and illegal in several states?  Then the Fuck Knights are your band.  They may never get a chance to take the stage at the Grammys, but they just may be the saviors of rock and roll.


-Racer

Nucleus Torn - Travellers and Andromeda Awaiting

Travellers

Early morning mist lingers over the calm oceans as we push our handmade wooden boat into the icy depths. We softly drag our oars through the placid aquatic field, pushing the water and the land behind us. We leave our homeland knowing full well that we may never see her again, that the families we leave behind may never lay eyes, lips, flesh to their husbands, brothers, and fathers again. Yet we steer our craft through the vast seas in search of trade partners in our material goods and our cultural ideas, and we are at peace with our decision to leave the comforts of home firmly nestled amongst the bosom of our Earth Mother. If we return to these shores, then it was meant to be.

I have no idea if that imagery was the intention of Nucleus Torn when they crafted the four-part acoustic epic “Krähenkönigin I – IV”, but that’s the feeling I got as I sat back in my office spinning the first part of the Travellers album. I’ve come to find out that the song title roughly translates to “Crows Queen” in English. The songs are seamlessly strung together and come across as if they were treatments or exercises for the classical guitar, and then they got morphed into a romantic acoustic instrumental piece of music. Coming from Prophecy Productions, I somewhat expected Travellers to be on the ambient side of the musical spectrum, but I also expected it to dip a big, gnarled ugly toe into the miasma of black metal. Those tendencies arise, but for the most part, this album is sparse of superfluous sounds and instrumentation. Amazingly, I never find the music of the first four songs tedious or boring . . . in actuality; I’ve often found myself leaning forward, on the edge of my chair waiting for the drama to explode before my ears. Alas, Nucleus Torn never jump all over your face like an enraged monkey, it’s more like they infuse tons of emotional drama through carefully thought out notes and exquisite tones. One minute, it’s easy to get lost paddling across the great plains of the oceanic landscape, the next minute find yourself trudging through some overgrown hillside, and through it all, you’re embracing nature, feeling the wind blowing across the skin, the sun pulling the moisture from your flesh, the rain dowsing the fires of hope that once roared within you. Bleak, but never depressing.

The opening four-part track is laden with so much imagery and emotion that I can’t help but want to load up my backpack and hike to Bakersfield (it’s not the end of the world, but I hear you can see it from there.) These tracks have more to do with classical and folk music than any black metal that I’ve ever heard, and I’m perfectly fine with that. As Travellers continues on, more hope and uplifting moments creep into the music. “Silver” is a beautiful quasi-classical romantic piece, also played on acoustic guitars . . . sounds like nylon string . . . and in its short, abbreviated manner, ushers us listeners into the next part of the musical journey . . . the darker, electric, and narrated portion of the program! “Witness” is a beautiful track that starts off mellow and somber, acoustic guitars accompany the morose vocals, and then the song ultimately opens up in volume and electric tension. This is a truly fine execution of song craft!

For the most part, Travellers is a Spartan and barren album. But that’s not to say that there isn’t tension built in the songs. It’s more of an organic and natural tension, though . . . made more impressive and imposing by the lack of studio effects. Almost like there’s something inherently spooky about that twisted tree outside your window that you’ve been begging Dad to chop down coz’ it casts those freakish shadows on your wall during a full moon. Rather than chop that sucker down, embrace its natural and creepy beauty, regale in its frightening aspects, and sleep fitfully through the night. Unless you starred in Poltergeist, you shouldn’t have anything to worry about.

Buy here: Travellers
Buy here mp3: Travellers

Andromeda Awaiting

After listening to Travellers over and over and over again, I found myself spinning the follow up album, Andromeda Awaiting. This is where things get strange. I was somewhat expecting to hear a continuation of Travellers, and in some way, I guess you could say that’s what I got. But it’s not a continuation in the sense of lack of bombastic emotion, it’s more like a linear continuation . . . where the musical ideas are given more instrumentation, more texture to convey even greater breadth of emotion. Where Travellers is sparse in sound, Andromeda Awaiting is lush in sonic richness.

Broken up into six parts or chapters, Andromeda Awaiting is a strikingly gorgeous record. It gets a little proggy in a symphonic nature, and I find that to be perfectly perfect. The incorporation of the various woodwinds, horns, strings, voices . . . it all builds on top of one another to create a sparkling tower of sonic splendor. As for the underlying meaning of the album . . . no clue. I haven’t the foggiest notion as to what this album is about, and I don’t care. With this particular album, I’ve found myself listening purely for the emotion of sound, not keying in on any lyrics or potentially hidden meaning within the words. Throughout the record, I’ve found myself uplifted; other moments, I’m hunched over preparing myself to weep.

The “bookends” of the album, part I and VI, are the most dramatic, and also the longest portions of the program. Part I clocks in at over fifteen minutes and is like sitting in the cockpit of some interstellar spacecraft as it’s hurtling through the depths of the cosmos. Brilliant lights shows exploding into the visions, streaking stars criss-crossing the crafts path, all of the radiance from the heavenly bodies surrounding us acting as an exclamation as to how insignificantly small the human race truly is. The female vocals leading the first track feel so vulnerable and fragile, ready to crack at the slightest bump . . . and conveying an emotion of sad loneliness. The song weaves through some ethereal passages, ultimately falling into the lap of what I can only describe as choir music without the choir. The male voice that enters the song makes me feel like I’m sitting in a pew during a Catholic mass. It’s gorgeous and engaging, and oddly enough, makes me want to go to church once in awhile. The final chapter of the album is much like the first, sprawling and elegant in its instrumentation, always drawing some emotion from deep within. And sandwiched between these two songs are four tracks that take the listener on a journey that won’t be forgotten. In particular, I’m a big fan of the Middle Eastern modes that these guys use in the latter half of the album . . . every time I hear these tones, these particular scales, I get lost in the romantic world of my minds design.

Pope

Buy here: Andromeda Waiting

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