Friday, May 30, 2014
Label: Die Slaughterhaus
Three cheers for loud and caustic rock music.
Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray!
Sorry about your eardrums, and your neighbor's stupid Vizsla puppy who "needs his rest", and your daughter's 8 year friend that is over at the house giving you the stink-eye (in your OWN fucking house no less), but the two songs contained herein are only to be played at top volume. Loud and proud and all that.
It's the wiry tension of a post punk Killing Joke assault, draped over by the over driven noise worship of A Place To Bury Strangers. Which, oddly enough, sorta gets this Atlanta band close to another (oft overlooked) Atlanta band, All The Saints...but more shouty. More of a hardcore trip on a Loop meets The Birthday Party key party.
Recorded by Andrew Wiggins of Hawks and Wymyns Prysyn....I almost said "fame".
Essential at this point in your life.
Sorry for the "bad blogging" of late, but....I don't know.
Anyway. Those who know me (none of you), know that I'm on a constant search for the elusive indie rock band that is catchy but not pussy. That is clever but not fey. Noisy and brash, with a healthy appetite for self deprecation and penchant for revenge fantasies.
Basically, I'm always looking for a band to fill that Archers Of Loaf shaped hole in my heart. My cold, black, dead, Archers Of Loaf -missing heart.
So, here we find Places To Hide (catch that one?), who while not quite bitter enough to get the full Archers of Loaf (who, by the way, are the measuring stick for all indie rock bands now, then, and forever) bump, they do manage a very convincing Pavement by way of Superchunk steez that I'm certainly not going to sneeze at. Except when my allergies flare up, at which point I'm sneezing at all kinds of shit. I like that they understand the value of "being sloppy". Perfection is stupid. Messy and frayed around the edges is where it's all.
This Atlanta band has a ton going for them, and even though I'm really liking this record, I bet their next one is going to be a monster. Hopefully. A fun, noisy, monster.
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
Label: Learning Curve
Don't let the laconic warped Western album intro lull you into a false sense of serenity, be assured this record is coming for your head. And it's bringing with it a swinging hammer of sludgy noise rock capable of deafening an entire city block. Big, hulking, spiteful noise rock that backs you into a corner and reels off paranoid rant after paranoid rant. It accuses you of crimes you hadn't even thought to commit, nor did you wish to be privy to. It throws a thick, heavy blanket of diseased wool over your head to administer a methodical and ritualistic beating, humming the entire time. It does things that nice bands don't...or won't depending on your own personal politics.
So who's behind this parade of the horribles anyway? For starters, and mainly, you're dealing with Gus Engstrom of the defunct Grids (a killing spree of a band in their own right). He is augmented in his quest for audio upheaval by Creston Spiers of Harvey Milk on trumpet (of all things), John Neff of Drive By Truckers on pedal steel, Adam Marx of Seawhores on guitar, and Matt from Moonshine on drums. Together they mount one convincing assault on your ears, all pummel and thud, with that hint of nuanced psychosis...just the right amount of crazy.
If you have any Rusted Shut, Clockcleaner, Head Of David, King Snake Roost, Swans, Harvey Milk, or Flipper in your record collection, then I believe you've found a winner here.
Not much wrong with this lineup is there?
You should really get up off your fat ass (mirror) and get out there! This is life....man. Put off dying for a little while and get to living!
Friday, May 16, 2014
The bastard, and less literate, backwoods cousin of Clutch. Or the reincarnation of Black Oak Arkansas as funneled through the distortion blanket of Milligram. Not sure.
Either way, its a thud rock tea party that insists that you stay until the very end...or you pass out. They ply the same trade as Clutch, but get darker and weirder a lot faster. What seems like simple burnout riffing, is actually a paranoid kaleidoscope of bad vibes and declarations of independence. Total beard boogie.
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Keeping the San Diego hot hand going from yesterday, but this time with a easier listening (to you and I anyway) appeal. Half of Pinback and half of Black Heart Procession (not to mention ANOTHER Struggle alumni!) deliver exactly that...half Pinback half Black Heart Procession.
This particular record was slated to be released by Geffen, but I guess they weren't too keen on it's dark weirdness and dropped the band prior to putting it out. Doesn't seem like it would have been the strangest record on Geffen's roster, but whatever.
Listen at sunset staring into building storm clouds for best results.
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
Space is the place, right? The magnitude and solitude freeing the mortal mind to expand as far as he boundless black....OR....the crushing nothingness of Man's meaningless existence magnified by an eternity of silent sky.
Up to you.
Tarantula Hawk seem to revel in the possibilities opened up by the sprawling darkness. They take you to the edges of astral beauty and through the violent wormholes of time travel. Their grip is firm as your led across the galaxies, and your fear of the unknown lessens as each piece unfolds into the next in their carefully constructed musical sequences.
Alumni of Locust, Bombs Of Death, Struggle, The Tito 'O Tito Band, and Pinback take you on an instrumental journey that marries the heady heaviness of Neurosis with the dour unrest of Godspeed You Black Emperor. Your full cooperation is required for maximum results.