Album Reviews

[binnie]

Clutch - Strange Cousins From The West

Imagine if Faith No More had been raised in the South and exposed to the tones of the local Baptist Church, if Jane's Addication had expressed their oddness through macabre funk rather than esoteric lightness, or if Kyuss had been amalgamated with Sly & The Family Stone. It is only then that you begin to comprehend the uniqueness with which Clutch present the listener - indeed, they literally present it, the art work for this record is littered with maps, UFOs and a host of arcane symbols. And yet, for all of this oddness Clutch have managed to balance being utterly unique with being instantly loveable. They have achieved this by ensuring that each song is crafted around the two things that provide the foundation for all great music - an infectious rhythm and irresistable melody. This then is reinventing the wheel for the sake of taking a famliar journey, but one made all the more mezmorizing for the effort.

Take 'Let A Poor Man Be'. Just when you thought you couldn't hear another take on largely traditonal blues, you are proved utterly wrong by the cold slap of originality. Clutch's blues-rock is like Govt. Mule or a ZZ Top revelling in their quirkiness whilst being backed by a herd of elephants necessary to carry the weight of their grooves. This is schizophrenic stoner rock captured largely in the juxtaposition of the bands funk with vocalist Neil Fallon's dark vocals and wrapped around with guitars that often boarder on the eerie.

Here is a band unconcerned with trends, airplay or increased record sales. A band who make music for the people who get it. The small group of devottees worldwide who want to take the journey this album offers. All of their records have been strong, but despite the weight of expectation Clutch somehow manage to exceed it. More stripped back than their last two albums, the band's performance is more forcefull and to the point. Neil Fallon's usual scat-like delivery has been toned down to allow the natural melody and tone of his voice shine in all of its richness, and the lyrics on opener 'Motherless Child' are even instantly comprehenisble, almost bordering on blunt. But the curve-balls soon come thick and fast: '50,000 Unstoppable Watts', 'The Amazing Kreskin' and 'Freakenomics' all possess the typical Clutch tone without ever veering into the realms of 'stock' - indeed it is only on 'Witchdoctor' that the band approach a by-the-numbers tune. But ultimately, this is Neil Fallon's record - his preacher-man ability to whip a song into a frenzy most evident on the impossibly chameleon structure of 'Abraham Lincoln'. Pefection made to look improvised.

In a musical landscape increasingly grouped and penned in it is refreshing to be presented with something so un-catergorizical as Clutch, and joyous to allow your mind to be opened to their swamp-gravy grooves.

[binnie]

From the vaults: Badlands - Badlands (1989)

The debut record from ex-Ozzy Osbourne guitar hero Jake E Lee's new band, featuring Eric Singer on drums (ex-Kiss and future Alice Cooper band) and the impossibly talented Ray Gillan on vocals (ex-touring vocalist for Black Sabbath.) In many respects, this record was the antithesis of the increasigly bloated hair metal that was been coughed out of an ever tired Sunset Strip - raw, under-produced, and bluesy, it was a beautiful counterbalance to the reverb-heavy, production lavished monstrosities that L.A was churning out in its final days before the rise of Grunge. The influences were obviously and unappologetically European - Led Zeppelin, Humble Pie, Jeff Beck Group, Cream and Deep Purple - and the delivery verges on primal. Album opener 'High Wire' featured a riff of gargantually-serpentine proportions that equals anything Jimmy Page ever penned, Lee's blues-hysterionics battling with Gillan's soaring vocals for the listener's attention. The blues dominates the record, with the frosty-kiss of 'Winter's Call' Zeppelinization of the power ballad, and 12 Bar explosion of 'Rumblin Train', which was Lee's showcase. Gillan returned the favour on the haunting epic of closer 'Seasons' his voice spinning from low, tender croon to testosterone wail, marking the song out as a stamp of sincere anguish in a sea of sacarine sentimentality populated by the rest of L.A at the tail end of the '80s.

Indeed single 'Dreams In The Dark' is the only glaring sign of the times here, whilst 'Dancing On The Edge' and 'Hard Driver' keep up the full-tilt rawk angle that the likes of Raging Slab would up and run with in subsequent years, with 'Devil's Stomp' was the kind of hulk of a song beyond the hairspray and lip gloss of the likes of Pretty Boy Floyd and Slaughter.

This was the high point for Badlands, who never reached their potential. Their second record - 'Voodoo Highway' - was a mixed bag cluttered with forays into James Taylor-esque MOR, and the death of Gillan due to A.I.D.S a year later meant that Lee, surely one of the most talented guitar players of the decade, was now a gunslinger without a cause. A sad end, but what a beginning!

[binnie]

Stonewall Noise Orchestra - Constants In An Ever Changing Universe

What a band name, and one that perfectly fits the sound of a group who melt together the astro-jams of early Monster Magnet with the sonic boom of Rage Against The Machine in an album that balances the power and beauty that makes heavy music sublime. Heavy bass driven riffs cascaded by vocals with the tint of Chris Cornell roll out of the speakers to drive a band whose sound is truly biblical in proportions, most readily demonstrated on 'Skyscraper Moment' and 'Dedications'. All of your favourite 70s rock bands are in the mix here and forced through a blender of Kyuss and Queens of the Stone Age with the excessive meanderings of latter noticeable absent. This is a band that manages to handle an impressive range - 'Hollow Parade' sways like a latino stripper during happy hour, whilst 'Dedications' manages to cement bombast to creepy in the way that Warrior Soul did during the early 90s - without ever losing the sense of purpose that makes this feel like a coherent album. The cavenous swagger of 'Clone Baby' climaxes beautifully in a piano refrain, whilst the nitro charge of 'Headlights' and 'Dynamo' take the album to a place that every Sabbath-worshipping band strive to find, but rarely do. No chinks in the armour here - one day they'll write a classic.

[binnie]

Wolf - Ravenous

From the instant the crescendo of crashing drums and guitars which opens this record kicks in, embellished with the sound of picks sliding down necks, you know exactly what you're dealing with. Seconds later a burst of duel guitar harmony bursts in and suddenly its 1984 all over again. Yes, this is the sort of record that leaves the uninitiated dumbfounded and the converted edified, for what we have here is a bonafide Heavy Metal record. Songs like 'Curse You Salem', 'Love At First Bite' and 'Mr Twisted' ("tell me where's your miiiiiiind") only heighten the sense that this is a record from another age delivered by a band which sounds like the much loved offspring of Accept and Anvil, their buzz-saw guitars chugging behind a wail which sits somewhere between Halford and Udo. The band often thinks that a chorus is simply repeating the same line four times but it doesn't matter, because this isn't about finesse, it's about passion, and Wolf certainly can't be found wanting in that department. 'Voodoo' and 'Hail Caesar' may push formulaic into the realm of forgetable, but on barrage of drums and anthemic vocals of the title track, 'Blood Angel' and 'Hiding In The Shadows' this band has managed to craft tunes which sit alongside the best from the decade they so clearly long to revive by emulating. 2009's soundtrack to the 80s.

[binnie]

Devildriver - Pray For Villains

"You ain't seen the last of me" barks frontman Dez Ferrah over and over on your new anthem of definace 'Back With A Vengence'. Well, 10 years ago the metal world was wishing it had as his previous outift - Nu Metal one-trick-ponys Coal Chamber - whimpered into oblivion. No-one gave Devildriver a chance, but they have slowly carved a place in the metal community the hard way largely off the back of a fearsome live reputation and the release of sreadily improving studio output. Devildriver's previous three records have passed from solid to good to verging on great, have they made the maelstrom of an album that's been rattling around in Dez's head all of these years? Yup.
Opener 'Pray For Villains' encapsulates this record. Like flesh pulled tort over a muscular torso, tight guitars and crunching drums snarl with intent. What separates this band from nearly all other contemporary American Heavy Metal bands is that exude purpose rather than posture, so much so that there is no weak link here - the A grade is all that makes it. Chimera could learn a lot. 'I've Been Sober' and 'Teach Me To Deliver' veer into Lamb of God territory - the latter sounding like Virginia's favourite sons would if they had been raised on hardcore rather than death metal - but the parallel doesn't run too far. Devildriver sound like no-one else. Their's is a breed of nitro charged classic metal.
The pace slows in the album's middle - the epically un-nerving 'Forgiveness Is a Six Gun' and unholly heavy 'Its In The Cards' - and elsewhere the switch and blast beats of 'Earth Stepped In' - laced with frazzled riffs - ensures that not everything is constructed around double bass patterns. Devildriver only paint in shades of brutal, but melody is often enjected subtely through guitar parts low in the mix to ensure that songs are memorable, and Dez's rhythmic vocal delivery presents an element of subdued catchiness. This is an epic record. To join the Gods the band needs to learn to break up the full throttle blasts. Even a band as heavy as Slayer know that slicing speed next to mid-pace makes things appear heavier by extremes, and Devildriver could learn a lot from a more dynamic injection of time signatures within songs rather than between them. But that's to nit-pick with a near masterstroke. Dez's roof might not be on fire any more, but their's a raging passion withing. The gaunlet has been thrown down - can any US band rise to meet it?

[binnie]

From the vaults: Kilgore - In Medias Es Res (1999)

When this record came out in 1999 it was a saving light in a dark time. At that moment 'Nu Metal' was in full flo (sic) as the baggy pants briggade took over and the metal landscape was populated by whinge-rock or worse, frat-by bruisers who despararely wanted to be in Cypress Hill but chose to detract from the fact thay they couldn't rap by creating music that was of an even more flimsy character. Kilgore were the antithesis of both. And yet they made little impact, and remain criminally forgotten.
'Steamroller' opens this record as a parody of rock-star self hatred so prevalent at the time: "Every time I see myself I choke down all the loathe inside/ It's so rock-star typical/ Can't you see why I'm cynical?" bark the vocals in a display of intellgence and wit which mark the album out to this day. Even a stalwart of metal subject matter - a critique of organized religion - is treated in a provoking, rather than provocative, manner in 'Never Again', a song which displays a brand of introspection refreshing amidst a sea of banal invective that has cluttered this topic since the mid-80s. It is this intensity and thoughtfullness which stagger ten years on - a lesson in songwriting.
The band delivered smokey vocals over taut, pummeling groove in a sound which owed much to Pantera's sludgey blues and Voivod quirkiness. But it is the variety which gives this record its strength. Each song is unique yet stamped with a coherent band 'sound', the mark of a great album. 'In Search Of Reason', with its blues chainsmoker of a riff, is offshot by the alt-rock darkness of 'Introverted' and haunting Cohen-lullaby-meets-Tom-Waits-nightmare of 'Providence', whilst the intensity of the Rollins-esque monologue of 'TK-421' (featuring Fear Factory's Burton C Bell) is a long way from the 'Ultra Mega Ok'-era Soundgarden meets Metal Church of 'Lullaby For Your Casket'. And yet for all their individuality, each song sounds like the member of the same family.
They only made one record (who knows why?) but what a debut. Ten years on, its still more original, more intense, and more inspiring than 99% of the metal out there. If an album this left-of-field came out tommorrow I would wet myself with excitment.

[binnie]

Therapy? - Crooked Timber

Another installment from the wonderfully oddball world of Therapy?, Ireland's pleasant clusterfuck of a trio. Imagine if Bob Mould had joined Killing Joke and forced them to play Cheap Trick covers. Off-kilter doesn't come close, and opener 'The head That Tried To Strangle Itself' is a perfect example of Therapy?'s deconstruction of songs into a punk-industrial nightmare. By way of contrat, typically dispondent 'Enjoy The Struggle' is wonderfully formulaic, and the band remind the listener that they can pen a hook when they so choose, choosing to lay it over a rumbling bass and jaunty guitar wrapped around a riff that recalls Marilyn Manson's 'Beautiful People'. 'Clowns Galore' is the soundof the end of the 1st wave of punk before it finally died in the early 80s, an angry Joy Division on crack. Only a band featuring Andy Cairns superglue charisma could get away with being so bleak, his impact most prevalent on 'I Told You I Was Ill' which bridges the chasm between heartwrenchingly emotional and deliciously sardonic with ease.
This record continues the band's late career rejuventation of previous outings 'High Anxiety' and 'One Cure Fits All', although the warmth of the production on those records is curiously absent here and this can be a jarring listen at times. Many still yearn or the pop sensibilites of 1994's masterpiece of angst-rock 'Troublegum', but those were different times and Therapy? are now different men. The bands have always sounded like a collective of broken souls, but whilst in youth their wounds were nursed with anger, in middle age they are bandaged in laments, most hauntingly in the celtic mist which drapes the mournful title track.
This is far from perfect, however. 'Somnambulis' runs out of ideas, 'Exiles' drifts into a half-formed introspecitve jam and 'Magic Mountain' serves only to prove the fact that the nine-minute epci should not be the band's modus operandi. But when it all comes together, as it does on closer 'Bad Excuse For Daylight' you marvel at how gloriously ingloious Therapy? are. Long may they continue.

[binnie]

From the vaults: Lamb Of God - New American Gospel

Bold title. Bold record. Especially considering when it came out (2001) few wanted to hear their Slayer-meets-Pantera-meets-Meshuggah brand of hate-metal, but the slow burn and set backs only served to make L.O.G the gnarliest pitbull on the block. For the current kings of metal - at least as far as the anglo-american variety - this was the beginning proper. Raw in a 'Kill 'em All' kind if way this is nowhere near as sonically impressive as the one-two KO combo of 2006's 'Sacrament' and this year's 'Wrath', but it is an impressive record on its own merits. Like many great metal bands, L.O.G took what was going on in the underground - the likes of Will Haven, Unsane and Meshuggah - and made it more paletalbe without leaving it emaciated. Opener 'Black Label' kicks off with a rolling riff and double bass attack that Fear Factory would be proud of before culminating in a slow crushing riff in the spirit of 'Burn My Eyes' era Machine Head. The guitars have a blues-kissed tone to them and melody is subtely injected into songs by the maestro work of Mark Morton. On 'A Warning' Obituary-stlye riffing is sped up three gears and laid over and impressively drum beat. Indeed, a death metal heritage shines through this record but it could never be confined to the parameters of that label - crunchier, less concerned with atmospherics, this is more Thriller than Horror movie. What has always impressed most about L.O.G is the quantity of the quality, and there is very little fat on these songs. Sections are not drawn out, and the listener struggles to keep up with changes of tempo as riffs are buried beneath riffs in songs so compact they ooze the benefit of a lifetime on the road, an effort that only amplifies their energy by making it seem earned.
This is a long way from perfect though. Randy Blythe was not yet the complete package as a vocalist, often seeming lie a generic cookie-monster. The intonations of 'Wrath' and 'Sacrament' were not yet fully honed. Indeed, the band itself was not the complete synthesis of its influences. Often the songs seem to say 'here's the hardcore bit', 'here's the Machine Head bit', 'here's the Death Metal section', and the middle section of 'Black Pariah' is almost Meshuggah plagarised. But on 'Subtle Art of Murder and Persuasion', 'Pariah' and 'Black Dahlia' it is evident that some seeds had already sprouted with mezmerizing effects. The band have grown to be more comfortable with Morton's natural sense of melody and have learny to take their feet off the gas occaisionally so as not to overwhelm the listener. This, however, was the genesis - increasingly, it is looking like it may be the conception of a legend.

[binnie]

From the Vaults: Motorhead - Bastards (1993)

If you wanted to define 'Rock N Roll' for someone who'd never heard it, Motorhead would be the best place to start. What band better encapsulates the sound, attitude, volume and FTW ethos? They're the standard bearers. It's odd then that so much of their catalogue is overlooked, especially that post 1990, but if truth be told in the post-grunge world they've released a slew of strong albums. Like 2004's 'Inferno' 'Bastards' was a late career high. The trademarks are all here - snake-hipped riffs, gravel vocals, witty lyrics and sledgehammer delivery - but the quality is decidely impressive and the record captures the raw energy of the band at its best. Indeed, this may be the best sounding 'head record since 'Ace Of Spades', and certainly contains the best set of lyrics that Lemmy's ever penned, performd with the understatedly rich tone of his voice in fine form.
'On Your Feet Or On Your Knees' and 'Burner' are an arresting 1-2 opener and charge in with delicious rawness. 'Bad Women' is pure adrenelin, like Little Richard if he ditched the piano and developed some boulder sized bollocks - rock n roll boiled down to its fighting weight, de-nuded of all trimmings and grinning with direct intent. 'Death of Glory' possess a greasy anger amplified by infectious guitar licks and is outdone in the anthemic stakes only by 'Born To Raise Hell''s raucous abandon. Its on 'Lost In Ozone' and 'Devils' where the real rough diamonds are though. Showing a contemporay sound which remains quintessentially Motorhead, both songs are definitive proof that this band were never one-trick ponys, and that there's much more to Lemmy than birds and booze. The latter also possess a hell of a hook.
There is a sticking point though. 'Don't Let Daddy Kiss Me' is not a bad song, but its hard to appreciate a tune about child abuse. To their credit, it avoids the melodrama or saccarine sentimentality of Aerosmith's 'Janie's Got a Gun' or Skid Row's 'In a Darkened Room', or the clummsily coy inappropriateness of 'Mr Tinkertrain' - the song is unassuming, heartfelt and clever, and perhaps something this unsettliong is a genuine tribute to Lemmy's skills as a songsmith. Many, however, will baulk at the subject matter.
To these ears, this deserves to be viewed as one of the best Motorhead records from any-era, and it remains at testament to that band that 30 years in they can still wipe the floor with most of the younger pretenders. 'We Are Motorhead', 'Hammered' and 'Inferno' would continue the highlights in subsequent years.

[binnie]

Goatwhore - Carving Out The Eyes Of God

Jeeeeeeeeeeezus. In a bumper year of cutting edge metal releases, this one stands out. Goatwhore maybe the nearest thing to pure aggression in the metal world. Featuring former members of Acid Bath, Soilent Green and Crowbar, this band is shot through with extreme metal know-how and an unassuming sense of the heritage which makes the music they so clearly love great. Tracks like 'The Passing Into The Power of Demons' and 'Lazor, Flesh Devoured' manage to perfectly balance brutal and palatable in a display of metallic might which places this band alongside the best of any modern metal band. Opener 'Apocalyptic Havoc' alternates between power chords and tight riffage, the guitars tuned with a deadly tinge of blues sludge that reeks of vitriolic intent - this is the sound that Phil Anselmo was aiming for with Superjoint Ritual, but Goatwhore have songs. Great songs.

What impresses most is the ability to balance their musical virtuoisty with the power that only simplicity can deliver in metal: unlike so many modern death metal bands, dexterity is only displayed when needed. Thus the title track alterantes between impossibly complex sections which are reminiscnet of vintage Death, and trad metal riffage which injects a blast of rhythm into the complexity, dabbles of harmony and tinges of catchiness making the heaviness memorable. Similalry, whilst 'The All Destroying' is all blast beats and frenetic riffing, on 'Provoking The Ritual Of Death' the band eschews virtuosity in favour of brutal simplicity, laying down an indecently heavy swamp groove. Death, thrash, black, hardcore, trad, the band paints with all of these hues to create something utterly beautiful in its darkeness - 'Leckoning Of The Soul Made Godless' for example sounds like the offspring of Mercyful Fate and a pitubull, a slab of chugging guitar mere inches from the face of the listener. It's raw and its heavy, it's dirty and mean!

What Goatwhore have presented the world with then is a record which was conceived from all of the strength of forty years of metal to deliver a concotion that is wholly their own. A near perfect slice of heaviness for 2009.

[binnie]

Grand Magnus - Grand Magnus

People more familiar with Grand Magnus's magnificent 'Iron Will' - a record which encapsulates the past and present of Heavy Metal, deliciously lavished with intricate guitar, deceptively complex song structures, and harmonized vocals - might be surprised by the straighforwardly blunt power of their earlier work. What separates this band from most Sabbath-worshippers is their commitment to writing songs rather than simply jamming on riffs, switiching from fierceness on 'Legion' to a laidback groove on 'Generator.' This record is much closer to straighforward doom metal than 'Iron Will', huge riffs are delivered with underplayed performances and unclutterred production to create so much space that the sound is biblically epic. Songs like 'Gaunlet' display effortless heaviness and provide a showcase for vocalist JB's raw croon, and 'Coat of Arms' the sort of timeless tune that The Sword would kill to write. It's far from a complete record, however. 'Wheel of Time' and 'Black Hole' run out of ideas, and 'Never Learned's attempt at emulating Sleep feels ill-formed. Perseverance, however, yields some black beauties - the Danzig-esque blues of 'Black Hounds of Vengence' provides a taste of the talent here. A patchy affair, but fans of 'Iron Will' will not be disappointed.

[binnie]

Megadeth - Endgame

Dangerous thing hype. It often raises expectations and forces preconceptions of an album that can only be a disappointment upon first listen. Much has been spewed about this record being a return to the technical thrash that cemented the Megadeth name in the late 80s. There is certainly some truth in this - 'This Day We Fight' is performed with breakneck savegry and sounds like it came straight out of 1985, and the crunching rhythms and snapping riffs which colide to make 'Head Crusher' may well deliver the most ferocious piece of music that Dave Mustaine has ever penned. But if truth be told, this is no Thrash record or retro-Megadeth album. Most of the material here sounds like beefed-up versions of the mid-paced metal displayed on 'Countdown To Exctinction' (1992) and 'Youthanasia' (1994) - packed with riffs and laced with some of the finest metal songmanship known to mankind? Yes. But fast? Not particuarly.

But whilst 'Endgame' is no Thrash record, it is a heavy one. Monstrously heavy, in fact. The title track - a dystopian vision of a US populace enslaved by its government sometime in the near future - is everything that makes Megadeth great rolled into one. Multiple sections welded together by time changes which snap the song around at will, a ranting Mustaine vocal, intermitent solos, and relentless riffing all combine to make an epic wave of sonic battery. It sounds as fresh now as it did in 1990. Why? Because no one else does it this well. 'How The Story Ends' unfolds around a riff that could crunch a planet whole, before descending into a display of metal mastery that could only be delivered by Dave Mustaine. The frontman is on fine form throughout this disc, delivering his best ever collection of melodic choruses and most focussed display of songwriting since 'Countdown....' Indeed, of the Megadeth albums released since 1994, this is also the most consistent. Much credit must be given here to producer Andy Sneap, who has trimmed the songs down to hone their potency and delivered a powerhouse sound which is much more bass heavy than fans might expect.

Even potential bananna skin 'The Hardest Part of Letting Go.....Sealed With A Kiss' - a power-ballad (eek!) descrbing a lover who kills his girlfriend a hides her corpse behind a wall - is dispatched with aplomb. Although unlike anything the band have recorded before, Mustaine's sombre vocal and twisting meloldy are a perfect fit with the album's macrabre vibe. Ultimately it is this completeness that makes 'Endgame' so invigorating, for what we have here is a BAND - Megadave is officially Megadeth again. As if to announce their newly solidified status as a band of brothers, the album kicks off with a showcase for new guitar hero Chris Broderick (ex Nevermore/Jag Panzer) in 'Dialetic Chaos', two minutes of guitar dueling between he and Mustaine. This serves to get the urge to widdle out of their systems, and the solos on the rest of the album always serve to inject energy into songs rather than dominate them. Brodderick is certainly impressively dexterous, but whether his solos will prove to be that memorable is something which only time will tell.

Unpack the hype, and what we have here still delivers. Elements of all era's of Megadeth have been rolled into something which is far more than the sum of their parts. Picking up where 2007's 'United Abominations' left off, this is Mustaine's past and present, and hopefully a sign of his future.

[binnie]

The Wildhearts - Chutzpah!

I've always thought as The Wildhearts as a British version of Cheap Trick, a band who manage to effortlessly combine outright oddness with instant accessibilty. No-one else sounds like 'em, but they write songs so good that they feel like old friends the first time you hear them. This record is a patchy affair, however. There are certainly plenty of plus points: 'The Jackson Whites' and 'John of Violence' typically combine bombastic rock with viscous melodies to forge a uniquely anthemic sound which is at once quintessential to this band without ever straining near to the territory of by-numbers. Similary, 'Plastic Jebus' displays Ginger's sardonic humour and talent to pen of killer chorus, whilst 'Tim Smith' and the titletrack err on the band's more metallic side, a maelstrom of furious riffs whirling underneath melodies of almost saccarine sweatness, schizo rock delivered in pop clothing. It is surprising then to find 'Only One' and 'You Took The Sunshine From New York' to be underdeveloped musically and twee in tone, and 'You Are Proof That Not All Women Are Insane' a letdown to a great song title. The band's decision to allow CJ and Scott to share lead vocals with Ginger often leads to an album whose character feels cluttered, and the attempt to mask this with vocal effects only further steals charisma. But it is perhaps the fact that this record is so heavily invested in dealing with New York (where it was recorded) that poses the biggest problem - the band, so wonderfully English, lose something as tourists. This is not a poor record by any means, and it is typical of a band that continually develops and experiments that it sounds nothing like the majestic metallic thump of previous outing 'Must Be Destroyed' and yet both sound utterly like only The Wildhearts could. Resplendent with highs but littered with lows.

[binnie]

Pearl Jam - Backspacer

There's a point half-way through 'Gonna See My Friend' - the opening track on Pearl Jam's ninth studio record - that you are overcome with sheer glee, an overwhelming sense that they've finally crawled out of their own asses. Forever. With its switch beat, blues licks and pulsating bass this Stones-meets-The-Clash number is everything great about rock 'n' roll wrapped up in an incediary delivery. It's an opener that makes you feel that Pearl Jam have maintained the momentum garnered by 2006's eponymous record, an album of full tilt rock in which they finally seemed to achieve their life long ambition of sounding like an even more pissed off version of Crazy Horse. So 'Backspacer' is a great record then? Nope.
It all comes crashing down on track 2, 'Get Some'. With a verse that sounds oddly like The Killers it is a song which, like most of the other tunes on 'Backspacer', meanders in search of a hook. We are suddenly back in the territory which marred Pearl Jam's mid 90s work ('No Code' and 'Yield') so terribly - the pathological fear of 'selling out' leading to an abandonment of anything which might make most of their songs memorable. One gets the sense that this band would like to write the perfect 'Anti-Hit'. The absence of chorus has the ability to render the most adventurous song here, 'Unthought Known', a perfectly crafted Springsteen-esque arrangment which sounds glacial, into sounding curiously incomplete.
Pearl Jam haven't made a dud. Far from it, in fact. 'The End' is Vedder at his best, an exposed nerve of a song overpowering in its rawness; and 'Johnny Guitar', with its odd vocal line, sees swirls of guitar effortlessly wrapped around and impossibly tight beat. But for every moment of rejuvenation, theres one of aimless wandering - the performances are typically raw and powerful, the lyrics typically provocative, but with just a little more polish these songs could pass from good to great. Pearl Jam have always done things their own way - the weird little ditties interspersed throught 'Vitology', falling out with Ticketmaster, and spending most of the 90s creating music as un-marketable as possible. But intergrity is often one part admirable, one part frustrating.

[WACF]

Put simply, this is a post-hardcore record that isn't boring. In times when it seems every band in this genre writes songs that exist purely for the mid-section breakdown, that is a mighty fine achievement, and a refreshing one. This band don't even have generic on the horizon: the greasy riff to 'Bastard's Waltz' deserves an king sized award; and the unnerving and unhinged fury of 'Sorceress' is about as purely emotional as music can get. All great music has a sense of melody, and an incessantly attractive rhythm, and this group understands that - unlike so many other bands of this ilk, each song on this record stands unique from the others but all contain the stamp of character that runs throughout the album. From the classic metal riffery of the title track and 'Lucifer's Rocking Chair', to the old-skool hardcore of 'Harem of Scorpions' and 'Let It Pour' the listener is presented with a melting pot of everything that has been great about extreme music for the past 25 years. The vocals aren't cookie monster, but are barked with vitriol in a style that's reminiscent of the criminally underated 90s band Strife, and are a perfect vehicle for lyrics which paint in various shades of anger, rage and despair. Closing with the souring 'Zed's Dead Baby', this is a band that feels it and means it - if they keep putting out discs like this, they may very well become legends. Not for the faint hearted, but pure catharsis on plastic. My neck hurts, I'm sweating, and my ears ache, but damn it feels good.

This is a real good CD IMO...saw them in a small club...outstanding show.

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