Album Reviews

[binnie]

Duplicate

[binnie]

From the Vaults: The Wildhearts – Must Be Destroyed (2003)

A world awaits an icon to make a connection
A mother complex begs stellar direction
He's taking the chair
He's living the life
He's fucking pretty girls every night
But he ain't fucking the wife

And he's doing the things we'll never do and he's genuine
Judging by the size of his crew
With a face the eye can easily digest
He's down with the big boys and up there with the big best
A Lennon, A Presley, a Muhammad Ali they give us there life
Literally it's got to be all or nothing, death or glory
'Cos the history books could always use a new story

Nexus Icon, Nexus Icon
The negative cycle is waiting for the next one
Nexus Icon, Nexus Icon
This is not open for negotiation

It could only be Ginger, one of the few remaining rock ‘n’ roll badasses: spouting lyrics like some fast-talkin’ Tarrantino villain spitting wisdom hewn from pop culture. It’s the Wildhearts, baby – scuzzy punk-metal played with boulder-sized testicles and enough quirky curve-balls to make you smile at the thought of a band like this even existing in a musical world that is increasingly po-faced. Platinum sized hooks, mule-kick riffs and perhaps the finest songwriter the UK has produced in the last 20 years, the Wildhearts have The Ramones on the stereo and early Soul Asylum in the rear view mirror.

It’s the variety that gets you. From the apocalyptic opener ‘Nexus Icon’, we move through the Cheap Trick pop-rock of ‘Only Love’, The Buzzcocks infused punk of ‘Someone That Won’t Let Me Go’ to the joyously mental 90 seconds of pop thrash that is ‘Get Your Grove On’. ‘Vanilla Radio’ is a clarion-call for those of us who hate the bland music which dominates the airwaves, and if ‘Top Of The World’ doesn’t give you a shit-eating smile, then the teenager in you is long dead.

This album is a helluva lot of fun, but it really flew under the radar back in 2003. It’s not even close to The Wildheart’s best (check out ‘Earth Vs..’ or ‘PHUQ U’: genius), but even it’s autopilot moments will kick you in the ear drums.

[vandeleur]

Love the wildhearts

[binnie]

They could have been huge if they hadn't been so.........wasted.

[binnie]

From the vaults: Pearl Jam - Riot Act (2002)

From the mid-90s to the early '00s, Pearl Jam tried to be everything to no-one: heartfelt, but rebellious; engaging, but willfully recalcitrant; musicians' darlings, but ego-less beat poets who'd do anything to avoid the spotlight. The result was a mess. An annoying mess, which left all but the die-hards wondering why, if you could pen the ballsy hard rock of 'Ten' and 'Vs, you wouldn't. How could being a poor man's Crazy Horse be more fun?

'Riot Act' - album number 7 - was the culmination of the mid-career mind fuck. Continuing the move into semi-acoustic land begun by 1996's 'No Code', Pearl Jam here sounded old before their time, delivering a series of wistful, moody rambles across rock's landscape. Fine in a one off EP, but hard-going across a 15 song - 15 fucking song(!) - album.

That's not to say that there aren't some gems floating in this sea of mediocrity. 'Cropduster' is ballsy, ear-bleeding country, Springsteen-esque arrangements allowing it to sweep in one continual movement. 'I Am Man' is forlorn and folky blues, and you can even forgive Vedder's undercooked lyric in the pressence of THAT hook. On the rocker 'Get Right', you can't help but smile in a 'fuck-me-there's-a-hook-and-it's-good' kinda way, as they kick it up into the chorus and the room seems to take off into one incendiary bubble in the way that only a truly great band can achieve.

But it all comes crashing down. Painfully. 'You Are' is awful funky rock guitar ('Love is a tower, and you are the key...' for fuck's sake); 'Love Boat Captain' is a tapestry of cliched lyrics hoping to wretch up the spirit of '67; and 'Help Help' is a wimisical take on the Beatles's 'White Album'. It's the sound of a band writing individually, not as a group.

You have to respect Pearl Jam for marching to the beat of their own drum - transcending the expectations of the 'grunge' label certainly allowed them to survive it. But as Vedder whinges about being trapped on the otherwise sumptuous orchestra of americana 'Can't Keep', you can't help but be reminded that whilst Pearl Jam are an easy band to respect, they're a difficult one to love.

[binnie]

From the vaults: Stone Temple Pilots - Core (1992)

'You can't swallow, what I'm thinking......' booms Scott Weiland on 'Dead & Bloated', the opening track of STP's incendiary debut record. It captures the moment perfectly, for here STP were all about being a hulking, swaggering riff-pummelling behemoth of a band. It's the one-two of the confidence and the heaviness that get's you - this things could move tectonic plates. When people piss and moan about 'grunge' killing rock, you have to wonder what they were hearing: there's more substance, bite and soul here than anything dripping out of LA in the late 80s or early 90s.

Whether it's the perfect synthesis of debauched rock 'n' roll and predatory sexuality that it 'Sex Type Thing', it's buzz-saw riff and power-chord driven chorus adding bite to the Weiland's whirlwind lyric taking things to the cusp of rape; the rumbling groove of 'Where The River Goes', a bluesy, jammed out swamp monster of a song which announced that STP would always exist on their terms, not the radio's; or tar-thick hooks of 'Naked Sunday' and 'Piece of Pie', you can't help but admire the clarity of intent and sure sense of self exhibited on this debut. 'Plush' says it all: the maturity of the composition is dazzling - a power-ballad in a dirtied up whore's dress.

They may not have had the stadium-metal leanings of Alice In Chains, the alt.rock nerdiness of Nirvana, or the dirtied up Creedence of Pearl Jam, but in a sense STP were always more of their own men. Much of that was propelled by the Deleo brother's unique playing: the odd time signatures, the curious approach to rhythm and riff writing which made STP so instantaneous and so.......memorable. Dean Deleo's playing is not flashy, but it's impactful - an unlikely guitar hero, perhaps, but surely one of heavy music's best riff writers. Tony Iommi in a plaid shirt. Combined with Weiland's commitment to Bowie-esque weirdness and love of the surreal, it made for something truly out their, delivered on a bed of truly twisted melodies.

20 years on: it's still quite a statement of intent. But it would be one which STP would quickly out-grow.

[Mr Walker]

Bin, have you heard this yet?



Artist…: Razorrape
Album….: Revenge Of The Hermaphrodite Whores
01. Triple Cock Buttfuck 01:45
02. Castration By Children 01:48
03. Shemale Snuff Scatorgy 01:33
04. Bukkake Suicide 01:48
05. Rabid Shemale Rape Squad 03:04
06. Pre-Teen Swinger Separty 01:56
07. Pigtail Bitch Piss Pleasure 02:24
08. Three On A Meathook 01:19
09. Revenge Of The Hermaphrodite Whores 02:51
10. Diarrhea Bucket 01:35
11. Kaviar Creampie 02:18
12. Beautiful Girl Hunter 01:19
13. Foreskin Facemask 09:18

[Mr Walker]

I heard that 'Diarrhea Bucket' is their 'Stay Frosty'.

[binnie]

The 9 minute epic 'Foreskin Facemask' is what intrigues me most.

Can't say I've heard it - but they clearly have a sense of humour.

[binnie]

In Solitude – The World, The Flesh, The Devil

To say that this sounds like early Mercyful Fate or Diano-era Iron Maiden would be an understatement. Hell (and that’s appropriate!), even the production harks back to 1981 – muted, compressed and crisp, this is metal before pro-tools, before the inflated and fabricated studio boom of the digital age. It’s metal in the classic sense in other ways, too. We get the – frankly so sincere it’s ridiculous – image: fur, leather, and battle paints; and we get the cartoon Satanism, too. It’s sort of metal in limbo between NWOBHM and thrash – speedy, but not staccato.

Oh, and its fun. Lots of fun. The title track is a mutating swirl of melodies and riffs. ‘We Were Never Here’ is pure operatic grandeur. We get gallops, we get sweeping soundscapes, multiple part songs, harmonies, crescendos and some seriously big-ass choruses – above all else – and this is what separates In Solitude from so many metal bands – you sense that tongues are planted firmly in cheeks. At its best – on the limber, writhing, contorting beast of Maiden worship that is ‘Dance of the Adversary’ or the 13 minutes of metal majesty that makes up ‘On Burning Paths’ – its dazzling and joylously evil stuff; at its worst – see ‘Demons’ – it’s a parodic mush of unmemorable riffs and melodies stretched over torturous length.

With bands that exist to replicate the past, it comes down to preference: some folks like the nostalgia trip and see it as proof of what modern bands are ‘missing’; some folks think that you can’t even re-create the music of the past because it existed in a specific context – what was once honest and pure is re-created as pointless and pastiche. Such opinions generally exists aside from the music itself. It would certainly be unfair to criticize In Solitude for emulation – especially in a world where Sabbath worship is so ubiquitous in heavy music. But when faced with the sheer volume of powerful, invigorating heavy music pouring out of Sweeden, you can’t help see where In Solitude come up short. This will make you smile, for sure – but it’s more likely to have you reaching for that scratchy old copy of ‘Melissa’ than it is to come back for more.

[binnie]

From the vaults: Mark Lanegan - Whiskey for the Holy Ghost (1994)

Oh the river rise
And it's a mile high
Is this worth tryin'
Is this worth tryin'
Cause I could fall
Like a tear
Well there's nothing else I can do

When I'm not alone
Nothings beside me
What one eye sees
The other's blind in
Well I could fall
As if I was young
With a lifetime to think of you

Before Ryan Adams. Before Jesse Malin. Before the whole corpus of alt.country/american bitches whining about how 'complex' their blues are, there was Mark Lanegan - erstwhile Screaming Trees frontman (and later Gutter Twins, Queens of the Stone Age collaborator), the gravel-throated one husks these acoustic tunes full of forlorn life in a manner almost devoid of artifice. There's no staid angst or self-conscious preening: just understated, simply arranged acoustic lullabies hushed into life by delicate percussion and strings. Here is a man full of the silent knowing hewn from life's intricate moments. A man who has lived.

For the most part, Lanegan's bourbon kissed melodies are served up raw and steaming. 'Borriacho' is a bad-ass lament, a low man's lyric in the face of the devil. Frantic and broken, it's offset by the humble country of 'House A Home' or the grungy-Zeppelin folk of 'Riding the Nightingale'. It's harrowing, but uplifting; sparse but full of impact. 'Beggars Blues' is what happens when you stare into the abyss and the abyss stares back; whilst 'Judas Touch' is the sound os Don Mclean's evil twin. You hear the reference points: Reed, Waits, Cave.....even Springsteen. But you'll be hooked by the emotion. Dueting with Sally Barry and Krisha Augerot on 'Sunrise' and 'Kingdom of Rain', you have to wonder why more people aren't listening to Mark Lanegan - this really is music at it's purest:

Are those halos in your hair
Or diamonds shining there
Without a hope, without a prayer
This rain beats down like death
You turn your eyes to better men
Before I go I'm hangin' a cross on the nail
I hung one for you in there

And they say Adelle's got soul? Pfffft. I'll take pathos over affectation any day of the week.

[binnie]

From the vaults: Iron Maiden - Killers (1981)

What a difference a singer makes. You cannot help but wonder - for all the stratospheric heights (sonically and commerically) which Maiden achieved with Bruce Dickinson's air-raid siren of a voice at the helm - what this band might have gone on to produce with Di'anno's pit-bull approach to singing. They were a rawer, less consciously crafted, and more spontaneous band in their orignial conception. After the left-hook out of nowhere at the height of punk which was their debut, 'Killers' - whilst often having the reputation of featuing the weaker set of Di'anno-era songs - took things up a level in terms of intensity.

The instrumental gallop of opener 'The Ides of March' gives way to 'Wrathchild' and THAT bassline. This is Maiden at their most aggressive, most elemental, and dinosaur heavy. 31 years on, you hear the core ingredients of heavy metal: duel guitars, spasming time-changes and multiple riffs wrapped into one composition. The title-track offers up more piss 'n' vinegar, with a melody which almost trips over itself acting as a perfect foil for the gruesome subject matter. But it's the deep-cuts which, erm,.......kill. 'Drifter' is frantic and possessed of an almost punk bite: a beautiful melodic guitar lines gives way to some serious twin guitar meltdown in the middle section as the song explodes. This is an epic squeezed into 5 minutes, and the sound of a band which has been hewn and bred on the road. 'Innocent Life' - a chronically neglected epic - is equally explosive, and the sound of a band hugely at ease with itself. That woud be remarkable of any softmore record - but for one that sounded like this in the punk/new-wave era, it speaks of a remarkable sense of self.

Is it perfect? Far from it. The '70s hard rock of 'Another Life' feels curiously out of place - more UFO than up the irons! And at times, Di'anno's intensity is his undoing. For all the switchblade riffs and piercing melodies of 'Purgatory', the speed of the song means that Paul struggles to add anything effective with the vocals, a problem which mars his performance on the speedier moments of 'Murders in the Rue Morgue'. On the latter - a sign of the grandeur they would later achieve - you sense the band and its singer pulling in two different directions.

But, for all of these imperfections, 'Killers' remains my favourite Maiden album. That, I think, is probably because it's not trying to be perfect - it is, rather the sound of a band as a gang, a ferral pack of youths on killing mode. This was a band that made music which was as much about feel, character and venom as it was songs, structures and melodrama. Dickinson allowed Harris to reach his ambitions by bringing range - but for all the grandeur of 'Powerslave' or 'Seventh Son...', for all the epic soundscapes of 'Piece of Mind' and pure evil of 'Number...' Maiden would never sound as vital - or as viscious - as they did here.

[Mr Walker]

From the vaults: Mark Lanegan - Whiskey for the Holy Ghost (1994)

Oh the river rise
And it's a mile high
Is this worth tryin'
Is this worth tryin'
Cause I could fall
Like a tear
Well there's nothing else I can do

When I'm not alone
Nothings beside me
What one eye sees
The other's blind in
Well I could fall
As if I was young
With a lifetime to think of you

Before Ryan Adams. Before Jesse Malin. Before the whole corpus of alt.country/american bitches whining about how 'complex' their blues are, there was Mark Lanegan - erstwhile Screaming Trees frontman (and later Gutter Twins, Queens of the Stone Age collaborator), the gravel-throated one husks these acoustic tunes full of forlorn life in a manner almost devoid of artifice. There's no staid angst or self-conscious preening: just understated, simply arranged acoustic lullabies hushed into life by delicate percussion and strings. Here is a man full of the silent knowing hewn from life's intricate moments. A man who has lived.

For the most part, Lanegan's bourbon kissed melodies are served up raw and steaming. 'Borriacho' is a bad-ass lament, a low man's lyric in the face of the devil. Frantic and broken, it's offset by the humble country of 'House A Home' or the grungy-Zeppelin folk of 'Riding the Nightingale'. It's harrowing, but uplifting; sparse but full of impact. 'Beggars Blues' is what happens when you stare into the abyss and the abyss stares back; whilst 'Judas Touch' is the sound os Don Mclean's evil twin. You hear the reference points: Reed, Waits, Cave.....even Springsteen. But you'll be hooked by the emotion. Dueting with Sally Barry and Krisha Augerot on 'Sunrise' and 'Kingdom of Rain', you have to wonder why more people aren't listening to Mark Lanegan - this really is music at it's purest:

Are those halos in your hair
Or diamonds shining there
Without a hope, without a prayer
This rain beats down like death
You turn your eyes to better men
Before I go I'm hangin' a cross on the nail
I hung one for you in there

And they say Adelle's got soul? Pfffft. I'll take pathos over affectation any day of the week.

When this CD was released I was working two full time jobs and there are a few times during the week when I'd be up for 36+ hours at a clip. When I'd finally get a chance to get some sleep it would be during the day and remember having to hole myself up in a darkened room and I would put this CD on to bring me down. I don't mean that in a bad way as if it was a boring disc... it would completely unwind me as I would get lost in the vocals and atmosphere the music created.

[Mr Walker]

From the vaults: Iron Maiden - Killers (1981)

What a difference a singer makes. You cannot help but wonder - for all the stratospheric heights (sonically and commerically) which Maiden achieved with Bruce Dickinson's air-raid siren of a voice at the helm - what this band might have gone on to produce with Di'anno's pit-bull approach to singing. They were a rawer, less consciously crafted, and more spontaneous band in their orignial conception. After the left-hook out of nowhere at the height of punk which was their debut, 'Killers' - whilst often having the reputation of featuing the weaker set of Di'anno-era songs - took things up a level in terms of intensity.

The instrumental gallop of opener 'The Ides of March' gives way to 'Wrathchild' and THAT bassline. This is Maiden at their most aggressive, most elemental, and dinosaur heavy. 31 years on, you hear the core ingredients of heavy metal: duel guitars, spasming time-changes and multiple riffs wrapped into one composition. The title-track offers up more piss 'n' vinegar, with a melody which almost trips over itself acting as a perfect foil for the gruesome subject matter. But it's the deep-cuts which, erm,.......kill. 'Drifter' is frantic and possessed of an almost punk bite: a beautiful melodic guitar lines gives way to some serious twin guitar meltdown in the middle section as the song explodes. This is an epic squeezed into 5 minutes, and the sound of a band which has been hewn and bred on the road. 'Innocent Life' - a chronically neglected epic - is equally explosive, and the sound of a band hugely at ease with itself. That woud be remarkable of any softmore record - but for one that sounded like this in the punk/new-wave era, it speaks of a remarkable sense of self.

Is it perfect? Far from it. The '70s hard rock of 'Another Life' feels curiously out of place - more UFO than up the irons! And at times, Di'anno's intensity is his undoing. For all the switchblade riffs and piercing melodies of 'Purgatory', the speed of the song means that Paul struggles to add anything effective with the vocals, a problem which mars his performance on the speedier moments of 'Murders in the Rue Morgue'. On the latter - a sign of the grandeur they would later achieve - you sense the band and its singer pulling in two different directions.

But, for all of these imperfections, 'Killers' remains my favourite Maiden album. That, I think, is probably because it's not trying to be perfect - it is, rather the sound of a band as a gang, a ferral pack of youths on killing mode. This was a band that made music which was as much about feel, character and venom as it was songs, structures and melodrama. Dickinson allowed Harris to reach his ambitions by bringing range - but for all the grandeur of 'Powerslave' or 'Seventh Son...', for all the epic soundscapes of 'Piece of Mind' and pure evil of 'Number...' Maiden would never sound as vital - or as viscious - as they did here.

Not a popular statement, but 'Killers' contains my favorite Maiden track 'Prodigal Son'... I always thought the intro guitar sounded very similar to Ozzy's 'You Can't Kill Rock And Roll'.
I was listening to Killers a few weeks ago and made me think to look for my old 'Gogamagog' EP... I forgot to, but this review just reminded me again.

[hotsummerknight]

From the vaults: Iron Maiden - Killers (1981)

great review. it def has a subtle punk sound on many of the tracks, and interestingly enough if you read any steve harris interview from back in the day, they despised the punk scene and didn't want any association with it at all. they didn't fully shed the punk sound until dickinson/mcbrain came into the picture.

this is one of my favorite albums.