Album Reviews

[binnie]

Deftones – Diamond Eyes

That the Deftones have been unconvincingly pigeonholed ‘Nu Metal’, ‘Emo’, ‘Screamo’ and ‘Post Hardcore’ is a testament both to a journalistic dependency on labels, and to their own brand of metallic majesty. Like Faith No More before them, the Deftones are a band which has always existed apart from contemporary metal landscapes, making music stubbornly and persistently their own. The sheer level of creativity in this band has often seen its members pull in different directions, and consequently previous outings ‘Deftones’ and ‘Saturday Wrist’ – although containing stellar songs – felt like a clutter of moments rather than a fully-formed musical statement. On ‘Diamond Eyes’, the band is once again more than the sum of its parts – more coherent and concise than its immediate predecessors, the band has produced an album of such magisterial calibre it equals their own brilliance of their heyday.

Indeed, ‘Diamond Eyes’ combines the grooving battery of 1997’s ‘Around the Fur’ with the dazzlingly epic sound-scapes of their masterpiece, ‘White Pony’. From the opening seconds of the beautiful cacophony which resonates from the title-track, the band leave listeners in no doubt that this is everything which fans could long for. Harbouring a sound structured through the contrast between the bounce and crunch of a rhythm section locked around Steven Carpenter’s punchy riffs, and Chino Moreno’s esoteric croon, which drifts over his band’s warped groove, songs like ‘Prince’ and ‘Risk’ are a logical progression of the Deftones’ quintessential sound. Indebted as much to alt-rock as to metal, this is a band which manages to be crushingly heavy and delicately melodic at the same time, presenting a range of voices without ever feeling contrived. Thus ‘Rocket’ alternates between Fugazi-esque sparseness and rich melodies firmly entrenched in ‘70s Rush; and ‘Cmnd/Ctrl’ manages to balance savagery with the ethereal, alternating between the anthemic and the perverse. This a band capable of combining the ultra-heavy ‘Royal’ and the delicately-sonorous ‘Sextape’ and ‘Beauty School’ in one musical vision – as such, ‘Diamond Eyes’ is as moving as metal is ever likely to be, oozing out of the speakers in a rush of emotion and musical tapestries so rich that they make the Cult’s ‘Love’ appear Spartan by comparison. And yet, for all the diversity of the moods they evoke, the Deftones never fall short of being powerful. Nuanced, accessible, challenging and beautifully complete, when future generation look back for the best music of the early Twenty First Century, they would do a lot worse than looking here.

[Jagermeister]

Fact is, Carlos is WAY better than people give him credit for. And unlike some of his peers (cough, cough), he KEEPS PROGRESSING...

He's a total bro, and Warren's a pretty cool guy, too.

Have you listened to this jhale? Cause everytime I do I think about that statement. This is a damn good record. I can't get enough of it.

[binnie]

Ozzy Osbourne – Scream

This is a unique Ozzy record for two reasons. Firstly, it is the only Ozzy record since 1991’s ‘No More Tears’ to actually live up to the hype job performed by Mistress Sharon Management – unlike every other Ozzy record of the previous 20 years, this one doesn’t suck more dick than Paris Hilton on an average Saturday night. Secondly – and far more importantly – this is the only Ozzy record not to be defined by the guitar player who lavishes his talents on it. That’s not to say that new boy Gus G doesn’t have his moments here, but rather to note that he hasn’t left his individual stamp on the Ozzy sound just as yet – largely because the songs were written before he became involved. The odd dazzling solo aside, this is a long way from his power metal day job, and there are a few moments where he sounds like a pastiche of Zakk Wylde.

However, the absence of a God-like guitar player actually makes for a stronger record, one in which the strength of Ozzy’s melodies and the craft of the songs dominates. Too often in the past both have been overshone by Zakk’s increasingly busy guitar style, but here we have an Ozzy Osbourne revitalized and re-focussed. Indeed, his vocals sound better than anyone could possibly have imagined – the ‘studio magic’ on his voice is well hidden, and thankfully he no longer sounds like a demonic incarnation of Kermit the Frog. Rather, he’s clearly having a wail of a time and is at his menacing best. Yet it’s the sheer heaviness of the material that staggers you: opener ‘Let It Die’ is six minutes of granite fury, whilst the double bass-drum blast of ‘Diggin Me Down’ is probably the heaviest solo tune Ozzy has ever penned. On the sludge of ‘Soul Sucker’ he nods to his Sabbath past, whilst ‘Fearless’, ‘Crucify’ and ‘I Want It More’ are the finest blend of Ozzy-style metal we’ve heard since ‘No Rest For the Wicked’, the latter possessed of a melody stronger than anything you thought that the double O had left. Seriously, that good.

Even the more introspective moments don’t hurt. There’s no ‘Mama I’m Getting’ Old’ or the aptly titled ‘Road To Nowhere’ here, nor is there a faux-Beatles ‘Dreamer’ tune to make us whince. The Creed-esque ‘Life Won’t Wait’ is a single in the waiting, and ‘Time’ has an oddly post-grunge feel to it – they’re no ‘Goodbye To Romance’, but you can’t have everything.

Is this the best metal record of the year? No – it’s not even the best metal record of the month. But it’s bloody good. Anyone expecting ‘Blizzard…’ or ‘Diary…’#2 will be disappointed, and rightly so. You don’t fuck as well as you did in 1981, and it’s uncharitable to expect an artist in his 60s to conjure up the vibrancy of his heyday. But judged against the last two decades of his career, this stacks up way ahead of the competition; it is also infinitely more inspired, and consistent, than the sort of records his peers are knocking out – ‘Black Ice’ is nowhere near as solid as this.

He’s Ozzy and he wants you to scream – you won’t be able to help yourself.

[binnie]

From the vaults: Panic Channel – (One) (2006)

Essentially a side project from the rest of Jane’s Addiction when they fell out with Perry Farrell, Panic Channel released an immense debut which floated under the radar. Retaining the kinky beats and funky riffs which characterizes the kaleidoscopic metal of their mother band, PC nonetheless eschewed the more ethereal elements in favour a sound which is more direct and yet expansive. ‘Teahouse of the Spirits’ and ‘Awake’ swoon with an electric groove and sonorous melodies, the latter channelling the more epic side of Zeppelin without ever coming close to pastiche. Upon hearing the pipes of Steve Issacs you wonder why Velvet Revolver piss around so much in finding a singer with guys like this around – the versatility of his performance, from understatedly intimate (‘Lie Next To Me’) to shamen (‘Left To Lose’), is staggering, and on the introspective croon of ‘Said You’d Be’ you realize that there are still charismatic frontmen in rock. Ranging from bombastic to bruised, this is the sound which Audioslave aimed for and missed - ‘Night One’ spins from crunching to tingling on the flip of a coin, Issac’s soaring vocals offsetting Navarro’s truly epic riffing perfectly in 8 minutes of frenzied modern hard rock which promised so much for a band which disbanded too soon.

[binnie]

Taking Dawn – Time To Burn

Imagine it’s 1990. Grunge has yet to happen and alt. rock is just that, alternative, distant, something which only those pasty kids you stuff into lockers at school listen too. You kick off your cowboy boots after a day cruising the strip and picking up make-up advice from Rikki Rocket, and you grab the new edition of RIP magazine from your bed – there on the front cover, in all of their long-haired and tight-panted glory, are the year’s hot new band: Taking Dawn. Or so this band would love to dream. In their world guitars wail over big riffs, big drums, bigger choruses and a production which is bigger still. They even wear the same leather jackets that Skid Row and Nunu Bettencourt used to wear, for they have chosen to live their lives as a tribute to the era which they so clearly love.

It’s an impressive pastiche. This might be the best album that Mike Tramp never made, featuring the sort of multi-layered vocal harmonies that Mutt Lange would be proud of - almost every song features intro and outro leads alongside a solo, as well as detailed linear credits for the plank-spanking superstar who plays them. According to their lyrics, they’re bringer the rock back: ‘Like A Revolution’, ‘Fight ‘em With Your Rock’ and ‘So Loud’ are all concerned with the rise of the Cathouse, like a skank ridden whore from the flames. These guys probably refer to Dana Strum as ‘The Bard’. Is it profound? No. But it’s sincere, and you have to respect them for that.

The problem for Taking Dawn, however, is that rock ain’t dead – it’s just moved on. This is a good record full of catchy, hook-laden metal that you could party all night too, and with songs as good as ‘Take Me Away’ they would have been huge 20 years ago. Now, however, whether intentionally or not, they have made a piece of kitsch. Taking Dawn face the same problem as Airbourne – just as the Aussies will never make an album half as good as ‘Powerage’, so whilst listening to ‘Time To Burn’ the listener can’t help thinking that they’d rather be cranking ‘Slave to the Grind.’ Maybe they should call their next album ‘Doomed to be Derivative.’

[binnie]

Stone Temple Pilots – Stone Temple Pilots

So here it is, the record behind the soap opera that is Scott Weiland. For a band fronted by a figure who spends a sizeable chunk of his time incoherently rambling about in a condition which would be undignified for a man half of his age this is a remarkably sober record. It seems that the muse for this new found focus is older than the band itself. A glance at the floral decorated ‘V’ sign on the front cover highlights what becomes abundantly clear seconds after hitting the ‘play’ button: STP have discovered the ‘60s with relish. Kicking things off with vigour, opener ‘Between The Lines’ sounds like Cheap Trick masquerading as a British Invasion cover band, gloriously awash with saccharine melodies. The jangle of ‘Hickory Dichotomy’ and taught-rock of ‘Bagman’ see Weiland exercise his Bowie-fixation, whilst the grandiose of ‘Maver’ is the lament the Velvet Revolver never quite managed to pull off. It’s everything you’d expect: quirky lyrics, odd time signatures, slab-like riffs, and jangling percussion. And yet far from falling into the trap of many reunions of trying to recapture lost glories and merely grabbing self-parody, this is an album which looks firmly into the band’s future, hinting more firmly at the ethereal avant garde rock that they made towards the end of the ‘90s than the post grunge fury of earlier releases.

It’s not all great, however. The sub-standard ELO rip-off ‘Dare If You Dare’ is uninspired an on the frighteningly trite ‘Cinnamon’ the band manage to achieve something which they’ve never done before – they sound dull. But the duds are few and far between. There might not be anything demanding a place on a ‘Best Of’ here, but there record works as a whole, feeling more concise and focussed than previous outing ‘Shangri-la-dee-da’. This is no ego trip or cash ‘n’ grab, but a band pulling as one. It’s not great enough to make your year, but it’s certainly good enough to brighten up your summer.

[binnie]

From the vaults: Kerbdog – On The Turn (1996)

This is Irish Grunge, but it’s long way from Seattle. Eschewing soft/heavy song dynamics in favour of more intricate crafting, and displaying a sense of melody more akin to Husker Du than Kurt Cobain, this was a dazzling record when it appeared in 1996. Painting from a palette far broader than angst, songs ‘Didn’t Even Try’ and ‘Severed’ feel like they have been lived, the sort of songs someone has invested their whole lives in, and the impassioned delivery of Cormag Battle only solidifies that impression. The staggeringly defiant ‘Pledge’ bursts with riffs that most bands would trade body parts to write, and on the web of twists and turns on ‘JJ’s Song’ the band craft an epic in 4 minutes. Songs like ‘Lesser Shelf’ and ‘Pointless’ blend metal and punk in a way skin to fellow countrymen Therapy?, but in truth Kerbdog had a resume of material infinitely superior to that band, on any other of the ‘Brit Rock’ explosion of the mid-90s – Skunk Anansie, Three Colours Red, Feeder et al may have shifted the units, but they never came closer to the raw abandon and metallic efflorescence on display here. This record may have been a hell of a ride, but Kerbdog’s journey ended prematurely – listening to it today I am reminded of the sense of incredulity I was gripped with when it was released: why do all my friends love Oasis when there’s stuff like this being made? I still couldn’t tell you. Epic, accessible, casuistic, and beautifully aggressive, this is rock music as it should be: vibrant, vicious and vivacious.

[binnie]

From the vaults: Emanuel – Soundtrack to a Headrush (2005)

“Listen up, motherfuckers, this is that new unheard of unspoken so if you're down then get down and if you're not then get the fuck out!” That’s quite a way to start your career, and encapsulates a verve blasting through this debut record. Part emo, part screamo, part post-hardcore, in truth Emanuel pass beyond those genres, having a more bluesy, rock ‘n’ roll sensibility about them. And balls. Big balls, the sort that need a wheel-barrow to carry them around – imagine the New York Dolls mated with a rabid pitbull and you’re getting close. 35 minutes of incendiary 21st century rock’n’roll, songs like ‘Buy American Machines’ ‘The New Violence’ and ‘Hey Man’ possess a bombast which breathes life into a genre that has been limping for almost as long as it exists, and combining clever lyrics with vocal-guitar interplay makes for a record which feels very much like a seasoned band. On the swooning lament of ‘Make Tonight’ screaming is eschewed in favour of actual singing, and its impressive, a moving yet disturbing tale of lust and yearning. But at times the band is trading on enthusiasm rather than talent – ‘Hotline’ and ‘Breathe Underwater’ verge on the generic, whilst ‘Xeroxicide’ seems oddly directionless. This is not an album that will change music – but it may very well be one which kick starts a career bristling with potential.

[binnie]

From the vaults: Rainbow - Straight Between The Eyes (1982)

Joe Lynn Turner era Rainbow was a long way from that of Ronnie James Dio, epic soundscapes being eschewed in favour of pop senibilities, and in truth this is a record more of its time than timeless. It remains undervalued, however, and should not be dismissed as AOR, even if the band do come close on 'Stone Cold.' What we have here, rather, is a solid Heavy Metal record. 'Death Alley Driver' is a straight out rocker delivered at piledriver pace which comes on like a motherfucker, even if it does suffer by comparison with 'Highway Star'; and 'Tite Squeeze' sees Richie Blackmore and Roger Glover return to the funk-soul of their Deep Purple heyday. In the annals of rock history, Joe Lynn Turner is not accorded the place he deserves as singer: a master of diction, he puts in a remarkable performance here and if his lyrics suffer from cliche, his delivery on the emotive croon of 'Tearin' Out My Heart' is world class. Blackmore, as expected, is on fire and his sultry riffs even carry filler like 'Power' and 'Rock Fever'. Drenched in a crisp and clear production, the songs suffer from a sheen which burries their blues influences far below the surface and have meant that it hasn't aged well. That being said, it deserves a place in any classic rock collection - closing with 'Eyes of Fire', awash with eastern orchestratin and the bombast of '80s rock, this was the sound of a band still fire much of fire if not quite 'Rising.'

[Seshmeister]

Ozzy Osbourne – Scream

This is a unique Ozzy record for two reasons. Firstly, it is the only Ozzy record since 1991’s ‘No More Tears’ to actually live up to the hype job performed by Mistress Sharon Management – unlike every other Ozzy record of the previous 20 years, this one doesn’t suck more dick than Paris Hilton on an average Saturday night. Secondly – and far more importantly – this is the only Ozzy record not to be defined by the guitar player who lavishes his talents on it. That’s not to say that new boy Gus G doesn’t have his moments here, but rather to note that he hasn’t left his individual stamp on the Ozzy sound just as yet – largely because the songs were written before he became involved. The odd dazzling solo aside, this is a long way from his power metal day job, and there are a few moments where he sounds like a pastiche of Zakk Wylde.

However, the absence of a God-like guitar player actually makes for a stronger record, one in which the strength of Ozzy’s melodies and the craft of the songs dominates. Too often in the past both have been overshone by Zakk’s increasingly busy guitar style, but here we have an Ozzy Osbourne revitalized and re-focussed. Indeed, his vocals sound better than anyone could possibly have imagined – the ‘studio magic’ on his voice is well hidden, and thankfully he no longer sounds like a demonic incarnation of Kermit the Frog. Rather, he’s clearly having a wail of a time and is at his menacing best. Yet it’s the sheer heaviness of the material that staggers you: opener ‘Let It Die’ is six minutes of granite fury, whilst the double bass-drum blast of ‘Diggin Me Down’ is probably the heaviest solo tune Ozzy has ever penned. On the sludge of ‘Soul Sucker’ he nods to his Sabbath past, whilst ‘Fearless’, ‘Crucify’ and ‘I Want It More’ are the finest blend of Ozzy-style metal we’ve heard since ‘No Rest For the Wicked’, the latter possessed of a melody stronger than anything you thought that the double O had left. Seriously, that good.

Even the more introspective moments don’t hurt. There’s no ‘Mama I’m Getting’ Old’ or the aptly titled ‘Road To Nowhere’ here, nor is there a faux-Beatles ‘Dreamer’ tune to make us whince. The Creed-esque ‘Life Won’t Wait’ is a single in the waiting, and ‘Time’ has an oddly post-grunge feel to it – they’re no ‘Goodbye To Romance’, but you can’t have everything.

Is this the best metal record of the year? No – it’s not even the best metal record of the month. But it’s bloody good. Anyone expecting ‘Blizzard…’ or ‘Diary…’#2 will be disappointed, and rightly so. You don’t fuck as well as you did in 1981, and it’s uncharitable to expect an artist in his 60s to conjure up the vibrancy of his heyday. But judged against the last two decades of his career, this stacks up way ahead of the competition; it is also infinitely more inspired, and consistent, than the sort of records his peers are knocking out – ‘Black Ice’ is nowhere near as solid as this.

He’s Ozzy and he wants you to scream – you won’t be able to help yourself.

I've forgotten to listen to this. Changed days when I would have ran to the shop on the release day of an Ozzy album.

On the strength of your review I'll go and give it a try but I'm not giving that woman any more of my money...

[binnie]

Give it a try, Sesh. It's a grower, rather than an instant hit. It is also much heavier than you'll be expecting.

[binnie]

From the vaults: Husker Du - Flip Your Wig (1985)

This is rock'n'roll at its most primal essense, stripped of any nicieties or embellishments and drenched in conviction. Evolving from the more brutal punk of earlier releases, 'Flip Your Wig' was something of an iron fist in a velvet glove: underground fury wrapped in sacharine melodies. Many would point to 'Zen Arcade' as the pinnacle of Bob Mould's songwriting, but this gives it a run for its money. 'Divide & Conquer' is the best song that The Stiff Little Fingers never wrote; 'Hate Paper Doll' is a tune that early REM would have sold kidney's to have penned; and 'Find Me' has a buzzsaw guitar brimming with aggression. On the uncomfortavle jangle of 'Makes No Sense At All' and the lament of 'Green Eyes', vocals are burried beneath deafening guitar to give the album an uncomfortable, claustraphobic feel, and one which cannot fail to affect the listener. Sure, it was recorded on a welfare budget which makes for a barren sound, but in an increasingly bloated musical landscape of 1985 this must have sounded like rock'n'roll deconstructing itself. Mould's lyrics are witty and peppered with pithy images of the everyday, the perfect encapsulation of a band which sound as uncomprimsing today as they ever have. The Godfather of grunge? Maybe. Under-appreciated genius? Definitely.

[ELVIS]

On the strength of your review I'll go and give it a try but I'm not giving that woman any more of my money...

Without that woman there would be no Ozzy...

[binnie]

Black Label Society - Order of the Black

Anyone expecting a deviation from the BLS sound will be sorely dissapointed by this, Zakk's 8th record. The sound is still very much between Black Sabbath and Pantera. So, its still a parada of pinch harmonics, screaching solos, piss-poor lyrics and steroid fuelled riffs over arrangements that come straight out of songwriting 101. But what separates this record from every BLS album since 'The Blessed Hellride' is the sense of fire, and the focus that has gone into its production - sure, Wylde is never going to win a Grammy for songwriting but that's not the point. The typical BLS elements have been mixed here to perfection, and the end result is metal: straight with no chaser. If this record even had sophistication in its rear view mirror it'd turn around just to go wrestle with it, and on songs as stomping as 'Crazy Horse', 'Black Sunday', 'Southerh Dissolution' and 'Riders of the Damned', Zakk delivers up some of the most bombastic moments of his career. So, this is an album a couple of notches above 'solid'. What stops it from fulfilling its grasp, however, are the piano ballads, which sound tired and kitsch. Zakk simply doesn't have the voice to pull off the like of 'Darkest Days' or 'Time Waits for No-one', a song straight out of a bin that even Desmond Childs would label 'vapid.' But when he's flying the metal flag, there's few who do it with more passion or sincerity; and even fewer who make you feel like a 14 year old air guitar player all over again.

[chefcraig]

From the vaults: Husker Du - Flip Your Wig (1985)

This is rock'n'roll at its most primal essense, stripped of any nicieties or embellishments and drenched in conviction. Evolving from the more brutal punk of earlier releases, 'Flip Your Wig' was something of an iron fist in a velvet glove: underground fury wrapped in sacharine melodies. Many would point to 'Zen Arcade' as the pinnacle of Bob Mould's songwriting, but this gives it a run for its money. 'Divide & Conquer' is the best song that The Stiff Little Fingers never wrote; 'Hate Paper Doll' is a tune that early REM would have sold kidney's to have penned; and 'Find Me' has a buzzsaw guitar brimming with aggression. On the uncomfortavle jangle of 'Makes No Sense At All' and the lament of 'Green Eyes', vocals are burried beneath deafening guitar to give the album an uncomfortable, claustraphobic feel, and one which cannot fail to affect the listener. Sure, it was recorded on a welfare budget which makes for a barren sound, but in an increasingly bloated musical landscape of 1985 this must have sounded like rock'n'roll deconstructing itself. Mould's lyrics are witty and peppered with pithy images of the everyday, the perfect encapsulation of a band which sound as uncomprimsing today as they ever have. The Godfather of grunge? Maybe. Under-appreciated genius? Definitely.

I'm surprised you liked this album, as to most Husker Du fans it is a bit of a throw-away. A much finer and heavier album is the classic New Day Rising which was issued a mere six months earlier. Flip Your Wig is made up of left overs and half-hearted songs, and was cobbled together to satisfy the contract demand for the last record owed to the SST label. This was a water treading period for the band, who were saving their better material for the awesome major label debut of Candy Apple Grey the following year, which essentially turned them into an alternative band as opposed to a punk outfit. Of course, this set the stage for the outstanding Warehouse: Songs and Stories double album two years later, and sadly the band's ultimate demise due to drug use during the tour to support the release.

For evidence of the band's raw power in a live setting, seek out the hard to find The Living End, a document of the band's final tour. Seething with onstage tension at times, the bare bones sound (courtesy of mix desk tapes) is both menacing and positive, two words that serve to aptly sum up this amazing band.