Motograter -- HEAVY

Ancient Sky

The 1st album from a great Brooklyn band. Singer kinda sounds like Jim Morrison (not a bad thing). Very psychedelic. If you liked the Pontiak post you have to check this out. Stream whole cd from here. It will MELT YOUR MIND!

Clutch

Live in Flint is a double live album by rock band Clutch. It is only sold at live shows, or via their website. It was recorded over a two-night stand at The Machine Shop, in Flint Michigan. This time there is no review just a teaser. This is one GREAT album. 2 disks.

Marvin Gaye

That was the question that inspired Marvin Gaye to create his most deeply realized record, What’s Going On?. This 1971 album went against the grain at Motown, which had become mired by this time in its hit-factory mentality of the ’60s. Berry Gordy even fought with Gaye over releasing the album. Fortunately the artist prevailed over the businessman, and Gaye’s masterpiece reached the masses, generating a stellar response and record sales (three songs went all the way to number one).

What’s Going On? magically combines Gaye’s deeply arresting vocals and socially conscious lyrics with the perfectly flowing sound of his fellow musicians, making the album the single greatest statement of musical genius to ever come out of Motown. Gaye uses the medium of music to preach, exploring with soulful eloquence the social ills of the day–drug addiction, environmental devastation, police brutality, taxes–themes that still resonate today. Despite his often bleak observations of the times, Marvin’s overall message offers the promise of redemption. The overriding message of What’s Going On? is ultimately one of hope: we can save ourselves ONLY if we can learn to "holler love, love, love across the nation/together and holy/we can claim love our salvation." Filled with the utmost of sincerity, Marvin sings almost as if divinely inspired, rising to new heights, free of any cliché R&B phrasings. The formidable talents of his band are showcased on such tunes as "Inner City Blues," "Mercy Mercy Me," and "Right On." Passionate winds and reeds, subtle strings, fluid bass lines, and fat drums all serve to elevate the power of his finely crafted songs to epic proportions.

Funky, spiritual, ground breaking, and honest, What’s Going On? stands as one of the most enduring albums of all times.-- Author: John Ballon

Edgar Broughton Band

The then trio of Rob ‘Edgar’ Broughton, Steve Broughton and Arthur Grant – who had built up a following in their hometown of Warwick (just down the road from the HFoS hub) with a fourth member, Victor Unitt, under the name the Edgar Broughton Blues Band – had signed to EMI’s prog rock label Harvest in December of 1968, following a move to the Notting Hill Gate area of London. It was here that they became a part of the Ladbroke Grove scene, a frantic haze of underground rock, left-wing and anarchist politics, illicit substances, and incredible hairiness. In July of 1969, Wasa Wasa was unleashed.

The silence that exists just prior to placing this CD in the stereo, is well and truly obliterated by the opening track, ‘Death of an Electric Citizen’. With a throbbing blues riff and Rob Broughton’s unconventional vocal – sounding as though he’s been liberated from a home for rabid preachers for the express purpose of raining fire and brimstone down upon you – it takes a hold, turns you upside down and proceeds to shake the loose change from your pockets.

Wasa Wasa continues the trend set by the opener throughout, representing the Edgar Broughton Band in their rawest, most dishevelled form. It crawls from the deepest, darkest, filthiest ditch, reeking of cheap booze, and sets about you without so much as a by-your-leave or the courtesy of an introduction. The eight tracks on the original release mix psychedelic rock, blues and progressive elements into one foul, frantically bubbling cauldron; creating a uniquely out of this world fug that’s dense enough to bring down small aircraft.

‘Death of an Electric Citizen’ gives way to the biting satirical attack on American foreign policy, specifically Vietnam, ‘American Boy Soldier’ – an extended, even more acerbic version of which can be found on the excellent live album Keep Them Freaks a Rollin’ – Live at Abbey Road – which sowed the seeds for the full-on approach the Edgar Broughton Band would take towards social commentary within their songs. In fact they, along with partners-in-crime such as Hawkwind and the Pink Fairies, have often been labelled the proto-punk, not only because of their rough and ready style and healthy distrust of authority, but also their fervour to get behind radical causes and highlight injustices in their lyrics. This would manifest more overtly in future songs such as ‘Up Yours’, ‘Side by Side’, ‘I Got Mad’, ‘Homes Fit for Heroes’, and ‘Eviction’, to a name a few.

The hard-edged intensity of Wasa Wasa is no better demonstrated than on ‘Evil’, a psychedelic meat market of driving guitar and bass, ferocious drumming and hallucinatory lyrics, whose demonic presence might’ve lead to the band’s rallying cry and show-closer ‘Out Demons Out’. Elsewhere the likes of ‘Neptune’, with its heavy phasing, retain the otherworldly ambience and songs like ‘Crying’ and ‘Love in the Rain‘ ensure the pace never lets up. The only minor blemish on an otherwise spotless hymsheet is the fourteen minute closer ‘Dawn Crept Away’, which perhaps could’ve benefited from being a bit shorter, although it works if taken strictly as a studio representation of one of their live freakouts.

The Harvest reissue features five bonus tracks. Four are demos of blistering blues numbers recorded as the Edgar Broughton Blues Band in 1965/1966 and the fifth is a ten minute instrumental jam called ‘Untitled Freak Out’, simply because it has no actual title.

Less tribal sounding than the excellent follow-up, Sing Brother Sing, and considerably less polished than the remaining Harvest albums, The Edgar Broughton Band, Inside Out, and Oora, Wasa Wasa is nevertheless a remarkably confident and bruising debut.-- head full of snow

Kyuss

Blues for the Red Sun

By A Customer

If you're unacquainted with Kyuss, this is the place to start getting acquainted; Blues for the Red Sun is more mature and deep than Wretch, but not quite as psychedelic and sprawling (in terms of track length) as Kyuss (Welcome to Sky Valley). Ignore the constant comparisons to Black Sabbath -- Kyuss rocks more than Ol' Man Ozzy could ever dream of rocking. In fact, Kyuss rocks more than pretty much anyone could ever dream of rocking, and the same can be said of this record.

"Thumb" starts off with a quiet but ominous riff and slowly builds to a bludgeoning swirl of guitar, bass, drum, and visceral vocals. Kyuss only lets up sporadically throughout the rest of the album, playing softly just long enough to lull the listener into a comfortable position and then -- WHAM! -- they assault you with thunderous guitar riffs, explosive basslines, and pounding drums. It's truly something you have to experience to appreciate.

A lot of people criticize John Garcia's vocals as "unoriginal" or "unimportant." Maybe singing and lyrics were (and are) not the point of Kyuss; still, his vocals add quite a bit to the songs. What would "Thumb" be without John Garcia's primal roar? What would "Allen's Wrench" be without his grabbing yells? What would "Thong Song" be without him? John Garcia is a vital component of the music and truly an underappreciated singer who can do it all with his voice.

Another incredible thing about this record is that the band members were in their late teens and early twenties when this was recorded. Josh Homme, Kyuss' guitar god and primary songwriter, was a mere nineteen. To write music this complex (music that puts practically every other artist out there to shame) at nineteen is unbelievably. Josh Homme (as well as Brant Bjork, the wonderful drummer) is truly one of the best artists out there now. Before he's done, he may be this generation's answer to Stevie Ray Vaughan, Hendrix, Clapton, and Page.

Another criticism about this album is that it's heavy on instrumentals. While it's true that almost every other song is an instrumental (or close to one), the instrumentals serve as bridges between the other songs, as well as some of the album's most interesting pieces. Try not to like "Apothecaries' Weight," I dare you. Try to tell me that "800" is a throw away track. The instrumentals are great, just like everything else on here.

As for standout tracks, everything here rocks. When I first bought this record, I hated "Thong Song." Now it's possibly my favorite song. It starts slow and turns into one of the most crushing songs on the record. "Freedom Run," "Mondo Generator," and "Thumb" are other top picks that'll have even the most steadfast music fan rocking out. -- Amazon

And The Circus Leaves Town

By

Reviewer

When this album was first released it seemed as if it was missing an unknown ingredient that is found in "Blues for the Red Sun" and "Welcome to Sky Valley". As the years passed I found that I would grab one of the other two albums before I would grab this one (never mind "Wretch" - that album is more of a trophy for Kyuss collectors than anything else, not as good as the others, but still a keepsake). Not that this album isn't good... it's amazing... just different than the others. Perhaps there is a sense that the band is on its way out, perhaps the unity that was in the other albums doesn't come out of the music like it once did. It's hard to place.

And then a few years ago I popped this CD into my car stereo one morning... and left it there for weeks. I listened to it every time I was in the car, enough that people started to notice. It was just too good to take it out. It was one of those great moments when I "rediscover" a CD from my collection, when I remind myself how cool an album is.

This album takes everything that the members of Kyuss built over the previous albums and puts a 400 grit sandpaper polish on it. It's not shiny, but for Kyuss, it's polished, where they are taking on a dull sheen that comes with exposure and experience. Josh Homme has learned a lot by this album, exploring more of the guitar neck than he had in the past. Like other albums, Homme still uses the technique of layering octaves over one another to create depth in the sound, but he has acquired more courage to use the higher notes, the frets above number 7 and the strings lighter than .032 gauge. Homme never attempts wailing solos, probably because he doesn't like them (he tried on "Wretch", but he was young and inexperienced then).

The instruments don't blend together as much as they do on other albums, meaning that the mixing is perhaps cleaner than before. Each track is more distinguishable. "Phototropic" is a reminder of what Kyuss can do, a 5 minute studio jam of octaves layered on one another, blending in and out of melody and heavy rocking, and Garcia's vocals don't start until half way through the song. It is a beautiful thing.

"El Rodeo" is definitely one of my favorite songs. I remember my freshmen year of college, listening to this album in my dorm room and picking out the touch of Spanish guitar in the lead riff. When I finally nailed it, it wasn't hard to pick up the rest, and then I kept rocking to it for probably a week. Its the same Kyuss formula... find a riff, built on it by expanding on the key, bring it to crescendo, and then rock it out. And it always works.

"Size Queen" is a grooving rythm that is more funky than things Kyuss has done in the past. Again, it is based on a single riff created by Josh Homme that is distinctly his own, but they build it well. One gets the feeling that much of Kyuss' music is built on riffs that Josh discovered while messing around with his guitar, but every song is inevitably a masterpiece.

"Catamaran" is beautiful. It uses much less distortion, much more reverb (and maybe some chorus?), and is much more expansive than any other song on the album. Again, Kyuss shows the odd talent to blend metal with melody, because it isn't long before "Catamaran" takes on the low dirge of metal riffs, but falls right back into the melody. It is sad that it is only a 2 minutes and 59 seconds long.

"Catamaran" is followed by "Spaceship Landing", an appropriately long jam that ends the album, fades into silence after 11 minutes until 32:15, when a slow melody arises, a combination of many layers of Garcia's voice accompanied by only guitar and bass.

The Kyuss triumverate, "Welcome to Sky Valley", "Blues for the Red Sun", and "...And the Circus Leaves Town", are a must-have set for anyone looking for unique and pleasurable music. The first album, "Wretch" will disappoint anyone familiar with Kyuss' later work, but it is an extra piece to add to the collection, just to say you have it. --Amazon

Angel (The Struggle), 2006 Jima Benn

Comus

If your idea of a good time is something along the lines of setting light to virgins in wicker effigies, then Comus could be right up your street. Even if you harbour no such homicidal tendencies, they’re still a damn fine listen.

Comus inhabit that most spectral of sub-genres, acid-folk – A blend of the psychedelic and the folkish, underpinned by a progressive foundation. It’s an area of music renowned for its ethereal eeriness, oft-beauty, and mystical meanderings…

… Except nobody seemed to have told Comus that, for their 1971 debut, First Utterance, is, to put it bluntly, quite terrifying.

Taking their name from Milton’s 17^th century masque, featuring a wild wood ruled over by the pagan sorcerer King Comus, the band recorded, quite possibly, the most unnerving example of progressive/psych/acid –folk, or any other musical niche, ever to be committed to a waxy disc.

Subject matter ranges from sexual threat to sacrifice to mental illness, and it’s all delivered in such a freakishly disturbing way that had Edward Woodward heard it prior to landing his biplane, he’d have turned and fled Summerisle long before the flames were licking at his ankles.

First Utterance is nothing short of brilliant. It’s hell on your own doorstep – The Wicker Man soundtrack that never was. From the opening bars of ‘Diana’ to the closing barked repetition of “insane” on ‘The Prisoner’, this album grabs you by your god-fearing sensibilities and refuses to let go. This is thanks in no small part to the uniquely unsettling vocal delivery of Roger Wootton and the sylph-like female voice of Bobbie Watson drifting in and out of the mix.

As such, a song as innocuously titled as ‘Diana’ is far more disquieting with its description of the titular heroine (a metaphor for virtue) being stalked “through the steaming woodlands” by a lustful, unseen presence.

'Drip Drip', with its medieval murder, is intimidating and horrific in turns – “As I carry you to your grave, My arms your hearse” – and the sinister ‘Song to Comus’ and ‘The Bite’, which nails its colours to the mast with the (undoubtedly) Pagan sacrifice of a Christian, ensures sleepless nights for all.

If Pagan murmurings in the deepest, darkest woods are your thing, then Comus’s First Utterance is undoubtedly your bag. If, like me, they’re not, but you like your music dark, edgy and seething with a undercurrent of barely suppressed malevolence, then I can’t recommend this album enough.

Comus, unlike the laughable Incredible String Band, are everything that’s right about acid-folk music.

Reassuringly creepy, once First Utterance has been heard, it won’t be forgotten. damn fine listen.--Headfullofsnow

DRIP, DRIP


DIANA

Naam

In Thai, the word “naam” is sometimes used in reference to water. Perfect if you’re this Naam from Brooklyn which frequently operates courtesy of aquatic trances as precursor to their boisterous outpourings of doom and sludge. Reportedly recorded on a dairy farm in the Catskill Mountains, Naam’s self-titled debut is a bit of a mind-rape. Yet their daring alter-reality accenting their built-up sonic scapes is what keeps them interesting.

Unpredictable psychedelic brain funk scattered throughout the 16:24 opener “Kingdom” splashes in some Ray Manzarek-ish organs and sitar swirls amidst Naam’s forlorn drapes trickling towards expected detonation. When “Kingdom” erupts from its teasing eddies, the effect is akin to having your ear canals peeled apart and introduced to a boisterous, yet orgasmic din.

Drums and tabla guiding the hypnotic “Stone Ton” gives the listener no preparation for the booming, straightforward stoner grooves of the subsequent track “Skyling Slip.” A bit chunky and slipshod in the right manner, “Skyling Slip” turns cosmic towards its closure with wispy synths on the borderline of new wave despite the overall tonal crush of the track.

Once in awhile, this album goes on such a disruptive and unorganized tangent Naam loses their listeners as well as themselves. While “Fever if Fire” has spots of appeasing thunder and some groovy tunnel effects, it might help to light one up to fully grasp the song’s echoing pollutants, much less its jumbled, screaming vocals

On the other hand, Naam really works with spectacular methodology on “Icy Row” where the distortion opens the way for hallucinogenic delight and increases both in accordance to an agitating tempo. Though clocking in more than seven minutes, “Icy Row” is a well-constructed engine of atmospherics which feels wrapped in half the time Naam performs it.

Undoubtedly Naam is one album best appreciated after a few listens. Though it engages strongly on the first spin, the further depths of conveyances these guys expel through their wondrously strange music unravel with return visits. The organ-soaked spookiness of “Westered Wash” is plenty enough to get your head around, yet “Kingdom,” “Black Ice” and the gusty march of “Frosted Tread” unlock different chambers of your audile processing system the more you engage them.

Consider Naam a potential sleeper hit of the sludge market; they’re inventive and they have enough of a dark and vibrating space oddity about them to befuddle ground control, salud.-- Ray Van Horn, Jr.

Give it a shot... I think you'll like it.

Frog Eyes

Why is this valedictorian crying? For the classmates he's leaving behind? For that van full of kids who drove drunk into the storm ditch after prom? No, if the speaker is Carey Mercer, who fronts Victoria, B.C.'s Frog Eyes, he's bawling because he's supposed to be an adult now and what's more a man, but there are no men around, only military blowhards, craven merchants, and drunken dads.

Frog Eyes have been a band more namechecked than listened to, thanks to now-and-then keyboardist Spencer Krug's other groups (Wolf Parade, Sunset Rubdown), and Mercer's collaboration last year with Krug and Dan Bejar of Destroyer under the guise of Swan Lake. While Mercer shares his friends' elliptical and bombastic rhetoric, he's at once more of an orator and more of a synesthesist, working with smears and splatters more than melodies, and bringing his own fixations.

Tears of the Valedictorian is Frog Eyes' first substantial advance since 2003's The Golden River, which was a fanciful songcycle on a backdrop of ecological anxiety. The Folded Palm (2004) approximated the frenzy of their shows, but at the expense of the songs. The intervening mini-albums were pleasant small-scale studies. Valedictorian again mobilizes the band's full palette-- Mercer's wife Melanie Campbell's stomping drums and flat stutter cymbals, Krug's keyboards switching from crosshatch shadows to radiant showers, Michael Rak's grounding bass, Mercer's and McCloud Zicmuse's light-seeking insect guitars and, always, Mercer's gibbering, his croon, his grumbles, his yodeling yip.

Mercer stands in the lineage of rock frontman as half-carnival-barker, half-gnostic-preacher that Greil Marcus describes as the "crank prophet," from Screamin' Jay Hawkins through Arthur Lee of Love, Captain Beefheart, David Thomas of Pere Ubu, Tom Waits, and the Pixies' Frank Black. But Frog Eyes' sound owes more to early Roxy Music-- music that filtered out blues in favor of high modernism-- as well as advertising jingles and John Philip Sousa. In keeping with Victoria's Brit-dominated demographics, it also recalls English music hall, though the hall is on a riverboat and the river on fire.

Mercer's preoccupation here seems to be masculinity, as it often has been in rock, the music of boys coming of age. But unlike Mick Jagger or Bruce Springsteen (whose trace, as so often these days, shows up here in some surprising runs of piano fills and exhortations), Mercer is stalking the heath of manhood's ruination. He turns over artifacts of Romanticism like an anthropologist on a dig, sketching out the landscape and puzzling over how these dick-swinging ancients survived. His yowls are the cry of somebody waking up from history with a hangover-- "he was what the Poor call the Maimed," he sings-- as its dreams disperse over the horizon of legibility.

I don't mean to make Mercer sound like a nostalgist. His voice is nothing if not urgently present, struggling to pull his warring selves into some workable here and now. He invokes patriarchs just to dispose of them, from the "Roman ambassador" who is "torn apart by plaster and reassembled after" in the opener, "Idle Songs," to the "druken and besotted father figure" who's pushed out to sea on an ice floe in "Evil Energy, the Ill Twin of..." They stand between Mercer and a longed-for future in which the masculine spirit somehow gets sane and whole. Meanwhile, touchingly, that bad dad out on the ice "trembles and he trembles and he puts his heart on tremble."

Mercer breaks from the crank-prophet line in that he wants to defeat his solipsism, to hack his way out of the thicket of male ghosts and build relationships-- with nature, lovers, family, his band and the listener. This album is peppered with references to himself as singer, from the epic second track "Caravan Breakers, They Prey on the Weak and the Old" ("I bet you are sick of hearing songs about the trail") to the entrancing near-closer "Bushels", which assures "there's a colony in song" and ends on the simple statement, "I was a singer and I sang in your home." In between comes "The Policy Merchant, the Silver Bay", an acoustic, falsetto-sung ballad in which he teases, "Mercer is a merchant, a policy merchant/ He calls himself urgent!/ He gathers all of the urchins up in their tearaways/ He gathers them into his palm and then he sings 'Another Day.'"

These wry acknowledgments feel especially gracious from a singer who is so under siege by sound and by the unending, unpredictable demands of all the voices of past and future birthing and dying in his gullet. But that's what Frog Eyes achieves here, not just in the songwriting but in the band's new dynamic range and precision-- for the first time, there's space in their hermetic universe for the rest of us. It's graduation day.

— Carl Wilson, May 3, 2007

Down

Written by Souther_Metal_Junky on November 1st, 2007

The year after Far Beyond Driven and Deliverance are released, the good ole southern boys of down release this godly piece of sludge to unsuspecting ears. From start to finish this album keeps you there and in the atmosphere. The album has different lyrical topics and playing styles on every song, yet this doesn't create a loss of cohesion, it just seems to make every song a single. Thats how fucking masterful this album is! Yes, there is at least one complaint I've heard about NOLA, and it's that the production just makes it sound like a loud demo. Though this may be true, I think with the genre and dirty feeling trying to be portrayed from the album I think it only enhances the content. Instrumentally all i can say is flawless. Kirk and Pepper keep you wanting more of their dueling guitars, as they switch between solo and rhythm you don't know which one you want to concentrate on so you have to either choose, or zoom out. Bower's drumming though a bit loud, seems to fit as perfectly as any could into the mix. It remains simple and enhances the overall experience without trying to draw attention from the overall feel. Kirk recorded the session bass and I usually don't have a keen ear for the bass, but I can hear this one rumble in at opportune times once it's done following the guitars. The vocals show a cleaner side of Phil's singing, not usually seen in VOP or FBD. He does however remain to throw in his trademark screeches, and screams at the best of times. It literally seems that on this album nothing was done wrong. From the more widely known songs of Temptations Wings, Lifer, Rehab, Hail the Leaf, Eyes of the South, Losing All, Stone the Crow, and Bury Me in Smoke; to the less heard Pillars of Eternity, Underneath Everything, Jail, Pray for the Locusts (guitar interlude), and Swan Song, this album doesn't have one less than great track.

Fire on Fire

Fire on Fire
The Orchard
(Young God)

By Matthew Fiander


There’s plenty of new folk floating around these days. Plenty of it is quite
good, but most of it tends to mine folk for its melancholy and eccentricity.
Some find joy in the transience of the sound, in not being tied down, but
few artists use folk to meld any permanence of place with feelings outside
of loss and loneliness.

That is where Fire on Fire comes in. The collective comes from Portland,
Maine and has taken on many different faces over the years. They used to be
the electric-noise experimenters Cerberus Shoal, and then they became the
more organic Big Blood before morphing into Fire on Fire. After releasing a
great self-titled EP on Young God Records, the band has released its first
full-length, The Orchard, quickly proving themselves to be a group deserving
of more attention, both in folk circles and beyond.

The Orchard starts off with “Sirocco” and immediately announces the group’s
intentions. Like the rest of the album, the song populates itself with all
acoustic instruments. Stand-up bass, guitar, mandolin, banjo, accordion,
etc., make a sturdy shuffling noise behind the full-throated vocals. The
whole group comes in to sing the chorus, belting out what seems like a
mantra for Fire on Fire: “If we tear this kingdom down / Let it be with a
deserving and joyous sound.” The sentiment implies an anger, surely, or at
least a discomfort with things as they are, but the members of Fire on Fire
aren’t dragged down to frustration by the things they disagree with. Instead
they galvanize and hold onto their joy, and use it as a weapon.

The feeling of living life your way, of making the world better by making
the space around you great, is a feeling running through The Orchard. And
while, in print, it feels overly sentimental and naive, it never sounds that
way on this record. It is not all flowers in your hair and group hugs or
self-righteous soapbox shouting. “Asinine Race” wonders over the connection
between gender roles and identity but avoids being high-minded by filtering
that idea through the universal, and admittedly whiny, feeling our families
drive us crazy. “Hartford Blues” is tense with frustration, well known in
places like New England, as the oncoming winter begins to make the air
bitter, but a sense of place also exists, of not wanting to leave, of being
a part of a community that fights against the singer’s complaints. A
bittersweet song, it has a dedication to it that makes road songs seem, if
for a moment, just a little too easy, a little less romantic.

And that is what makes the overarching contentment of The Orchard work. It
never ignores other emotions. The group sounds most unmoored on the
strangely named “Heavy D.” “Some like the distance / Some like the nothing,”
they sing on the chorus. A space around these lines makes them sound
confused, disconnected. Fire on Fire seem ready to accept that kind of
fatalism, but they can’t quite figure it out, but a yearning in its sound
makes it feel like they’re always reaching out for what they don’t
understand rather than turning away from it.

If one thing remains clear on The Orchard, it is that Fire on Fire is not a
band but a collective. These players sound like they’re playing to each
other as much as to us. They take turns singing the leads. They all wrote
songs for the album, and because of that, the feel of the album never quite
settles. Even as the sound feels similar all the way through, the way they
trade instruments and singing duties keeps the listener on his or her toes.
And their brand of folk music never becomes fey or precious. The Orchard is
the sound of a group full of life, playing music full of an earthen stomp
and a cautious hope. If it sounds melancholy in spots, it is because their
joy is an honest one, a murkily human one. And if it sounds eccentric, it is
because it is unique. These players have made a lot of sounds over the
years. But with The Orchard, they might have found the sound they were
supposed to be making all along.

Band of Gypsys

I don't understand some of the low votes for this great album, even if some just don't like the editing. As others have said, bootlegs exist for those who want the shows in their entirety but this more commercially viable 2 CD set provides a sensible alternative. Because it is so much longer than the original classic, which also has a version of 'Machine Gun' which is undisputably better, it does not seem to have the same impact as that one does, but the music's just as good, if unsurprisingly with a different, but equally good sound mix. I'm surprised at complaints about sound quality. I have hundreds of live music CDs from this era and the sound quality is up there with the best. To anyone considering getting this, first try the original Band of Gypsys, preferably the 3 track extended version if you can track it down without paying too much. As it's a matter of taste, and many people who enjoy plenty of other Hendrix concerts may not like this one, see if you enjoy the single disc first before investing in this one. And if you're not outraged by the sound quality of the 3 bonus tracks (I believe 'Hear My Train' was lifted from videotape) of the original, you'll be more than pleased with the sound quality here.

I'm astonished that some people criticize the fact that some songs on the first album are not on this one. I would have been annoyed to find too much overlapping of songs on the 2 releases, and the choice as to whether to put an unheard version of a song on the album as opposed to a classic version available everywhere for over 30 years should be a no-brainer.

Whatever one may say about Buddy Miles, whose singing personally I find great but vocal scat singing and screaming intrusive, the fact is that there is far greater, more sophisticated playing from Hendrix here than on many earlier Experience concerts like Monterey for example, which were really exciting visual experiences but whose audio tracks may not contain as much great playing as a show when he was focusing more on the audio than the visual side. Even the version of 'Wild Thing' presented here has more in it musically than the early ones.

Some may have problems with Experience Hendrix, but one must admit that their releases have been light years ahead of most of those released since Hendrix died. Remember the awful mixes and edits of the Alan Douglas era, the space cadet liner notes of Michael Fairchild, Douglas's sidekick who wrote a book that pulls quotes out of Hendrix songs to prove that Jimi was on a mission to Earth to warn us of our impending destruction by a giant asteroid, and even some of the weird cover art. Now we have great clean mixes, no horrible echo or obtrusive studio effects, sensible informative liner notes, and great photos and overall artistic sensibility, extending also to their Dagger Records range of releases. So thank you Experience Hendrix, you're doing a great job, and are criticized only by those who have forgotten or have no memory of how the Hendrix legacy was handled in the past. -- amazon

Sienna Root

There's a moment in “We Are Them,” the lead track on Siena Root's fourth full-length, Different Realities, where the band effortlessly and expertly channels Rush on the Canadian band's debut. On past releases, Siena Root's shown they've got the skills to pay the retro hippie rock bills, so this new foray into meatier territory was a welcome addition to an already well rounded sound.

What was also noticeable was the singing, in the sense that it didn't sound much like Sartez Faraj, lead crooner on the band's last full-length, Far From the Sun (their website confirms he's no longer with the band, thanks to the usual “creative differences”). Nor did it sound like Sanya, the vocalist on sophomore release Kaleidoscope, or original frontman Oskar Lundstrom. Which means the band once again is sallying forth with a different voice.

That sort of line-up inconsistency is never a good thing – something the remaining, core members of Siena Root took to heart, as eight out of ten songs on Different Realities are instrumental (the unnamed singer pops up a second time on “As We Return,” a more-or-less refrain of the opening number). The lack of a vocals doesn't hinder the band musically - in fact, the argument could be made that they could've gone this route a long time ago and been none the worse for it. “Over the Mountain,” for instance, is an excellent freewheeling 60's acid jam. Side B is predominantly a stab at Eastern influenced music, and while it goes on a little too long, the additional instrumentation was well done (especially the kazoo in “Ahir Bhairav”). And the band ties that s t y l e back with their more classic rock leanings (including the Rush-like moments) with “Jog,” another lengthy opus that gets where it needs to go without hurry and yet never gets boring.

Since the band does an admirable job without a singer, it makes one wonder why “We Are Them” and “As We Return” were included on Different Realities. Those two songs are well done (in fact, “We Are Them” remains my favorite), but they still seem out of place amidst the instrumental tracks. Ultimately, I have to consider Different Realities as a transitional album, one where the band's asking themselves and the listener whether it's worth the aggravation starting all over again with yet another vocalist or if they should let the music do the talking. I lean more towards the former, and I wish the band all the luck in making that happen.

John Pegoraro -Stonerrock.com

Tia Carrera

Tia Carrera - The Quintessential
Review by John Pegoraro (StonerRock.com)
Small Stone Records
Release date: 2009


Shortly before going on a signing spree that involved the majority of New England's hard rock bands, Small Stone Records snatched up Austin, Texas' Tia Carrera. It was a savvy decision for a multitude of reasons – one being that the group's garnered some mainstream recognition (Rolling Stone took a brief moment gushing over the latest tween sensation to praise the band), which should mean positive things for both Tia Carrera and Small Stone – but the biggest one would be that they're just a damn good act.

Over the course of a handful of EPs, live recordings, and full-lengths, their method has been as simple as it gets - plug in and play, figuring it out as they go along – and yet what's delivered is on a higher level, one that most bands that practice morning, noon, and night can't come close to replicating. The Quintessential continues that tradition of impassioned, impromptu instrumentals.

The album boasts of two lengthy, epic-like jams (“The Unnamed Wholeness” and “New Orleans”), with shorter, more restrained compositions in between (opener “Home,” which is mostly a lesson in ambiance and “Gypsies,” a Hendrix-loving interlude), and with what I believe is a first – a song with vocals (“Hazy Winter”) - at the end. There's not much else to say about “Home” and “Gypsies,” but I could certainly go on and on about the two 15-plus minute tracks. Both take a seed of an idea from classic rock and let them grow wild, spiraling upwards as the bass, guitar, and drums take turns taking the lead. The shifts are subtle, more often than not adding more color. Like their brethren in Earthless and Delicious, Tia Carrera knows when a riffs been played out and, more importantly, know how to change directions without making it seem forced.

And like Earthless, Tia Carrera could add more vocals to their songs and not be worse off for it. Guitarist Jason Morales does an admirable job crooning on the wistful, acoustic “Hazy Winter.” All in all, The Quintessential's bound to be well received by both those who already know of the band and those just discovering them.

Band Web Site Link

Mitch Hedberg

Comedian Mitch Hedberg was born and raised in St. Paul, MN, but started his comedy career in Florida, not because it's a particularly humorous state but because it's warm. After honing his act in Florida, he moved to Seattle and started touring throughout the Pacific Northwest. Hedberg got his first television appearance on MTV's Comikaze by personally pitching his act to the talent coordinator. His big break came in 1996 when he appeared on The Late Show with David Letterman, an appearance so successful that Letterman himself quoted his act later in the show. In 1997 he won the grand prize at the Seattle Comedy Competition and completed his own independent feature, Los Enchiladas! While headlining comedy clubs across the nation, Hedberg secured a development deal with Fox to create a sitcom and made an appearance in the film Almost Famous. In 2003 Comedy Central Records issued both Mitch All Together and Strategic Grill Locations, and sponsored a tour with Hedberg, Lewis Black, and Dave Attell. Hedberg was still a star on the rise when a heart attack due to a drug overdose ended his ascent on March 30, 2005. He was 37. A collection of unreleased recordings titled Do You Believe in Gosh? appeared in 2008. --David Jeffries, All Music Guide

For more recordings check out hedberg.com

Shinerbuilder (its HEAVY)

It’s hard not to feel like you’re standing in the presence of greatness when listening to Shrinebuilder’s self-titled debut (Neurot), and likewise difficult to separate the music from those making it. In that way I’d liken the experience to hearing Nola by Down for the first time and trying to pick out who wrote which riff, only in the case of Shrinebuilder, the personalities involved are even more distinct and with all four members adding vocals, it’s easier to imagine the individual contributions’ origins.

A band comprised of Scott Kelly (Neurosis) and Scott “Wino” Weinrich (The Obsessed, The Hidden Hand, Wino) on guitar, Al Cisneros (OM, Sleep) on bass and Dale Crover (Melvins, Altamont) on drums, there was no way Shrinebuilder wasn’t going to be good, and so the anticipation for the five-track offering has moved from excited to feral over the course of the last year. As an album, Shrinebuilder meets every expectation head on and melds the different styles of Kelly, Wino, Cisneros and Crover so that there is a flow from song to song sounding natural and direct. When album opener, “Solar Benediction,” kicks off with Wino and Kelly trading vocals, the energy in the recording is driving, powerful and only made stronger by the back and forth musical conversation of the players.

If there’s an album released this year for which I want to jump wholeheartedly on the hype bandwagon, it’s this one. You’re going to see reviews out there with all kinds of flowery language and mountainous metaphors, but cutting through all that crap, the fact of the matter is these four musicians have come together and created something very special. Shrinebuilder was recorded in three days, and that immediacy is not lost in the music. Though “Solar Benediction” gives itself over to a wandering ambience (and reminds that not all who wander musically are lost), the crunching doom riffage of advance preview track “Pyramid of the Moon” and Kelly’s subdued vocal offer the next stage in what proves to be an ongoing Shrinebuilder metamorphosis. As they present themselves across the four songs on the album promo — closer “Science of Anger” was left off press copies of the record — the band is constantly changing. Cisneros’ vocals and distinct style of riffing come across with a grounding effect that plays better than expected off Kelly and Wino’s soloing and as he takes the lead toward the end of “Pyramid of the Moon,” he comes on bearing all the spiritual communion of OM with him. As the track reaches its sudden conclusion, it feels like it could go forever.

Cisneros opens “Blind for all to See” on bass and when he is soon joined by Crover’s drumming and the casual development of the track is under way. Mellow vocals lead to psychedelic guitar solos that persist for several minutes before the bass once again takes the fore and the structure repeats to the song’s 7:28 conclusion. Like OM’s best work, “Blind for all to See” is driven more by the hypnotic overall atmosphere than one especially memorable riff or part. As a setup for the pure Wino-age (though that might be a Kelly riff in the intro) of the shorter “The Architect,” it succeeds fantastically.

“The Architect,” at 5:59, is perhaps the most straightforward cut on Shrinebuilder. Wino puts his trademark vocal over a Hidden Hand-style riff while Crover reminds everyone of just how unnecessary it was for The Melvins to get a second drummer. Once again Kelly plays off Wino’s singing and that pairing as it appears on this track and the opener might be the highlight of the record. A killer, extended solo leads to a bass outro one can only assume plays right into “Science of Anger” as flowingly as the preceding songs went from one to the next, ends “The Architect” with a sense of groove-laden contemplation, and though by this time one might feel in listening he or she should be constructing the places of worship, Shrinebuilder ably execute their first offering with a sense of humility. As expected, it is one of the best albums of 2009. -- theobelisk.net

Masters of Reality

Warning! This is not a stoner album! Yes, I know, I’ve tagged it as stoner myself, but that’s only because of Master Of Reality’s history. Without Masters Of Reality there wasn’t Kuyss and without Kyuss there wasn’t stoner rock, although Masters Of Reality already left the stoner sound since their second album ‘Sunrise On The Sufferbus’ (1992), except for the occasional killer riff on every album. Just like this album, because there are in fact only two ‘stoner’ songs. First one is the opening song ‘King Richard TLH’, which got a fantastical enslaving riff with the warm depth of Chris Goss’ supercooled voice. The CD is divided in two parts, section ‘Pine’ and section ‘Cross Dover’, and the second section starts with an even cooler riff. That song, ‘Up In It’, initially starts with a incredible simple, and lame Casio computer drum beat, but the joining bass groove already creates a lot of excitable tension, while the guitar killerriff the song promotes to the Rock And Roll Riffs Of Fame. The most legendary riffs are mostly incredible simple ones (think ‘Smoke On The Water’, ‘Whole Lotta Rosie’, ‘No One Knows’) and here we have new future classic!

‘Pine/ Cross Dover’ is the first studio album in eight years. Between ‘Deep In The Hole’ and this one, Chris worked with Twiggy Ramirez (ex-Marilyn Manson!) on a Goon Moon album and released a solo album ‘Give Us Barabas’ (marketing strategies obliged the record label to mention the name Masters Of Reality on the album as well, but eventually all Chris Goss-related material derives solely from his brain). This album took quite some time to write and produce (it was originally scheduled one year ago), and this album will also take quite some time to fully absorb and appreciate. The rest of the album shows the diversity and musical eclectic mind of Chris Gosses brain, which can causes a hard time for rockers with a liking for straight and simple. Every song has its own atmosphere and sound, but due to the characteristic timbre of Chris and his typical way of song writing (the quadruple time is taboo), it’s still undeniable Masters Of Reality. From trippy, alienating pop-rock (‘Worm In The Silk’) and like a reunion between Brian Ferry and Brian Eno in Roxy Music (’Dreamtime Stomp’), to a skiffle like he did before with ‘She Got Me (When She Got Her Dress On)’ on ‘Sufferbus…’ (in the utterly swinging ‘The Whore Of New Orleans’) and the ominous moody joint-venture with trip hop-rockers UNKLE in ‘Testify To Love’. There are also two instrumental songs on the album that shows the more jazzrock-ish side of the band (which is these days only Chris and drummer John Leamy, and features some friends from Eagles Of Death Metal). Especially the twelve minutes of the closing song ‘Alfalfa’ is a great jam rock somewhere between a heavily inspired sound The Grateful Dead and a floating Mahavishnu Orchestra.

Once again, ‘Pine / Cross Dover’ is not your straight forwarded rock & roll album that gives away his prices during the first listening session. Besides two songs it has nothing to do with stoner, but I know how people like to cling on to stigmas and old traditions. Therefore I tagged the band as being stoner, just to reach enough people for the band to trigger the people to see the band on the upcoming European tour in October. I just did it for the good Goss. --Evil Dr. Smith

Blackwater Fever

Time Off Magazine
THE BLACKWATER FEVER - Sweet Misery
(Plus One Records/Shock)

Brisbane's own The Blackwater Fever are, unfortunately, always going to be a target for the Two-Piece Backlash – pretty much every duo since The White Stripes has had to deal with the stigma of not coming up with the one-guitar-vocals-drums first. Big whoop. Fact of the matter is two-pieces have to work harder than their larger counterparts to be both engaging for a crowd and to flesh out their songs, and Blackwater handle these tasks with bombast and aplomb. Kicking off with a Lanegan-esque intro before launching into thundering theme song 'Blackwater', Sweet Misery's most obvious strong points are both its energy and gritty-yet-perfect production, while vocalist/guitar man Shane Hicks has a throaty roar and a guitar tone that'd make The Black Keys' Dan Auerbach shit. 'Good Night Darling, Sweet Dreams' and 'Better Off Dead' prove the fellas can handle the sultrier end of blues, as well as showing off Andrew Walter's seismic drumming. The title track crops up at the end of "Side A"; a haunting country-flavoured tune laced with violin and wandering boldly into 16 Horsepower territory, before the second half of the album begins with a spaghetti western instrumental. And then it's off again into the storm of floor tom beats that is 'Lovesick'. Across much of the album there's a dark river of vitriolic rock'n'roll; when it lets up for the sensitive stuff, such as 'Red', the grit doesn't fade away, nor does Hicks' voice fail to measure up. Forget preconceived ideas about what two people in a rock band can achieve: Sweet Misery can bury albums by bands with three times as many members. Rock'n'roll at its best.
4½ - 5 TAL WALLACE

Sin Titulo, 1948 Joan Ponc

Super Session

The album Super Session grew out of a single nine hour jam in 1968 by guitarists Stephen Stills and Mike Bloomfield and multi-instrumentalist Al Kooper. Kooper and Bloomfield had both previously worked in support of Bob Dylan, in concert and appearing on his ground-breaking classic, Highway 61 Revisited.

Kooper, fresh from having assembled and recorded the inaugural incarnation of Blood, Sweat & Tears, booked two days of studio time with Bloomfield in May 1968 in Los Angeles. They recruited keyboardist Barry Goldberg and bassist Harvey Brooks, both members of the band that Bloomfield was in the process of leaving, Electric Flag, and well-known session drummer "Fast" Eddie Hoh. On the first day the quintet recorded the first side of the album, tracks one through five of the CD version; the next day, Bloomfield, who was a heroin addict, abruptly disappeared after suffering an attack of what was euphemistically referred to as "chronic insomnia." Kooper hastily called on Stephen Stills to sit in for Bloomfield on what would become the second side of the album, tracks six through nine, including a lengthy cover version of Donovan's "Season of the Witch."^[1]

Some overdubbed horns were later added while the album was being mixed, which were eventually subtracted from the bonus tracks on the CD version. The album, which cost just $13,000 to make, was a top-20 hit which garnered a Gold Record award. Kooper forgave Bloomfield, and the two of them made several concert appearances after the album was released. -- wikipedia

Dr. John

Covered in a variegated spray of New Orleans Mardi Gras feathers and shiny voodoo baubles, Mac Rebennack's highly personal mythology was finally made real on this 1968 album. This was his first appearance made under the new guise of Dr. John Creaux, the Night Tripper. Before then, he'd been a pivotal figure on the Crescent City R&B circuit. Afterward, he became one of its most significant blues ambassadors. This album is a classic of the admittedly specialized psychedelic swamp-gumbo genre, boasting at least four tracks that have become cult favorites. "Gris-Gris Gumbo Ya-Ya," "Mama Roux," "Jump Sturdy," and "I Walk on Gilded Splinters" each delicately mix catchy choruses and weird spatial sound effects, with radical stereo separation, intensely croaking, close-quarter vocals from the doctor, pneumatic keyboard riffs, pinprick electric guitar, and booming Afro-Caribbean percussion. The album still stands at its original 33-minute length, with no bonus cuts unearthed, but its high density more than compensates for any brevity. - Martin Lonely

Demon Fuzz

Imagine a cross between the latin rock of Santana and the funky progressions of Sly Stone and thats where you'll find Demon Fuzz" -From th tour promo notes in 1970
Messed-up funky jazz from an obscure early 70s UK group and an album that really lives up to its trippy cover! The tracks are all long and stretched out with lots of organ, sax, and spaced out drums and the overall style is a mix of dub-heavy funk, Afro jazz, and a bit of jazz rock jamming! There's a bit of vocals on the album, but overall most of the set is instrumental in a really right on and progressive style thatis great. This is the kind of record that always got passed by in the 80s when everyone was looking for hard James Brown grooves, but which is very much in fashion now with the blunted funky crowd.

In a just world, Demon Fuzz would have been very successful. Sadly, however, the only real success they enjoyed is the fact that many club DJs now use their samples frequently. Although the band played most of the British underground festivals in the early seventies, Demon Fuzz were simply too way-out to make a significant impact on the college crowd and as a result they broke up after 18 months on the scene. Released in 1970 the band’s only album, the extraordinary Afreaka!, demonstrates their excellence in playing psychedelic soul, dub-heavy funk, progressive rock, Afro-jazz and black acid rock. Demon Fuzz these days are amongst the most bootlegged and sampled bands from the early 70s British underground. This re-release, which includes the stunning and rare EP that at the time was released along with the album, tells the band’s full story for the first time ever.

Messed-up funky jazz from an obscure early 70s UK group -- and an album that really lives up to its trippy cover! The tracks are all long and stretched out -- with lots of organ, sax, and spaced out drums -- and the overall style is a mix of dub-heavy funk, Afro jazz, and a bit of jazz rock jamming! There's a bit of vocals on the album, but overall most of the set is instrumental -- in a really right on and progressive style that we totally love. This is the kind of record that always got passed by in the 80s when everyone was looking for hard James Brown grooves, but which is very much in fashion now with the blunted funky crowd. Cuts include "Hymn To Mother Earth", "Another Country", "Disillusioned Man", and "Mercy (Variation No. 1)" -- plus bonus tracks "Fuzz Oriental Blues", "I Put A Spell On You", and "Message To Mankind". --- Thanks ChrisGoesRock (THE GREATEST BLOG EVER)
password: phrockblog.blogspot.com (another favorite blog)

Can

One of the best and most reverenced albums in the history of "underground" rock music, Tago Mago was my introduction to Can, and I frankly wouldn't have had it any other way. It's an album that can satisfy snooty prog-rock fans and snooty indie-rock fans alike, combining incredible chops and grooves with incredible sounds and textures in a way that must have been beyond mind-blowing back in 1971 (and that's to say nothing about the creepiness factor). In short, this is the ultimate Can experience.

And you know what, that's a pretty remarkable achievement for an album that, for just under thirty minutes, is pretty danged close to unlistenable. This is a seven-track double album (it fits on one CD, though) that, while starting and ending on perfectly solid notes, hits a whole lot of sour notes (when they can even be called notes) in tracks five and six. Track five is a 17:22 sound collage called Aumgn, and while I'm certainly tolerant of the kinds of noises Schmidt and Czukay (not to mention Damo, though he's not really in the forefront) fill this track with, I'm not all that sold on the seemingly directionless way in which they're presented here. Track six, entitled Peking O, mainly features a completely unleashed Damo Suzuki, going nuts with some hyperactive verbal assaults that, if nothing else, certainly foreshadow the works of the later infamous abstract vocalization artist, The Great Cornholio. If ever Can could be accused of truly pointless experimentation, it would be in these two tracks.

On the other hand, though, while part of me certainly wants to accuse Can of this, there's also a part of me that doesn't entirely buy that accusation. Call me nuts, but as mind-boggling and even silly as these pieces might get at points, I never really get the feeling that Can are just BS'ing me and hoping to get away with it. Aumgn, for all of its wandering wailings, has some really lovely, depressing downbeat sounds and vibes to it (listen to that first minute or so and tell me you don't get a chill or two), and while it certainly suffers from not having an underlying Jaki "thunka-thunka" driving it forward, there's at least a brief patch near the end where the drums show up to make things feel better than they had at first. And in Peking O, well, it would be noteworthy if for no other reason than for that electronic pitter-patter drum sound that sounds exactly like what I've heard in much of the bits and pieces of 90's "electronica" and beyond (which is almost nothing, but my point stands), and anytime you can predate something that closely by 25+ years, you're going to win my respect. And, doggone it, I like hearing Schmidt playing off of Damo's wails with his electric piano, and I like hearing Damo go so wacky that he even ends up making a *bpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpbpb* (fingers running over lips) sound at one point. The point is, these tracks are disturbing and uncomfortable and experiments gone horribly horribly wrong, but they also contain a badly required air of competency to them, and given how they accentuate the vibes of going insane that occupy much of the rest of the album, it's hard for me to completely condemn them. I'll probably go back to skipping them when I listen to the album in the future, but I don't completely rue the time I've spent getting seriously reacquainted with them for this review.

That leaves five tracks, which are so mind-bogglingly great that they make this nearly a no-brainer 13 in my eyes. I used to slightly overlook the opening Paperhouse, but I eventually repented of that. The opening, slower section may not be as immediately grabbing as the hyperactive robotic groove that the piece turns into, but it's got some really lovely piano tinklings buried in the mix if you want to listen to them. Plus, the whole track features a guitar attack that I find more and more interesting every time I listen to it; I'm continually amazed at how graceful the parts from Karoli tend to be here. Of course, it's much easier on this track (as on many Can tracks) to pay attention to the drumming and Suzuki's vocals than to anything else, and that does a good job of setting the tone for Mushroom, which is everything great about Can poured into a single 4:08 burst. The drums sound even more lo-fi than usual, but they're no less powerful or steady or rhythmic than before, and Suzuki's alternations between low mumbling and loud wailing are arguably better structured here than anywhere else. And dig the explosion at the end, which I guess is supposed to be like the mushroom cloud on the cover, unless of course you think it looks more like a skull getting shot through.

Whatever, we then come to the amazing Oh Yeah, which initially features backwards vocals and cymbals (but forwards driving rhythm from the drums, yessirree), covered in some of the best low key, atmospheric keyboard noises for this kind of music imaginable, before Damo snaps from the rewind button to the play button, not that it makes any difference for figuring out what he's saying. Sheesh, there's more terrific moody, jazzy, gritty guitar parts, some more of Czukay knowing exactly how much to just hold the piece together and how much to step slightly into the spotlight, and everywhere there's those drums that just seem they could go on for eternity without losing the groove. Amazing.

But not as amazing as the behemoth that comes after. I LOVED Halleluwah on my very first listen to it, and that initial infatuation hasn't receded one bit. Four years after first listening to this (my first listen was late 2001), I'm still finding new bits to grab my attention. The drumming on here is absolutely transcendant, even by Jaki's standards; just listen to that complicated rhythm that he's keeping so rock-steady and pounding for almost the entirety of the 18+ minutes of this track, and then notice the rolls he's putting underneath it without once losing the beat in the third minute or so of the piece, and then tell me that he wasn't one of the greatest drummers on earth. And everybody else, well, they take full advantage of this foundation, even more than on the amazing Mother Sky. More jazzy, even Spanishy-in-places guitar parts, more synth and piano breaks, some amazingly creepy violin noises for good measure, and above all there's Damo. Lessee, there's that one bit where I think he's singing about recording the other tracks on the album (the only vaguely rational explanation I can give for the fact that he's reciting titles of other songs); there's that opening "Well has anybody ever seen the snowman *something* *something* ..." bit; and of course there's the climactic wailings of "HALLELELELELELELELUWAH HALLELELELELELELELUWAH." Does this look scary on paper? Well, trust me, it would to me too, but it all sounds ridiculously awesome when you actually hear it, unless having a musical representation of a person going completely nuts can't possibly represent your idea of awesome.

The album then hits Aumgn and Peking O, but just when it seems we're destined to have such a great start tainted by such a bitter taste to finish it, the band is kind enough to finish off with another classic in Bring Me Coffee or Tea. It's like, I dunno, it's like coming out of the most wicked, nightmarish acid trip imaginable, and waking up and trying to meditate it off in a dark room. The drums here are different from the rest of the album; not hyper-rhythmic, but definitely not chaotic like on much of the last two tracks. Rather, they're just there to help with the general mood, which is primarily set by the guitars (augmented by sitars quite a bit), and Suzuki's Easternish wails in his typical manner. Imagine a slightly more intense version of Don't Turn the Light On, Leave Me Alone, with the trappings I described, and there you go.

And there you have it, one of the most incredibly screwed up, but also one of the most incredible, albums made in the 70's. The most experimental tracks can scare away even the faithful, but if you can't get into Mushroom, Oh Yeah or Halleluwah, then Can is simply not for you. Any adventerous music lover should have this.

Send me your thoughts

Rick Atbert (erfinagerfin@hotmail.com) (11/02/05)

Flaming Lips

Over its seven-year gestation, Christmas on Mars had come to represent everything wonderful and frustrating about the Flaming Lips. As much as we loved the idea of Wayne Coyne producing a sci-fi flick in his backyard with hardware-store materials, the Lips' musical production became less frequent-- and less consistent-- during its making. 2006's scattershot At War With the Mystics tried to cut down on the lightness of their two previous landmark albums but was largely overwhelmed by cloying singles ("The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song", "Free Radicals") that felt like little more than excuses to shoot off their confetti cannons. The trio's desire to produce crowd-pleasing spectacle-- whether on stage or on film-- had seemingly taken priority over their desire to be a band.

But when Christmas on Mars finally surfaced in late 2008, it came with a peace offering to fans longing for a return to the band's bizarro roots: a full-length soundtrack of unsettling instrumentals that conjured the film's icy desolation. Now, rather than close a chapter on this seven-year saga, the Flaming Lips have taken a dramatic left turn with their Mystics follow-up-- the double album Embryonic is the band's most audacious undertaking since 1997's Zaireeka. The sprawling 70-minute marathon ruminates on themes of madness, isolation, and hallucinogenic horror, translating them into an unrelentingly paranoid, static-soaked acid-rock epic. Embryonic actually feels like it was produced in one of Christmas on Mars' hermetic space-station labs, with squelching equipment that takes a few moments to warm up and frequent instructional studio chatter that gives the impression of a subject under observation.

There's a raw directness to Embryonic that's been largely absent from Lips records since the mid-90s. For the first time in years, they've made an album that actually sounds like a band playing live together in a small room. In light of Mystics' overly processed, grab-bag quality, the holistic, audio-vérité approach on display here is remarkable-- the record is extremely dense, initially overwhelming, but unusually rewarding upon repeat listens. Like the double-disc, high-concept rock epics of yore (think Physical Graffiti or Bitches Brew), it captures them at their most sprawling and ambitious, boldly pushing themselves towards more adventurous horizons.

Musically, too, Embryonic leans heavily on the Lips' formative 60s/70s psych-rock influence (like In a Priest Driven Ambulance's "Take Meta Mars" before it, Embryonic's formidable opener "Convinced of the Hex" grooves heavily on Can's "Mushroom"), but never before has the band recorded an album so unwaveringly sinister, or so devoid of pop-song levity. (Hell, even Zaireeka had "The Big Ol' Bug Is the New Baby Now".) Wayne Coyne no longer assumes the role of the endearingly creaky, puppet-toting crooner. Instead, he's a world-weary fatalist describing scenes of environmental holocaust in a chillingly unaffected monotone on the rampaging "See the Leaves". Or he's a cult leader deviously summoning his minions on "Sagittarius Silver Announcement", before leading them to a fiery demise on the monstrous, stoner-metal onslaught of "Worm Mountain" (featuring fuzzbox-stomping assistance from MGMT). The atmosphere of dread reaches its fever pitch in the album's spellbinding seven-minute centerpiece "Powerless", where, over top a coolly ominous bass riff, Coyne's nervous verses yield to a Syd Barrett-on-Mandrax guitar freak out.

There are brief respites amid Embryonic's thundering eruptions, but even these carry a calm-before-the-storm unease: On paper, "I Can Be a Frog" reads like another of Coyne's animal-populated nursery rhymes, but the foreboding orchestration and giggly background squawks (courtesy of Karen O) render it too creepy for kindergarten. And the vocoderized lullaby "The Impulse" serves only to make the screaming intro to strobe-lit freakout "Silver Trembling Hands" all the more startling. True to an album named Embryonic, there are tracks that aren't fully formed (namely, the drunken Bonham stumble of "Your Bats" or the free-psych splatter of "Scorpio Swords"), but even in its slighter moments, Embryonic exhibits a renewed sense of fearless freakery for a band who so recently threatened to lapse into stagy routine.

"I wish I could go back, go back in time," Coyne sings on "Evil", Embryonic's most conventionally Lips-ian ballad, but the nostalgic impulse is immediately undercut by the admission that "no one really ever can." Perhaps Coyne is anticipating the confused reactions of recent Lips converts expecting more life-affirming anthems along the lines of "Do You Realize??" or "Race for the Prize". But given the band's history, Embryonic's sea change arrives right on time to herald a new Flaming Lips for a new decade. Back in 1990, In a Priest Driven Ambulance signaled the Lips' transformation from garage-punk misfits into a splendorous, kaleidoscopic rock outfit; 1999's The Soft Bulletin reconfigured them once again into a sophisticated, sincere symphonic-pop troupe bestowed with increasing commercial acclaim and street-naming ceremonies in their honor. We can only hope that, as we enter the 2010s, Embryonic portends yet another new phase for the Flaming Lips-- one that's equally as improbable and rewarding as the ones that have preceded it.

— Stuart Berman, October 12, 2009