Album Review: Royal Thunder - Wick

Grabbing the chance to wade into Royal Thunder’s world is always a bit of a pleasure. The Atlantan quartet are right up my alley often warping the softer edges of classic rock and grunge with deft psych touches to create a warm, unctuous sound. New album, Wick, has promised to offer something a little different though so we’ll see in which direction they’ve veered.

It’s a slow, melancholic start with Mlny Parsonz’ strong, part-growled vocal outpourings, saving the weak MOR melodies, rhythmic plodding and cloying, overwrought threads from anonymity. Happily, as the tempo picks up, to coincide with the rollicking force of “The Sinking Chair”, the disparate structures begin to mesh together and throb beautifully. Her vocal even kicks into growl mode and the twisted overdrive in Josh Weaver’s guitar really ram home the band’s intent and passion. It’s a right old rocker all wrapped up in bookends of feedback.

There’s elements of stoner plod, dirty pop and blues boogie in here, but it’s the rich vein of frazzled country that shines through strongest of all. The balletic “Plans” is pure Black Crowes, the over-dramatics and soporific nature of “Push” and “The Well” are tinged with Creedence and Fleetwood Mac, whilst the lilting kick and rattle of “Anchor” is delivered with a sneer, a swagger and a truckful of capricious intensity that only comes from extended Country & Western immersion – I bet they recorded it wearing ten gallon hats.

Ultimately it’s the weaker numbers, such as the loose-limbed “We Slipped” and the wheedling, naval-gazing title-track that leave this coming up short of their best material. Despite the clipped song structures, multi-instrumentalism and new clean lines they are sporting this, by no means, is an album that has strayed too far from the nest but it does come fired up by this strong sense of purpose. It’s interesting to notice that Parsonz found making the album a bit of a struggle. “It was a fight, but to hear it now, to see it finished, is so gratifying. I’m looking at it, going we’re done, it’s over, be free.” For me, the overwhelming sense from reading that quote is one of relief, rather than achievement. Let’s hope that the pieces fall into place a little easier next time.

Also online @ Ave Noctum = http://www.avenoctum.com/2017/04/royal-thunder-wick-spinefarm/

https://www.facebook.com/RoyalThunderMusic

Album Review: Death Alley – Black Magick Boogieland

Well, dang, here’s an album with a full-blown strut-worthy, stomp-happy boogie backline. And yet Death Alley isn’t exactly a moniker that you’d associate with such a stone cold groove is it? It turns out that Black Magick Boogieland wasn't, in fact, created by a bunch of full-bearded rednecks sippin’ beer and drivin’ Cadillacs. No, these fellas hail from Amsterdam and have a bit of a dark side. Amongst their cultish brethren is ex-The Devil’s Blood guitarist Oeds Beydals and former members of niche punk band Gewapend Beton and psychedelic doomsters Mühr. Considering their love for a boogie and a good freak-out as much as they do a bit of rough-and-ready, they clearly form a bit of a unique marriage of styles. It’s a sound that draws influence from both past and contemporary music  – bands such as Down, Humble Pie, Audrey Horne, Blue Öyster Cult and Foghat.

From the off, they set a breakneck pace with “Over Under” gifting frontman Douwe  the opportunity to begin firing out his snarls and yells over the feisty, warm string-work of Beydals’. All good so far, yet it seems they’re not quite the “psychedelic protopunks” they claim to be either. However, there is a dark underbelly to this that should be confronted.

They really are serious about that Black Magick part, you see. There are haunting moans lurking in the background and there’s a significant degree of menace in the way he yells “You’re gonna get it!” Oddly, there’s a definite backing drop-out which accompanies such a vehement statement - it’s suddenly all a bit unnerving. Then, for the swinging title-track they invite you to peek “behind the curtain” to a place where they practice the dark arts. Here, there’s tripped-out lines such as “You’re impregnated with a magical charm, cross-contaminated to make you small” to contend with and also a real seedy tone struggling to fight through the sashaying rhythmic vibes.

As the constituent parts of the music diametrically oppose each other, it’s easy to find the vocal tone something of a jarring hindrance to the glowing bluesy wash of what lies beyond it. However, when Douwe slows his roll, as he does for “Golden Fields of Love”, it all finally begins to mesh and “Alles Komt Goed” as they say in the ‘Dam.

They do finally concede to Beydals will for the closing seven-and-a-half minutes of the album allowing him full rein to jam, solo and consequently send us grooving into a state of utter bliss. It’s the icing on the cake that makes the track “Supernatural Predator”, with its rich kaleidoscopic exterior and thick black heart, quite the formidable act to follow – headline acts beware.

There is a potential for their music to experiment and dig down deeper into the occult and summon even wilder sounds. What’s most surprising of all is that I can’t think of a safer pair of hands to get us to that point than those of Death Alley. Whilst other retro bands recreate the past, these lads pay due homage to it, then give it a damn good shake. Perhaps next time, they’ll shake a little harder.

Also online @ Ave Noctum = http://www.avenoctum.com/2015/05/death-alley-black-magick-boogieland-tee-pee-records/

Live Album Reviews: Blues Pills v Zodiac

This week sees blues rock aficionados Zodiac and Blues Pills both release an album of live material. The former have their Road Tapes, Vol. 1 for sale whilst Blues Pills have the simply-named Blues Pills Live for your delectation.

If you fancy a journey into your soul and psyche then the bell-bottomed, warm retro melange of Blues Pills should certainly do the job. Their live recording is the feistier, fresher and stronger of the two. Naturally, it is taken is from their performance at the Freak Valley Festival in Germany, run by their friend Jens Helde, the man responsible for giving them their name.



Bursting with energy it kicks off with a glorious, spine-tingling rendition of “High-Class Woman” before heading on into the heart of the material from their debut self-titled album – the remainder comes from their few EP releases. The production is full and meaty – vocalist Elin Larsen gives your ears a good work-out whilst the great lumbering bottom line tickles your toes. Somewhere in the middle of their set, they settle down and begin to extend tracks like “Black Smoke” and the superb “Dig In” with honeyed, bluesy jams. The focus of the crowd turns here to Larson to help them through and by throwing a few vocal sweeps and crescendos in, she manages to hold their attention as plenty of appaluse, wolf-whistles and howls of joy fly back at her.

Zodiac, rather, take that classic Stateside rock n’ roll template yet give it a contemporary feel by infusing elements of pop, funk and blues. Their Road Tapes release is well-knitted together and comes from parts of their 2014 Fall Tour. With three albums-worth of material to sift through, only 4 of the 10 tracks come from their latest release.

What they do tracklist makes their “set” feel a little sluggish although a quiet crowd don’t help their cause. Sadly, they miss out their pièce de résistance, “Sonic Child”, but they do reach for their trusty Neil Young cover, “Cortez The Killer” and the groove-laden “A Bit Of Devil”. The recording is also a little muddy in places, but the twin guitar attack of Nick van Delft and Stephen Gall stand out nicely. Certainly, the groove of “Diamond Shoes”, the shape-shifting beauty of “A Penny And A Dead Horse” and the 15-minute jammed-out “Coming Home” give this enough variety to warrant your attention.



For those intending to splash the cash, I’d recommend buying Blues Pills Live, leaving Road Tapes by the verge and getting a piece of Zodiac’s mind-blowing third album, 2014’s Sonic Child instead.

Also online @ Ave Noctum = http://www.avenoctum.com/2015/04/live-albums-blues-pills-v-zodiac-nuclear-blast-napalm-records/

Album Review: The Midnight Ghost Train – Cold Was The Ground

Where visual art can announce itself as everything from an explosion of different shapes, dimensions and hues or restrict itself to the most minimalist, one-dimensional, single-colour blocks, music can do much the same. This particular beard-toting Kansas trio find themselves at the latter end, pumping out an unfaltering combination of muffled fuzz bass and sludgy, rhythmic chugging. Essentially, they have taken what bands like Orange Goblin, Red Fang and Clutch have done before and refined it to something a little less expansive and a darn sight more punishing.

Cold Was The Ground marks their third foray into long-players and this one thunders along a similar path as its predecessors, crashing in on the listener as wave upon wave of sonic obliteration. Underpinning this dark, suffocating powerhouse of noisome groove, the smatterings of swampy delta blues, gnarly rock n’ roll and virulent stoner metal lie.

Gently ushering itself in with a warping, one-note crescendo, the introductory ‘Along The Chasm‘ suddenly kicks us into the hammering, rhythmic, mile-deep rut where The Midnight Ghost Train demand we remain for the majority of the album’s running time. As we speed on through tracks like the attack-and-release, riff-repeats of ‘Gladstone‘, the chilled-out Monster Magnet-esque drift and rapid wah-wah pedal pneumatics of instrumental ‘One Last Shelter‘ and the dull battery of ‘No. 227‘ we alight on the heart of the album where the band begin to find their soul.

There’s the ripped choral lick on ‘BC Trucker’, thick, dirty and moreishly addictive and ‘Arvonia‘ with its Fu Manchu wall of fuzz and dark, brooding undertones so reminiscent of All Hail The Yeti. Deeper in and there’s the sinister backwoods edge of ‘The Canfield’, the no-frills swagger and bluesy grunt of ‘Straight To The North‘ and creepy, energized panic that so engenders ‘Twin Souls‘. None of these though can compare to the simple, tender luminosity of ‘The Little Sparrow‘. It is the first true glimpse of what lies beneath the bluster – heartfelt emotion. In this case, that emotion is fear. Pure, cold sweat-inducing, neurotic fear.

Undoubtedly, there is a good helping of monotonous, atonal filler here and an infuriating paucity of texture or flavour in a scene so dependent upon small deviations in delivery. However, there is also a more subtle connection to the sordid underbelly that lurks beneath the glossy veneer of so much modern music. Here, you can taste the blood, sweat and tears.

Maybe, if Cold Was The Ground was a painting it would be a Rothko – probably one from his Black-Form series. And like Rothko’s minimalist art, it will have its admirers.

Also online @ Heavy Blog Is Heavy = http://www.heavyblogisheavy.com/2015/03/18/the-midnight-ghost-train-cold-was-the-ground/

Album Review: Blues Pills - Blues Pills

Well here's a debut album loaded with enough old school rock n' roll balls to get the geriatrics swinging their jeans, catchy and fresh enough to interest the doubting pop industry, and yet still darkly inventive enough to tickle the underbelly of the subverts. In turn, they lovingly tug once more at those emotional threads conjured by bands like Led Zeppelin, Fleetwood Mac and Cream. The inevitable result? Blues Pills are about to shift some units with this release.

Craftily divided into sections, each offering something interesting to focus upon, the album oozes star quality. Tracks 1 through 3 offer quick-change chord structures that ripple their way along a driving underscore which harries and hurries you along. Opener "High Class Woman" has a hard, rock-punching edge about it with fierce licks and strong hooks, whilst the excellent, groove-laden "Ain't No Change" and "Jupiter", with its mind-expanding middle-eight, ride along bluesier, walls of guitar fuzz that get you deep in the gut.

Tracks 4 through 6 mark out a welcome change of pace which brings the stunning Joplin-esque vocal of Elin Larsen to the forefront. Strong without being butch, her delivery has a sweet, rasping quality, plenty of range and a fine grasp of when to stress a lyric and when not to. So whilst the flawed yet elegiac, slide guitar number "River" stands out proudest of all, sashaying along as she enunciates each vowel, it is the friskier, slow-quick-slow rhythm and cosmic power of "Black Smoke" which speaks most clearly to the heart as well as the soul. Tracks 7-9 begins the steady build back up to speed with the swing of "Devil Man" bringing some much needed fire, "Astralplane" loading up on blues, and Chubby Checker-cover "Gypsy" punching every majestic note out with joyous delight. Throughout these and into the album closer, the simple sustained sweeps of retro kingpins Graveyard (who they share a producer with) show their face placing that chronological marker upon the Swedish quartet.

Offering something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue, whatever your taste, this is an impressive debut that should, by all accounts, marry itself to your very marrow. I thought I had a cold, black heart, but suddenly I can feel the damn thing beating. I think I'm falling for Blues Pills... and hard.

Also online @ Scratch The Surface = http://www.scratchthesurface-webzine.com/2014/08/blues-pills-blues-pills-review.html

Album Review: The Golden Grass – S/T

The Golden Grass are all about kicking back in the summer sun and letting their combination of blissed-out blues and warbling psych rock gently fold in around you. If their moniker didn’t give you a heads-up, most certainly the artwork on their debut album, a beautifully coloured piece by Niko Potocniak (founder of space rockers Seven That Spells), should do. Hailing from Brooklyn, NY, the band combine the sultry, sparse qualities of 60s groovers like The Move and The Animals with 70s boogie bands such as Cactus and Steely Dan. With added retro psychedelic soundscaping, the combination produces a rhythmic drive and tonal quality not unlike the funkier, trippier side of contemporary stylists like those of Danava and Horisont.

Most certainly it is Joe Noval’s bold electric bass that provides the solid framework allowing Michael Rafalwich’s wacky use of sustain and distortion to colour the picture with oodles of fuzz and echo. Fleshing it all out, the laid-back vocal harmonies are a case of steady-as-she-goes. Lyrically, there’s plenty of reassuring repetition allowing it all to stick in the mind. Hooked throughout, the wordplay and riffs will have you humming and singing in the bath long after the last note has faded.

The wildly theatrical psychedelic intro of “Please Man” quickly kicks into a head-bobbing verse. There’s a sweet, shuffling middle-eight, a dropout into chilled-out half-time and a switch into yet another echoing backdrop of cosmic wash. On the flipside, “Stuck On A Mountain” is more straight-up. It has fistfuls of smooth harmonics and an enigmatic pinged, top-end bassline that gets you deep in the gut. The rhythm jinks and jives always adding flavour. “One More Time” and “Sugar N’ Spice” both have lashings of soft-bellied guitar buzz and a harder, bluesier edge that both evoke plenty of Lynyrd Skynyrd. The groove and blatant funk kick on the latter makes it well worth the extended running time.

The album’s balance rocks a little with the over-indulgent “Wheels”.  At 13 minutes, it does account for almost half the album, so its choppy nature is somewhat concerning. Opening and closing as a fine piece of music to stick in your car when you’re breezing down country roads, the groove suddenly goes missing in the middle. Whether the plethora of warp effect guitar solos and disconnected drum showboating can really warrant repeated listens is debatable. At one point the track implodes, becoming little more than a series of disturbing whale sounds. Surely, this isn’t just an attempt to stretch an EP into an LP, is it? What does stand out is the walking bass and passionate jamming.

The Golden Grass’ crowning glory, of course, is that seemingly effortless, lush groove that they generate. Be it a field of flowers or the warm sands of a tropical beach that you imagine running through your fingers as you listen, the very fact that they take you drifting along with them proves that they are pushing all the right buttons. So hop on board… you really won’t regret it.

Also online @ Ave Noctum = http://www.avenoctum.com/2014/05/the-golden-grass-st-svart-records/

Album Review: Jackson Firebird – Cock Rockin’

Crude, lewd Australian dudes Jackson Firebird are a duo utterly embedded in the world of sex, whiskey and rock n’ roll. Following the past rules that seem to come with the sleaze rock territory, guitarist Brendan Harvey and drummer Dale Hudak naturally claim they were “spoon-fed from a young age on rock n’ roll”. It follows that careful selection of their band name, album art / title abounds to make sure they tick the remainder of the boxes. Their moniker obviously makes reference to the guitar of the same name but, off the top of my head, it also references past blues and rock n’ roll heroes like Jim Jackson, Jackson Browne, The Firebirds and, of course, Lynyrd Skynyrd (who wrote the all-time classic “Freebird”). As for the coy, nude lady and their constant lyrical references to their collective meat and two veg, well that’s Jackson Firebird in a nutshell.

They prefer to refer to their music as “cock rock” and early listens prove that term appears to be a mish-mash of good ol’ boy rock n’ roll and frazzled blues. They flesh that all out with a good dose of Southern twang, a little noisome rap and add plenty of modern twists and turns too. Time and again they are found making room for elements of Foxy Shazam’s playful abandon and, when the duo pare down their sound into a simple two-step beat with lolloping strings, they manage to gift their music a minimalist quality that marks them out as simple wandering troubadors practicing their art. When this no-frills style is taken to the extreme, songs like “Can Roll” will have you checking round walls and expecting to see the pair busking on a street corner for beers.

Look beyond the trio of swaggering, sex-obsessed, rock n’ fuck ‘n roll openers and you’ll stumble into “Quan Dang”. It’s a game-changer of a track featuring the Johnny Dynell signature “Jam Hot” rap (“tank fly boss walk jam nitty gritty”, etc.) and plays like an amalgamation of Rage Against The Machine, The Beastie Boys and Limp Bizkit. This unique brand of cookie-cutter rock n’ roll riffery that occasionally lurches out into semi-break experimental sections really help the band stand out as one-offs, yet it’s not until they repeat the trick with the killer “Sweet Eloise” that they really make it stick. One listen to its climactic half-spat rap featuring the brutal line “This is my shit, my house, my car / It makes me even wonder how we made it this far” and you’ll be sold.

Ultimately, this duo were always going to live or die on the strength of their songwriting and their vocalist. They may not always excel at the former talent due to plenty of uninspired fillers like the repetitious “Little Missy” or the sluggish “Red Light” but, happily, Brendan Harvey has one sweet-assed voice. He proves it’s gloriously adaptable and is certainly helped out with all the added flavour of some nifty production techniques. So, if you’re a headband wearer, a spontaneous air guitarist or a Jack n’ Coke guzzler, come get a slice of Jackson Firebird’s wickedly grizzled, yet undeniably eclectic rock music.

Also online @ Ave Noctum = http://www.avenoctum.com/2014/04/jackson-firebird-cock-rockin-napalm-records/

Album Review: Iron Tongue – The Dogs Have Barked, The Birds Have Flown

The origins of heavy metal are consistently fought over by rival factions, but one irrefutable fact that stands out from the bickering, regardless of whether you stand in the Blue Cheer, Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple or Cream camps, is that without blues music, metal probably would never even have made it that far. This is an interesting counterpoint to consider when rolling Iron Tongue‘s debut album around your skull for the first time.


With its heart in blues and its soul in metal, this cathartic crusher, hammered out by a mélange of Arkansas veteran musicians, pays due deference to its forbears. Initially, the music bears a strong resemblance to the recent batch of Townes Van Zandt covers, perpetrated by doom Illuminati Steve Von Till, Wino and Scott Kelly. Brief bursts of it emerge as Iron Tongue roughly feed their country affectations and hefty, blues-tinged rock through the chomping maw of old school doom metal in much the same manner. However, there is no getting away from where much of this album’s running time is spent; playing between the twin forces of St. Vitus and The Allman Brothers Band.

As an addendum to this, it is worth noting that leading the line here is Rwake‘s vocalist Chris “C.T.” Terry. Although The Dogs Have Barked, The Birds Have Flown oozes with a far more laid-back, almost-jammed approach to songwriting, it still comes as no great surprise to discover that there are also strong hints of the Little Rock sludge-flingers’ Southern drawl, twang and propensity for experimentation coursing through this.

Kicking us off, the soft-hearted, warm and gently twinkling ‘Ever After’ sucks up a Cream-esque vibe and neatly introduces us to the juxtaposition between Stephanie Smittle’s crystalline high-pitched backing and CT’s cracked, gnarly growl. Step forward a notch into ‘Skeleton’ and you’ll find yourself cornered by controlled, insistent chord rotations. Intense disillusionment and anger begin to flood through in the lyrics, fed by the steady pounding of skins and dense bass thunder. Sneaky Hammond organ rushes leak into the kind of bleak, glacial riffery employed by Dave Chandler (only without the cone-splitting distortion) as we drink in echoes of his first-love, St. Vitus. To finish, Smittle’s emotive bullet-points ram home the power of the wordplay as the valve amps creak and cry for mercy.

For those in search of walking riffs and a spot of bluesy swagger, head over to ‘Lioness’ and ’7 Days’. The former offers jinking boy-girl vocals, fuzzed-up bass and a tune-in, drop-out, throbbing four-chord trick, as Iron Tongue menacingly wrap you around their collective finger. The latter is all whining leads, sweet drops into half-time, more background Hammond and a croaky, lived-in vocal that winds itself up into a tuneless howl.

Realistically, for a seven-tracker to really shock and awe, you do need to be able to dig through all the songs and hit gold and that isn’t the case here. Some less-hardy souls might find things a little repetitive, and a couple of tracks, despite their reasonable running times, fail to keep producing and, consequently, do stretch the limitations of patience. Sadly, closer, ‘Said n’ Done’, by conjuring up the Blue Cheer proto-metal spirit – a matter of dispensing with the formalities with a simple grip and rip – suffers most of all. It stomps about, before it petulantly sinks down to a lethargic plod, where it revels in its own soul-sucking wedge of sludgy dissonance like a sullen brat. Thankfully there’s album highlight, ‘Moon Unit’, surely a reference to Frank Zappa‘s wackily-named first-born, there to save the day and act as a Sabbathian counterbalance, and it does hit like a brick between the eyes. Making plenty of room in the music, it sticks CT front and center. From this position of dominance, his vocal shifts from frazzled to fragmenting as he sets about bellowing out this trip of a track like his very soul depends on it.

Neurosis’ Steve Von Till has been moved to refer to this release as one containing “a power and an edge and soul that rarely exists in music today”. Now there’s a man who knows his onions and there is no arguing with that as the perfect one-line analysis for this beasty. As the viscious lyric from ‘Moon Unit’ warns – “The lights are out, engine is running and I have got you in my sights”. CT and, indeed, Iron Tongue have got metal history to back them up here, so take note.

Also online @ Heavy Blog Is Heavy = http://www.heavyblogisheavy.com/2013/05/10/iron-tongue-the-dogs-have-barked-the-birds-have-flown/

Album Review: Across Tundras/Lark’s Tongue – Split LP

All too often, partnerships on split records can often conflict creating as much disharmony as complementary noises. That’s not always a bad thing, as the range of contradicting, experimental connections inside can often portray an intriguing and more complete whole. In this instance, however, there is plenty of concord and, consequently, plenty of opportunity for further exploration. Combined, these two have even managed to play inside the pentagonal borders of what we, the press, might refer to as grunge, shoegaze, drone, post-metal and stoner.

This blissed-out middle-ground is first marked out by the wonderfully-titled Across Tundras, a trio hailing from Tennessee who Cavity Records have described as both “vintage psychedelia” and “panoramic country crush”. The track “Low Haunts”, propped up by an anarchic four-and-a-half minute warbling wash of pedal effects (rather like an orchestra clearing its throat) steps up with a lush, organic kind of Americana that warms the very cockles of your heart. If The Rolling Stones ate mushrooms and space-cake instead of snorting all that coke and speed, they’d have sounded pretty much like this. Hell they even say it themselves. Interesting, then, that the line “Like a rolling stone” pops up in “Crux To Bea” which throws more chugging groove into the mix enabling them to drift into grittier corners. Never static, they eventually tumble into an effusive style of stripped-back, heavy-lidded blues that echo artists like Dan Auberbach and Dead Confederate.

Completing the morphing progression, Illinois-dwelling Lark’s Tongue (their moniker clearly paying homage to King Crimson) head deeper into the cosmos to haul down a droning wall-of-sound backdrop à la Hawkind into which they weave a tapestry of lush melodies à la Slowdive. Haul on the volume for the book-ending chorus of “Follow Your Night” to fully appreciate the obliterating crush and then drop out for complete immersion as the LP’s highlight, “Aluminium”, kicks in. The vocal harmonies locked within are stunningly beautiful and meld serenely into the thunderous riffage that rains down upon the listener.

As a split four-tracker this may, on the face of it, seem like a frivolous purchase, but at 33 minutes it offers pretty good value for money. Honestly, you’d be hard-pressed to find another split as thematically-explorative, emotionally dense and gloriously satisfying as this one.

Now streaming @ Bandcamp = http://cavityrecords.bandcamp.com/album/across-tundras-larks-tongue-split

Also online @ Ave Noctum = http://www.avenoctum.com/2013/04/across-tundraslarks-tongue-split-lp-cavity-records/

News: Anciients & Buzzard King

The joys of traipsing through BandCamp has revealed two total stunners this week in the form of Canada's Anciients and Cambridge, England's Buzzard King.

Anciients, set to release their debut album on April 12th (April 16th in North America), are described as "somewhere between sheer, apocalyptic heaviness and precise riffing — a Vancouver-based rock juggernaut forging crushing heavy metal evocative of veterans High on Fire and contemporary sonic craftsmen Opeth, Anciients have combined fuck-off-huge chords with mind-altering riffage that takes you on an unfamiliar trip."

They've stuck up a trio of tracks from their forthcoming Heart Of Oak album on their BandCamp page here - http://anciientriffs.bandcamp.com/album/heart-of-oak - I think you'll find "Faith And Oath" to be an absolute jaw-dropper.

Fans of  "bourbon-soaked heavy rock noir", as the band describes themselves, need to head over to Buzzard King's BandCamp page - http://buzzardking.bandcamp.com/ - and pay close attention to the tracks "Diesel And Danger" for it's stone-cold groove, sweet riffage and blues-streaked vocal and "Tumbling Spires" for it's howling drive and memorable barbs of each verse and the effortless roll as it takes you through their full range of gears. Think Clutch meets Rival Sons via The Doors and Graveyard.

As an interesting aside, Rival Sons are playing Cambridge soon and I haven't a clue why this lot aren't on the bill. The campaign starts here, folks...

Album Review: Graveyard – Lights Out

Of the multitude of vocalists out there, some have been coerced through circumstance to put their singing voices into action, some seem just-plain deluded and some have true talent for the art form. Of those talented ones, many have started shaky but have put in the practice, improving over time, and a few were just born great singers. Joakim Nilsson is absolutely at the top of the pile of this latter bunch. His unstressed vocal is full, creamy and as smooth as silk and when he rips into a sequence, his delivery becomes wonderfully croaky and dry; as rough as tree-bark. Graveyard without Nilsson is unthinkable. Without him they’d merely be an empty glove and on this latest album never has the band needed his skills more.

Once more, they’ve recorded entirely in analogue, a process which allows them to capture both the hedonistic, throbbing, fuzzball rock and the introspective heart, soul and blues of the 1970s. Band drummer Axel Sjöberg has spoken of the Lights Out concept as representing “a feeling that we have that these times that we live in are strange times, where no one really sees anything straight or the way they are.” Taking that on board, the deep-brown smudge on black artwork is inevitable considering the theme, but it is still a poor effort when you consider the crushingly dynamic beauty of their debut and sophomore offerings – a dull Rothko to their previous takes on Da Vinci and Michaelangelo. Musically though, it’s an ideal that certainly comes to stunning fruition.

The influence of modern stoner/sludge bands lurk heavy here on Lights Out more than ever with the guitars wound back to create a flabbier, moodier and weightier dynamic. For “The Suits, The Law & The Uniforms”, for instance, the chugging strings get so fat that they end up slurping and burping their way across the surface of the track. The fairly formidable, menacing vibe that is created by them allows the frontman room to really shine and he doesn’t let the side down, indignantly howling out his barbed lyrics.

Lights Out‘s running order creates yet another Graveyard roller-coaster ride with the rockers fairly whizzing down the steep slopes of “An Industry Of Murder”, “Goliath” and “Seven Seven” and plodding laboriously back up through the drowsy blues of “Slow Motion Countdown”, “20/20 (Tunnel Vision)” and “Hard Times Lovin’” – the latter being a dark, moody gem of a track where Nilsson has never been closer to The Doors’ Jim Morrison and his foreboding croon.

If “Seven Seven”, a hare of a track that sounds oddly like it was written as a slow number only to be played at double-time, were viewed as a career weak spot, then the album itself would still qualify as a career highlight. There are just too many moments of virtuosity for it not to. Killer material like the perfect pacesetter, “An Industry Of Murder”, which jinks in and out of top gear, diligently feeding air raid sirens and a mind-melting set of cosmic washes into the hungry maw of the builds that wind the thing back up to speed. Or “Slow Motion Countdown”, a song with a soft, melancholic sway that shows off Nilsson’s lyrical genius and impeccable range to its fullest climaxing in the hook of “When the flame turns blue not even you will lead us through”. Or “Goliath” that pulses with Rikard Edlund’s big, bassy punch. The thing works through sheer force of intent – “They are trying to sell slavery as a dream to chase” – and every one of those fruity riffs is deliberately positioned to throw the listener into a headspin.

Before you even reach the velvet flow and dual vocal dynamite of closer “20/20 (Tunnel Vision”), you’ll already be aware that Graveyard have concocted something truly special – an album that can rub shoulders with their startling debut effort. Three albums to be rightly proud of – can this band do no wrong? Not, it seems, as long as they have Joakim Nilsson – the godlike vocalist who, time after time, can turn water into w(h)ine.

Also online (with album samples) @ The NewReview = http://thenewreview.net/reviews/graveyard-lights-out

Album Review: No Made Sense - New Season/New Blues

Once in a while a band comes along and lays one on your chin from completely out of nowhere. In shock, you check up on them and find a band devoid of egos, with no mission statement, with no burning desire for you to join their MySpace, their Twitter feed or “like our Facebook page, FFS!” These are the bands that you usually end up treasuring more than most because they care what their music sounds like far more than what they look like whilst they’re doing it, and care more about enjoying themselves than making money or influencing people. Hold onto these moments because these are also the bands that can just as quickly slip through your fingers. No Made Sense are one of these bands. Their, quite frankly, stunning debut, The Epillanic Choragi, a darkly conceptual work loaded with cryptic titles, was released on Basick without fanfare a couple of years back, around the same time as bands from the same small city of Reading, UK, were releasing big-hitting, attention-smothered albums on big, noisy labels (specifically, Sylosis’ Conclusion Of An Age on Nuclear Blast and Malefice’s Dawn Of Reprisal on Metal Blade).

Now No Made Sense are back with New Season/New Blues, an album of individual tracks and ideas and, consequently, an album of many colours and tastes. They’ve recorded it live and the production is certainly a lot rougher, with gritty, piercing vocals and clanging strings that clamber over each other. It has resulted in a less-polished but heartier end result that places them closer to what they could capably produce live. Joe Battimelli’s bass, in particular, doesn’t so much boom as pop and spit whilst Leo Dennett’s guitar takes its opportunity to crunchily explore layer upon layer of trembling riffs and calloused, knotty chord repetitions.

Tracks like “No Gain From Seeking” and “I’ve Not Been”, in particular, show a move towards the more flamboyant psych-inflected rock of bands like Baroness, Muse and Porcupine Tree whilst “Lying On My Own” gives you a blast of that howling punkish fervour that These Arms Are Snakes were so famed for. It doesn’t mean the band haven’t lost their ability to dwell at the doomy post-metal altar of bands like Neurosis and Mastodon. Then, with songs like “Four” and “You Might As Well” they conjure up complex, soul-sucking vortices to prove they are still one of the few groups with the skill, patience and intelligence to fill the gaping hole that Isis ripped when they called time on their career.

There are more sides to this band than a dodecahedron. “Half Of The Wall” offers slowly decaying white noise sands and distant futuristic sounds of computer banks streaming data until both eventually crack and allow the opening duo of power chord and fuzzed-up bass that form “Silence” to break through their weakened binary security. This is a track that follows a similar pattern, with the same impact, to Russian Circles’ grooviest material (think “Station” multiplied by “Carpe”. Dennett fingers riffs, impelling them on, until they embed themselves into your synapses; until you find yourself helplessly spasming along to the music.

New Season/New Blues is the equivalent of slowly shovelling a pick n’ mix bag of candy in your mouth. Some flavors you’ll instantly adore, others you’ll discover are an acquired taste. One second your face will screw up as Dennett misanthropically softens his vocal to a half-spoken whispering (on “Down” and the opening of “You Might As Well”), the next, your cheeks will glow and a feeling of utter bliss will drop as the final riff of “No Gain From Seeking” boots up, and again when the band offer a trip back to the beauty of “Milachi’s Depths” (from their debut) for “Lying On My Own.” These are the moments in music that we live for and it’s what singles No Made Sense out as men of genius.

“Sleep” has the intensity of “Silence” but is a lot more open to frenzy. It is genuinely brilliant mayhem and it rocks my little world. The gradual increase in tempo until they are speeding towards a certain death seems somehow representative of their sudden and scarily well-concealed decision to go out with a bang. Yes, you heard right, the twist in the tail is that No Made Sense have casually released this gem of an album into the ether at the same time that they blogged this throwaway statement – “Also, you might not hear from us again for a while. Or maybe ever. So, thanks and stuff.” Dig a little deeper and it appears they all have different ideas on where they want to take their music, so you may be seeing their names attached to new projects very soon. Wherever, they choose to go, you can be sure good things will follow. No Made Sense might have remained resolutely underground but for those lucky few that know of their existence, if this really is the end, it’s been one hell of a thrilling ride.

The full album is now streaming and available for pay-what-you-want download here.

Also online @ The New Review = http://thenewreview.net/reviews/no-made-sense-new-season-new-blues

Album Review: Graveyard - Hisingen Blues

Looking back through their history it’s not too difficult to find how Graveyard’s roots are buried with Norrsken, the same Swedish doom/stoner band that Witchcraft emerged from. While the latter formed in 2000, it wasn’t until 2006, and a failed project, that the remainder of the group finally came up with a formula that they all truly believed in. Two years later they had released their debut self-titled album and the few who were lucky enough to hear its sultry blues affectations began telling their friends. Now look at ‘em. A Nuclear Blast band (as they have aptly pointed out “a label that’s founded by old school tape traders”) seemingly with the world at their feet.

So how then can a band generating so much interest, basically just be rehashing a music form we long-thought was dead. How can it be that this stone-cold groove of theirs, which a whole generation before us got down to, is suddenly so popular again? Because now it’s no longer so niche. Our heads have been slowly turned by a modern collection of retro-minded bands breathing new life into dusty lungs, reworking vintage riffs, tweaking knobs to recreate the muddy production of their forbears. Graveyard just happen to be digging up more historical material than others, speeding along a path made that much wider by bands who’ve merely scratched the surface.

By recording Hisingen Blues completely on analog, the Swedes have been able to bring back to life that stripped-back, cotton-wool-muffled 70s vibe that their first album soaked itself so well in. You’ll hear in there the influence of bands like Zeppelin, Cream, Joplin, Hendrix and Sabbath as well as connections to modern-day outfits like The Warlocks, The Black Keys, Buckcherry and Quest For Fire and, to an extent, even elements of Wolfmother and Kings Of Leon.

Like with their debut, it’s easy to lock into the conducting force of lead singer Joakim Nilsson. He has such an impressive range that you’ll hear him swinging through the forest canopy, as he switches effortlessly into Led Zep mode, to deliver a Robert Plant-esque wailing for the pounding opener, “Ain’t Fit To Live Here”, before dipping down into the dense undergrowth, to burble around a heavy-lidded recreation of Cream’s Eric Clapton for the supremely laconic “Uncomfortably Numb” – the title being a crystal clear nod to Pink Floyd. That’s not forgetting, of course, “No Good, Mr. Holden” where he gives us all a real head-trip with a section of psychedelic reverse-track warbling – the conspiracy theorists among us will be loving it now they have something new to play with.

A warning: too long spent listening to the murky meanderings of “Longing” whilst staring at that glorious cover art and you’ll end up right inside that fearsome-looking swamp, floating on that gnarled, precarious log, along with the band. It has to be said that both the song and the artwork are incredibly evocative. Immediately, I get strong whiffs of Sergio Leone’s work from the former and, from the latter, snapshots of creepy flicks like The Deerhunter or Predator. The artist Ulf Lundén apparently created his effect by taking photos of the band up against a green screen. They reveal that a couple of weeks later, he showed them what he had done – “We were astonished by his work, a perfectionist indeed; rich with details, swamp/jungle feeling, weirdness and a lurking evil feel to it.”

Moving on, there are hints of Steppenwolf and that bulldozing rhythm of theirs on “Buying Truth (Tack Och Förlåt)” whilst “RSS” will get you fervently nodding along with it’s gentle criss-crossing of Cream and Blue Cheer’s swinging blues. Here, the dense layering of the sludge-spattered guitars – pinpoint accurate; the resounding rumble of the drums – wonderfully mesmeric. The ultimate nostalgia trip, though, is delivered with “The Siren” which wears its flowers, flares and giant collar with nothing but pride – you’ll either find yourself drifting into another dimension of bliss, or doubling-up in fits of laughter. Either way, it’ll floor you. What we have here is music you can seriously grow to love; a solid body of work that is guaranteed to remind you of your father’s record collection like no other band can – and now I’ve suddenly led out that hulking pink elephant from the corner of the room, it’s up to you whether you choose to acknowledge that as fact or not.

Also online @ The New Review = http://thenewreview.net/reviews/graveyard-hisingen-blues