Album Review: Yellowtooth – Crushed By The Wheels Of Progress

For their second stab at a long-player, Indiana’s Yellowtooth have decided to get heavy. With Year Of Desolation’s John Hehman twiddling the knobs, together they’ve produced an eminently raw-sounding recording and with it a whole world of pain. Yep, the proverbial nut gets the full sledgehammer treatment here.

Opening with a cut from a particularly vicious line from the 2003 movie Open Range, Crushed By The Wheels Of Progress sets it’s stall out early with snarling vocals spewing hate-filled lyrics. It all lies beneath a wall of the filthiest riff sludge and butt-clenching drum thunder heard since the murderous crush spewed out by the likes of Crowbar or High On Fire. With its swampy wash, Southern-tinged slowly dying open chords and thrash affectations it’s like listening to the gnarliest of Orange Goblin songs getting tortured into submission by the concrete fists of Snailking or the sonic blitzkrieg of Sepultura.

Having been beaten into a corner by the initial choking swathe of aggression and primitive lyricism, the maddeningly obtuse song construction struggles to extract the listener without walking itself down strange blind alleys. Take “Season’s End”. It contains no end of dropouts, kicks into double-time and oblique switches in key – it’s the aural equivalent of riding a three-legged horse that keeps falling over.

The eight-minute title-track builds up a pretty solid groove with a gritty chorus and digs out a sweet riff to sit alongside it. The guitar scrawl eventually picks up gifting us with a high degree of mania to wedge behind the acid-gargling vocal roar of Peter Clemens. Ramp up the volume on this beast if you want to really piss off those neighbours. Dig in further and they begin to hit a particularly evil streak as they rip into death metal territory with the deliciously dark “Spiral Stairs” inviting the headbangers to the party and the agonisingly base attack of “Before I Return To Dust” pulling the teeth straight from their Bay Area and Brazilian peers.

Yep, I bet they had a ball writing and recording this monstrous album, but sadly the end result isn’t pretty. Cast adrift somewhere between kicking the shit out of the stoner metal fringe and ramming deathly metal down the throats of the bad-ass rock n’ roll brigade, Yellowtooth will struggle to make friends with this. It’s fit to burst with macho angst and is ripped with nasty guitar lines but there’s very little that actually sticks in the memory banks. Yep, that sledgehammer did the trick, but I’m afraid that nut is dust.

Also online @ Ave Noctum = http://www.avenoctum.com/2015/08/yellowtooth-crushed-by-the-wheels-of-progress-orchestrated-misery/

Album Review: Eldorado – Babylonia Haze

There’s a vintage quality to much of the rock n’ roll music that Eldorado peddle. The Madrid quartet are bluesy enough to draw comparison to bands like Thin Lizzy, Whitesnake and Led Zep, but its their groove, moxy and hep that mark out their true calling as Deep Purple’s sons. Babylonia Haze, their third album in English (their remaining back catalogue consists of companion Spanish releases), has a tendency to slip into formulas but the heart of the piece beats strong, hard and true.

The instrumentation is riddled with strong, warm tones and kitsch touches. The harmonic warbling keys of a ramped-up Hammond crash all over tracks like “Be Satisfied” and “Flowers Of Envy”, whilst the jingoistic acoustic guitar, clean licks and fluted riff of “Resurrection Song” make all three a bit too marmite for their own good. When these affectations drop back into the mix a little more, the power rock, hooks and licks of tracks like “You Don’t Wanna Need Her” and “Mad Woman” should see you back onside.

There’s also the stone cold groove of “Karma Generator” to lap up. It’s a track that sticks you back out in the slow lane, arm hanging out your window, head gently bobbing along. And when they pull back on the throttle, the honest, often explosive, balladry of “Goodbye And Carry On” and “Moon Girl” get you in the gut with the lyricism extracting deep emotion. The gorgeous, folk-fuelled “Breath The Night” goes one step further piling lilting violin on top of gently-strummed acoustic guitar. It’s proof of just how far the band are willing to bend to the will of their music.

The album does kind of go out with a whimper, and the whole lacks staying power, but there are enough sweet melodies and softly burnished structures to strike a chord with fans. Quite why Eldorado haven’t achieved wider recognition is a surprise, because when they hit their stride they rock like the veritable bastard.

Also online @ Ave Noctum = http://www.avenoctum.com/2015/02/eldorado-babylonia-haze-sr/

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: Motörhead – Aftershock

For those old souls who were seduced by the speed-happy, grime-slicked rock n’ roll of Motörhead in their heyday, but have lost touch since, Aftershock represents a fascinating opportunity to explore just how much of their trademark sound has changed over the years. The timing for a retrospective glance couldn’t be better since the trio of Lemmy Kilmister, Phil Campbell and Mikkey Dee, who currently form Motörhead’s longest-standing partnership of 20 years, have chosen album number twenty-one to reconnect with some of that old school bluster that has made them the legendary act that they are.

The first thing you’ll notice, when comparing the old with the new, is that the production values are through the roof. There are more layers on this thing than a prize-winning onion. Guitarist Phil Campbell gave us all a heads-up on this fact when he claimed in a recent interview that Aftershock definitely had “a growl to it” (“I slammed a load of guitars on there, I didn’t tune differently but I did go for a dirty sound”, he imparted). The enormity of all those tracks competing for equal power has helped Lemmy, now singing with reduced echo, to nestle within the band rather than dominate. His vocal may be a little flabbier, delivered at a lower register and somewhat less vitriolic, but it still comes with plenty of snarl and with a whole bag of gravel poured in. He sounds almost Joe Cocker-esque at times – a fact which shows up to greatest effect on their party-piece “Last Woman Blues”.

Their songwriting has, in keeping, slackened a little from their “live fast, die young” approach, yet Aftershock doesn’t balk at the opportunity to occasionally bare its teeth – a definite sign of improvement over some of their more recent efforts. By turns, it maintains a happy balance between the rough and the smooth offering up a more eclectic mix of speeds to tune into. It’s definitely a little bluesier with sharp stabs of rock n’ roll thrown in as opposed to their usual fare of greased-up biker grind. Their lyrical ethos hasn’t strayed far but there are less of those quintessential gritty, hammer-down powerplays. The end results have produced songs like “Dust And Glass” – a fine example of a band with their seats fully-reclined and with one wrist on the steering wheel. However, fear ye not. The classic Motörstomp and skidding Motörgrind rhythmic structures are still present and correct – “Queen Of The Damned”, with its thundering bass, is a grown-up “Ace Of Spades” whilst “Going To Mexico” has all the “lads on tour” rock and rumble of a real oldie like “Stay Clean”. What we’re left with is a band that has moved away from that early period Hawkwind-esque scratched-up, scrawling live-geared sound that marked them out as heroes, to one that is capable of doing it all and giving us a crisp, rich-sounding and well-defined recording that will slay when they hit the stage.

Considering Motörhead have been on slow-down over the past couple of years (Lemmy’s long-term health problems recently resulted in him being fitted with a defibrillator), so a record of this quality is quite a shock to the system (pun intended). “Coup De Grace” bristles with energy, the bass ramming through into each grungy chorus whilst the hectic drive and fiery riffing of “End Of Time” sends us kicking and screaming into the monstrously joyful rock rhythm of “Do You Believe”. Wonderfully, “Lost Woman Blues” takes the pace back and piles on the smooth groove as Lemmy and Phil treat us to the ultimate in cool whilst “Silence When You Speak To Me” sees Phil laying on the wild solo and ten-foot chug whilst Lemmy stares us out and tells us just who’s boss – “You may say no but not to me / Silence, Silence”.

Essentially, what Aftershock offers is a thoroughly enjoyable romp over fourteen solid tracks. Consistently solid, the album starts strong and finishes stronger as stonkers like “Lost Woman Blues”, “End Of Time”, the sweet boogie of “Crying Shame” and the swagger of “Keep Your Powder Dry” are big and ugly enough to keep you coming back for more. Over recent years, there can be no doubt that their albums have all had their weaknesses with only Inferno really able to stand shoulder to shoulder with classics like Overkill, Ace Of Spades, 1916 and Bastards. Aftershock may not have come from the same dark hole that spawned those bad boys, but as a statement of intent, it’s right up there with them.

Also online @ The Line Of Best Fit = http://thelineofbestfit.com/reviews/albums/motorhead-aftershock-141482

Album Review: Tracer – Spaces In Between

Let’s face it, Tracer isn’t the most inspirational moniker you could give your band. Sure, it might put one in mind of modern warfare and its associated pyrotechnics but it also conjures up images of thick pencils and translucent paper. Happily though, this Australian trio have chosen something much more promising for their album title. Spaces In Between could be an indication of their intention to come up with something fresh; a sound that lies somewhere between two different musical styles. Now that would be an ambitious project, but it appears to be one that has inspired a couple of blues brothers, who go by the name of Brown, to give it a bash.

What they have been achieving, since their formation way back in 2004, isn’t anything quite as groundbreaking but it’s certainly solid and initially engaging. With the band setting their sights first on touring their home country, then the UK and Europe, as is often the case with bands born outside the borders of America, the U.S. is the last to get a scoopful of their patching of grunge to rock n’ roll. And when I suggest one being stuck to the other I mean in a haphazard DIY way. Honestly, you could split this album in half and sell it to two different fanbases.

In the top half, “Too Much”, “The Bitch” and “Walk Alone” pull together the pounding desert rock of Queens Of The Stone Age and weld it to the raw licks of Led Zeppelin. “Louder Than This” forms a stand-out jigging howl of a track with lead vocalist Michael Brown giving it the full beans, whilst “Voice In The Rain” is the kind of soft-rocker you could pass off as Whitesnake or Thunder. Occasionally the band break out a kind of Lynyrd Skynyrd-esque frazzled country fizz which adds an edge to certain tracks, like “Push”, but generally they stick to the tried-and-trusted blues rock structures that they know and love.

More excitingly, everything from the title-track onwards begins to really settle down around a grungier sound. The warm fuzz of the bass begins to take a much more central role and the upbeat patterns turn to downbeat tones. “Dead Inside” is a Soundgarden-esque trudger that leaps right down the throat of Chris Cornell himself. “Save My Breath” and “All In My Head” walk the same line but pick up the pace. Then the power and dark heart of Audioslave come into play as Tracer throw more leads in. “I Won’t Let It Die (Run Mary)” tugs in more blues and consequently picks up a Pearl Jam meets Foo Fighters vibe.

One track, “Devil Ride” is, in my mind, an homage to that great cinematic Aussie export, Crocodile Dundee – “Boots are made from crocodile hide / Shaved my face with a hunting knife / Left my lover far behind / ‘Cos I walk the long road” – so that should be an easy entry point for all you film buffs.

Honestly though, you shouldn’t need an entry point because if you are a fan of any of the aforementioned bands then you’ll be well aware that Tracer aren’t breaking boundaries; achieving the impossible. Of course there’s an almighty lump of radio-friendly rock going on in here too and, unsurprisingly, it springs to mind that Spaces In Between is an album that wouldn’t have looked out of place 20 years ago. So yes, Tracer are unlikely to win any awards for originality anytime soon, but then it is instantly accessible, deeply grooved and comes with some pretty catchy tunes… and they did pre-warn you with that band-name of theirs – you can’t go complaining now.



Also online with sound clips @ The NewReview = http://thenewreview.net/reviews/tracer-spaces-in-between

Album Review: The Sword – Apochryphon

As time marches on, The Sword are a band that seem to be developing more and more roll in their rock. They’ve always been Black Sabbath-worshippers first and foremost, but lumps of Iron Maiden and Slayer are beginning to appear in their work more often. Previous release, Warp Riders, was loaded with bass crunches, galloping rhythms, and plenty of power-riffing – the kind of music that encourages lots of arm windmilling and power-stances.

Apochryphon may initially venture down the same path with chuggers like “The Veil Of Isis”, “Arcane Montane” and the album’s requisite show-stopper “Cloak Of Feathers” (reminiscent of both 2008′s “Maiden, Mother & Crone” and 2010′s “Tres Brujas”), but it soon becomes apparent that the band have been tweaking their sound. It seems the change of label and drummer (Jimmy Vela replacing Trivett Wingo), a variation of lyrical approach (“not as much storytelling … songs about real-life subjects” according to frontman J.D. Cronise) and a more suitable variation of tempo, has inspired The Sword to integrate elements you’d associate more readily with bands like Baroness or Torche.

It’s a welcome shift in their dynamic. Take “The Hidden Masters”. It’s a track that starts out marking out the rolling blues of Graveyard, before winding the power up to become a steady nodder; one with a menacing chorus of “Your gilded houses will give no shelter, when the heavens fall / Your sacred domes will give no answers, when The Masters call”. “Dying Earth” cosmically warbles in, steadily marches us forward and hammers home a similarly bleak story, whilst “Execrator” sticks it back in “chug mode” but, essentially and hauntingly, switches to a laconic delivery to reveal its dark messages – “You. Are. Nothing”.

These songwriting changes have allowed the band to concoct a winning formula; a beautifully-structured change-up that gives their music very real hooks to snag you with. Suddenly, the songs seem inescapably short rather than dangerously lengthy. Further expansion of tracks like “Seven Sisters”, with its magnificently experimental edge and jerky structure or the hypnotic title-track with its synthesized wanderlust and fiery spine, is a campaign I feel I could get behind. But, then again, perhaps that would be over-egging an already perfectly decent pudding.

In my mind, Apocryphon represents The Sword’s finest hour. The band clearly approached this one with a fully-formed idea of what they wanted the release to achieve and they have succeeded in every respect. It’s a brilliant continuation of the more dynamic style they established on Warp Riders, yet it is, without doubt, an album that stands apart from it. Most importantly, it re-establishes the band’s natural curve of progression and, fully ten years after first forming, marks them out as essential listening.



Also online (with sound) @ The NewReview =  http://thenewreview.net/reviews/the-sword-apochryphon