STOP
TALKING ABOUT MUSIC, LET'S CELEBRATE THAT SHIT! - Thee Butchers' Orchestra
(Voodoo Rhythm)
ROYAL STINK - Black Moses (Rootbag)
THE SWEETBACKS - The Sweetbacks (Nicotine)
A few years back, I mooched a copy of "Get On Your Knees" by Reverend
Beat-Man and the Un-Believers from The Barman because his depiction of the
album as a combination unhinged, gnarled statement of work/stream of consciousness
diatribe from what sounded like a blind-drunk, snake-handlin', Bible-thumper
gone to seed backed by the Crypt Records house band seemed, uh, interesting.
In retrospect, I guess it's a good thing I wasn't baptized Catholic...
The
Rev's labelmates, Thee Butchers' Orchestra, hail from south of the equator
(Sao Paulo, Brazil) and although at times sound as if they've spent a bit
too much time in the sun, they stop just short of his compulsive need to scarf
communion wafers and swig from the chalice. From the shitstorm they kick up
here, however, animal sacrifice may not be out of the
question.
Considering the rather unwieldy album title, it comes as no small surprise
that TBO manage to swing like an outhouse on fire, sounding like they're going
to die more than once, unleashing an inspired blast of ugly noise, knowing
idiocy, and drugged-out insanity, intent on taking everybody else out with
them. This entire album bubbles with wired conviction, careening from one
weird, crude song to the next, all underpinned with a rough, primitive sense
of groove. Imagine if The Stooges had looked to Mississippi juke joint moonshine
served in jars for inspiration rather than "The Physician's Desk Reference
Manual" and you're getting close.
Apparently TBO's creed is "four strings good, six strings better"
since they choose here to forego a bass player and make their statement with
just two guitars and drums, not that you'd really notice. Songs like "Little
Scared To Wake Up," "Everybody's Got The Devil Inside," and
"Drama Queen" flare with the sacred spirit of rock and roll and
simultaneously manage to put the whorehouse, gin bottle, and shotgun back
into the blues - no small feat.
Producer Tim Kerr fills every empty space with guitars that strain at the
leash and head-rattling traps which stop just short of irritating. At times
it all meanders off in different directions but Kerr somehow manages to throw
all three Butchers (Marco, Adriano, and Jonas) a lifeline and rope them back
onto terra firma.
If rock and roll was turned into an Italian zombie flick, TBO would be the
entertainment as the undead scramble to fill their chunder buckets with intestines
(both large and small) and various and sundry grey matter, hide, hair, and
bone. Remember - aim for their heads. It's the only way to kill 'em.
Speaking
of strange acts with animals, Black Moses describe their sonics as "no
frills and spills - just a good old fashion Horse Fuck." PETA members
should probably read no further.
It should come as no great shock to anyone that a band with ex-Thee Hypnotic
Jim Jones at the controls sounds as grimy and scruffy as it does on "Royal
Stink," shattering mercury with funk metal, boogie woogie firmly rooted
in the 70's, and classic good-time riff rock, all heavy on memorable choruses.
What is surprising is how close it all veers to post-dope Aerosmith territory,
minus the sappy power ballads, Pro Tools technology, and songwriting assists
from Fairbairn, Fraser, Vallance, and Child.
But perhaps "Royal Stink" is best viewed in isolation since Jones,
bassist Graeme Flynn, and drummer Dave Axford grind out the goods, emit heat
and heft, and make a helluva big noise for just three guys. "So Good"
fuses a cascading riff from Jones (and a killer wah-laden solo) with what
sounds like a demolition derby involving the rhythm section before stepping
aside for the stuttering, crunch 'n' munch chop of "Stevie," which,
just between you and me, rocks like a motherscratcher. Stout riffs and Jones
bluesy pipes buoy the likes of "Lose Control," the title track,
and "Thru You." "Better Believe" is drunk with aggression
and a snakey, sweet-and-sour harp from Jones that winds in, out, and between
the gutbucket groove laid down by Flynn and Axford.
Chopping its
licks and licking its chops, Black Moses have their eyes on the prize - singular,
intense, and involved - with the boozy, barrelhouse "Royal Stink,"
a furnace blaster with no intent of pausing for the cause. It rolls on, oblivious
to its surroundings, quite a bit of meat on its bones. At its core, it's a
collection of overamplified, pounding British blues. Dense and sincere, wide
eyed and braying, loud and proud, future greatness may not be entirely out
of the question for these guys.
I'm fresh out of animal abuse segues so let's just cut to the chase. The overwhelming
silence emanating from Scandinavia lately is nothing short of ear splitting.
Except for Nick Royale popping up on that MC5 reunion, er, CELEBRATION jaunt
not long ago, the holy trinity of Nord rawk (Hellacopters, Nomads, and Flaming
Sideburns) has been harder to find than a bench-clearing brawl at an NHL game,
if the NHL still lived and breathed that is.
It appears the Hellacopters are in a holding pattern as they prepare to release
their latest album "Rock And Roll Is Dead" (amen, brothers...),
the greybeard Nomads (the best of the lot in this scribe's opinion) have quietly
returned to the garage for new parts, and while rumors of Finland's Flaming
Sideburns appearing on a milk carton at a breakfast table near you
may be slightly exaggerated, they're not answering their phones.
Living
proof of the old adage that timing is everything, The Sweetbacks must have
been checking their watches and calendars as these wily Swedes sneak in through
the back door clutching their eponymous debut album (they've also released
a few EP's), a confident, optimistic, upbeat and underachieving slab of sassy,
strutting, and chaotic glam-coated racket. It's filled with hugely electrified
pop songs, a biting, kicking, scratching and ultimately charismatic collection
on a mission. The band are the perfect response to those who would valorize
"serious" music - serious musicians unafraid to goof off and let
loose.
"Napalm Heart" is, well, about what you'd expect from a song called
"Napalm Heart," one-two-three-four-see-you-on-the-other-side, singer
Linus Hjellstrom desperately attempting, with a modicum of success, to stay
one step ahead of the supercharged, mosquito rocking, farfisa-fueled pace
laid down by his mates. Hjellstrom's yelp is equal parts Iggy, Bon Scott,
and Angry Anderson, tossed in a blender with a pinch of helium and The Sweet's
Brian Connolly with his finger on the "puree" button.
"Tiger" opens with a vulgar "For Those About To Rock"-era
Angus Young riff courtesy of of Kim Larsson and the song only gets filthier
from there, The Sweetbacks locking into an authentic AC/DC slouch, a no-nonsense
jean jacket groove that'll make you want to crack open a beer and quaff. From
there it's on to another farfisa lock-step, the call-and-response garage
soul of "Burn One Down," Hjellstrom cool as a cuke while the band
shits brimstone behind him. "The First Hit (Is The Sweetest)" is
a quick romp through the DMZ/Lyres/Fleshtones songbook, Larsson and keyboardist
Daniel Ankarstrand wearing their fingers down to nubs.
And just as you're thinking about ducking out for a quick smoke, you're reeled
back in with the retro bliss of the clearly Faces-derivative "Fragile
Constellations."
I'll be the first to admit to the occasional bout of hyperextended enthusiasm,
but damned if The Sweetbacks don't appear to have the world by the short hairs
and probably don't even know it. This album is instantly likeable, a spit
bucket filled with recognizable ideas from the 70's reworked for the 00's,
the cliches rearranged in fresh ways. Call it candy floss for the ears, liberally
sprinkled with attitude, volume, momentum, and glitzy overdriven guitars,
but what gives it all weight is the way the sonics complement the songwriting.
The Sweetbacks may have something to lose, but they sure as hell don't sound
like it. - Clark Paull
Thee Butchers' Orchestra - 
Black Moses -
1/2
The Sweetbacks -
3/4 Beers