Isobel Campbell & Mark Lanegan
Hawk
Vanguard Records

Yeah, okay, so the folksy, sultry tunes of Isobel Campbell and Mark Lanegan don’t exactly fall in with the rank and file of doom, metal, and stoner rock that you usually find around here, but the fact of the matter is — if you don’t know this already — Lanegan is a bad-ass, whiskey-voiced deity in the Broken Beard universe. The guy could put out a polka record and I’d still tell you about it because everything he touches (Screaming Trees, The Gutter Twins, Soulsavers, etc.) turns to pure grit, which is what makes his collaborations with Isobel Campbell so great. She, former member of indie pop band Belle & Sebastian, is innocence incarnate, the Scottish girl-next-door with the porcelain voice, and he is the brooding American desperado at the end of the bar. Put ‘em together and you get an old suitcase full of black and white photographs, tear-stained love letters, faded memories, long distance calls from a phone booth in the middle of nowhere, and wordless nights on a porch swing. Hawk, their third album together, is a whole barn full o’ jukebox flare, rustling up a roving range of country-folk, blues, soul, gospel, and Americana, calling to mind the eras and auras of Cash and Carter, Dylan and Baez. Campell’s songwriting on Hawk is utterly moving, playing emotion better than any instrument on the album, and is at once light, languid, deep, and desolate. To help the mood along, the album also offers a few Townes Van Zandt covers and a couple of appearances by Willy Mason. But, as always, this is the Campbell and Lanegan show, which continues to be the strangest, most beautiful show on earth.

Check out the video for “You Won’t Le Me Down Again” from Hawk!

Red Giant
Dysfunctional Majesty
Small Stone

Red Giant have always been somewhat of an enigma. They disappear for years at a time and just when you think you’ve forgotten all about ‘em, they show up at your door one day, ten stories tall, clutching a sledgehammer in one hand and a cluster of planets in the other hand, a shit-eating grin like a chasm on their face. Then all of a sudden it’s like they never went anywhere at all, and the reason they’ve only put out two albums in the last eleven years (1999′s Ultra-Magnetic Glowing Sound and 2004′s Devil Child Blues) is because they’re thick-chested overlords of the cosmic mean machine with some heavy duty responsibilities, like riding high atop choppers of flame into the heart of interstellar battle, forging lunar wars in the name of universal dominion. Only when they’ve defeated their space foes and captured the black skies above us do they settle down to tell tales of their conquests via macho, bubbling, dope n’ roll songs. Their latest episode, Dysfunctional Majesty, is another batch of bad-ass biker metal blues cut from blood-soaked denim and bathroom walls, which means it sounds like AC/DC, Alabama Thunderpussy, Beggar’s Ball, Dixie Witch, and any one of Wino’s bands all at once, in case you’re having trouble remembering. However, dig the Clutch-like groove on “These Satisfactions are Permanent” and the Sleep-like doom of “Silver Shirley” for some new twists on their gruesome, galactic sound. Hop on board this one, friends, because it’s one hell of an awesome ride and who knows when they’ll be back around for another spin.

Listen to “Chopper” from Dysfunctional Majesty!

Buy Dysfunctional Majesty from Small Stone!

I can’t help but think that had this 2009 Canadian film about a rock n’ roll band of vampires been released at some other time (that time being any time when there wasn’t a Twilight or a Trueblood, etc.), I might have enjoyed it more, but as it is it just feels like another bite (yes, really) at the fang craze, and even its backdrop of a gigging band searching for stardom, its numerous rock star cameos, and small but smart doses of humor, doesn’t help push it past being just another fad. Of course, it doesn’t help that the music in this rock n’ roll spoof is completely lame — that it, yes, sucks. That’s probably what offended me most about Suck, especially given the obvious influences guiding writer/director/star Rob Stefaniuk. I understand that in order to properly spoof the industry, to lay waste to the shticks people will rely on to help make ‘em famous, you have to have a shitty band with a shitty name (in the this case The Winners) because the majority of mainstream bands are truly terrible, but The Winners’ insipid, whiny brand of rock n’ roll just made me angry. I got it, but I didn’t enjoy swallowing it.* Of course, as mentioned earlier, Stefaniuk was obviously guided by some strong influences, and Suck isn’t so much a great movie to watch as it is a great game to play.

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