Bad-ass name, bad-ass cover art, and bad-ass Bristol stoner sleaze that ought to make Turbowolf the new underground “it” band. Their self-titled full-length debut follows a 4-song EP released last year (three quarters of which appears on this one), and it’s a madcap attack of pure rock fury that’s damn near impossible to pin down. Turbowolf is at once exceptionally heavy and catchy, which is a deadly combination when the majority of it is delivered in two-and-a-half minute spurts, but the crux of this crushing crusade lies in its nasty energy, a sweat bomb of ultra-hip, greasy electricity. Because of songs like “Ancient Snake,” “Bag O’ Bones,” and “A Rose for the Crows,” and the fact that singer Chris Georgiadis’ acerbic snarl will remind you of Chad Cherry, Turbowolf has a tendency to present itself as The Last Vegas leading Kyuss on a midnight run through burnt down planetariums, but then you hear “Seven Severed Heads,” “Son (Sun),” and “All the Trees” and you don’t know what the hell to think. But that’s the beauty of Turbowolf, such as it is, and at the end of the day they’re the kind of living thing Motörhead has been known to take on tour in order to expose (and feed off of) their rag n’ roll attitude.
Check out the video for “A Rose for the Crows” from Turbowolf!
I’ve never been able to keep track of Maylene’s line-up from album to album, and, in fact, it looks like there’s a few new beards this time around as well, but what I have been able to keep track of is the Alabama band’s Southern-roasted biker rock, which has always tasted as consistently good as a pig on a spit. The band’s appeal as white trash jug guzzlers has always carried certain weight with me, the inbred rage of album’s I through III irrevocably bad-ass, a lethal mix of metalcore and steel-eyed country power fused by shack burnin’ riffs and shit-drunk hooks. However, it seems as though someone filtered the swamp water Maylene’s been sippin’ for inspiration because with the exception of opening track “In Dead We Dream,” which is as close as the band comes to retaining any ounce of their previous nastiness, IV is — to put it in terms familiar to the band — a disaster. The frothy energy has fizzled out, the dirty heaviness has been cleaned up, and vocalist Dallas Taylor’s maniacal, backwoods barking has been carried away on some cruel prairie wind. In fact, a good deal of IV‘s songs sound like goth-treated modern day Bon Jovi ballads, produced exclusively for radio mediocrity. It ends, as all their albums do, with a back porch sun-downer courtesy of “Drought of ’85″ (that is if you completely disregarding whatever the hell “Off to the Laughing Place” is supposed to be, and I suggest you do), but its predictable reprieve comes much too late. It’s not the biggest disappointment of the year (no one’s going to take that honour away from Black Tide), but instead of tearing my shirt off and wrapping my mouth around an exhaust pipe I’m snacking on an apple and moseying on down the road.
Saviours’ 2009 album, Accelerated Living, was one of the very first reviews I wrote after launching this blog. Now, almost two years and about 250 reviews later, the Oakland band is back with their fourth full-length, and when most bands at this point find a mature, polished groove in which to fit themselves, Saviours, quite unabashedly, are holding on to that ripped-jean, skate-or-die stoner metal sound like it was the last beer on Earth. The raw, basement-grade quality of Death’s Procession is the perfect platform for the dirge of riffs — both chugging and melodic — on display here; the red-eyed mix of NWOBHM mayhem and slacker thrash come together like an old school stink bomb thrown right into the Grim Reaper’s face. But Saviours only ride the traditional wave so far as the sludgy shore, at which point they stomp around in the wet sand, light a raging fire in some boozy deity’s name, and party all night amid a quagmire of bikers, broads, killers, dealers, and wizards. If we’re both around in another two years and 250 reviews, I guarantee it will be the same damn deplorable business, oh so excellent and brutally bad-ass, because Saviours know no other way in which to excel.
Check out the video for “Crete’n” from Death’s Procession!
Turbowolf
Maylene and the Sons of Disaster
Saviours