In the spirit of brevity — or laziness, if you prefer — I’m going to go back to something I wrote awhile ago and give it a face-lift for the sake of this review (if you want to read the original version of this passage, go here):
You know, as far as I’m concerned, if you sound exactly like Black Sabbath you are doing something right, so keep on with yo’ nocturnal self, ’cause Black Sabbath are the pinnacle of doom and metal. Stealing their crooked staff for your midnight stroll through the graveyard of evil is hardly a crime. In fact, it’s a noble thing to do. The truth of the matter is, any band worth their salt will have elements of The Stooges, Thin Lizzy, Black Sabbath, or AC/DC in their music.
Right, so on their debut full-length, Capricorn, San Francisco’s Orchid present us with an album full o’ witchy-riffed psych-blues that, had it been recorded in 1969, would be the subject of the first chapter of all tomes concerning the history of heavy metal. I mean, not only does the music sound like Iommi shit it out himself from atop a moss-covered tower, but the song titles read like a stoned Sabbath freak got a hold of some fridge magnet poetry at a party; dig “Eyes Behind the Wall,” “Black Funeral,” “Masters of it All,” “Cosmonaut of Three,” and “Electric Father” for the most obvious examples. Their 2009 EP, Through the Devil’s Doorway, made a lot of hay, but Capricorn has blown the gates of the void wide open, and is a swirling tempest of dark mastery and cosmic wizardry in spite of the familiar force of its headwinds. Or perhaps because of it.
Check out the video for “Cosmonaut of Three” from Capricorn!
You know, I thought sHEAVY’s Steve Hennessey had the Ozzy-sound-a-like market cornered, but Freedom Hawk’s T.R. Morton has every bit the bat head-biting chords Hennessey does. But where sHEAVY is cosmically monolithic, Freedom Hawk is demonically earthy, blazing a path of accelerated doom-groove on dirty wheels of steel, thus drawing a more staunch comparison to Black Sabbath and solo-era Ozzy. I mean, it’s nothing new for a stoner rock band to sound like Sabbath, but Holding On, the Virginia band’s second full-length album, takes it one step beyond, greasing the riffs up with just enough metal melody to give ‘em a commercially viable hard rock sound. That’s not to say it doesn’t deserve your particular attention, because it does; what it means is that Freedom Hawk is better and heavier than, say, a Fireball Ministry or Big Rig, and flexes every single musical muscle they have on songs like “Thunderfoot,” “Living for Days,” “North Swell,” and “Indian Summer,” which command your attention, like an iron grip ’round your throat, with that aforementioned Sabbath power, and some Fu Manchu gusto and Generous Maria electricism, too. When they’re not sounding like Cluth (“Bandito”) or Candlemass (“Faded”), that is. Pure POWER is what is, man, plain and simple.
Sometimes you come across a band too big for their platform boots, a gang of cigarette suckers with stars for eyes who’ll turn any storage closet in any bar into their own personal dressing room. The singer’s got a $150 scarf wrapped around his neck even though he looks like he can’t afford to eat. He’s all ribs, eyeliner, and petulant posturing while his band plays the dutiful, leather-jacketed longhairs, masters of their bloozy craft. The Nuclears are that band. Or they fucking sound like it, anyway. And while there’s no doubt that this New York-by-way-of-Washington band’s sound drips with elements of a champagne n’ limousine glam rock, it’s the raw power and punk rock attitude that really propels this self-titled debut, making it a drunken, desperate mess of rock n’ roll energy. Flat out, this album sizzles the second it drops, it’s first half a shakin’ jukebox of ragged riffs and shout-along glory; there’s not a song amongst “Pay Yer Dues,” “Get Me Outta Here,” “A Blindfold & A Cigarette,” “Get Up!,” and “Tanzen Macht Frei” that hasn’t been touched by a handful of essentially influential bands like The Ramones, The Stooges, early Aerosmith, and Hanoi Rocks. Now, the train could’ve kept a-rollin’ right along and everything would’ve been super fine, but the album’s second half goes off the tracks a bit thanks to a grouping of songs whose styles and sounds are all over the map. There’s not a bad song in the bunch, per se, but they don’t deliver the same flow and punch as the first-half songs; the near seven minute “Eclipso” has shades of Black Sabbath (particularly “Children of the Grave”) running throughout, “Fast Cars & Loud Guitars” and “Rock & Roll Riot” (both of which would’ve been totally at home on the first half) are gutter rock numbers that do The Dictators proud, “Turn On You” is an organ-fried gospel/soul song, and “You Can Make It” brings the Rolling Stones’ country n’ blues to life. Listen, all that second-half confusion aside, there’s something endearingly blue about The Nuclears, like a well-earned thigh bruise, and even though they’re not entirely new to the scene (ex-Drag Citizen singer Nick Vivid has some miles under him), they’re on the cusp of stumbling into a whole heap of hot action. And when that happens, brother, we’re gonna be dealing with one confident, bad-ass, braggadocios bunch.
Orchid
Freedom Hawk
The Nuclears