Infernal Overdrive Last Rays of the Dying Sun
Small Stone
Discovering that Boston hero* Marc Schleicher has surfaced as the front man for New Jersey rock n’ road warriors Infernal Overdrive is one hell of an early Christmas present, my friends. Hell, I’m not sure I’d be here today if it wasn’t for Schleicher’s brawlin’ brand of East Coast riff n’ roll, so to hear him once again stranglin’ the six-string like a twenty dollar hooker is something special; a sure sign that the wheel of the American rawk machine is back in the grip of one of its most prolific drivers. Last Rays of the Dying Sun, the band’s full-length debut, is, quite simply, arena rock for dive bars, like KISS or Cheap Trick on a chain link tour through Southern wilds, and the way they saturate it with razor-backed hooks, sky high solos, nasty drum fills, and blacktop lingo (“I-95,” “Electric Street Cred,” “Rip It Out,” “Motor”) will lead a man to submit himself to a life of drinkin’, cheatin’, lyin’, and dyin’. Or, if you prefer, a life of glory. You know, I don’t think this one actually comes out until 2012, but either way, Small Stone has finished this year off — or started the next — on a definite high note.
*I’m not from Boston, but I have spent many years there vicariously through people much cooler than me, and I would be utterly shocked to find out that anyone who played in Cracktorch, Antler, and Quintain Americana isn’t a hero in that town.
Listen to “Rip It Out” from Last Rays of the Dying Sun!
Motherboar The Beast Becomes the Servant
Born of Fire Records
It’s been about five years since their debut, Raising the Death Toll, so when I saw that Motherboar had finally released their sophomore album, The Beast Becomes the Servant, I said to myself, ‘Oh yeah, Motherboar, I forgot about them!’ I’m not sure what took the band so long to finally return to the fold (perhaps drummer Benny Grotto was holed up in his Mad Oak Studios the entire time fulfilling his role as the busiest producer/engineer heavy music has ever known), but I’m so glad the Boston band is back to their brutal ways. I once referred to their debut as the ‘kind of beautiful mess you’d end up with if you spent your summers growing up listening to Motörhead, Clutch, Ironlung, and Wino, kicking chickens, and picking things out of your beard,” and I suppose not much as changed other than the fact that there’s a lot more sludge to the band’s metal than I remember. It’s still awfully mighty, black and frantic, though, and leans heavy on the hardcore, so an updated reference list might include Mastodon, Black Breath, Doomriders, etc., but dig all the slick riffs and salacious solos in amongst the callous, calculated crust; you’ll be convinced these guys are hiding some kind of cock rock codpiece under their extreme, bloody, broken bottle exterior. The Beast Becomes the Servant was a long time coming, but delivers every bit the aggression, anarchy, and acridity you desire. Or I desire, anyway. I’m not sure what you’re into, but if it’s not this, you’re in trouble.
Check out the video for “Croctosquatch” from The Beast Becomes the Servant!
I don’t know if Gozu got their name from the bizarro Japanese film or not but I’m just gonna go ahead and assume they did because it makes ‘em that much better, brother. Grand theater of perversion and fear? You better believe it. Some of the song titles on Locust Season, their Small Stone debut, read like a ransom note cut from a 1980s TV Guide (“Regal Beagle,” “Kam Fong As Chin Ho,” and “Jan-Michael Vincent”) while some could be contents found in any serial killer’s tickle trunk (“Meth Cowboy,” “Jamaican Luau,” and “Meat Charger”). They might as well be singing about Yakuza attack dogs or bottles of breast milk or a soup ladle up the ass is what I’m getting at here, man, and with the lo-desert chicanery blasting away behind it all, I feel like all four walls are closing in on me fast and hard. The whole damn deal is raw, reeks of rancid rubber, and is as rough n’ tumble as a Boston bar brawl. Imagine a heavier Queens of the Stone Age with the sun-kissed flavour of Fu Manchu, the motorcycle madness of Valis, and the time traveling blues of Orange Goblin, and you’ve got yourself the gonzo glory of Gozu. A dope album in every sense of the word.
Infernal Overdrive
Motherboar
Gozu