Whispering Wild Stories is the third album from French noisemakers Denizen, who thrive on a rare mix of cowboy freedom and back alley boorishness, meaning they roll out endless amounts of dusty and rowdy stoner riffs but shove ‘em in your face with some hardcore attitude instead of letting you bake in ‘em. While Whispering Wild Stories doesn’t quite contain the brilliant animosity of Cursed, the toothless tomfoolery of Maylene, or the Norwegian death roll of Kvelertak, Denizen are able to harnesses the same kind of bloody-lipped urgency of each of ‘em in some way and throw their own wine-drunk, hot rod funk into it as well. Despite the fact this album is self-released, they still managed to snag Nick Zampiello again to master it at New Alliance East in the good ol’ U.S. of A., which no doubt helped shape its eight-song landscape into the motor-driven sewer-fucker it is. Add some sweet cover art by J. Issac and a cover of Cream’s “Sunshine of Your Love” and you’ve got an album that’s truly très bien!
Listen to “Casino Royale” from Whispering Wild Stories!
Black Wizard Mountain Bitch b/w Jesus 7″
Evergreen Records
It’s not enough anymore to say that Black Wizard are emerging as one of my favourite Canadian bands because that’s an unfair limitation for such a colossal stink of a stoner rock band. The patterns of abject abhorrence displayed by these dirty pastors of pot make ‘em young leaders of wrong morals; the fervor of their foggy franchise gets its momentum from wonderfully sketchy influences, and the wheel is really starting to roll. A hefty sum of hyperbole, sure, but Black Wizard is, flat out, the million dollar beast you want to keep secret lest everyone get hip to its bankable savagery. Truth be told, though, I’m not sure how long the chains would hold. If I was smart, I’d start a label right now and put everything I had into ‘em. Last year’s self-released, self-titled debut was full of raw, thick-necked goodness, and really got me excited about what was to come. Well, as good as their debut was, this here seven inch is better. Its two songs, “Mountain Bitch” and its backside “Jesus,” are huge statements; heavy, high-flyin’ slabs of mature (gasp!) psych-doom that prove the band have found a retro-fuzz sound worth exploring and elevating. Now all that’s left for these dudes to do is ruin the freedom and reap the benefits that come with breaking out. Shouldn’t be long now.
They really haven’t made many bands like The Black Angels since the 60s, have they? Back when they chased white rabbits, drank electric kool-aid, and said no to Nam, when all sorts of weird, enlightening, conscious-raising shit went down. Unfortunately, being the spring chicken that I am, I’ve had to rely on the likes of Wolfe, Kesey, and HST to tell me about it, and have plugged into the awesome nonsense of, say, Father Yod or Roky Erickson in order to experience it for myself as best I can. LSD ain’t really en vogue anymore, and John Sinclair’s been free for years, but that hasn’t stopped The Black Angels from droppin’ their third-eye acid fuzz on us like a brand new drug. My mind’s been movin’ like a lava lamp ever since their 2006 debut, Passover, happily trippin’ on the psychedelic, blood-soaked, oft-political, incense and peppermint drone. The Austin band’s latest album, Phosphene Dream, while familiarly drenched in that Grace-Slick-serving-sermon-at-midnight-mass mysticism, is the most rockin’ Black Angels album to date, meaning some of the songs got an unfamiliar, hip swagger to them, like they’re shooting outta the grooves of a cracked 45″ on a Saturday night. A pleasant revelation, natch, one that walks in time with their freak n’ freedom revolution. You ought to be joined up by now.
Check out the video for “Telephone” from Phosphene Dream!
Denizen
Black Wizard
The Black Angels