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!
If there’s any immediate difference to be noted between Backwoods Payback’s 2007 self-titled debut and their 2011 Small Stone debut, Momantha, it’s the production (cheers, Mr. Grotto). That 2007 album was an ugly affair, a quagmire of lumbering stoner rock for hairy-backed troglodytes with revenge-ridden manifestos in one hand and a rusty hatchet in the other. Of course, that’s what made it so great; there’s never been any doubt about who Backwoods Payback is or what they sound like — kind of like Kyuss, kind of like The Obsessed, kind of like Devil to Pay, kind of like Acid King, and kind of like Scissorfight, but most definitely a lot like a boulder being dropped into a puddle of mud. Momantha, however, adds melody into the mix, and flexes a bit more muscle as well, but before you think that means the maniacs are city-bound to chuck curses and get library cards, be assured that this album is drenched in BP’s groggy-riffed pestilence. In fact, the album’s first half, from “You Know How This Works” to “Parting Words,” is a beast and is probably as road-ready and raunchy as BP will ever play it, but the second-half variety courtesy of the Urge Overkill alt-vibe of “Poncho,” the sludgy doom of “Velcro,” and the hardcore-tinged animosity of “Timegrinder,” will keep you on your toes, guessing when, where, and under what modus operandi the band will strike next. BP aren’t reinventing the kill here, but I just can’t seem to definitively peg ‘em, which is an awfully high compliment to give. But there is something familiar here, isn’t there? Sometimes I think it’s that vocalist/guitarist Mike Cummings’ throaty howl reminds me of Pete Stahl — and, to that end, that BP remind me in some way of a woollier Wool — and sometimes I think that they’re out there all alone in the Pennsylvania thick, just them and the shallow graves they’ve dug.
There’s no use fighting it; I’m gonna have a new favourite Swedish stoner rock band just about every month. And why not? When a band like Skraeckoedlan (that’s Horror Lizard for those of you desperate for a translation) drops a planet-devouring full-length debut like this one, it’s perfectly reasonable to proclaim the coming of a new fuzzy messiah. You may recall that I was thoroughly impressed with Skraeckoedlan’s 2009 EP Flykten Från Tellus, describing the band at that time as “a trio of northern woodsmen from outer space” whose sound was “medieval, alien dopespeak urging on the psychedelic juggernaut of heavy fuzz that rolls over you like a cosmic tempest,” comparing them to Dozer, Asteroid, Kyuss, Valis, and Los Natas. Well, all of that still stands, but somewhere between now and then (during which time they released the three-track demo Världarnas Fall) the band has grown bolder and more confident, and their sound has progressed from a loose groove to a more precise bludgeoning (although it still grooves, man). Äppelträdet (The Apple Tree) stands deep-rooted and thick-trunked, its branches offering the sweet taste of mammoth melody, and each song you pick is bigger and juicer than the next. It’s an abundance of pure heavy, a bushel-full of bottomed-out riffs in which they cover many of the essential stoner sounds, including the green-smoked “Haven,” the space-fried “Doedaroedlan” and “Cactus,” the dual harsh/clean vocals of “Soluppgång,” and the muddy “Chronos,” which will remind you of a whole host of American sludge bands. They even treat us English-speaking weirdos to a few tunes in our native tongue this time around. You know, I kind of hope this month lasts for a really long time because I don’t want to get off Skraeckoedlan’s trip anytime soon. It’s that good.
Turbowolf
Backwoods Payback
Skraeckoedlan