Three-song demo from a Dallas family trio (that’s two bros and their dad!) who blast some low-pro mutton chop rock at you like filthy UFO exhaust. Full of deep woods boogie, bluesy fuzz n’ roll, chuggin’ Grand Funk-meets-AC/DC riffola, and play hard, party harder, get-ready-for-the-revolution lyrics, this demo panders to your inner basement hero; opener “City Nights” ought to incite barroom fuck-ups across the land into beating each other with their over-sized belt buckles, the title track delivers a choice cosmic metal groove, and “Mothership” barrels its way through rusty skies before giving in to the freak jam. Oh, there’s plenty of solos too, the kind that drove your mama crazy back in the day. Mothership might not be musical rocket science, but they do give up some good, honest, burly action.
Listen to “Eagle Soars” from the Eagle Soars Demo!
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!
San Diego’s Dirty Sweet belong to an emerging group of rock n’ roll revolutionaries, gentlemen prospectors clad in suspenders and dirty boots, returning home from the Gold Rush where they successfully panned along the banks of the country blues river for brilliant Southern rock nuggets. Along with contemporaries The Parlor Mob, Priestbird, The Main Street Gospel, Weird Owl, and (on a popular scale) Kings of Leon, they take the same trail blazed by The Rolling Stones, Cactus, The Allman Brothers, and The Black Crowes to usher in a new wave of forty-niner dust n’ soul known simply as mustache rock. American Spiritual, Dirty Sweet’s second album, is a slice of electric Americana with its fuzzy sights set squarely on the life and times of a country on the tipping point. They’ve even ratcheted up the tension this time around; where the songs on their first album, Of Monarchs and Beggars, were more homely and laid back, the songs on American Spiritual are more aggressive and boss, and come at you like an outlaw posse at high noon (dig “Get Up, Get Out,” “Please Beware,” “Kill or Be Killed,” and “Crimson Cavalry” for the loudest examples). However, this album isn’t without its laid back moments, and songs like “Star-Spangled Glamour,” “An Empty Road,” and “You Don’t Try” are prime examples of Dirty Sweet’s mastery of the front porch, sun-drenched ballad, while the title track is a Gothic gospel number that will haunt you just right. Smile a toothless grin, my friends, because mustache rock lives.
Check out the video for “Marionette” from American Spiritual!
Hell, why stop there? Check out the video for “You’ve Been Warned” from American Spiritual as well!
Mothership
The Black Angels
Dirty Sweet