Mark Lanegan Band

There are times — not many, but a few — when I sit down to write about an album and know I’m not going to need to pull out my gonzo rock n’ roll thesaurus in order to spin my praise. This is one of those times. As one friend recently stated, “Mark Lanegan has no peers,” and, really, what more needs to be said? The musician’s work with The Screaming Trees, Gutter Twins, Isobel Campbell, Soulsavers, and others is well documented, but the landscape he’s laid out with his solo work is incredibly gorgeous and virtually untouchable. The majority of his recorded solo material is deep, dark, and gracefully tortured, but where the albums he’s released as just Mark Lanegan present it in a softer form, the Mark Lanegan Band turns it up and wraps it in a whole bunch of grit, fuzz, and noise. It’s been eight years since their only other album, 2004′s Bubblegum, but Blues Funeral picks right up where that one left off, turning drum machine chaos, savory sequencing, bluesy rhythms, and a malady of melody into something emotionally gripping and powerfully rock n’ roll. Of course, as with anything Lanegan does, it’s his voice that is the star, and Blues Funeral is no exception. His voice could sell me my own death and I’d buy it. And at least I’d be at peace knowing I’ve got an amazing soundtrack for the long, slow walk down. No one does it better.

Check out the video for “The Gravedigger’s Song” from Blues Funeral!

Infernal Overdrive

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!

Hull

Hailing from what seems to be the most magical of all rock n’ roll boroughs right now, Brooklyn, Hull represent that geographical body’s brute Hulk force, and one run through their sophomore album, Beyond the Lightless Sky, will leave you wondering how there are any buildings left standing at all in Kings County. Indeed, Hull’s dense, triple-guitar punishment can reduce anything to rubble, but it is amidst the dust and debris that Hull emerges to capture our collective astonishment by drawing us into their more kindly tempered, idyllic post-rock bosom. Of course, we soon realize it’s all a fantastic ruse, the promise of proximate peace nothing more than a lie designed to get us close enough to crush, and sludgy blows rain down upon us once more. Apparently Beyond the Lightless Sky is some sort of concept album about Mayan brothers, so I’ll just go ahead and assume that’s what all the dudes in the band are screaming about, but what does it for me is the way Hull mixes the massiveness of Omega Massif with the lumbering pace of Harvey Milk and then tosses in some mystical solos for good measure. Beyond heavy, man.

Listen to “Beyond The Lightless Sky” from Beyond the Lightless Sky!

Spiders

Spiders are a neat little rock n’ roll outfit hailing from Gothenburg, Sweden, featuring John Hoyles of Witchcraft and Axel Sjöberg of Graveyard (although at the time of this review he’s no longer in the band), but starring the foxy Ann-Sofie Hoyles as lead scream Queen, and I’ve waited on writing about them because it seems every time I sit down to do so they put out another single. Indeed, it all started back in January when Spiders released this here four-song EP on regular vinyl and picture disc, and given the aforementioned members penchant for the retro sound, this one definitely stinks of drugs and fuzz, but it also takes on much more of a sonic sexiness, no doubt due to Ann-Sofie’s tempting wiles. You might think a band like Spiders would come off sounding like Blood Ceremony or The Devil’s Blood given the dynamics, but they’re more dirty denim and sweaty leather than black robes and incense, and fall in line with the likes of the American electric dealers of the 60s and 70s, like Fred “Sonic” Smith jamming with Grace Slick. Spiders are a don’t-drink-what’s-in-the-red-cup kind of party, a backseat education for dark minds and idle hands. Anyway, Spiders then took this four-song EP and cut it in half, releasing two separate 7″ singles in the US in March, High Society b/w Gracious Man (Kemado Records) and Nothing Like You b/w Long Gone (Valley King Records). If that wasn’t enough, they then released another 7″ single in August on De:Nihil Records, featuring the brand new song “Fraction” and a cover of Alice Cooper’s “Under My Wheels.” We can now only hope a full-length is on its way. In the meantime, I’m gonna go drink what’s in the red cup and rock the fuck out.

I know this song isn’t on the self-titled EP, but videos are fun, so check out the video for “Fraction”!

Ape Machine

Contrary to the metal scene that’s sprung up around them in Portland, Oregon, Ape Machine prefer to — ahem — ape the psychedelic blues of the 70s when delivering their heavy brand of smoke n’ roll. Their debut, This House Has Been Condemned, was full of slow burning, seven minute jams over top of which vocalist Caleb Heinze howled at the moon, and kind of reminded me of a laid back Zen Guerrilla, man. Well, not ones to rest on their cosmic laurels, Ape Machine have embraced the more metal aspects of the 70s hard rock sound on their latest album, War to Head, which means the riffs are mightier and the dynamics are retro-fried, giving ‘em a tighter, bolder, Deep Purple push with some fuzzy Gothenburg gusto thrown in for good measure. They still manage to find occasion to slip into their former ways however, as evidenced by the quick shot of soul that is “No Sugar in My Coffee,” the groove and noodling of “What’s Up Stanley?” and the electric slide throughout “The Sun,” “Downtrodden,” and “Please Do Not Use Red Ink and Do Not Erase,” but it’s songs like “Hold Your Tongue,” “Can’t Cure Deceit,” “Death of the Captain,” and “Black Night” that flex a wicked Sabbath muscle and propel Ape Machine into the stoner realm on the wings of bell bottoms and dirty blues.

Listen to “Can’t Cure Deceit” from War to Head!

The Parlor Mob

It’s been three years since we last heard from The Parlor Mob, whose debut album And You Were a Crow successfully cradled the fine line between mainstream exposure and underground appeal, a rock n’ roll record borne of barefoot ideals and mustache machismo that was part Led Zeppelin, part Black Crowes, and all radio play. But the New Jersey band has surfaced with their follow-up, Dogs, which, like its predecessor, should curry compliments from people on either side of the popularity divide. However, unlike And You Were a Crow, Dogs has a more commercially viable edge to it, a darker, heavier hard rock flavour, heard especially on the songs “How It’s Going to Be,” “Fall Back,” “The Beginning,” and the album’s first single, “Into the Sun,” complete with a pop-driven chorus. What Dogs lacks, however, is the hippie groove that packed And You Were a Crow full of dust and soul, and while “Hard Enough,” “Slip Through My Hands,” and “Holding On” capture some of that ol’ feel good vibe, it’s clear The Parlor Mob have kicked it into attack mode this time around. You know, Dogs could have a little more boogie for my buck, but now that Dirty Sweet have rode off into the hazy horizon, it’s The Parlor Mob or bust. And I’m not ready to go down just yet.

Check out the video for “Into the Sun” from Dogs!

Backyard Babies are on an indefinite hiatus (they do say there will be another album in the future, they’re just not sure when); Dregen’s currently touring with Mike Monroe and putting out albums with Midlife Crisis, and Nicke Borg is putting out solo albums as Homeland. Borg released the four song EP Chapter 1 last year and is already back with the full-length Chapter 2, but that’s no surprise given the sleazy Swede’s penchant for penning songs. In fact, Borg, clean and sober for the first time in his life (thanks to friend and fellow rock n’ roller Mike Ness), spends most of his time now reaping commercial success by writing hit songs for teen pop stars in his native land. Anyone familiar with the last few Babies albums might have seen this kind of thing coming from Borg, as Chapter 2 presents a continuation of the kind of music found on songs like “Abandon” and “Saved By the Bell” from 2008′s self-titled album and “Roads” from 2006′s People Like People Like People Like Us. However, without the constraints placed on him by his role in a sleaze rock band, Borg stretches his acoustic styling to include orchestration (“Leaving Home”), straightforward rock songs (“No Regrets,” “Nowhereeverdevilland,” “Father of a Father”), and a duet with Camela Leierth (“All Stars”). It’s also clear that Ness’ influence not only impacted Borg’s personal life, but his life as a balladeer as well, as songs like “Alone,” “The Young Ones,” and “Heroes and Freaks” contain the country-fried, So-Cal twang n’ drive of Cheating at Solitaire and some of Social Distortion’s sun-drenched moments (there’s even a cover of “Bad Luck” included here). We might not know until the next Babies album if Borg is suffering his own midlife crisis right now or not, but before Total 13 there was “Lies” and “Kickin’ Up Dust” and “God’s Favourite,” so this kind of genuine songwriting has always existed in Borg. However, it would be awfully nice if the Babies put out another album like Total 13 so we can all forget how old we are and pretend we don’t need a Chapter 3.

Check out the video for “Leaving Home” from Chapter 2!

Danava

Danava have always been able to separate themselves from other Iommi-inspired retro rockers by infusing an unabashed weirdness into all that they do. Hemisphere of Shadows, the Portland band’s third full length and first since 2008′s UnonoU, is no exception, and, in fact, the addition of a second guitarist (Andrew Forgash) means the blitzkrieg of riffs are now twined-out to inflict a maximum assault of strange. With a much shorter run-time than previous albums and a decidedly tighter focus, Hemisphere of Shadows finds Danava reigning in their druggy psych-metal jams without strangling them, and without stripping them of their cosmic, downer, prog, and occult flourishes. Danava seem to be so on point here that there’s no way they didn’t record this album at Stonehenge one white hot and foggy night, and with songs like “Shoot Straight With a Crooked Gun,” “The Last Goodbye,” “I Am the Skull,” and “The Illusion Crawls” (featured earlier this year on a split with Lecherous Gaze and Earthless) galloping around like Ichabod Crane in an Iron Claw t-shirt, Hemisphere of Shadows will find all kinds of favour with fans of ’70s freak n’ roll and fuzzy good times.

Listen to “The Illusion Crawls” from Hemisphere of Shadows!

The Shrine

Almost exactly two months ago I was flipping out over Glitter Wizard’s madcap rock n’ roll show, and now the one percent club I placed those dandy medieval spacemen in is getting some deserving new members, the equally out-there Los Angeles trio known as The Shrine. To say that you have to hear these psych-garage rangers before you do anything else is like saying you have to grow a beard — it’s obvious to the point of insult. Do it as quick as you can and reap the life-changing rewards. Just one run through Bless Off‘s neurotic, thrashy, fuzzy, riff-packed punk-doom hybrid and beer will taste better, partying will last longer, denim will fit snugger, and your conquests — sexual or otherwise — will be mightier. In fact, all you really need to know about The Shrine and Bless Off‘s influences are flagrantly displayed on the demo’s cover in black and white: Edvard Munch’s The Scream and Thin Lizzy’s Jailbreak. Oh, and in case you don’t know, tapes — yes, cassettes — are making a comeback, and if any band is tailor made for such an unnecessary but awesome underground fad, it’s The Shrine (they actually released their self-titled debut on tape). I really hope they don’t ever upgrade Bless Off from its demo status because any kind of sonic improvements to this dungeon ruckus will ruin the whole stinkin’ trip.

Listen to “Zipper Tripper” from Bless Off!

Darlings of Chelsea

Darlings of Chelsea, the Toronto band whose members once filled prominent roles in Canuck sleaze rock outfits like The Black Halos, Robin Black, Kill Cheerleader, and CJ Sleez, have got that stone cold, leather n’ booze sound pinned down and crowned. Their full-length debut, Panic is Worse Than the Emergency, follows 2009′s EP, The Mimico Sessions, and offers a full slate of sing-along bruisers amped for prime time, the kind of dingy club fun that plays insanely well from London to Stockholm and all low points in between. Despite its junkie charms, however, there’s not a song on Panic is Worse Than the Emergency that isn’t a slick, million dollar ride, each one sparked by electric riffs, biting solos, and addictive hooks. It’ll remind you of Gluecifer, Bloodlights, The Hellacopters, D-Generation, and the Chelsea Smiles, among others, thanks to the way it seamlessly blends gritty alt-punk, sugary pop, and five alarm arena rock, or you might compare it to a swift, Chuck-footed kick to crotch — if you’ve ever had the dirty pleasure.

Stream Panic is Worse Than the Emergency right here!