The Jim Jones Revue Burning Your House Down
Punk Rock Blues
The congregation is sweatin’ and moanin’, children, for Jim Jones, the white man, has come to claim the bastard blues. Oh Lord, yes! One for the money, two for the show, like Jerry Lee and Elvis before him, Mr. Jones rattles every single one of your bones. His midnight Revue, leather-faced retinue, a real pack of cool, shakes shacks with the best of ‘em, and only the loudest, fuzziest, hip socket rock will do. The former Thee Hypnotics and Black Moses front man is on a mission and completely out of his mind, his greasy-haired head down, and three albums in three years (including 2008′s self-titled album and 2009′s Here to Save Your Soul) is a real heavy load, but not even a great ball of fire is gonna stop his screamin’ train from rollin’ on. Garage funk, Motown soul — it’s all kinds of righteous rock n’ roll, doused in gasoline, with a sonic swagger that would make Scott Morgan proud. Goodness gracious!
Check out the video for “High Horse” from Burning Your House Down!
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!
Even though they hail from the City of Angels, Night Horse carry themselves with that Americana swagger befitting East Coast brawlers, chucking big, dopey, boogie-fried riffs at you like ham-sized fists that leave deep, lasting bruises. Picking up where their 2008 debut, The Dark Won’t Hide You, left off, Perdition Hymns lays the Southern stoner rock on nice n’ thick, incorporating plenty of organ, slide, and 70s-infused boxcar blues to send you on a weed-eating nostalgia trip to Altamont and back. Sure, it’s got all the dusty charm of Skynyrd or the Allmans, and sounds like a nasty mix of Cracktorch and the ‘Crowes, but ultimately (and maybe it’s because of the way singer Sam James Velde howls at the blood red moon) the songs on Perdition Hymns come off as bastard inventions from an alternate universe where Danzig grows up a wayward cowboy and not Lucifer’s brawny spawn.
The Jim Jones Revue
The Black Angels
Night Horse