In the spirit of brevity — or laziness, if you prefer — I’m going to go back to something I wrote awhile ago and give it a face-lift for the sake of this review (if you want to read the original version of this passage, go here):
You know, as far as I’m concerned, if you sound exactly like Black Sabbath you are doing something right, so keep on with yo’ nocturnal self, ’cause Black Sabbath are the pinnacle of doom and metal. Stealing their crooked staff for your midnight stroll through the graveyard of evil is hardly a crime. In fact, it’s a noble thing to do. The truth of the matter is, any band worth their salt will have elements of The Stooges, Thin Lizzy, Black Sabbath, or AC/DC in their music.
Right, so on their debut full-length, Capricorn, San Francisco’s Orchid present us with an album full o’ witchy-riffed psych-blues that, had it been recorded in 1969, would be the subject of the first chapter of all tomes concerning the history of heavy metal. I mean, not only does the music sound like Iommi shit it out himself from atop a moss-covered tower, but the song titles read like a stoned Sabbath freak got a hold of some fridge magnet poetry at a party; dig “Eyes Behind the Wall,” “Black Funeral,” “Masters of it All,” “Cosmonaut of Three,” and “Electric Father” for the most obvious examples. Their 2009 EP, Through the Devil’s Doorway, made a lot of hay, but Capricorn has blown the gates of the void wide open, and is a swirling tempest of dark mastery and cosmic wizardry in spite of the familiar force of its headwinds. Or perhaps because of it.
Check out the video for “Cosmonaut of Three” from Capricorn!
Sometimes you come across a band too big for their platform boots, a gang of cigarette suckers with stars for eyes who’ll turn any storage closet in any bar into their own personal dressing room. The singer’s got a $150 scarf wrapped around his neck even though he looks like he can’t afford to eat. He’s all ribs, eyeliner, and petulant posturing while his band plays the dutiful, leather-jacketed longhairs, masters of their bloozy craft. The Nuclears are that band. Or they fucking sound like it, anyway. And while there’s no doubt that this New York-by-way-of-Washington band’s sound drips with elements of a champagne n’ limousine glam rock, it’s the raw power and punk rock attitude that really propels this self-titled debut, making it a drunken, desperate mess of rock n’ roll energy. Flat out, this album sizzles the second it drops, it’s first half a shakin’ jukebox of ragged riffs and shout-along glory; there’s not a song amongst “Pay Yer Dues,” “Get Me Outta Here,” “A Blindfold & A Cigarette,” “Get Up!,” and “Tanzen Macht Frei” that hasn’t been touched by a handful of essentially influential bands like The Ramones, The Stooges, early Aerosmith, and Hanoi Rocks. Now, the train could’ve kept a-rollin’ right along and everything would’ve been super fine, but the album’s second half goes off the tracks a bit thanks to a grouping of songs whose styles and sounds are all over the map. There’s not a bad song in the bunch, per se, but they don’t deliver the same flow and punch as the first-half songs; the near seven minute “Eclipso” has shades of Black Sabbath (particularly “Children of the Grave”) running throughout, “Fast Cars & Loud Guitars” and “Rock & Roll Riot” (both of which would’ve been totally at home on the first half) are gutter rock numbers that do The Dictators proud, “Turn On You” is an organ-fried gospel/soul song, and “You Can Make It” brings the Rolling Stones’ country n’ blues to life. Listen, all that second-half confusion aside, there’s something endearingly blue about The Nuclears, like a well-earned thigh bruise, and even though they’re not entirely new to the scene (ex-Drag Citizen singer Nick Vivid has some miles under him), they’re on the cusp of stumbling into a whole heap of hot action. And when that happens, brother, we’re gonna be dealing with one confident, bad-ass, braggadocios bunch.
One day they’ll erect a rock n’ roll pantheon dedicated to attitude and sound instead of social stature and sales. It’ll be a natural history museum of sorts; neanderthals in motorcycle boots; a hall of beards; denim through the ages (its brilliance lies in its resiliency); stuffed herds of tattooed buffalo. And they, whoever they are, would be best served to hire Tony Reed as curator. Reed, best known as a musician and producer, is also a rock n’ roll preservationist. It’s not an accredited title, but it is a state of mind, a way of life, and it is in this capacity that Reed can approach his other duties with the respect they are owed.
Hence, Stone Axe. Reed’s band, founded in 2007 in Port Orchard, Washington and in which he does most of the studio work less the vocals (he leaves that duty up to friend Dru Brinkerhoff), is a nuts n’ bolts (that’s balls n’ lightning, baby) testament to rock’s classic aesthetics. Reed’s obsession with the heaviest, meanest, choicest, and oft obscure bands of the ’60s and ’70s infuses his songwriting with a golden, hairy-chested gusto. His old band, Mos Generator, sold the skies as a rocket fueled entity, a cosmic druggernaut of futuristic proportions, but Reed ultimately succumbed to Earth’s gravitational pull, and the urge to write dirt and mortar songs for past Gods was too strong to ignore.
Since its birth, Stone Axe has released two full-lengths, a 10″ EP, three 7″ singles, and a split with Sun Gods in Exile, proof that Reed’s work ethic is as relentless as his music. In fact, the start of this interview was delayed until Reed could return from working in Texas with Blood of the Sun. So there you go; he even goes whole hog for other bands, too. But the great preservationist finally put aside his craft for a moment to talk to me about his favourite songs of all time, his vinyl collection, what’s next for Stone Axe, playing the Wurlitzer, and, of course, beards.
Orchid
The Nuclears
One day they’ll erect a rock n’ roll pantheon dedicated to attitude and sound instead of social stature and sales. It’ll be a natural history museum of sorts; neanderthals in motorcycle boots; a hall of beards; denim through the ages (its brilliance lies in its resiliency); stuffed herds of tattooed buffalo. And they, whoever they are, would be best served to hire Tony Reed as curator. Reed, best known as a musician and producer, is also a rock n’ roll preservationist. It’s not an accredited title, but it is a state of mind, a way of life, and it is in this capacity that Reed can approach his other duties with the respect they are owed.