|
 Tires
in a Jiffy
By
Bill Ketzer
Every Time I Die
Gutter
Phenomenon (Ferret Music)
Listening
to Every Time I Die is exhausting, like watching a woman give
birth. They’re doing all the work, but somehow your tongue
is dry and thick, too. Let’s face it: This is interesting
stuff. It catches the attention right away, and lyrically
it is the progeny of a dubious imagination (especially the
perhaps prophetic “L’astronaut”). But after 45 minutes, the
stoner riffs—exacerbated by nonsense chords and fetid, corrosive
metal—just rub you raw. There’s not much you can do while
listening to this high-end screamo but chop wood, or maybe
have dangerous monkey sex where open wounds occur that can
only be closed by surgical staples. Not necessarily a bad
thing on a Friday night.
When he’s not screaming at the top of his lungs, singer Keith
Buckley sounds, at times, like a beefcaked Robin Zander, but
for the most part the coordinates are set on wail-to-the-heavens,
which is too bad, because the poetry (not that you can make
it out) is compelling and astute. One could almost make the
argument that Gutter Phenomenon’s felonious
musical assault is a poor vehicle for such rhythmic prose.
Not that I’m looking for Joni Mitchell here, but it complicates
the matter of whether this is just another destruction of
musical theory or the reanimation of its old and gaseous soul.
John
Baldry
Boogie
Woogie: The Warner Recordings (Rhino Handmade)
Long John Baldry’s two Warner Bros. releases, while not big
sellers 35 years ago, were familiar albums on college campuses
and in the orange bins of some of the era’s newly adult. It
Ain’t Easy, from 1971, and the following year’s Everything
Stops for Tea, were perfect distillations of the strengths
of the then-30-year-old, 6-foot-7-inch singer. A stalwart
of the British blues scene, Baldry discovered Rod Stewart
singing on a train platform, and inducted him into his Hoochie
Coochie Men. A little while later, Reg Dwight became his piano
player in Bluesology. Laying the groundwork for a career at
stage center, Mr. Dwight changed his name to Elton John, taking
the surname from his erstwhile boss. Stewart and John each
produced one side of each of the two albums, using their then-
blossoming clout to draw some attention to their mentor.
Hearing the title track to the 1971 album, along with the
opening “Don’t Try to Lay No Boogie Woogie on the King of
Rock and Roll,” makes one wonder why Baldry didn’t make more
of an impact in the marketplace. This is lasting and resonant
stuff indeed. It’s all aged very well, with perhaps only the
era’s propensity for gospel-derived backup singing sounding
a bit dated. Sadly, Baldry didn’t live to see this thoughtfully
rendered reissue (with additional outtakes, alternate versions
and radio spots). Not only did he die last year, but in a
peculiar coincidence, so did British saxophonist Elton Dean,
from whom Reg Dwight took his new first name.
—David
Greenberger
 Band
of Horses
Everything
All the Time (Sub Pop)
We tend to like the familiar, and maybe that explains the
buzz surrounding the debut album by the Seattle-based Band
of Horses.
Veterans
of bands in the Northwest indie-music circuit, singer-guitarists
Ben Bridwell and Matt Brooke write anthemic, occasionally
catchy songs that fit firmly in the vein of what now passes
for college rock. The problem with Everything All the Time
is that it sounds uncannily like its competition, and
its choice of record producer (Phil Ek, man behind the definitive
Built to Spill, Modest Mouse, and Shins albums) compounds
the issue. The best bands bring their own identity and sound
out of the mixture of their influences and their own talents
and sensibilities. The sleek, sublunar groove of “Our Swords”
is the standout track on a CD that otherwise adheres to the
indie-rock playbook. While the first two tracks are the best
Shins songs since Oh, Inverted World, “Weed Party”
is a bloodless attempt at a My Morning Jacket stomp, replete
with a shameless “Yee-Hah!” at the top; next up, there’s an
imaginary candlelit meeting with Jim James and Sam Beam on
“I Go to the Barn Because I Like the”(sic). When the banjo
shows up on the next to last track, “Monsters,” it’s hard
not to imagine Ek with checklist in hand saying, “OK, boys,
we got the Sufjan reference in. That’s a wrap!”
If you like any of the aforementioned groups, you may love
this album. As a casual fan, there’s also a chance you’ll
feel you’ve been had. Sub Pop—from the Label That Cobain Built
to the Sound of Zach Braff’s Young America—it’s been quite
a ride. If it weren’t for Comets on Fire, I’d say they lost
their balls in a bargain with the devil.
—Mike
Hotter
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