Sunday, December 07, 2008

CD reviews, December 7

Eagles of Death Metal
Heart On
Downtown Recordings

Think of the Eagles of Death Metal as a vibrator. When running at full power they titillate and shoot you full of electricity. They may even make you wet, who knows. But on Heart On the batteries seem to be running low, and now the damn thing is just sputtering along, going in and out, and after struggling to find some sort of sustainable pleasure you just decide it'd be best to roll over and go to sleep.

- Jeff Warren

Get it Together

I'm livin' in a place so far north that I've got caribou for neighbors. There are road signs that point to Alaska. It's as dark as a wolf's stomach by late afternoon. You drive a pick-up truck with monster truck tires or you don't drive at all. The air smells like diesel fuel and everyone around here says it's the smell of progress, but I was hoping for something a little fresher when I landed in such a remote location. Trust me when I tell you that no one ever really hopes to end up living in a place like this, but here I am. So when Get it Together dropped I snatched the dependable bitch up like a steel trap on a fox's leg just so I'd have something good and familiar in my life to remind me that everything will be okay. I don't know if an angry caribou will attack me on my walk to work tomorrow, but at this point I don't really care because the righteous, exact, blue collar cow punk of rock n' roll's greatest beer n' whiskers outfit always makes me feel like where I'm at is the best place of all, even if it's impaled on the end of a caribou antler.

- Jeff Warren

Guns N’ Rose
Chinese Democracy

It should never take anyone 14 years and 14 million dollars to do anything. Unless it’s curing cancer or building a stairway to heaven, but otherwise it’s just really stupid and everyone has lost interest in the thing you started doing way back at day and dollar number one when it had the potential to mean something. Sure, it sounds damn good, but it’s supposed to, right? Sadly, though, it just doesn’t mean a whole hell of a lot now.

-Jeff Warren

Indie Recordings

Coming from some gore-grinding, gut-wrenching, sheltered, blackened death metal monk's point of view, Enslaved's new album, Vertebrae may sound more like a lullaby than any of their past vocal-crushing, morgue-waking albums to date. But little did the insignificant dinky darklings know, that like most living creations, metal too, must SLEEP! Even Morpheus, the god of dreams and son of Hypnos, didn't stay awake for every last waking minute banging his head up on wall while gritting his teeth. So what, if Ivar Bjornson, Grutle Kellson, Herbrand, Cato, and Ice Dale rock us to fucking sleep? It proves their potential to keep us guessing with each record - which, by the record and for the record, is just another fucking record, so don't lose any sleep, if it's not the sound you were longing for. It could very well be their strategy to release another over-empowering, loud-mouth beast, and wake all unfaithful metal warlords from their slumber. The split second you give up hope, they'll come cruising down your crossroads with a new, fully equipped fanbase and street-team. Underneath their entrancing, cryptic strings, and with songs like "New Dawn" they're still the same leather-clad Norse with a new fierce perceptive of the dark heavens that will soon shroud our atmosphere of existence, with nothing left to do unti then, but get some sleep.


Goblin Cock
Come With Me If You Want to Live

First off, let me just say that even if this record was nothing but banjos and shrieks, I would have had to give them high marks on the audacious name alone. Not only does it conjure all manner of weird and warty images, but, if you think about it for a second, it works on two levels. As to the music nestled inside the nerdgasm packaging (the cover and CD insert poster was painted by noted Magic the Gathering artist Mike Sutfin), it's a prog-tinged throb of doomy metal, a sort of Yes-meets-Sabbath bashing-about that sounds deathly serious in tone, but obviously isn't, given the song titles: Beneath the Valley of the Island of Misfit Toys, Big Up Your Willies, We Got a Bleeder, etc. The brainchild of indie-rock semi-legend Rob Crow (Pinback, Heavy Vegetable), Come With Me will pleasantly massage the cerebral ears of Three and Perfect Circle fans, and crack-up the admittedly easy-to-amuse Queens of the Stoneage kids. Something for everyone then, assuming everyone reads comic books and does drugs. The upcoming Cock Across America tour should be suitably, um, balls-out.

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