Thirty-eight

Cave In – Perfect Pitch Black (Hydra Head)

My main thought when considering this album is a positive one. I choose not to dwell on the opinion I have that this is far from their best (2000s amazing Jupiter), and instead on the fact that this album very nearly didn’t exist.

Word got out at some point in 2005 that, after issues numerous and rather predictable with their major label, Cave In had actually called it a day. Granted their last album, Antenna, wasn’t great, but it apparently had RCA oar-sticking. Besides, it’s never nice to lose a good rock band [obligatory Kerbdog shout-out].

So, some time after demos leaked, the band was back with their original home, Hydra Head, for this independently created album. While the mass-market media machine was no longer behind them (fat lot of good it did them anyway), they were where they could record what they wanted without suits peering over their collective shoulder.

Whatever the factors surrounding Antenna, Cave In’s latest is no return to their peak. There are no bad songs. The album is not too long, though some of the tracks could do with about a minute being trimmed. There is nothing really wrong with this disc at all.

The problem is the knowledge of what has been. Granted, the instrumental song here is better than Jupiter’s ‘The Decay Of The Delay, but aside from that, no song on offer here can touch anything from ‘Requiem’ to ‘Big Riff’. And this is not to castigate the band, as the album is very enjoyable. It’s just a bit sad that such a young band seems used up and spat out already.

Perhaps with time to heal from their deal gone awry, Brodsky et al. can get back to their best. In the meantime, they can settle for just being better than most other rock bands of the moment.

Thirty-nine


High On Fire – Blessed Black Wings (Relapse)

The second full length from Matt ‘Sleep’ Pike’s current band throws a relative curveball for his long-time stoner fans. ‘Devilution’ opens things up with a battering drum intro that leads into such concentrated guitar attack that its staccato riffery is essentially Thrash Metal. The screaming, Lemmy-meets-early Hetfield, vocals only add to this feeling.

Where the Thrash bands were all rather tinny-sounding in their no-bass heyday, though, the sound on this record is full-on. The thick, bassy guitar sound and massive toms really come into their own on the slower, stomping, ‘The Face of Oblivion’. ‘South Of Heaven’ to the first tracks ‘Angel of Death’, if you will. There’s also a breakdown into clean guitar arpeggio about halfway through that, while generic, really brings a nice – ‘Laguna Sunrise’ – change of pace. Pike even does his best Ozzy-on-‘A National Acrobat’ vocals to complete the Sabb-fest.

Before long, though, it gets rather old. And I feel bad at saying this, because Blessed Black Wings is really well-done. It’s just a bit ‘retro for the sake of it’ for my liking. Yes, it is pretty much the best Motörhead album in a quarter of a decade, but there are times when I ask myself if this really is what’s going on in 2005.

On the whole, I definitely rate it. It’s too good not to, and beefy Thrash revival certainly has its place – especially when it’s as awesomely massive as ‘Cometh Down the Hessian’. All Wino-inspired vocal bite (kinda makes sense, considering Wino was the real Ozzy of the 80s) with alternately chugging and blistering riffs, it’s excellent. And given the current musical climate of No Time, in which retro has been the mode since at least 2000 and There Is Nothing New Under the Sun, this pleasure is not guilty.

Forty

Foetus – Love (Birdman)

The man who should rightly be referred to as Reznor’s daddy* (both in terms of chronology and quality) is now more than a mere Industrialist. He has been for a while, to be honest, but historically his more experimental tendencies have taken the form of non-Foetus projects like Manorexia and Steroid Maximus.

As a result of this diversification, and work on Cartoon Network soundtracks, this is Thirlwell’s first new album proper (i.e. non-remix) in half a decade. His last before this was, of course, the excellent Flow. That album was such a grand explosion of rock experi-mentalism that Jimmy can definitely be forgiven for leaving it five years.

Thirlwell’s flair for the grand (Foetus Big Band, and his regular soundtrackular fondness) is something to be applauded, as is the trait of collecting and layering all kinds of sounds that results in him coming across like William Gibson writing Tom Waits. Sometimes, though, Thirlwell’s biggest strength is also his albatross, much like Mike Patton: can it be that he just has too many ideas for his own good?

Many of the songs don’t seem to work as songs per se. They are certainly very valid and well-executed musical ideas, and his arrangement and production are predictably excellent. It’s all just a tad lacking in excitement. Maybe the production is so good that it sucked all the raw energy out of the music. Maybe he’s just getting old. Maybe it’s just me. The climax of ‘Miracle’ should have me hurling myself against the wall in ecstasy, but it’s not. Maybe I just need to play it louder.

Or maybe the Foetus that releases dirty, electro-fied rock albums has run his natural course. Something tells me ‘Not Adam’ or ‘Don’t Want Me Anymore’ would work better re-tooled for soundtrack use.

Sometimes the melange of ideas, neo-Mancini desire and everything else, combines to work perfectly, as on the absolutely brilliant ‘Time Marches On’. At three minutes in length, it avoids the time pitfalls that many of the other tracks fall prey to. And it just rules. Layered and energetic, it is somewhere between Reznor and Devin Townsend (listen to his ‘Bad Devil’; and tell me who has the best tunes), and justifies the existence of the entire album.

It also leads nicely into the conclusive ‘How to Vibrate’, which is also strong. As a whole, though, the album is slightly lacking and if I was a Foetus person, I might be disappointed I waited half a decade for this. Then again, if I was a Foetus person, I would probably be happy there was new Foetus.

And while there is a distinctly reassuring seediness to proceedings, part of me wonders whether that is not just the muscle memory of the sordidness of his 90s work. And that just makes me want to listen to some Wiseblood.

*Weirdly, near the end of ‘Aladdin Reverse’, Jim seems to teef the sound of Reznor’s ‘We’re in this Together’, but I suppose the latter owes him.

Forty-one

M.I.A. – Arular (XL)

The most hyped artists of a particular year are the ones most likely to endure a polarity of opinion. Those seeking to capture the zeitgeist love the artist because it’s cool to do so; those who would be dissident hate the artist because that other group loves them. And when the season (or week) changes, those zeitgeist-chasers will be onto another fresh scent.

And so we have MIA, victim and beneficiary of her own cool status. The gimmicks used in publicising her are both springboard and albatross, with which she will always have to deal. She’s a girl, of Tamil origin, whose dad (missing in action) is a freedom fighter, and she raps.

As much as I would love to, it is neither easy nor necessarily proper to divorce an artist from their context, but in cases such as MIA, such action is almost required if one is to appreciate the music on its own merits – those being great.

The quickest and laziest reference point here would be Missy Elliott. Both deal with a very fun take on rap music and delivery of flow, with little regard for maintaining stereotype. MIA uses her background and resultant obstacles in her life as virtue, as seen in skits such as ‘Ba-na-na’, a light-hearted satire on ethnic minority in the British education system.

Musically, this is a mishmash of beats and rhymes, all infused with her fiery musical personality. The beats aren’t earth-shattering nor the lyrical content particularly profound, but this is a very catchy and smart pop record; certainly better for you than a Beyonce or Justin.