Because of You - The Goon Mat and Lord Benardo Order You to Take Off Your Clothes

Any release that opens with "Because of You" deserves one's full and undivided attention. Garage blues, swamp stomp. Of course it's on Voodoo Rhythm Records because . . . well, that's what it's known for. 

The Goon Mat and Lord Benardo.

This release came out in late 2017. What a fuck-all year that was. Trump took an oath to serve the country . . . and promptly broke it. Immigration became the new war on poverty/drugs/terror. Somehow, in the midst of the chaos, this duo released audio godhood onto an unsuspecting public. Did Rollins even know about it? I hope so. I think he would have been grooving on it had he heard it.

Belgium. That's where this band formed. Belgium. How the fuck can a band from Belgium do American-style backwater blues better than those with red, white, and blue running thick through their veins? It would seem impossible. Should be impossible. Belgium doesn't have our history of slavery. Belgium doesn't have Mississippi John Hurt. How does this happen? It doesn't matter. 

Your job. Your only job (and it is one you can do easily and well) is to sit back and listen to these 11 soul crushing numbers. It begins with "Because of You" and ends with "Voodoo Got Me." In between there is a lot of drums, guitar, and harmonica. None of it is clean. All of it is pure. 

The letter that accompanied my copy of this release read that it wasn't "cutesy blues." Yeah, that shouldn't be a thing, but if it was, it would not be this. There's too much feedback. Too much noise. Too much movement. I think the closest thing in it to a "radio hit" is "Take Off Your Clothes" and that would only play in the dead of night somewhere in Kentucky for the few who are still awake.

This must be heard to be believed. This must be believed to be heard.

Everything's Dead

There is always reason to celebrate a release from the Dead Brothers. Funeral music for civilization and then some. 

Angst came out four years ago this month and it has never been more timely. Voodoo Rhythm Records, again, put it out. The band is one of the label's mainstays. This time around, Marcus Aurelius Littler, whom I interviewed years ago for Z Magazine, has lent his hand to the proceedings. What follows is a soulful, sinful album that is the perfect thing for lonely, rainy nights were nothing is going right and nothing is looking to change. The world spins on the edge of fascism and in the arms of a pandemic.

You could guess there are 13 songs here. Not a single loser in the bunch, either. I know. How can that be? It's impossible, you say. It's not. Not if you heard this band before. Not if you are paying attention. Paying attention while the world burns.

The press release from years ago states that "we are standing at the edge of the end times." Catastrophe is so near you can smell it. It was with this in mind that the Dead Brothers hid in the Vosges Mountains to "take the pulse of our time." It seems the band read it right. This is the perfect accompaniment to the end times. The end of all things. They just knew it was coming four years ago. 

Do not think it is all doom and gloom, though. Hardly. This is a celebration of the end. A party that is a wake. This is what should be playing as the planet stops spinning and the sun flares outward to consume us. This lets us expire with smiles on our faces. 

Song eight. "Did We Fail?" Probably one of the best songs the band has written, and it has written some amazing tunes. This one haunts in all the right ways, though. It asks a question that is the ultimate question of humanity. Did we fail, or did we even try? Littler wrote it. It's appropriate of him and of this band. It is the zenith of both their existences. It is everything both stand for. This song, more than any other Dead Brothers song, examines everything that ever existed and that which has yet to be born. It is as painful to hear as it is to think about, and that song is sublime.

We did fail. We didn't even try. 

But not the Dead Brothers. Failure is not something the band knows. And it doesn't even have to try.

It's All Just Noise

 "It's all just noise." That's what my father used to say about the music I listened to in my room during my teen years. In all fairness, he was right about Diesel Rhino just being "noise," but that was what appealed to me about it. As for the rest, it was music.

Back in 2016, before Covid-19 fucked up everyone's plans, the Monsters released The Jungle Noise Recordings on Reverend Beat-Man's own Voodoo Rhythm Records label. It was the 1994-95 home recording sessions of the Monsters. If you've followed the band, you know these songs. Jungle Noise was originally released by the German label Jungle Noise in 1995 as a 10" vinyl. Some of the other tracks here were released on 7"s on other labels, and the song "It's Not My Way" was originally meant for a Swiss anti-war compilation, but was not put on that release for whatever reason. 

The band's lineup at the time was a bit different, than what most fans are used to, as well. Robert Butler and Kat Allen were both in the band at that time, but later parted ways to pursue other projects. 

Featuring 19 songs that are a fascinating look at the band's beginnings. It starts out with the energetic fuzzed-out thrash of "Psych-Out With Me" and ends with "Skeleton Stomp." In between you got all the classics like "Mummie Fucker Blues," "Lonesome Town," "Rock Around the Tombstone," and "Play With Fire." It is, indeed, music to ruin any party, and, more importantly, it is historic.

The Monsters is the only band tattoo I sport. Not the Misfits. Not Black Flag or the Dead Kennedys. Not Prince. The Monsters. Why? I recognize its purity. Beat-Man describes the sound as "primitive rock-n-roll chainsaw massacre trash garage" music. That is the most accurate description one can give. 

Purity in audio form, and if you haven't experienced the band's sound yet, you should. This is a good place to start.

Your Coronavirus Playlist: Destination Lonely

On January 24, 2020 the world turned upside down. No, it wasn't Covid-19 and the subsequent death tolls that fueled conspiracy theories and turned every idiot on Facebook into a doctor. It was a nervous breakdown, and not of the Black Flag sort.

"Far out, over the edge, filthy, desperate fuzz noise, garage rock 'n' roll from France," was how it was described. It was an apt description of what was unleashed that day. Destination Lonely. Nervous Breakdown. A double album to usher in a New Age. This was the dawning of the Age of Virus.

Voodoo Rhythm Records released this monster. It came from a studio that was book for two weeks. 17 songs came from those 14 days. Two covers were thrown into the mix: "I Want You" from the Troggs, and "Ann" from The Stooges. You knew that, though. Destination Lonely is bound by law to do such things. And while it seems like the band's third album should be a triple album (imagine the thrills), it was kept to a dual release. Two times the fun as the world started coughing and dying.

It was easy to miss this release from the French trio. After all, some other things were happening at the time. The virus was makin' news and introducing terms like "social distancing" and "shelter in place" while "Schizo MF" and "Blind Man" played on stereos for those of us in the know.

Is it a good album? Of course it is. Destination Lonely can't put out a bad release. It just ain't in their blood, Jack. When something opens with "Lovin'," and it's all kinds of fuzzed out, you just know it's all gravy from there. If you'd judge it by its cover (who doesn't?), you'd be tempted to think it is some college-level experimental minimalism masquerading as "something deep and meaningful, man." You'd be forgiven for thinking that nonsense. And while it is deep and meaningful, it isn't pretentious noodling around. It is as described. Filthy. Fuzz. Noise. Garage. Desperate.

And damn good.

You are trapped inside. Concerts aren't happening any time soon. Why not grab something new to listen to? Take a chance on something? You can get it on Voodoo's site, or on Amazon. I don't care where you get it from, just get it. Put it on and watch the world slide into a new traumatizing normal. To quote the song "Day by Day," "Well I came into your life like a spit on a face/I blew your mind I made you really so insane." These guys knew it was coming before you did. The least you could do is give them a listen . . . before you end up dying in some emergency room . . . alone . . . the coughs of the dying mingling with the beeps of various machines. Yeah, that's the least you can do.


 

Mr. Mojo Rising

I give music far more credit than it sometimes deserves. I've said it can do everything from cause joy to cure cancer. All hyperbole ... until now. I've just run across a release that has inspired me to write one hell of a terrifying story, and it is all thanks to the music of the Bad Mojos.

Few bands ... no ... no band I know of has ever said that it was inspired by GG Allin and Mahatma Gandhi, but it is a claim made by the Bad Mojos. This Switzerland-based trio who play some lo-fi punk rock may or may not be sincere about it, but they say it and that is all that counts. So how did all this inspire terror?

I was traveling 101 South and listening to the band's I Hope You OD. The song, though it doesn't matter because it was the mood the entire CD was setting that caused this, was "I Wanna Be Dead." It's a pretty standard song title, and the band's sound makes it fit right at home on its label, Voodoo Rhythm Records, but there was something in the air that day. Something that made this release trigger an odd thought in my brain that no other CD has done. I started thinking of a scenario so creepy, so Lovecraftian (this should be a real word by now), so terrifying that it started to freak me out.

I'll be giving the band an appearance in the story, that is for sure. Will the story scare you like the idea did me? I don't know, but I think so. All I know is I could go on and talk about the band's punk sound and so on and so forth, but the fact that it inspired this idea for a story is far more important and interesting to me. If you want to perhaps experience the same thing, try driving down a highway along a bay on a cloudy day and watch the birds in the sky as you listen to "I Wanna Be Dead." Your results, of course, may vary.

Shine On, You Crazy Diamond

The fuzzy goodness of "Psychonaut" had just kicked in. It wasn't loud on the car stereo, but it was noticeable. My fifteen-year-old daughter and I were just about home. The wind had kicked up something ferocious outside the car, and we were at a stoplight underneath a big tree. It was the ideal place to hear the song.

"I never heard music made by aliens before," she said.

That is how she described the sounds of ET Explore Me. We were listening to the debut Voodoo Rhythm Records release, Shine, which was released 17 years after the band's first seven inch came out. Also interesting to note is the fact that Shine is the band's first full length album. Far too many bands are around 17 minutes before they do that sort of thing. 17 years, however, is apparently just enough time to release a near perfect album of psychedelic punk, organ distortion music from the Netherlands. The fact that it came out in February of this year makes it a love letter to music fans, too. That's all kinds of treats going on for your ears.

Of the dozen songs on the release, it's the first, "Let Me In," that gives listeners a taste right from the start of what they are in for. It is just the right way to start an album, and at times sounds like it is a soundtrack to a Sixties horror comedy like The Munsters. I am not kidding one bit, either. If you hear that and don't think that, you can write to me and complain. In fact, I insist you do. Eleven songs later ... and all of them sound just a bit different from the others ... and you realize that for 17 years you had no idea this band was out there making this amazing sound. It's the type of thing that makes you wonder what else is lurking about.

Now you know ... and knowing is half the battle.

Psychedelic Crimes - Advance Word

I was excited to get the new Jackets release, Queen of the Pill, from Voodoo Rhythm Records. I'm a big fan of this Swiss fuzzed-out psychedelica, and with the addition of Jim Diamond (White Stripes) to the group, I figured good would only get better. And then I popped the CD into my car stereo ...

But wait, you say, I didn't know this was out. Well, it's not yet. It's not out until June 14, 2019, but I got an advance copy, and I couldn't wait to hear it. And then I popped the CD into my car stereo ...

Being in the car is not the best place to listen to music for the first time, at least not for me. My concentration is on the road and avoiding getting smashed into by some dumb Humboldt County driver in an oversized pick-up truck with State of Jefferson stickers on it. I put the Jackets on because I was excited. I meant to start listening to it at home that morning, but things got out of hand as I was working on my latest Sinful Cinema book, and I sort of lost track of time, so the car would have to be the initial listen. And then I popped the CD into my car stereo ...

"Dreamer" started it all. "Be Myself" finished it. In between were eight more songs. I was mesmerized. This was all the guitars and females vocals I expected. This was all the Sixties vibe  bustling with rawness that I wanted. It was, in a word, Heaven. To quote The The, heaven sent and hell bent. It was so captivating and dream-like that I actually kind of lost track of the fact that I was driving. That's bad ... but in a really good way.

When you get your hands on this (and you will want to get your hands on this) there will be some standout tracks. For me it was "Steam Queen," "Don't Leave Me Alone," "Queen of the Pill," "Floating Alice" and "Losers Lullaby." Your list may be different, but if my description alone intrigued you, you will have favorites, though it will be hard to pick. Just recognize the greatness, bask in the aural swirls, and enjoy.

June 14th isn't that far away.

Bad Luck Rising

In what world did this come out in 2011? That’s what you’ll ask yourself when you first hear Delaney Davidson’s Bad Luck Man. It’s an honest question because this music at first sounds … old. Then after you settle into the groove of this one-man band, you understand it isn’t really old, it’s timeless.

Davidson is fromdson is a New Zealander New Zealand, but you wouldn’t know it listening to these fourteen tunes of hard luck, depression, and relationships gone belly-up. He sounds fully American, like he was born and bred in the land of the blues, parishes, and voodoo. You can picture him wandering the swamps, playing dive bars, and keeping it honest. It’s no wonder he used to be part of The Dead Brothers.

Voodoo Rhythm Records put this out. It was the label’s second release of his. It was a good choice. Years from now when civilization is fighting over scraps of irradiated food and looking for shelter from the perpetual inferno/polar vortex cycle the planet has been plunged into, this music will still touch souls. Whether it’s the title track, “I’ve Got the Devil Inside” or “Windy City,” this music will be understood by people everywhere at any time. They will recognize and respect its purity just as easily as they know its shame.

As I write the first draft of this, Naked Massacre is playing on my television. It’s a sleazy little movie, inspired by a real crime. It’s a subject Davidson could sing about and make it relatable if he so desired. He has this ability to turn even the most transgressive of men into a tortured being you yearn to understand. He’s not a bad luck man, or even a bad man. He’s just a man with the ability to perform songs that move souls.

And that will never get old.

No One Can Save You

Destination Lonely. If that band name doesn’t scream emo I don’t know what does. Then have a title like No One Can Save Me, and you know what the songs will sound like.

You would be wrong.

Three young men from South France have armed themselves with instruments and have created pure, crisp garage rock with roots firmly in the punk scene and a sound that sometimes evokes the guitar playing of Poison Ivy. Yeah, who would have thought such a thing could exist and sound so raw yet refined?

Not I. Not when I first heard the release three or so years ago. Knowing it was on Voodoo Rhythm Records told me it probably wouldn’t be some emo band, but the label has surprised me before. Not with garbage, mind you, but with something I was something unexpected. The Dead Brothers comes to mind. This was no exception. I was expecting one thing and got something else entirely different, and I was blown the hell away.

A quick read of the lyrics finds plenty of doom and gloom. Suicide, murder, loneliness, and hatred are the common themes. They are not happy ditties that one can sing in the shower. These are songs that play over and over in your head in the dark … after your loved one has walked out the door … or you shot him.

Still, it’s not emo. No, Sir. It’s a grabbing, multi-limbed monster, much like the one that can be found on the cover of issue eight of Marvel Comic’s Fear. It’s reaching through an open window, grabbing you by your shirt sleeve as your wife screams in terror from the stairs. That’s what this is.

The opening number, “Freeze Beat,” is an instrumental piece. If a film of my short story Night Fishing ever happened to be made, I would want this music playing during the opening scene. It sets the mood, but doesn’t really give you a clue as to what is coming, much like my short story’s opening scene. The song lets you know you are in for a ride, but at this point you are not sure if it’s a rollercoaster or a ride through a haunted house. Truth is, it’s a little of both.

Between “Gonna Break” and the title song there are moments of clarity and greatness that aren’t evident at first. In fact, those moments are mostly lyrical, but the music is so appealing that you will overlook the lyrics the first couple of listens. The sound is a sonic whirlwind of broken glass, and it is overwhelming in all the best ways. When you finally decided to take in what Marco Fatal is singing (you may remember him from The Fatals), you will experience this moment of enlightenment where the entire picture becomes clear. It is beautifully terrifying.

No One Can Save Me will probably never be heralded as the must-have, top release of all time, but it doesn’t need to be. It is far too personal for that … and far too fun from a listening level. Yeah, it’s a dark, angry release, but it’s also a work of art. And because of that, far too many people will never quite understand it. For those who do … it’s near perfection.

Rainy Morning, Humboldt with The Jackets

Driving south on the 101. Heading into Eureka, CA. Rainy. Cold. Morning. Sun is just starting to rise behind the clouds, but it won’t be seen for hours. The Jackets’ Shadows of Sound is playing on my car’s stereo.

What one needs to know about the Voodoo Rhythm Records release is simple. It’s a trio from Bern, Switzerland that formed in 2007. It’s singer/guitarist is Jackie Brutsche, a strong a frontwoman as any band could want. It was recorded at Circo Perrotti, which only really matters to musicians, but if you know the name you know why it’s important.

Simple. Just like the day.

I’m going to Eureka. Lately, many people have been fleeing from it. Most have taken flight to Los Angeles or Las Vegas. Two entertainment hubs. Two places where dreams go to flourish or die. Some have opted for points north. They Great White Way, with lots of emphasis on white. Either way, The Jackets, I think, is the perfect soundtrack for the thoughts on the thoughts on the journey.

From the opening track, “Don’t Turn Yourself In,” there is one word that comes to mind. “Fuzz.” It tells you all you need. That fuzz sticks throughout the album. Guitars at their fuzziest. You either dig the sound or you don’t. I dig.

Garage rock, with a hint of the good ol’ fashioned punk spirit, is worn by The Jackets not so much like a badge of honor, but a birthright. Often caricatured, but rarely parodied, garage rock, The Jackets’ forte, is primitive and pure enough that it keeps capitalist jackals at bay as it is hard to co-op. It’s not a sound that works for selling Jeeps. It’s a sound as simple as a Hanna-Barbara cartoon, and if you remember some of those you can recall whenever a garage rock-type was in one of them they were the aforementioned caricatured creations. Hair in the eyes. Simple lines. Creepy. Outcasts. Misfits, but not the Misfits. There was a mystique about them. To the adults they sounded like fools, but to the kids they offered sage wisdom, and welcomed their tiny souls into the unknown. Some of us went willingly. Others ended up bopping to Hanson.

Looking at the eye makeup worn by Brutsche, it brings back the memories of those cartoons with the promise of something new. In many ways, she encapsulates why those people are fleeing Eureka. It is an allure of the savage. The appeal of the primate. Fight and flight. Her eyes can be seen from afar … and they frighten.

After the musical flea circus of the 1990s and 2000s, I can’t help but think that music is devolving as it is evolving. An expanding universe that is also pulling back into itself. A feat of quantum mechanics that exists only in theories and vague ideas mumbled by the scientific elite. From that nexus of garbage music which dominated the airwaves in that 20 years of vapid tunes, music went back to the basics with bands like The Jackets and forward into an aural soundscape both ambient and anxiety ridden, as exemplified by the continuing output from Non. One only has to look at the movie Mandy to see how sound can inspire love and dread.

Mandy, ironically, took place in the Pacific Northwest, that Great White Way. It is a land where fuzzed out guitars are as at home as the tall redwoods loved equally by tree huggers and tree killers. The movie and The Jackets could not exist in the inner city poverty project of a place like Harlem. Primitive rock, which at one time had a home there, no longer belongs on those streets. Eureka, no stranger to garage rock, has evolved, too. It may be losing its artist elite, but others will replace them. This place of certain opposites is bound to create more of them. The Jackets, it should go without saying, would find an audience and a home here. People would go to see the trio without ever having to hear a muddied note. We’re that kind of folks.

When friends and acquaintances first started leaving, it begged the question of why. Why now? Why there? Los Angeles is plastic fantastic. Las Vegas is gaudy gauze. Oregon is gone. The answer, which came to me during track “Watch You Cry,” seems simple now. They are pursuing dreams that stagnated here. Fresh air. Fresh ideas. Fresh pain. Watch you cry is no longer a song, but a promise. Humboldt, it has been said, always welcomes you back, however. And if it’s your first time, we guarantee you won’t forget us.

You can’t escape no matter how hard you try.

Jorge Explosion produced Shadows of Sound. Nothing digital. Nothing unpure. Three musicians and the truth. U2 had it wrong all along. The Jackets formed in 2007, right at the end of the musical death decades. It flourished. It grew. It produced this third album, recorded in Spain without the aid of computers, and became the stuff of legends. 11 tracks. The soundtrack to running away while staying in place. If the Empire is dying, this is the party music that is playing.

Pulling into Eureka it’s no surprise that traffic congests right near the Burger King and McDonald’s. Amongst the pick-ups caked with mud and the Prius doing its best, The Jackets remind me of being younger and realizing you can create your own reality. Those who never knew that world will continue traveling south to L.A. or Lost Wages. Whatever happens in Vegas, stays there, however. Whatever happens here can be inbred or exported, and its creators will never care. The Jackets embody that same attitude. That Prius doing its best? It’s got an old faded Feel the Bern sticker. The Jackets formed in Bern. The irony is not lost on this soul.

But then again, I was never one to run … and the dreams pursue me.

The Power a Secret Holds ...

The title to this blog posting is a play on The Dead Brothers' song "The Power a Secrt Holds," which can be found on the incredible Voodoo Rhythm Records Records to Ruin Any Party Vol. 3. I have had nothing but praise for the label and these compilations, and this one, complete with Juke Joint Pimps, Pussywarmers, Urban Junior, Reverend Beat Man, Possessed by Paul James, Bob Log III, Andy Dale Petty, Roy and the Devil's MC, and many more doesn't disappoint.

But I, like Peter David, digress ...

It's been about two years since I've last had a post here. Why? I've been busy. Very. Busy. Black Devil Spine came out, which meant I was listening to classic rock for months of editing. (Classic rock is a huge part of that story.) I also started the Sinful Cinema series, which is proving to be popular with film fans. So, yeah, blog posts took a backseat to other ventures.

As I was cleaning the house and tossing out stuff, I was listening to this compilation, and when Reverend Beat Man's "Jesus Christ Twist" came on I thought, "I haven't written a blog post in a while!" What better music to inspire a new posting? Voodoo reinvigorated my love of music, and now it's served as a catalyst to getting the blog going again. I can't promise this will be a regular thing, but I'm sure going to try and make it so.

As to be expected, I believe that anyone who appreciates excellent music should march out and find this CD. Sure, it's six years old, but the music is as timeless as sunsets and funeral rites. There's blues trash, swamp rock, psychedelic, and just about everything else to stir the heart. I'm not saying this because I received it free to review, either. This is stuff I'd be recommending regardless of how much I had to pay for it. Trust me, this is worth it, as are the other two volumes in the set.

Maybe next time I'll delve into how music fit into the writing of Black Devil Spine. Maybe not. In the meantime, you've got some trash blues to enjoy ...

Hank Haint's Blackout

Man, when it comes to a label that has a knack for getting great one-man bands, nothing beats Voodoo Rhythm Records.  Case in point?  Hank Haint.  He even covers an old GG Allin song (“Don’t Talk to Me”)!  How could you possibly go wrong with this guy?

On May 25, 2012, Blackout was released on an unsuspecting world.  You, the listener, is first subjected to “Keep on Walking.”  You think, “This can’t possibly be a one-man band.”  You are, of course, wrong.  Just like the times you thought there wasn’t a cop around and that one time you swore she was 18.

There are 12 other songs (including the Allin cover) that will only serve to strengthen your disbelief.  When you think about the fact that he only started working as a solo act five years earlier, you will chastise yourself for wasting the last half decade doing … what?  Not this, that’s for sure. 

Blues trash with a punk attitude is how this music has been described.  That is about as accurate a description as one will get.  It’s too raw for the “hip” crowd., and too obscure for mainstream music lover.  It’s in that void to be enjoyed only by the daring and the lucky. 

Of course, this may not be your thing at all.  You may lean more toward pop or, Heaven forbid, hip hop.  You may be wondering what the fuss is about.  It’s one guy, after all.  How hard can that be?  He goes into the studio, lays a track, switches instruments and lays another track.  Well, he performs live, too.  And not with a backing band.  One man.  Many instruments.  The touch of death!

My only complaint?  I would’ve moved “Pissing in the Sink” to the last track.  It is the perfect way to end an album.  As it stands, “Untitled,” the last song, isn’t a horrible way to end it (and one can easily see why it is the last song), but “Pissing in the Sink” would have been the feather in this mighty cap. If that is the only complaint one can muster, you know it is a solid release.  

Frozen Angel

I haven’t seen the movie that this soundtrack is from, but if Roy and the Devil’s Motorcycle and Voodoo Rhythm Records are behind it, I know it has got to be good.  First, some history, and then we shall delve into Tino– Frozen Angel.

Roy and the Devil’s Motorcycle has been around 20 years.  You’ve most likely never heard of the band.  For the uninitiated, it combines blues, garage, psychedelica and some folk to create a sound unlike most anything else out there.  “Unique” doesn’t do it justice.  Three brothers.  Guitars.  Truth.  It is primitive.  It is otherworldly.  It is necessary listening for those who think outside the box.

Adding another feather to its ornate cap, the band has done the soundtrack to a documentary about Martin “Tino” Schippert, aka Frozen Angel.  Tino was the first Swiss president of the Hell’s Angels.  He started as an activist.  He ended up dead in Bolivia.  Without seeing the film, I must say that the story itself would have me intrigued, but the music only serves to heighten my curiosity.  It is eight songs of primarily instrumental swirl, with snippets of the movie seemingly thrown in.  I can imagine its place in the documentary, and I must say it seems to fit the subject matter, as well.  It is unlike most soundtracks I’ve heard, and that’s a good thing.  If music could be ephemeral…

If you are a film soundtrack collector (I know you are out there – I used to be one), then this is something you must look into.  If you like any of the musical descriptions I gave, this must also be sought out post haste.  Granted, it is not for everyone … or even most people … but that’s because the majority of people have no idea what they are missing and would rather stick with the tried-and-true over the dirty unknown.  This is for the seekers of the unusual, the transgressive, the bizarre … music for music lovers.  Those who look at music as art, and not as entertainment.  Forge onward, brave bastards.  This is the soundtrack to your dreams.

This Ain't No Blues Show

The idea behind Boogie the Church Down is simple.  It’s the Juke Joint Pimps versus the Gospel Pimps.  Blues versus gospel Louisiana style.  The end result is that Voodoo Rhythm Records has another winner in a long line of champions.

Harmonica.  Drums.  Guitar.  Choir-like choruses.  It’s 14 songs that my daughter found incredibly odd and “old-time” sounding.  That it is, and I love it.  It’s a combination that works.  In fact, it is so cohesive that even after hearing it you may wonder where one band begins and the other ends.  I’ll tell you: it doesn’t matter.

Songs like “I Feel Guilty,” “Juke Joint in the Sky,” “King Roland’s Prayer” and “Keep Your Arms Around Me” are pure pleasures.  They fit in at church or a dark bar.  They cause toes to tap and heads to nod.  They inspire sinful hip gyrations and animalistic copulations.  Praise the Lord and pass the salt, Momma needs a spanking tonight.  These songs, for better or for worse, are a celebration of life and all that comes with it. 

I listened to this CD almost exclusively for two weeks before writing a review for it, as it was important to me that it sunk in properly before I tried to break it down into what worked.  Even now, however, I’m not sure I can do it right.  The fuzzy vocals coming from my speakers seem so organic, yet so powerful … I’m not sure there are proper words for what this release does to listeners.  

“King Roland’s Prayer” asks why it always rains on the song’s crooner.  It’s an honest question.  The answer, however, isn’t what’s presented in the song.  It rains because the music is magic.  Old blues is magic.  Gospel is magic.  Poverty row pontifications in song are magic.  It changes the elements.  It mutates.  It devastates.  That’s the answer.  Both line-ups, though, would argue that.  That’s fine just as long as they do it in song.  Anything else would be a tremendous waste of talent.

The Future is Now

Die Zorros’ Future is exactly what you’d expect of the band … and then some.  The band’s second release on Voodoo RhythmRecords is 17 songs of their own design and creative covers (mostly instrumental) of some other acts like Amy Winehouse (“No No No,” the opening song), Black Sabbath (“Black Sabbath”), the Rolling Stones (“Paint it Black”), the Beatles (“Walrus Eats Taxmen”), and Rod Stewart (“Sailing”).  The band’s original numbers include “The Shark,” “Zorros in Afrika” and “Streets of Baltimore.”  Again, all are primarily instrumental.

To understand Die Zorros’ sound, you have to picture a garage surf band tinged with some psychedelica.  There really is no better way to describe it.  I guess you could add some jazz and metal to it, too.  Not bad for a band that claims it started as a theatre and poetry slam project.

The release is available on CD, LP and cassette for all you completists out there.  It may seem like a step backward (despite the album title), but it actually makes sense.  Voodoo Rhythm always puts music ahead of everything else, and while it doesn’t long for days past, it also doesn’t ignore it, either.  MP3s are cold.  Cassettes bring back high school memories, back when discovering new music was harder than just logging on and doing a Google search.  Future is that gem you would find, hoard and only share with a few like-minded people.

And while I hate the Beatles, I must say that this cover is light years ahead of anything that band did.  Thanks to Die Zorros, I can even now tolerate a Fab Four number.  Who would have seen that coming?

Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: I received this to review.  Clicking on a link may earn me some dough!

25 Years of Monsters

2011 marked 25 years of the Monsters’ existence.  25 years of garage rock psychostomp.  25 years of Switzerland’s own making what is decidedly American music better than Americans.  With Pop Up Yours, out on the legendary Voodoo Rhythm label, the Monsters solidifies its stranglehold on the world. 

This release is 14 songs that maintain that patented Monsters sound while at the same time sounding a bit more polished than previous releases.  That rawness the band is known for remains, but it is a pristine raw, if that makes any sense.  Think of Metallica’s Kill ‘Em All versus the black album.  Then think the opposite.  That is pristine raw. 

“I Want You” opens the CD, and there is no mistaking what band you are hearing.  It’s a great way to start the release, and it captures your attention immediately, and you attention will be held until the final number, “Into the Void,” which is a moody, slightly sinister piece.  In between there are 12 other songs that are just as catchy and destructive, like candy dynamite.  “More You Talk, Less I Hear You,” “Ce Soir,” “Ain’t Crawling Back to You No More” – there is no stand out because they all stand out.  It’s a Monsters release.  What do you expect?

At this point in my life I have exactly one band related tattoo.  That tattoo is from a Monsters press release from years ago.  There is a reason why that is the only one, and this release exemplifies it.  It is one of the few bands that is timeless and I know won’t disappoint whenever it releases something new.  I can’t say that about many, but I can confidently say it about this one.

If you haven’t heard the Monsters before, this is an excellent place to start.  Frankly, any of the band’s releases are a good place to start, but this one may be the one that can honestly ease you into the experience.  Every other one kind of just throws you into the pool when you least expect it.  This one just gives a gentle nudge.  Either way, you end soaking in it.

Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: I received this to review.  Clicking on a link may cause me to earn a commission.

The Burning Louisiana Sun

The story goes like this: Mama Rosin and HipboneSlim and the Kneetremblers met in France while performing at a blues festival’s Voodoo Rhythm jam stage.  You can’t really say the rest is history because there was no history until this release, Louisiana Sun, came out.  Mama Rosin together with Hipbone Slim and the Kneetremblers.  If you are familiar with the two bands, your reaction was probably a lot like mine.  “What?”

Mama Rosin is Cajun from Switzerland.  Hipbone is rockabilly from London.  Both bands are terrific in their own right, but when you first think of their sound combined … well, it’s not exactly peanut butter and chocolate.  Then you hear “Voodoo Walking” and think, “Okay, this is going to work.”

The two bands complement each other so well that it sounds like a brand new musical entity, though you can hear elements of the bands in each song.  If you are familiar with the bands, you can’t help but be a little mystified by it all.  If you never heard either band before, you’d be hard-pressed to figure out where one band begins and the other ends.  It sounds like one cohesive unit of musicians who have been playing together for years. 

There are a dozen songs to choose from here.  Not a single one is over three-and-a-half minutes long.  Not a single one is a disappointment, unless you don’t like this type of music.  I’m a fan of Cajun and rockabilly done Voodoo-style, however.  Foreigners once again prove they can do our music better than ourselves.  They still believe there’s magic in it, something that was beat out of our musicians in the ‘80s.  And for you surf fanatics, the title track is a take on “California Sun.”  You know the song.  It’s been in about 800 commercials.  It sounds better here.

Another brilliant release from Voodoo Rhythm.  

Mandatory FTC Disclaimer:  I DID receive this CD to review, and clicking on a link=commission.

Forgotten Million Sellers

There is something disturbing about Roy & The Devil's Motorcyle Forgotten Million Sellers.  Originally released back in the days of despair that was 1997, this oft-described "psychedelic blues punk" was either ahead of its time or a troublesome disc of problems that included fucked-up sounds and listener confusion.  When Voodoo Rhythm released it back in the day, copies were sent back to the label with complains that the sound quality was off.  Today it is a collector's item.

Again, disturbing.

Voodoo recently re-released it along with the new CD. What can you really say?  You either get it or you don't.  It is far more experimental than the latest release.  It's fourteen songs often sound like one large composition.  It seems designed to alienate listeners rather than draw them in.  It was then, as it is now, ahead of its time ... only today's audiences may be more forgiving of this sort of thing.  Even the cover art harkens back to the Eerie Materials days, and this would kind of fit right in with the stuff that label was doing.  Though, if you want to think of something really scary, the Eerie Materials releases were far more coherent.

By now you have a good idea of whether or not you want this CD that defies description.  If you manage to find it, the intro will give you a good idea of what you are in for.  If you can make it past that and through the other 13 tracks you can consider yourself one of the few, the proud, the initiated.  This is not everyone's bag, and it is rare when you will come across something that does its best to eliminate all listeners.  For that along it deserves respect.

Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: I received this to review, and clicking on a link may earn me cash.

Roy and the Devil's Motorcycle -- Psychedelic Drunkeness

Tell It To The People is bound to become another cult classic, much like Roy and the Devil's Motorcycle's first release.  There is something about this bluesy, garage, psychedelic and demented band from the Swiss Alps that appeals to people.  It doesn't embrace too much of any one genre, but takes the best bits from all to create a sound all its own.

There are nine songs on this release, and each one sounds like it could be from a different band.  If all you heard was "Piggy Bank" you'd get one impression of the band, but if you listened to "Six Pink Cadillac" you would have another.  "Casey Jones?"  Yep, another impression.  Schizophrenic or brilliant?  That's purely up to the listener.  Some people can't handle things like that, others point to that as a sign of musical genius.

Tomorrow, 4/17/12, the band plays Nambucca in London.  They have four more dates set after that (not in the US).  If it's like earlier shows, the band will do the unexpected.  It will defy expectations.  The music it makes may leave you scratching your head, especially if you go into it expecting not to be challenged.  Voodoo Rhythm doesn't put out records like that, though.  Voodoo treats its bands with the respect they deserve.  Things like demographics and target markets mean nothing to the company.  I've called it music for musicians in the past.  This release is music for all artists.  Catch these misfits if you can.  If not, good luck hunting it down.  I don't think it will be easy.

Mandatory FTC Disclaimer: I received this to review, and clicking on a link may earn me some cash.

Psychedelic Pirates

I am not a fan of psychedelic music, but I like this.  First there's the band's name: Pirate Love.  Than there's the album title: Black Vodoun Space Blues.  Birthed from Oslo.  Inspired by the Seeds.  A previous release called Death Surf Negro Instrumentals.  I didn't have to hear it to know it would be good.  What I didn't expect, however, was how much bite it would possess.

When I think of psychedelic music (space blues or not), the word that usually comes to mind is swirly.  It just reminds of kaleidoscope visions and lollipops.  This is more like an acid trip and switchblade knives (blades out, motherfuckers).  Lots of effects.  Lots of guitar.  Lots of wailing.

Voodoo Rhythm, of course, has released this 12 song monster to some great press.  "In A Dirty Cellar," "Sick of You," "Death Trip," "Laughing Gas," "Broken Soul #2" -- these are songs designed to not only set a mood but to teleport you to another time.  A place where werewolves smoke hash and don't care who they sodomize.  Yeah, it's a little eerie and not at all the kind of happy thing you'd expect to hear in an elevator, but it does one thing a lot of music fails to do: it works.


Don't expect to find this release too easily in your local record shoppe.  I'm pretty sure that if you ask for it you are going to get some of those infamous blank stares meant to convey a level of cool you can never hope to obtain.  Don't let that high school grad (barely) bring you down.  Go to Voodoo.  Go to Amazon.  Whatever.  Obtain it.  And stay the hell out of that record store.  That was yesterday's news.

Mandatory FTC Disclaimer:  I received this to review.  I may earn a commission from any of your clicks.