Graves, Release Your Dead (Svart Records) is the latest album from Finland’s vampire-admiring (maybe “obsessed” is the word) The Coffinshakers. According to the band’s online blurb, they’ve been making horror comedy since 1995. Now if that feels like rather a long time to be riding this fairly simple gimmick, well it’s just a fleeting moment for a night walker, eh?
There’s a bit of a misconception about Bowling For Soup outside of their committed fanbase. Maybe it’s their look, the fact that they’re not über (or even always semi) serious, or maybe it’s the ubiquity of several of the tracks from their Drunk Enough To Dance (Jive Records) smash-hit album that littered our music TV lives throughout the first decade of the twenty-first century, but BFS are rarely given the credit for their song-writing that several of their contemporaries get. Whether you like it or not ‘The Bitch Song’, ‘Punk Rock 101’, ‘Emily’, ‘1985’ and ‘Girl All The Bad Guys Want’ are all bonafide bangers, and an integral part of a pop-Punk soundtrack to our lives.Continue reading
For an album titled True Misery (Wasted State Records), Old Man Lizard never sound like they’re sticks in the mud or total bummers. I mean there are patches of Sabbath gloom all throughout this third LP, but it never reaches Primitive Man suicide watch levels of anguish. And maybe it doesn’t have to either.Continue reading
The opening discordant, overdriven stabs of ‘Hello Cruel World’ set the tone for The Primals debut album All Love Is True Love (Southern Lord), a tone that summons the spirit of the fuzziest, poppiest and dirtiest moments of Nirvana’s In Utero (Geffen) jamming with The Pixies and that is every bit as gorgeously sincere as that sounds. So it may come as a surprise to learn that this grunged explosion comes courtesy of John Henry of Metalcore savages Darkest Hour, accompanied by Chad Fjerstad (Dead To Fall) and Andrew Black (The Explosion), a project you’d, like me, have been forgiven to have expected to be churning something more crusty or Hardcore based.Continue reading
It’s been a busy few years for Doyle Wolfgang von Frankenstein. From setting up his eponymous band, launching a debut album via his own Monsterman Records and the tiny matter of reforming and gigging the classic Misfits he is now completing the cycle with part II: As We Die of the Doyle legacy, this time partnering with Dave Ellefson’s EMP behemoth empire.Continue reading
Predictability is underrated. Eighth album in, eighth time that Canadian power-trio Danko Jones have pulled out of the bag (sic) a selection of energetic garage-tinged Hard Rocking songs with swagger and enthusiasm. This time around it is a Wild Cat (AFM) that has been let out, and while there are no surprises, hell, (this) ain’t a bad place to be.Continue reading
Ghost are the sort of band that attract a huge diversity of fans, all with an intensity of support and admiration for the Swedish occult rockers and their penchant for matters Satanic and enormous, 70’s influenced tunes. Now deep into a tour that has seen them traverse the USA as well as mainland Europe in support of their critically acclaimed and warmly received third album, Meliora (Spinefarm) – Ghost Cult’s Album Of The Year for 2015 – this final show of 2015 had a real sense of occasion about it.
The sold out venue is heaving; literally and (in terms of audience anticipation) figuratively. Fellow Swedes Dead Soul provide a, ahem, lively opening. Their atmospheric blend of Nine Inch Nails industrial rock meeting Nick Cave and Johnny Cash in a darkened alley and agreeing to go for another round of drinks somewhere less than salubrious is a dark and delicious delight and the audience’s annoyance that their 30 or so minutes seems to be over in a flash, is palpable. Come back soon, gentlemen.
Ghost arrive as long lost heroes. The roar of approval for the purple robed Papa Emeritus III is as loud as it is warm. Ghost have, quietly but assiduously, built themselves an enviable canon of songs that are greeted with raucous and genuine affection. Much of the set is inevitably around the latest record which is all fine and dandy given that it’s one of the best of the past 12 months. ‘Mummy Dust’ has an added venom and sense of danger than is perhaps initially obvious on the album and is all the better for it. ‘Majesty’ reveals itself as one of the album’s tent-poles, layered and intoxicating. ‘He Is’ has become something of an instant classic, 1000 voices joining in unison around a song that seems destined to be this generation’s power ballad of choice. Never has the phrase Satanic Abba seemed more apposite. ‘From the Pinnacle to the Pit’ has one of the filthiest basslines that you’re likely to hear this or any other year and is greeted like some twenty year old classic rather than a new cut from a new album.
Ghost’s ability with melody has been well documented; live they have become a beguiling and compelling proposition. Anyone who harboured any doubts about whether they could cut it as a headliner or move out of the constrictions of simple novelty act should dispense them immediately. Ghost are intelligent, self-aware and self-deprecating in equal measure. They have evolved; they have a better sense of showmanship and audience interplay. Where early shows revolved around Papa shuffling around the stage simply dousing the audience with incense has now morphed into a full on rock show with The Nameless Ghouls losing the monks hoods and sporting very fetching demon masks and dominating the front, sides and back of the stage. ‘Year Zero’ has drama and danger in equal measure, ‘Guleh’ feels cathartic and invigorating. The old – and misplaced – adage that cover versions are never as good as originals has now been ground to (mummy) dust as the band’s cover of the Rory Erikkson song ‘If You have Ghosts’ amply demonstrates- this is now, unequivocally, their song. Closing track ‘Monstrance Clock’, arriving as assuredly as the morning sun, is valedictory.
I doubt whether Ghost actually intended this, but this show at the start of Christmas week was the capital’s alternative Christmas Evensong, such was the intensity of performance, the proliferation of ecclesiastical ritual and an overall ambience of rich, invigorating passion.
Stunning; absolutely stunning.
WORDS BY MAT DAVIES
PHOTOS BY GARY ALCOCK and SUSAN WALL
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Hailing from Finland, the country that gave us Nokia phones, Nightwish, and the actual home of Santa Claus, comes psychedelic sextet Jess and the Ancient Ones. Formed in 2010 initially as a seven piece, the band released their self-titled début two years later and quickly found themselves lumped in with the burgeoning occult-themed rock movement; their second full length album Second Psychedelic Coming: The Aquarius Tapes (Svart) distancing them from such casual pigeon-holing, proving there’s more to JATAO than just occult imagery with a ’60s/’70s vibe.
Beginning with a drum intro that sounds like The Surfaris performing ‘Wipe Out’ at midnight while wearing black robes and cowls, opener ‘Samhain’ (remember to pronounce that as “Sow-in”, kiddies) is basically surf music for Satan. Adding excerpts from the “Witches’ Sabbath” episode of CBS’s Radio Mystery Theater, actor E.G. Marshall‘s monologue about convocations of sorcerers, old chronicles and orgies gives the song a real White Zombie feel before hitting you with an unnaturally bouncy riff and a chorus you won’t be able to get out of your head before the next autumn equinox.
‘The Flying Man’ slows things down a little and features some nice organ work and a simple chorus. ‘In Levitating Secret Dreams’ is a catchy little number with hand claps and more surf guitars, written about Swiss scientist Dr. Albert Hofmann. Not heard of him? Well, he’s the chap who synthesised LSD way back in 1938 and took the world’s first intentional acid trip five years later.
‘The Equinox Death Trip’ is driven by a pulsing bass line and a strong beat. Singer Jess‘s vocals ring clear above everything, backed by some nifty keyboard work and lots of wah pedal during the extended solos. No album like this would be complete without the recorded ramblings of Charles Manson, and the excellent ‘Wolves Inside My Head’ uses them to great effect, accompanying the trippy surf guitar riffs and “Oh, Charlie darling. What have you done?” refrain perfectly.
If you ever wanted a song where a band throws everything they have at a dartboard to see what sticks, then the ambitious 22 minute closer ‘Goodbye To Virgin Grounds Forever’ is for you. Luckily, far more sticks than falls out, and although clearly overlong, only really drags in a couple of places.
Although not as immediate as the début, The Second Coming has a lot more going on and may take a few listens to fully get to grips with. It can occasionally feel cluttered, or conversely, need a bit of a kick every now and again, but overall it’s a more than worthy follow-up that will have you reaching for the denim flares and incense sticks to make the experience even more authentic.
8.0/10
GARY ALCOCK
Having stolen the best band name a gothic metal vampire act had never thought to use yet, Cape Of Bats have spent the last six years belching out a slew of independent releases and splits; fully espousing a DIY ethic and ethos before arriving at Violent Occultism (Broken Limbs), their debut full-length, a thirty-six minute speedball chaser of blackened punk.
On first impression, Violent Occultism is like being forced to endure a series of particularly noxious bottom burps in a small enclosed space, caught, every two minutes, in the ever-regurgitating waves of the putridity. At first it’s hilarious and more than a little impressive, but it doesn’t take many occasions before the joke, unlike the air, begins to wear a little thin and things turn a little stale.
But just when you feel you need a change of scenery and to get some cleaner air in your lungs, Cape of Bats drop another air biscuit of horrid proportions, but this time including some surprising flavours such as the Kveltertak-getting-done-over-with-studded-maces-in-the-car-park ‘Ultimate Evil’, or ‘Follow Me (To Death)’ with its early second wave of Black Metal riffs and atmosphere; the former followed up with the 37 second punk-blast of ‘Blue Hands’ as if to get things back on track, and the latter by the manic start of ‘Buckets of Blood’.
Cape of Bats deal in sloppy, aggressive raw music with black metal, crust and loose thrash permeating their riffs. Add in Francis Kano’s deranged yelps and throat-rips, Cassidy McGinlay’s drumming switching from D-beats to gakked out surf rock grooves, Matthew Geary’s B-movie carnivalesque keys sporadically appearing and some speed metal frantic soloing and Cape of Bats prove an uncompromising and coarse outfit who are particularly effective when they flirt with the more black metal side of their arsenal, and songs like ‘Damned To Sands’ and ‘Grand Evocation Of War’.
Cape of Bats take raw to other side of the lathe, sinking their filed teeth into still breathing vermin carcasses and expectorating abrasive, unrefined, spiky stabs of punky black metal. A fucking mess of chaos and feral as all hell, nonetheless, there’s something worthwhile in their uncultured savagery.
6.5/10
STEVE TOVEY
For those of you with a forensic eye for detail, you’ll probably know that Jessica Lee Wilkes has spent the past few years plying her musical trade with JD Wilkes (her husband) and the Dirt Daubers. Wilkes’ drive and dynamism was more than partially responsible for turning the Dirt Daubers into a focussed hard rockin’ rock n roll band and this solo offering, five track EP on Free Dirt is a natural extension of that.
Standard 1950’s rock‘n’roll isn’t the sort of thing that regular readers of Ghost Cult are likely to have at the top of their most wanted lists for any calendar month but, for once, have a word and open your mind and ears.
Wilkes’ music is organic 1950s rock n roll; it’s the coming of age America but seen with modern 21st century lens. There are many who and try to pull this off with most end up sounding like pastiche. This works for two reasons: firstly, Wilkes is a compelling femme fatale (as well as a corking bass player) and second, surrounding yourself with a group of musicians who know exactly what they are doing backs off the risk. Wilkes has Jason Smay (JD McPherson) on drums, Kellie Everett (The Hooten Hallers) on saxophone and Eddie Angel (Los Straitjackets) on guitar. That, my friends, is quality.
Lone Wolf’s five tracks come and go in a twelve-minute flurry of brass parts, driven bass lines and Dick Dale inspired surf-guitar licks. It’s modern yet rooted in the roadside diners and dive bars of yesteryear. It’s the Saturday night dance of your parents or grandparents teenage dreams; it’s knowingly atavistic and delivered with love and insight and passion.
This is the soundtrack to the next Quentin Tarantino movie.
You read it here first, kids.
7.5/10
Jessica Lee Wilkes on Facebook
MAT DAVIES