1/4 Dead In 2023
It's a really bad time to try and cut back on buying music; here's four reasons why, and I've still got another eight or so waiting in the wings. Suck on these chicken wings like Steve Buscemi in Ghost World and I'll bring you another basket when you think you're through.
Cheater Slicks, Ill-Fated Cusses (In the Red)
The world's greatest active rock 'n roll band is back with their first studio LP in 11 years. Cheater Slicks could have very easily hung it up by now, especially following the tragic death of drummer Dana Hatch's son, but some mysterious impulse keeps the brothers Shannon and Dana Hatch (joined here by James Arthur on bass) churning after all these years. There are no other bands that can play garage rock with the abandon that Cheater Slicks seem to nail album after album, and their return to In the Red is possibly their best yet. The comfortable intro to "The Nude Intruder" soon picks up speed and careens headfirst into some solos that are the best I've heard since maybe Mordecai's College Rock. From there the band proceeds to lean heavily into guitar worship, sounding as paranoid and grimy as ever, barely-controlled outbursts of scuzz drenching "Fear" and "Flummoxed by the Snafu." Where previous albums seemed to opt for a sort of ballad to close each side, the band decides to try out "Lichen" to end side one, a feedback-laden stumble through the wake of "The Gift" but even more seasick and desperate. The band's hardly left behind the ballads from albums past; "Garden of Memories" and "Far Away Distantly" are gruff and affecting like the best of the Slicks' quieter moments. My favorite track here is "Coming Back to Me," which oscillates from Hatch's pounding drums and foam-mouthed shouts to zen-like group vocals repeating the title, and erupts in a ferocious guitar solo. It's songs like "Coming Back to Me" that show why Cheater Slicks have single-handedly rejuvenated garage rock and stand alone at the top of the heap. In a time where I've been leaning toward more abstract and indecipherable sounds, it feels really good to be leveled by a no frills rock 'n roll album, something familiar but wholly fresh, without pretension and effortlessly memorable. Cheater Slicks, now and forever. Highest recommendation; get yourself a copy post-haste, and maybe go see 'em blow the younger acts off the stage in a rare live appearance at Gonerfest this year.
Equipment Pointed Ankh, From Inside the House (Bruit Direct Disques)
The latest and greatest from this loose Louisville, KY collective, bringing some welcome cohesion to their brand of off-kilter omnivorous rock deconstruction. I've always found Equipment Pointed Ankh interesting, spiritually akin to fellow Kentuckians Sapat, but their albums can feel cluttered and overlong; on Without Human Permission, something like "Blue Folding Room" bowls me over, but then I've traversed so far by the end of side one that I'm disoriented and exhausted. Could have been a case of too many cooks/too many ideas, but whatever it was has been ironed out on From Inside the House, brought to us by the fine tastemakers at Bruit Direct Disques. "Rubber Slacks" snaps into gear at the front, but the song devolves into a noisy coda, feedback and droning synths fighting to wrest control of the song from the rhythmic backbone. What felt like genre-hopping exercises on previous records has coalesced into a no less confusing but exhilarating whole; off-kilter tunefulness emerges from rudimentary drumbeats, drone and jazz coexist with minimalist beats and modern classical. What emerges from the speakers isn't really as heady as that sounds, though: From Inside the House fits easily as background music and rewards close listening alike through it's rich, full production. The highlight for me is the drumless, airy seven-minute title track, which coupled with Jenny Rose's spoken lyrics brings to mind Cosey Fanni Tutti's "Time to Tell." It's a surprisingly arresting, moving track from a collective that seems mostly hellbent on upending genre distinctions with a permanent smirk. "I'm looking for something else," Rose says, and across seven tracks and 35 minutes, it sounds like EPA's found it on From Inside the House, a surprising early favorite record of 2023. Buy not only for the music, but the screenprinted jacket and Bill Nace artwork, too. Another left-of-center gem from Bruit Direct Disques.
Ustalost, Before the Glinting Spell Unvests (Gilead Media)
This was technically released at the tail-end of 2021, but I've only received my copy of the LP this month, and it's one well worth a year's patience. Ustalost is a side project from the Will Skarstad, one of the brothers behind Yellow Eyes, but there's not much to differentiate the two projects. It's nominally Will Skarstad's solo compositional outlet, though his brother, Sam, gets credits for the lyrics and production. The release, Ustalost's second, states that the project "has always been an exercise in indulgence," and that's probably as good of a descriptor as you're gonna get; it's black metal drizzled with the Skarstads' slowly twinkling guitar lines, drenched in Gregorian chant, keyboards and synthesizers straight out of the first wave of funeral doom (Thergothon comes to mind). I never much cared for keyboards in metal, but they're worked in nicely here: something like the jittery line at the start of "White Marble Column Air" adds to disorienting effect rather than distracts. The bass and drums are up front in the mix, this anchor allowing the record to violently lob between sickly sweetness and pummeling madness, something the opener "Enough Glass Will Cast a Shadow" deftly displays. Before the Glinting Spell Unvests, like The Spoor of Vipers before it, feels as approachable and lush as black metal could be while maintaining the icy, sharp aggression of the best Scandinavian forebears. It's a credit to the songwriting of Will Skarstad to maintain that delicate balance without succumbing to cheesy fist-pumping choruses or invoking war as a crutch; the psychedelic psychosis and decadence are vivid enough to warp one's reality. Fantastic record, one that pushes the envelope in exciting new ways without concessions. Let's hope there's not another seven-year wait for the next one.
Witness K, s/t (ever/never)
Cured Pink, one of several projects from Andrew McLellan, was and probably remains one of the most difficult and misunderstood bands from the contemporary Australian underground. The project's new/no wave laced with sharp commentary and wry humor is admittedly a tough sell, but a deep dive into their catalog, especially their LPs, is a worthwhile endeavor. Seems that McLellan may have retired the Cured Pink name for now, shifting to the gravely serious Witness K, pairing up again with NYC's ever/never records to once more challenge even the most seasoned listeners. On the self-titled debut, the band displays stunning restraint, creating a dour atmosphere befitting Carla dal Forno or Tindersticks. Vocals are hushed and often spoken, and even leaning in closely doesn't really allow me to crack the meaning of it all. The lyrics, or "poetry" as the credits on the release state, are obscured beneath a lush bed of single chord guitars, flute, accordion and a smattering of keys, and feels like the soundtrack to a Kurosawa film or dimly lit noir story bathed in shadows. It's a record that seeps into and takes control of the room, arresting even in its silences, moving carefully and speaking thoughtfully. I'm reminded, in spirit at least, of the Gerogerigegege's left-turn >(decrescendo) or the American Jobs' overlooked Carne Levare, music wielding a quiet power. But Witness K never feels fragile despite sounding gossamer-thin at points; the bass-rich production keeps things sturdy and churning, as on album highlights "Scream Across the Low Fence" and "Thank You, Harold." Notes linger in the air, billowing smoke refracted in late-day sunlight, sunlight that can't be enjoyed because of yet another man-made environmental disaster. Whatever's happening, it's grim. Witness K have made a record acknowledging native land that seems like it could actually do something about it, not just paying lip service to a complicated issue. Stunning, brilliant record; Witness K feels like a modern classic already. Between this and last year's Kilynn Lunsford LP, ever/never's swinging for the fences. Time to break out the binoculars and pay attention while this seasoned vet serves up taters at the dish.
