Thought I'd take the opportunity of a sunny Sunday to offer a trio of Easter eggs dipped in black, a noir triptych that forms the soundtrack to a night on the prowl, all leather jackets, cigarette embers, and devilish intent. First up is the latest offering from the Swedish duo The Raveonettes, the husband and wife duo with strange names that continue to provide doo-wop style gems laced with menace. Their sixth album, Raven in the Grave, follows the blueprint of their previous ones -- angelic vocals, walls of wildly distorted guitars, and simple, primal drums -- while adding a new wrinkle of synthesizers. This gives the proceedings a shimmery, new wave feel that wouldn't sound out of place in the 1980s, all reverb, hazy silhouettes, and cocaine-induced blur.The band has always managed to sound like a throwback to earlier eras -- be it early 60s doo-wop for the vocals, mid-40s biker gangs for the noir imagery and atmosphere, or late 60s proto-punk for the distorted guitars -- often times on the same disc. But they've always managed to incorporate the best elements of those eras and add something new, rather than sounding like hackneyed knockoffs. They've grown well past the limitations of their first two albums where they recorded every song in the same key (first B, then B minor, respectively), which led some to criticize them as gimmicky and similar-sounding. Now they seem guided by more creative (versus commercial) motivations and the music has never sounded better.
"Evil Seeds" and "Apparitions" strike hard, all swirling guitars, black atmosphere, and loud-quiet-loud dynamics, while "Summer Moon," "Forget that You're Young," and "My Time's Up" provide the counterbalance, with sweet, hushed harmonies and bits of surfer-style guitar riffs bursting out of the calm. The album sounds a bit like your inner demons waging war with themselves -- at turns dark and menacing, others sweet and innocent, with neither holding sway for too long. Which side ultimately wins out depends on the mood and the track, but overall nothing tops "War in Heaven," a near five minute gem that builds momentum layer upon layer until its feedback-tinged close. Check it out here:
Next up is the 2006 debut from Austin's The Black Angels, Passover, which is appropriate today for the obvious associations of its title, but also the amount of time they avoided detection. The fact that it took me nearly four years to hear about these guys is something of a crime, as they're right up my alley -- all backlit black atmosphere, bluesy swagger, and solid, gritty rock. (The fact that they steal their name from one of the Velvet Underground's debut songs doesn't hurt either, and should give you an idea of both their aspirations and aesthetic.)Like the band of their moniker's inspiration, the Angels have perfected the simple formula of droning, buzzing guitars, throbbing, thudding percussion, and psychedelic, stylized lyrics and vocals. From the ominous opener of "Young Men Dead" to the chugging locomotive of the closing "Call to Arms" there's not a lemon among the album's ten songs. The band at turns sounds like a Velvet's cover band and a sibling of The Doors with its dark imagery and cryptic (and at times corny) poetry. Alex Maas' baritone swirls around guitarist Christian Bland's and bassist Nathan Ryan's hornet's drone riffs, all three driven along by drummer Stephanie Bailey's pulverizing rhythms. (Organist Jennifer Raines provides subtler support to the witch's brew.)
"Better of Alone," "Bloodhounds on my Trail," and "The First Vietnamese War" are propulsive gems, while "The Sniper at the Gates of Heaven" and "Manipulation" are throbbing, simmering infernos. Nothing tops "Black Grease," though, which captures all these elements in a tight four-and-a-half minute stampede. For an album that is meant to be played in the dark of night, speeding down the highway on the way to the kill, this is the apex -- halfway through the album, halfway through your consideration of what's to come. There's no turning back after this point -- liquid fire guitars, a sledgehammer backbeat, and a chorus of "killkillkillkill" burn away all resistance, leaving you a slave to the remainder. Consider yourself lucky, here:
Finally, we'll close with The Kills fourth offering, Blood Pressures. If the Raveons represented your conscience warring with itself in this noir analogy and the Angels represented those darker impulses winning out en route to the crime, the Kills are the culmination of that coming to pass. This album is all gritty swagger and malicious intent -- from the scalding opener "Future Starts Slow" through similar scorchers "Satellite," "Heart is a Beating Drum," and "Nail in my Coffin" (as good an opening salvo as you'll find this year), the disc doesn't slow down until the sweet "Wild Charms" nearly twenty minutes in. (Which is only a momentary respite at 1:15 long.)Guitarist Jamie Hince remains one of the best examples of why you should pick up a guitar, a point never more evident than on this album. Not because he's a technically gifted prodigy like Jimmy Page or Jimi Hendrix. You will find no Van Halen-style finger wreckers here that will inspire the various guitar rags to transcribe their every note. (He actually appears to fumble part of his solo in "Beating Drum.") Rather Hince makes you want to play guitar because, like similar deity Jack White, of how he makes that guitar sound. Hince's playing is all raw, explosive emotion -- his aforementioned flub in "Beating Drum" is actually one of the best parts of the album, as that solo melts your speakers with its incendiary heat.
Sexy, gritty, and raw, this album (as with each of the band's previous offerings) is not about a tender night of love with your significant other. This is intimacy of a different sort, of striding into your apartment, acquiring your target, and getting down to business with nary a word spoken. These guys remain the epitome of cool and the definition of why rock and roll will always have something over hip hop, electro, and all other forms of music -- for all the similar selling points the best of those genres have to offer (and they are plentiful), none of them will ever be able to tap into our most primal instincts like this and force you to comply. This is serious business, and the Kills remain its most skilled purveyors.
Check out "DNA" here, the killer backend to the aforementioned "Wild Charms," which forms a White Album-style soft-loud combo in the middle of the album. (And is every bit as skilled and diverse as that album's myriad offerings.) Sexy and self-assured, with Alison Mosshart's vocals practically writhing into your ears, if this doesn't get in your brain and start you salivating you officially have no libido. (You can stream it on the right side of the page at the below link...)
http://www.thekills.tv/index.php
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We'll close with a teaser, the lead single from French DJ dynamos Justice's new album. The proteges of Daft Punk and inheritors of their kingdom (you've got to hope those legends have something more in them than the lukewarm Tron soundtrack), this follow-up is something I've been fiending for for nearly four years, avidly checking the Interweb for any news of a release date or tour. Unfortunately only scanty live sets or DJ mixes were all that was available.
The fact that their debut hasn't gotten old in that span, despite repeated listens, is testament to its potency, and also a HUGE weight hanging over their return. Hopefully this single is a sign of what we'll find, as infectious as anything off that debut. (And one that wouldn't sound out of place on Daft's Discovery.) When the feedback drops in at 2:57, you're done -- ready to run through walls face first like Kool Aid. Crank up the volume and get ready for one of the summer's sure dancefloor igniters. Until next time, amici...
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