Tag Archives: Angus Young

Curse of the North – Curse of the North: I

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COTN cover

Setting out with some hefty tribal drumming and a slow, burning riff, you know what’s coming from Curse of the North: I (Static Tension), the second album from Seattle marauders Curse of the North. Almost. It’s easy to expect lumpen Stoner, yet what bursts forth in the second movement of opener and single ‘Sleep While You Can’ is a rampant blast of Blues-infused Trad metal, electrified by intricate riffs and solos.

Christiaan Morris’ leadplay in the ensuing ‘Wheel of Swords’ is Angus Young-like and ushers in more melodic bludgeon, only marginally let down by a plodding centrepiece which tests the limits of Morris’ throaty roar. The delicate acoustic of ‘Into the Trees’ is initially reminiscent of The Electric Boys and allows Morris to show a gentle, harmonic side to his voice which evokes the first time you heard James Hetfield attempt the same tack: whilst the savage parts of this stirring track’s second segment bring to mind the rhythmic explosions of Led Zeppelin’s ‘Babe I’m Gonna Leave You’.

Despite the frayed edges of Morris’ able, yet unspectacular and flawed larynx there’s a real life here: the melodies mixing with the fearsome intensity borne from the staggering drumming of Burke Thomas and those slashing, clubbing riffs. The occasionally lightning-fast ‘The Tower’ has a Punk-like vibe shot through with lightly dancing leadwork: whilst the versatile rise-and-fall of ‘The Electric Wall’ remains beset by periods of wonderfully brutal yet tuneful savagery. It’s this delightful reliance on a bedrock of supremely executed speed that gives the sound its refreshing spark. ‘Blessed Burning’s moody verses are lit up by greasy riffs and those pummelling, dictatorial drums, also adding omen to the jangling leads injecting lightness and melancholy into the ferocious groove of ‘Oceans Rise’.

The pensive feel reaches its apex alongside Morris’ vocal in the hulking, brooding closer ‘Faceless Killers’; the fathomless whisper of its verses exploding into a vicious yet maudlin crush which is illuminated by sparkling yet understated soloing. This instrumentation is both the impetus and effervescence of a highly enjoyable offering, an infectious battering ram of brute force, subtlety and creativity.

 

7.0/10.0

 

PAUL QUINN


ThunderMother – Road Fever

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TM-ROAD-FEVER-Cover

One of the great conceits about reviewing music is just how awfully seriously people can take it: I know, for I am one of the worst culprits. Each new release is often treated as if it were the Second Coming with journalists falling over themselves in the search for innovative epigrams or snarky turns of phrase that underscore just how enamoured they are of the latest release from someone you’ve never heard of and are unlikely to hear of again. Similarly, the attempts to shoehorn a pretty mediocre record into the fabled canon of classics is another default setting of those who would seek to “criticise music”.

Sometimes, it’s a relief to go back to basics and consider a record as unfettered entertainment: no airs, no graces, just solid rock n roll that makes you bang your head and punch the air in vicarious delight. So let’s do just that, kids.

Stockholm’s ThunderMother are a rip snortin’, hard drinkin’, ever flirtin’ rock n’ roll outfit with more nods to AC/DC than an Angus Young headbanging session. This is the sort of rock ‘n’ roll that fuels a Friday night after a hard week at work, when you’re looking to let your hair down and have a damn fine time. It’s the aural equivalent of a Jaegerbomb.

The AC/DC influence is palpable and worn as a badge of honour. In some respects, this could be a female version of Airbourne but without the grating insufferableness of the Antipodeans. With songs like ‘It’s Just a Tease’ (a great putdown of boorish males);  ‘Deal with The Devil’, ‘Roadkill’ or ‘Thunder Machine’ you know that ThunderMother aren’t looking to win the Booker prize, but there is an energy and a wit to the song-writing and the playing: this is an album that gallops along breathlessly, stopping only for another beer and a shot of bourbon.

Road Fever (Despotz) has no qualms or anxieties about whether you think that this is a record that matters or will be changing the world. It is a record that comes in, does a bit of a turn, shouts a bit and then leaves. It has a pile of energy and a feisty set of lyrics that conjure an infectious image of the last-gang-of-girls-in-town, partying all day and night and rightly belittling the male population for being idiots: in many ways, this is Lena Dunham’s Girls with a hard rock soundtrack.

 

7.0/10

 

MAT DAVIES