There’s something strangely alluring about classic denim and leather rock and roll. Maybe it’s the shamelessness, maybe it’s the simplicity and purity of message (“Booze! Drugs! Sex!”) in a time when music is more fragmented and pigeon-holed than ever. Whatever the reason, we should all be thankful for Mammoth Mammoth and Mount the Mountain (Napalm), the fourth album from the no-nonsense Australian rockers.Continue reading
German instrumental space rockers My Sleeping Karma have toured relentlessly for the last year behind their album Moskha (Napalm Records), and recently hit the UK for a string of dates. The bands blend of psychedelia, stoner metal and incredible instrumental prowess, makes their shows much more lively than your average band of navel gazing, self-important nerds. MSK gets the “rock” part of this and they always put on a fine show. Opening tonight’s show was Aussie no-nonsense heshers Mammoth Mammoth. These guys know how to write party rock anthems and feel good jams. MSK’s Napalm Records label mates Greenleaf of Sweden, themselves have a brand new album they are promoting, Rise Above The Meadow. Their blend of Sabbath-like retro grooves and well written psych explorations are as intoxicating as the many beers consumed in the bar this night. At The Garage in London recently, all the bands packed the club to nearly sold out, further proving the worth of this type of bill. Thanks to Jessica Lotti Photography for capturing the show for Ghost Cult.
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I’ll level with you all now: I’m not the biggest fan of Aussie quartet Mammoth Mammoth and their raucous, ‘Eddie and the Hot Rods with added beef’ style of Punk rock meets Stoner. It’s great in the background of your local rock pub, though, and true to form ‘Life’s A Bitch’, the opening track of third album Volume IV – Hammered Again (Napalm), fair rattles along. The ensuing ‘Lookin’ Down the Barrel’ contains a seedy riff reminiscent of compatriots AC/DC, and while there’s a slower pace than its predecessor it carries high that retro Blues metal feel, oozing a snarling attitude; the full production aiding a sound akin to Jet‘s older, heavier and just as sexually confident brother.
There is a swagger for sure, the crunching riffs and engine grease of ‘Electric Sunshine’ accompanied by thundering drums and a cocksure vocal sneer, occasionally carrying Hetfield-esque intonations. The rolling, driving riff of ‘Fuel Injected’, meanwhile, bumps and grinds along a dirty desert road: gasping, pouring in sweat like the meanest Harley you ever saw, hunting voraciously for his Mrs. Davidson. The savage power of ‘Black Dog’, its rapidly chopping yet groove-ridden riff imbued with a lead solo, possesses a gravelly intoned yet heartfelt vocal – which comes as something of a shock.
For all the driving rhythms, fulminating sound and sexy insouciance, the band’s delivery has in the past been missing real feeling, a sense that their creations actually mean something to them. Tracks like ‘…Dog’ express that sense of emotional attachment which allows the listener to really engage, making this album a more complete experience. That sleazy boogie stomp reappears toward the latter end, however, at the expense of all the silly emotional stuff: the dirty leads of ‘Sick (of Being Sick)’ snaking around the dancing, brutal groove.
Indeed, the band’s final attempt at concentrating on wistful meanderings, album closer ‘High as a Kite’, is a clunky and overlong, often prosaic way to end. Maybe it’s just miserable old me: maybe it’s time indeed to let party infect the Low End. Victor Meldrew here, The crimson Avenger, prefers otherwise…
6.5/10
PAUL QUINN