Review :: Black Moth - The Killing Jar

Not so long ago it was standard for a rock band to sport long hair. Black leather and studs were the uniform of choice. Bottled beer and Marshall amps the weapons of the undead army of moshing metallers.

The metal and rock scenes have suffered in recent years. Where RnB, pop and Hip Hop have thrived in the digital age, hard rock has languished behind them. Left to look like the grey haired, denim clad uncle with Status Quo tickets at the wedding. Put simply, left behind.

There are many reasons this has happened, all of which are no doubt correct and accurate. All to blame for the demise of what was once the UK’s favourite, most commercially successful and greatest musical export.

It is, therefore, no surprise when a new band proclaiming to be “hardcore rock and metal” appear; their arrival is met with some scepticism. That band is Black Moth and their debut album is The Killing Jar. Bracketing themselves as “dark noise destroyers,” this four-piece outfit are as metal and angry as a spotty faced teenager in a faded Slipknot hoodie.

Arrogance, pomp and more than a hint of malevolence. Black Moth certainly fit the bill on paper. With more than a little surprise and relief, they also walk the walk.

With ten tracks of crushing riffs and titles to match, The Killing Jar, a suitably macabre title, is Black Moth’s first foray into a fully-fledged album. Formed from the remnants of acclaimed garage rockers, The Bacchae, Black Moth strut with the nerve and holistically “evil” swagger that has been missing in the hard rock scene for a long time.

Harriet Boven’s leather lunged vocals scream with an unsettling calm over Jim Swainston’s guitar that belts out riffs as raw and savage as the foundries of their native Leeds’ industrial past. Percussion from Dave Vachon on bass and Dom McCready (a drummer’s name is there ever was one) provide a thumping, lumbering support that feels like a giant’s marching footsteps throughout. None more apparent than on the opening three tracks, “The Articulate Dead,” “Blackbirds Fall,” and the suitably grim “Banished but Blameless,”

This anathema and deliberate self-pitying continues throughout the album. “Blind Faith,” “Plastic Blaze” and the concluding “Honey Lung,” a brooding, tempo changing hymn to all things demonic provide ample metal sustenance. Indeed, as deliberately gloomy as it sounds, Black Moth pull off the dark outsiders routine with style and grace.

Channelling the great industrious metal and hard rock bands of yesteryear, Black Sabbath, Alice in Chains and Slayer, The Killing Jar is a refreshingly original throwback to an almost forgotten era. Bristling with a cumbersome, almost suffocating sound, the album ticks every box for head banging, mosh pitting metallers. The grimy distortion guitars and thrashing drums provide a venerable, cerebral sound capable of standing up to anything the scene, both currently and anything in the past decade, could throw up.

Boven’s vocals, without doubt, tie the whole outfit together. Much like Ozzy Osbourne did in the early days of Black Sabbath, the heavy, lugubrious riffs and hooks are mirrored by her calculated, malicious vocals. Balanced perfectly in pitch and tone, the grim, maudlin subject matter and lyrics flow effortlessly, painting the band’s bleak pictures in eyeliner black.

In an era where softer, “user friendly” style music is all too commonplace on the market, this album is a stark difference. Established acts within the scene have often been criticised for going soft in their older age. The new wave of harder bands like The Answer, Black Spiders and Black Stone Cherry all garner huge media attention. Their sound, however, always seems to lack that extra crunch that would have perhaps been present twenty years ago.

Call it commercial savvy or corporate surrender; the proof is, as always, in the pudding. Fans still clamour for new albums and rightly they should. However, it is flagrantly false to flog these works as anything other than distilled shadows of an era long gone.

The Killing Jar is as Heavy Rock an album as could be. Skirting on the border between rock and heavy metal, this is definitely not music for a sunny day. With an ambitious sound and talent to match, Black Moth has delivered a powerful debut. The prestige and credits are neatly set in place. It is now up to the band to capitalise on what is, arguably, the strongest debut album by a hard rock outfit in 2012.

As featured on Is This Music? (9/5/12)

Review :: Alto45 - The Spectrum Sings

Hailing from the sun drenched, bucolic splendor of East Anglia, Alto45 bring a charming, undergraduate humour to what is often a maudlin and unnecessarily dreary scene. With their catchy rhythms, surrealist themes and a knack for toe tapping electro, Alto45 return in fine form with what will surely be their launching pad for greater things.

The Spectrum Sings, the band’s second album, picks up where the group left off at the end of 2005’s 101101. Broadly bracketed as electro, indie pop, Alto45 have strived for something altogether more unique in their music. Built on the foundation of mutual adulation for all thing electronic and digital, the band create a sound reminiscent of something lost from the hazy, smoke filled days of arcade machines and shoulder pads. Where electro may be enjoying a resurrection, Alto45 are the cavemen unfrozen from the block of ice. Original articles in a reproduction world.

Creating a scientific, Open University feel to their music, Alto45 are a group who beggar some belief. Where others are altogether more serious in their approach, the band plays performances for kicks. Draped in lab coats, complete with top pocket pens and pencils. Not that this belittles their musical ability or dedication to their art. A grass roots following in their native Norwich has seen them secure support from domestic and international sources, none less than the late John Peel.

This second offering therefore recreates the mild mannered, homespun, woolly jumperred sound fans have come to expect. Album opener “The Robot Heart,” also the lead single, is a fine standard for the band. James Boyce’s eclectic vocals drift over a thumping drum and bass rhythm section with guile and ease. The lyrics and sound evoke images of Tomorrow’s World, Hitchhiker’s Guide and Doctor Who all at once.

Continuing through “Omnichord Song,” “Holland” and “Lonesome G,” the latter a vectored, vocorder ballad straight from the heart of a Casio are shinning examples of the band’s dedication to their own unique styling. With titles that conjure distinctly human and personified emotions and impressions, the duality of the computer intensive, electronic themes of the songs creates an overall dichotomy to the album and, by extension, the band.

The unique eccentricity of Alto45 is, however, also their downfall. Where their individuality shines out, the lack of variance, both thematically and musically also becomes apparent. At eleven tracks long, The Spectrum Sings is perhaps five tracks too many. Digital curiosities and the ode to computer brains that long to be human are all well and good. Mortgaging what could, and perhaps should, be variety for the sake of eccentricity is an obvious downfall of the work.

None more apparent than the excellent “Godspeed Your Heart to Me.” This traditional indie ballad, with its ethereal, eerie but strangely upbeat tempo show a band teetering on what could be a huge commercial hit. The middle eight descends once more into the bleeps and clicks more accustomed to the rest of the album. They do retreat and the song closes as it begins, the band’s indie image successfully restored.

Listeners, however, are left wandering what might have been. If the keyboard was wrestled away and locked out of sight for just one recording session then more of this talent would have been able to shine through. It is a tough pill to swallow for those unfamiliar with the band. The album is strangely shortcoming with this obvious talent. Where electronica is a staple of Alto45’s ethos, this is a tantilising tease. Their traditional indie brilliance stands out amongst the others as a talent screaming to be explored further.

The return of Alto45 is, on the whole, a welcome one. With this latest offering they will reassert themselves to established fans whilst finding new ones farther afield. Undeniably their best work to date, the question is more what future, if any, there is for their self-styled, boffin bragging techno.

As seen on Is This Music? (4/5/12)

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, time's up?

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. A timeless museum of hell raisers, beer drinkers, pioneers and pirates. The very nature of such a place seems to be diametrically opposite to what rock and roll was made for and has subsequently become.

The result has become something of an impossible being. It exists to boost the egos of those now too old for the rebellious spirit that made them famous in the first place. All the fight that once was has been replaced by the soft, cushioned underglow of the Southern California lifestyle. Torn jeans and leather jackets replaced by Armani and Gucci. Even the instruments are better, the battered old Les Paul cast aside for a shiny new eponymous signature series.  

It is easy to be cynical. Since its formation in 1983, the hall has had to deal with scepticism on a daily basis. The community whom it serves would appear to be split in opinion. 

There are those who see it as a perfect memory and lasting legacy to the early pioneers of the movement. Jerry Lee Lewis, Chuck Berry, Buddy Holly, they’re all there. The blues artists who forged the very foundations of rock are represented, permanently enshrined for generations of the new wave of rockers to admire and gain inspiration.

Chuck Berry was a plagiarist.

Then there are those who see it as little more than an annual publicity stunt. Fledgling record sales take a well needed shot in the arm the months leading up and after the mid April induction ceremony. There is a stigma attached to the hall. It is seen as a place where the establishment finally breaks down the rock spirit. Suited and booted, those who skirted the edges of society, who played their music too loudly and flipped a finger to The Man, are now embraced with open, well-supervised arms. 

To some bands and artists, it feels like a natural progression. Nothing new here, merely the logical step forward of recognition. In the past U2, The Rolling Stones, Eric Clapton and Led Zeppelin have all accepted their inductions. This year’s headliners, the fabled Guns N Roses sans Axl Rose join that list. To those who care enough, or don’t care at all, these bands lost the thread a long time ago. Their induction is a mere formality. 

 

Perhaps the hall receives an unfair image due to its stuffy, convoluted nature. It certainly does not help itself with some glaringly obvious omissions on its inductees. One of the halls biggest critiques in the past has been its selection committee. Made up of leading industry figures, not musicians, they control the nomination and selection processes. As such the likes of Electric Light Orchestra, T-Rex and the Steve Millar Band have yet to be inducted for various, conspiracy theory inducing reasons.

Being a creature of multiple arms, legs and heads is not induction criteria

But this is rock and roll after all. Nothing is ever as it seems. A case could be put for the hall that it exists because it should never exist. The very fundamental nature of the hall’s presence could be interpreted as a warped, inverted, irony. Like a big joke played on the same society that brought rock about in the first place.

A pretty thin argument most would agree. Rather pessimistically, the hall continues to garner an almost fleeting, second or third thought annually as it rolls around to its induction ceremony. The class of 2012 includes some of the most widely recognisable, important figures of the past quarter century. Guns N Roses, The Beastie Boys and the Red Hot Chilli Peppers were staples of the MTV generation and continue to influence those who followed in their footsteps.

Do they deserve to be recognised and held in the same regard as The Beatles, Yardbirds, AC/DC and ZZ Top, of course. Is there a need to be reminded of this fact, no, not really.

The longer the hall exists, the more futile and pointless it seems to become. As the music industry continues to expand into new, exciting frontiers, the hall is left looking more like a fancy dress party year after year, its existence becoming more and more apparent as the answer to a question nobody asked 

Rock is in a state of decline and has been for a number of years. The glory days of a thousand hard rock bands blasting out bass lines and licks have, unfortunately, become a thing of the past. As artists struggle to be heard amongst a flooded, saturated, pop dominated market, they should be looking to an organisation like the hall as a voice, a champion. 

Instead of rolling out the red carpet for those we all already know are fantastic and influential, the hall should be a figurehead. To celebrate the past and heritage is one thing; to do so at the cost of the future is an unacceptable alternative. 

The hall will keep rocking and rolling for as long as music itself. It will continue to skirt controversy and mediocrity amongst the music industry and fans alike. But in order to survive, it must consider itself as something much more than a red carpet affair. The rock world needs a focussed voice to channel all of its shouting. Let the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame take that mantle, and shove it down everybody’s throats, with a smile and a strum. 

For his sake at least.

Let the good times roll. 

As featured on Is This Music? (21/4/12)