One of the things I love most about the early period of metal, was the electrifying energy and passion that these bands poured into their craft. Most of these bands were nearly D.I.Y in their ethic, pumping out dark and heavy music that was shunned by radio as if it carried disease. Few fans lined up to greet these bands, yet they kept on coming, one after another; Sir Lord Baltimore, Bang, Hairy Chapter. The list seems to be endless as new bands, like the recent release of Iron Claw, keep popping back into the public consciousness.And then there's Poobah. During the early '70's, Poobah and their resident madman guitar wizard Jim Gustafson put out three molten platters of guitar-fired, sizzling metal and roll. With guitar solos shooting off the vinyl like lasers bouncing around the Planetarium, Poobah mined their own devastated wasteland of early searing metal. Most of those albums, long out of print, can be found for hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars at collectors stores. A while back, some were re-released by a company that long ago went out of business, leaving those discs about as obscure as the originals. Time passes, and even though Poobah continues to rock out monsterous psychedelic guitar histrionics to this day, those older classics just continue to fade away, deeper and deeper into the recesses of the past.
Then along comes Rockadrome.
The same company that dropped the mercilessly heavy Iron Claw into our laps last month steamrolls back with another re-issue of a classic, must-be-heard-by-all-fans-of-psyched-out-heaviness blast of vintage rock and roll terror. Combined with an embarrasement of riches of bonus cuts, including 4 rare live tracks, Rockadrome peels back the curtain and opens the stage to Poobah in all their searing glory.
Now, I promise from this point on, there will be no "steamroller," analogies, or cute turns of a phrase involving plowng you over or crushing you to the ground. Why you might ask? Isn't the album heavy enough to deserve those sorts of accolades? You bet your toupee it is. But here's the thing about Poobah, as heavy as he is, smashing your face into your cerebellum was never Jim Gustafson's intentions. Rather, this cat is all about the guitar, which he attacks with feral tenacity, sly and sexy, fierce and hungry, his paws tear across a fretboard, stalking and pouncing on his strings with cat-like quickness.
One listen to the opening cut "Jump Thru the Golden Ring, " and it's drill-into-your brain opening riff let's you know that we're not dealing with a common guitarist. Check out the flourish at the end of each measure, the flutter of his fingers on the strings, the sustain. Man, that's a thing of beauty. And then, just to make sure you know exactly what your tuning into, Jim waits all of 26 seconds before he let's the first solo fly. And when I say fly, I mean fly. Holy shit, hummingbird wings don't flutter as fast as Jim's fingers soar across the strings. That intro solo may only last 15 seconds or so, but he rips more notes into that time period than most guitarists play in a lifetime. And it's not just speed for speed's sake. Melody and timing are never lost. The guy simply shreds. How the whole world hasn't hailed this cyclonic force, and held it up in the same light, as say his contemporary Schenker, is beyond me.Around this time in the band's career, they were opening for such acts as ZZ Top and Judas Priest, and let me tell you , it shows. These tracks, although sounding nothing like ZZ, rock with a groove that can't be denied. A bluesy swagger underpinning the steaming guitar. There's also a definite similarity to early Priest in the grounds these two bands plowed. Think Sad Wings of Destiny and earlier-era Priest, with the massive guitar sounds and you'll get the picture.
Then there's the vocals. As I said earlier, Jim has been working the Poobah world continuously since the seventies, and while his trademark guitar terror has always remained, his voice had changed over the years. Now brandishing a more mellow, mid-range tone, back then Jim was a wailer that would give Halford a run for his money. It's a voice that works perfectly for his songs, firing them up with a hard rock edge worthy of his burning strings.
A three-piece band back then with Phil Jones on bass and Judd Gaylord on drums, each member brought the entire package to the show. Phil's runs border on the breathtaking, anchoring the song firmly in the terra firma while Jim's guitar seeks release from this gravitational field. Listen to the crunch of "You Don't Love Me," --one of the greatest hard rock singles that never was-- and you understand. Phil, smooth and understated holds ground like a skyscraper, immovable and solid. Judd handles the drums with a biting passion, rolling and filling around the bass. The two of them a defiant backdrop, holding back the invading armies, allowing Jim to just cut loose. And cut loose he does.
"She's that Kind of Lover," should appeal to any fan of early UFO, the main riff sounding like something the German madman could've written in his more sober moments. Again, Jim's voice takes center stage through the verses, calm and confident, until the guitar explodes in fire and smoke of another solo. "Steamroller," packs all the power you'd hope from a song of that name, and --I can't resist -- really will flatten you . Judd drums with some hidden third arm. Phil anchors the band like a port in the storm, and Jim . . . well, he's just Jim, one of the great unheralded guitarists of his generation. You think Schenker can toss in some end of measure guitar flourishes . . . you ain't heard nothing yet. Jim positively mutilates his guitar in wave after wave of face-melting abandon. Electricity sizzles and crackles through his strings. God bless em.
I won't detail every track, but there ain't a weak cut here. I dig the non-album cut instrumental that incinerates the guitar frets like it's name sake, "Atomic bomb." Original album closer "Frustration," may even be one of my favorites, short and nasty and packing a tenacious bite. The four live cuts at the end show that the cats were just as adept wrecking their instruments with heaviness live as they were in the studio, Jim's guitar a mind-bending thing to experience in a club setting, burning right into your face.
As always, Rockadrome did the reissue right with rare photos, liner notes and an over feeling of quality. Do yourself a favor. If you're a fan of rock bands who light their guitar strings on fire with the friction of their whipping fingers across the frets, don't miss this one. Poobah was, and remains, a legend, a gem, a true under-appreciated rock and roll hero.
--Racer
www.rockadrome.com
www.poobahband.com
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