I try not to pre-judge a band. I really do. But when their very own webpage professes that their sound is akin to Nickelback, Seether, Daughtry, and Theory of a Deadman. . . Man, prejudging is just too easy. Fortunately for me, whoever wrote that line was horribly mistaken and should be fired immediately. Rather than banal, corporate, formulaic rock, Lorenzo actually surprised me with their passion and grit, as well as their balls-out rock attack. I hear much more Guns n Roses and some of the finer aspects of the hair metal movement, combined with soaring choruses and melodic hooks. Think the byproduct of a raucous night of drink and debauchery between GnR and Bon Jovi and you'll get the idea. Now granted, hair metal is a slippery slope to base your career on, but Lorenzo do it with enough fire to really ignite this disc. Sure, you'll be treated to ponderous, philosophical lyrics like "All day long I think about sex," but the boys make up for this cock-posturing with seriously heavy riffing and some incendiary guitar solos. Songs like "Not Ready to Say I'm Sorry Yet," contain every element necessary to get an arena full of fans swathed into frothy mess and even get me to admit that there's one helluva ear worm here. "Nothin' Left to Talk About," even brings in some of the heavier elements of a band like Bang Tango with a throbbing bottom end and damn dangerous hooks.
Not every song works for me. The synth-adled "Naked and Wasted" comes on too much like a tossed away Filter track. The boys work best when plying their hair metal cum 2013 vibe, mixed in with as much sleazy swagger as they can muster. And when they hit it, they really hit it. No Nickleback here. No Daughtery. Just some crazy arena-sized cock rock sure to please the ears of straight ahead rock fans the world over.
I first heard of Dean Allen Foyd while on a record shopping frenzy with Bill from the Soda Shop. As he's prone to do, he queued up one sneaky masterpiece after another and treated my ears to a Soda concert while we dashed around Chicago in search of monstrous vinyl. He introduced me to Mothership that trip. And Blue Snaggletooth. And finally, Dean Allen Foyd.
Released last year, DAF's Crusher Records debut "The Sounds Can Be so Cruel" found the Swedish psychedelic rock band plying a road of heavy early 70's psych with touches of garage, folk and space-rock. Syd Barrett’s Pink Floyd, Arthur Lee’s Love and Captain Beefheart could be heard along with homages to Cream, Zep and Purple. Now comes their follow-up, "Road to Atlas," and whereas the debut found them touching upon their sixties influences, Atlas finds them embracing their psychedelic past full on, with swirling smoke and lava lamps included. 5 Tracks on this EP, each steeped in full on psych-progressive goodiness of the sort that Dead Man managed to pull of a few years ago. Longer tracks, less structure, more acrid-dazed exploration make this a must have album for fans of true post-60's psychedelia. A weedy, trippy adventure down paths not heard in decades.
It was very early. I was driving 100 miles to coach at a rugby tournament. The coffee hadn't quite kicked in yet, and I knew the rugby pitch was approaching. I needed something to light the fuse on my adrenaline. Explode my heart with dynamite and get me amped for some bone-crushing rugby. Spying the faded muscle car on the cover, I slipped Mahat into my CD player. And caffeine wasn't needed anymore.
It's hard for me to find much information on the band. I don't even know what country they come from. But what I do know is they unleash a fierce mixture of stoner rock and metal, like Down beating the crap outta Queens of the Stone Age while Entombed and Truck Fighters jump in for some extra kicks to the teeth. Opening track "Atacama" is the track that ruptured my adrenal glands, spewing a flood of adrenaline into my blood stream. A violent, ultra-heavy yet still defiantly groovy stoner/metallic hybrid that may be one of the single best metal tracks I've heard all year. Guitars crush fragile bones; drums pummel my consciousness and the roughened vocal attack mercilessly assaults my eardrums. It's a thing of beauty.
The rest of the album let's up a touch from their, but how could it not? Still, it's all one glorious body blow of intensity. Worth checking out.
Coming from Sulatron Records, I knew what was waiting for me. A sensual voyage through melodic and looping psychedelia a la Colour Haze. This time brought to me via Vibravoid. Another German export of the acid experience, Vibravoid have been on a roll recently, with new releases coming faster then joints could be rolled. Gravity Zero is 58 minutes of swirling and undulating guitars, muted riffs that dig heavy into my marrow, and enough aural lights and magic to lift me off on my own magic carpet ride.
Gravity Zero combines some new tracks with several cuts that have appeared on 7” records or compilations by Fruits de Mer label. What we got is fuzz and mutation and reverb and explorations into the netherworld of outer space. Organ and guitar meld into sonic lovemaking and a rhythmic backing keeps the procession of mind-alteration flowing seemlessly. The CD contains two tracks that are not on the vinyl version, which is a bonus really worth seeking out. True head music for the "other plane" inclined. A psychedelic journey into their own multi-hued dimension.
--Racer
Comments
Stay Heavy!
Cheers
MAHAT