I was told a couple of months ago that Rocket From the Crypt was releasing a "rock album" and a "punk album." The rock album was to be their major-label effort, Scream, Dracula, Scream!, and the punk album was to be their self-released, LP-only Hot Charity. With both of them finally out, I'm decidedly against the "rock" in Rocket.
Hot Charity, released several months prior to Scream, Dracula, Scream! is the superior album of the two on many levels. Just past EP length at nine songs, it's the first release by the band to recognize Rocket's limited scope and staying power. Beginning with the punchy, horn-driven instrumental "Pushed," Hot Charity coasts through two subsequent songs of filler, picks up again with the hard-rock chorus of "My Arrow's Aim," and then segues nicely into the overblown epic ballad of "Well Feathered Friend," a gospel-meets-country-in-the-land-of-punk that's familiarly frightening and good.
On the flipside of the record is "Cloud Over Branson," a song which I have heard exactly once due to a pressing plant error that makes crappy needles like the one in my record player bounce all over. As I recall, it's possibly the second best song on the album, at least when it's not being etched into spirographs. Next is "Lorna Doom," a decent number and extremely indicative of the 'new' Rocket From the Crypt sound (i.e., more rock and no distorted vocals), and then "Shucks," which is possibly the best song ever made. I don't mean that, but its mambo-beat-and-piano breakdown is among the coolest things I've heard this year. The rest of the song sounds like "Sturdy Wrists." There's one more song and then, hey, it's over! Enough time to get some sing-alongs in, but no degeneration into Circa Now's "Everybody Smoke Pot" mantra.
Scream, Dracula, Scream! is unfortunately fourteen songs of pure clunker. From the title and cover art down to the actual marrow of the music, there's a lot of gloss and very little soul to this album. I can remember exactly four songs: "Young Livers," "Used," "Ball Lightning" and "Misbeaten." "Young Livers" seems the obvious choice for a single Ÿ it's a danceable number that could easily work the standard clientele of Two Pesos into an arm-waving, undulating hip-hop parade (heyyy, hoooo). It's a catchy number. "Used" is a semi-doo-wop song (I should note that all of Rocket From the Crypt's stuff is "Semi"-something . always influenced but never straight-faced and never with any sort of conviction) that makes excellent use of its hi-fidelity production, replete with xylophones. The other two stick in my mind for reasons unknown. This album isn't horrible, just uninspired and unoriginal, and a bit too consciously (and mockingly) pandering to the MTV marketplace.
So don't be surprised if these guys show up in your Buzz Bin soon, and don't think twice if they don't. Anyone can be catchy enough to make the jump to a major label, but is Rocket From the Crypt savvy enough to make MTV play it?ŸT.D.
It's a wonder what Mike Patton and the Brothers Bungle will pull out of nowhere next. The random acts of senseless nonsense and stupidity are back with full flavor on Mr. Bungle's long-anticipated second release, Disco Volante. That special, eccentric wackiness that Bungle fans have grown accustomed to hasn't been seen since Mr. Bungle's last album was released nearly four years ago. Four years was much too long to wait, but it's hard to complain once you check out Disco Volante.
The album is just so stupid. "Carry Stress in the Jaw" is the first track to really pick up the sounds where Mr. Bungle left off from their self-titled release back in 1991. Try to imagine Morbid Angel or Sepultura joined in a jam with John Coltrane on speed. Oh, and not to neglect the eccentric psychoses of vocalist Patton, who summons up the spirit of someone like Abraham Simpson, Homer's father, at the end of the track.
The Bungle sound, by definition, lacks any conventional definition. That's where the beauty lies Ÿ just mumbled vocals and jumbled riffs, bits and pieces of instruments and alter-egos of lead vocalist Mike Patton (also of Faith No More) that happen to accumulate into really good-sounding, enigmatic crap. "Violenza Domestica" finds a wacky arsenal of instruments, from Spanish guitars and carving knives to accordions and a Jew's harp. "Desert Search for Techno Allah," "Phlegmatics" and especially "Ma Meeshka Mow Skwoz" (reminiscent of "Carnival" on their last album) stretch insanity to the far reaches and prove again that Mr. Bungle is definitely an acquired taste. It's hard to appreciate Patton's masturbatory-sounding screams unless listened to repeatedly with a really open mind.
Buy the album, make copies for Mom or Dad, and see if those rent checks keep floating your way!ŸJ.F.
It isn't really fair to compare Scattered, Smothered & Covered to Unsane's older output. Previous efforts went the full-on wall-of-noise route, relying mostly on power and volume, but Scattered inserts some new ideas into Unsane's realm. One-on-one, Scattered can't be called better or worse than the first three albums Ÿ it's simply different.
With the departure of bassist Pete Shore, guitarist/vocalist Chris Spencer is the sole original member left in the band. Maybe Shore's departure led to the variations in sound. Maybe not.
There's still plenty of the good ol' Unsane noise here, it just isn't as ever-present. "Out" and "Scrape" are as mind-blowing as anything the band has ever done. The slow, soulful intro to "Alleged" is about as far from the brutality of Total Destruction or Unsane as you can get.
Undoubtedly some longtime fans will scream "Sellout!" when they get a load of the "new" Unsane. Who cares? The end result is just as satisfying as ever.ŸG.D.
After skinheads and before Hare Krishnas and major labels, the punk community's controversy-of-the-month was a small subgroup known as the Hardline, who abstained from animal products as well as drugs and alcohol and constantly threatened militant action over those issues.
Of course, the Hardline movement vanished once the members reached drinking age, but Chicago's Victory Records has resurrected one of its foremost acts by re-releasing the complete discography of Raid.
The quality is uneven, since the 14 songs come from three different recording sessions from 1989-91, but overall Hands Off the Animals is powerful and brutal. The first five songs, from Raid's final recording session, are especially amazing Ÿ the music is bone-crunching, with metal overtones that somehow never become clichÇ, and vocalist Steve "Puritan" has a growl matched only by Integrity's Dwid.
The band's hyper-militant stance may bother some, but really, it isn't a problem since it's doubtful they took their lyrics seriously enough to follow them. At least, I never heard about the streets of Memphis being stained with the blood of non-vegans. Maybe I missed something.
The only problem here is "Convenience," which tackles abortion from an extremist pro-life viewpoint. The lyrics reduce a complex issue to a bunch of shouted slogans and yellow journalism, without considering the other side of the issue at all.
Stupidity aside, though, Hands Off the Animals is one of the best albums to come out of the early 1990s' straight-edge scene.ŸG.D.