Man, sometimes I really wish I could afford to pack up and move to the California desert. For almost 20 years, many of the bands who I love the most have come from that area, but I'll never have the chance to see any of them play a live show where I'm at now. Who the hell comes to Nebraska? A lot of my favorite groups won't, but sometimes their cd's will.
Warts And All, the debut by Ogressa, is the latest prize possession I've greedily snatched out of my mailbox with my grubby hands. "Dali's Llama Records, Palm Springs, CA.," I'm reading on the big yellow envelope. Oh shit. I'm like a skinny, strung-out junkie fumbling with his stash I'm so excited. I wanna get this in the stereo and pumping through my veins as soon as possible.
I know...I have a problem. Admitting it is the first step, right? You wouldn't understand unless you're an addict like me because Ogressa are not just another spin-off. Some of my favorite all-star players in the game make up this rock band.
First, we have the one-and-only Zach Huskey (Dali's Llama) on guitars and some vocals and such. He wrote all the songs on Warts And All - except 1 cover - and I shouldn't have to tell anyone about the riffs commanded by his hands. Trent Ramsmeyer (Whores of Tijuana) supplies his 'spellbinding throat' on lead vocals. He's also the producer/engineer for the album. Then there's...wait for it...desert rock legend Scott Reeder (Kyuss, etc.) on bass for 3 songs. Ian Dye (Ape Has Killed Ape) is the main skin-slapper and Mike Jacobsen (Hot Beat Pussy Fiend) provides the bottom-end on most of the tracks.
"Ogressa is a heavy-sounding band and the name of Shrek's evil blue-headed stepmother. Ugly human males yelling and singing loud; rumbly low sounding doomy noise, with guitars and pounding and thudding things." according to the band. "Heavy, down-tuned rock and sludge." Sure, it's part desert-rock. It's rock music from desert, isn't it? But it's also part doom. It's part...DESERT DOOM. Yep. That's a new term for me; heard it from another music-lover a while back and I'm sure I'll be talking about it again.
"Lady Ogress", "Snake Head" and "Animal Mask" are perfect examples. They're what I would consider pure desert doom and I believe they're some of the heaviest songs by Ogressa. Think of sand turning to glass. That's what desert doom is to me. The elements can be that extreme.
It's definitely not all sludge, gloom and doom; ogres and witches, though. "Sonoran Desert" is a real place in the southwest and it's also one of my favorites on Warts And All. It's mainly acoustic and it's beautiful, just like the desert sunflowers I'm picturing in my head as I'm listening. I hear the site-seeing there can be amazing. "Rational Man" is yet another fave. It starts spooky and gloomy, but grows funky and up-tempo as hell after the first 40 seconds and I find it hard not to start shakin' my ass. Oh...piss on it. Let's boogie down.
Know something? I'm feeling a little ashamed after listening to Warts And All for days on end now. You see, I practically begged Ogressa for a copy after hearing the first 2 songs, "Give Me Some Space" and "Mange", which I've included below for you listening pleasure. The band obliged, but I shoulda forked out my hard-earned bucks because this album is a 10-track, 50-minute precious bounty of heavy rock music. I'm sorry, Ogressa. I'm making it a mission of mine to save up enough money to get at least a few more releases from Dali's Llama Records. And a t-shirt, too. Extra-large.
You can also buy Warts and All from iTunes, Amazon and CDBaby. Hell, you can probably get it most anywhere and I highly recommend that you do. I should get you a copy 'cause I didn't pay for mine, but I can't afford it right now. Seriously.
So the flip side to our recent rundown of some of the music that's been on the Ripple player on days when I needed to mellow, is the large stack of stuff that hits the player when I got that need to explode. Loud and brash. Give it to me right in the face. Blow what little is left of my hair off my head and singe my inner ear cells. I want it loud and I found it.
Attack Ships on Fire - Punches Are Free
Brandishing a double-barreled nostril-full-of-snot approach to a thrashing punk/metal hybrid, Attack Ships on Fire are a band that definitely hit the Ripple radar and made a big sneering splat on the screen. From the first nitro blast explosion of punk fury that begins "Let Me Be," I was bouncing around in the driver's seat like a spittle face toddler. Thrashing my arms in epileptic fits, fists pumping in rising bouts of fury. Damn is this good! But it's not the anger that propelled this song to the top of the Ripple desk, it was that insanely infectious chorus with it's rising/falling melody that melded that track into my brain. After hearing it only once or twice, I found myself singing it in spits of contempt at some idiots on the freeway ahead of me. A sure sign of a smokin' tune when it fuses that quickly into your consciousness. The ultimate "fuck off" song to yell at any body trying to jack around with you life
Even better, the band ain't a one-shot cannon. Title track "Punches Are Free" launches down that same wallpaper-peeling punk/metallic hybrid with bone-chipping abandon. Attack Ships on Fire's greatest asset is their ability to maintain such a strong thread of melody throughout their scathing assault of pent-up ferocity. Featuring some nice dual guitar intermingled with the raging vocals and drum mayhem. Another solid track. And the album goes on from there, nary missing a beat through spleen-venting ravers like "Indescribable," "Jerry Springer," and "Starting Over." Don't get me wrong, the cats aren't bringing anything entirely new to the table, and near the end the album starts to sound a bit samey, but then what could be new about a red-faced blitzkrieg of punk phlegm?
Zodiac Killer Records is the home to some of the finest, trashiest, sloppiest punk chop that the world has ever seen, and the Sonic Negroes fit very comfortably on that list. Coming from Sweden, it should come as no surprise that they fuse a hefty dose of Hellacopters saliva to their already wet and greasy garage punk. Lo-fi and simple, few tracks captured my immediate attention like "Sonic Young Boy," did. Kicking off with the earth-mother of all garage riffs, it only takes a few seconds to realize that this ear destruction is special. Fuzzed and gruff, those opening guitar chords detonate into a TNT stack of raving grease-stained, whiskey inebriated, rock and roll. But listen closer and you'll hear more of what elevates the Sonic Negroes above the pack. Underneath that rhino-chugging guitar, drums and bass, we got ourselves some seriously funky, honky-tonk piano kicking away. Nice touch. The vocals are perfectly gruff and sung into an empty oil can to fill out the mood, and again, the boys know how to actually write a song with a damn catchy chorus and real sense of melody and dynamic. Dig the mid song breakdown back to the opening chords, then the explosive burst of a guitar solo before head-charging right back into that chorus.
Honky Bastard Blues is the perfect name for this disc, which collects new tracks with cuts off their impossible to find 7" EP's. Everywhere through this disc you can feel the greasy spoon of an out of the way honky tonk truck stop bleeding underneath the garage abandon. "Teenage Waste" is a total burnout of drugs and adrenaline, while "Whips and Spurs" brings an almost Cramps-like undercurrent to their S&M fantasies. With most songs clocking in between 1 to 2 and a half minutes, you're unlikely to get bored. This is like a popper full of crank injected directly into your auditory cortex. A massive blast of fun, sure to get the party started or have them running for the exits.
We've written about Dali's Llama before and their bestial, sun-bleached, bone-dry, inner desert version of stoner doom. Full On Dunes was a massive surprise to us when it crossed the Ripple desk last year. Well, guess what, Raw is Real is even better. Songs like the title cut, "Raw is Real" positively lay waste to all lifeforms found scouring the desert floor. Tossing a bong-sized dose of healthy psychedelics into their already tasty dime bag of stoner fuzz, this may be the absolute best song Dali's Llama have ever done. Perhaps its the production and engineering by stoner legend Scott Reader. Perhaps it's the addition of fellow axe-man, Joe Dillon that fills out the sound so well. Perhaps it's the rock steady pulsating rhythm section of Erica Huskey and Jeff Howe, or perhaps its the best, damn vocal performance I've heard yet from head Llama, Zach Huskey. Most likely it's all the above and something more. Stone-crazy vicious in tone, "Raw is Real" simply pummels, from the opening scratched guitar chords to the closing animal grunts. Play this on the San Andreas and we got us some serious problems.
From there on out, we're just in for one treat after another of crazed, scorpion-fed desert stoner fuzz. As someone who owns the entire Dali's Llama back catalog, I can say without any hesitation that this is their magnum opus so far. Their most complete album, start to finish, the grandest visualization of their hallucinogenic, metallic craggy dream. "Theocracy" spreads out on a search-and-destroy mission of mid-tempo desert doom. "Hell No," is one freak-out of a drug-addled bad trip, with a layer of deeper meaning to the spit out lyrics. Meanwhile, "Always," stands out as just about as perfect a mix of doom-layered fuzz, psychedelia and pop as you'll find. I got tons of respect for the Huskey's, living out in the desert, continuing to pound out one album after another as they follow their own twisted, corrupted muse. Well, that muse has led them to uncover Raw is Real, and Dali's Llama just doesn't get any better than that.
After fronting several incarnations of one of hard rock's most indelible bands, Deep Purple, Ian Gillan is a name that needs no introduction. Most fans know that between Purple stints, Gillan busted out with several versions of his own solo career, many of which have just been lovingly reissued in tasty deluxe packaging by Metal Mind. Now, Gillan's solo stuff may be an acquired taste for many, myself included. I was a big fan of Future Tense, with Bernie Torme's twisted guitar riffs, but some of his other albums left me flat. Not Toolbox.
Originally only released in Europe, this album completely escaped my awareness until it plopped itself down on my Ripple desk for review. And to say I was blown away is an understatement. There's little doubt in my mind, this is one of the very best albums in Gillan's solo cannon. Yeah, it's a bit dated with it's late '80's sounding production, massive Eddie Van Halen/Randy Rhodes guitar flourishes courtesy of Steve Morse, and the basic fact that Gillan rarely has anything worthwhile to say. Put all that behind you and what you got is one hot-rocking, terrorizer of an '80's metal disc with just some damn fine catchy songs. Ian's voice hasn't sound this strong in ages, roaring through the high notes in long sustained screams. Big, beefy, and fried guitar riffs fill just about every moment of this disc, driving songs like "Dirty Dog," and "Toolbox," into an area that should be held by only the most esteemed of late '80's metal. "Hang Me Out to Dry," rides a massively distorted blues riff to a hoedown of delicious metal, while songs like "Bed of Nails" bring back all the great intensity of early Purple, sounding more Purple and better Purple than most of the later day Purple itself.
I know a lot of people dismiss this record, but don't make that mistake. If you love Purple and big-haired metal, this one's for you.
Attack Ships on Fire - Punches Are Free
![Honky Bastard Blues [Explicit]](http://ws.amazon.com/widgets/q?MarketPlace=US&ServiceVersion=20070822&ID=AsinImage&WS=1&Format=_SL160_&ASIN=B001Q1Q4CA&tag=theripeff0a-20)
- Honky Bastard Blues
Dali's Llama - Raw is Real
Ian Gillan - Toolbox
