|
 Stinks
Like Shit
By
Bill Ketzer
As
I Lay Dying
Shadows
are Security (Metal Blade)
Should
have renamed this band As I Die Laughing. I’m sorry, this
is just about the most prosaic, melodramatic, seeping, torpid
slab of sour metal beef I’ve come across in quite a while.
Hardly up to the exemplary standards set (nay, created some
would argue) by Brian Slagel’s Metal Blade. This band, while
still warm and capable like Keats’s living hand, have no
soul. And that might hurt. But it’s true. I listened to
this thing 35 times straight through without it stirring within
me so much as a single gas pain that could even remotely pass
for an emotion. Here, art imitates nothing but a tired pattern
of ho-hum wails-o-pain interspersed with actual singing (this
tactic is getting older than reality-based television), pro
forma double kick, and guitars that carry melodies that, if
you tuned them to E and knocked off the distortion, you would
have . . . oh my God . . . Simple Minds.
Of course, it’s selling like hotcakes. The kids love the look,
the faux angst and the bleeding mascara, the calligraphy,
the interview with the vampire that got thrown off the field
by the umpire. I don’t know. I’m not even going to bother
going into any more detail because I have things to do, like
scrape the crabs off my sea wall. But I will say this, paraphrasing
from the theologian and literary theorist Thomas Cahill: All
good music, like all great civilizations, must have a weight
of energy behind it. There can be strong sensibilities, good
looks, excellent diction and all of that, but music (and again,
societies) can have all of these amenities and still remain
listless and cold. Ubi sunt qui ante nos fuerunt?
 Jenny
Scheinman
12
Songs (Cryptogramophone)
Albert Brooks released an al -bum 30 years ago called A
Star is Bought. It included a glossy photo of Brooks,
tucked inside the sleeve. Printed on it was the inscription,
“To single any one of you out would be a big mistake.” That
line came to mind when considering the title for Jenny Scheinman’s
fourth album, 12 Songs. It’s perhaps the same dilemma
Randy Newman faced when he gave his album the same title in
1970. Naming it for any one of the diverse compositions would
tip the delicate balance.
Violinist Scheinman here fronts a septet that includes guitarist
Bill Frisell and cornetist Ron Miles. Her dozen instrumental
songs spring from a rich well of Americana, mixing in jazz,
folk, and cabaret. There are numbers that sound like Erik
Satie in a saloon (“Satellite”), a loopy parade (“Moe Hawk”),
a lullaby (“Sleeping in the Aquifer”), and a heartwarming
stroll into the sunset for a closer (“June 21”).
Remarkably, with the wealth of soloists on board, everything
adheres closely to the character of each song. Soloing does
occur regularly, but it weaves itself in by paying homage
to the crisp melodies, offering up respectful variations with
subtle grace and beauty.
—David
Greenberger
Testament
Live
in London (Spitfire)
Ah, finally a reunion offering that smacks of nothing but
smackdown. Unlike so many recent attempts by ’80s thrashers
to relive (and ostensibly cash in on) their salad days, these
longtime Bay Area favorites deserve all the acclaim they can
muster with this absolutely devastating, no-frills CD-DVD.
Sure, they have released several live albums in the past;
perhaps even more than Kiss. They were also crude and desperate
enough at one time to re-record an album of early hits, but
to see the outfit in such fine form is just too damned gratifying
to criticize with much heart.
With guitar virtuoso Alex Skolnick at stage right, these guys
set the standard for melodic thrash before it was cool, and
his return—however short-lived—is the stuff of majesty. Original
drummer Lou Clemente also makes an appearance, if for only
a few tunes (hired gun John Tempesta bashes out much of the
set). This is perhaps somewhat akin to Paul DiAnno returning
to Iron Maiden’s line up to sing “Murders in the Rue Morgue”
at the Academy while Bruce Dickinson first belts out “Wrathchild.”
But with Chuck Billy’s growl and Skolnick’s operatic arpeggios,
Clemente was never the focal point of the band. And he steps
up famously, so we can forgive it.
The DVD (sold separately) is shot by a crack team of four
or five, and is standard live footage. The disc also contains
some negligible bonus interview footage from the band’s recent
European tour, where Billy talks a bit about his victory over
cancer and Skolnick waxes philosophical about how the evolution
of amplification since the early ’90s makes timeless classics
like “Trial by Fire,” “Over the Wall” and “Into the Pit” even
heavier than originally thought possible; and indeed, the
real treat here is the set list itself. All pre-1992, pre-grunge,
full-tilt dandruff. It will make all but the most jobless
and bitter Testament fan insane with glee, the exception being
the curious inclusion of “Let Go of My World” from 1992’s
The Ritual. Kind of a turkey. Otherwise, it’s all here
in the black and black. A fine assault on the senses.
—Bill
Ketzer
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