Ready for something a little different? Something born from the familiar, but tantalisingly different? Then step right this way, Platinum Al has a musical odyssey that will intrigue you. We’re talking about the debut album from Devil Moon Risen, a trio out of Phoenix, Arizona, and it’s all kinds of unexpected.
We’re starting in the realm of desert rock, but Devil Moon Risen have added some spice to their chimichanga with elements of punk, sludge and doom metal. So, off we go with a thuddingly heavy, groovy chugger in ‘Bad Sketch of a Killer’ that twists into a creepy waltz and back again.
Like Primus playing QOTSA songs on an album produced by the late great Steve Albini, the songs feature unpredictable, powerful bass and thrashing guitars. It doesn’t always quite gel, ‘The Rim’ is more of a challenge to get into, but “Fissures of Men” is always surprising and brave.
When everything falls into place though, the results are superb, as with the full-on rock-out distorted delight that is ‘Shaun Powell’. Elsewhere, there’s more Frankenstein-like craziness such as ‘D.T.T.B.O.W.T.B.’, which launches like later era Danzig before offering some more laid-back grooves, then morphing to a black metal wail.
“Fissures of Men” is a journey and then some: Devil Moon Risen have taken the obvious starting point and run off in a totally different direction (or three). Whether it’s noise rock or some as yet uncharted genre of music, the album is sometimes demanding and always unpredictable. If – or when – you’re ready, “Fissures of Men” could be just the education you need.
UK Subs have been around for a while. Their roots go right back to the early days of British punk rock, incorporating dozens of albums and nearly as many band members. They’ve released an album for every letter of the alphabet, A to Z, and have played all over the world. And guess what? Despite being a fan for years, I’ve never seen them live. Time to correct that mistake, with the Subs appearing just up the road from me in Wrexham.
The Rockin’ Chair used to be known to me as Central Station, and I’ve seen a fair few bands there (such as The Damned, twice, if I recall). This was my first visit to the venue in it’s new guise, though happily not much had changed.
Our fearless support was Birkenhead based The Crapsons, who dealt a reliably fun and furious selection of fast punk rock numbers. Most songs are brief and to the point, played well and enthusiastically, with a healthy dollop of tongue in cheek humour. Highlights included ‘Fuck Off’ and its sequel, ‘Fuck Off Again’, but the whole set was energetic and enjoyable.
Yours truly popped off to the bar, where I spotted legendary UK Subs vocalist/visionary Charlie Harper, who was merrily hanging about chatting to fans. I returned after The Crapsons set, picked up a copy of the newly re-issued “Flood of Lies” album, and asked Charlie to sign it. This he gladly did, as well posing for a selfie. Seems like nothing is too much for this true gentleman of punk, Charlie happily agreed to requests with a pleasant “No worries!” What a lovely bloke.
Unfortunately my selfie was not lovely. I’m a total novice at such things, and made the classic mistake of taking the shot from a low angle. Thus, my rock’n’roll claim to fame features a smiling Charlie, but is ruined by me looking like a huge necked gorilla.
The crowd in The Rockin’ Chair had built considerably, and when the UK Subs took to the stage, there was a roar of approval. Straight away the band sent forth a barrage of songs from their vast back catalogue. Sadly, however, the sound for the frist half dozen songs was diabolical. Alvin Gibbs’ bass was phenomenal, rumbling and gliding along, but Steve Straughan’s guitars were totally lost. Thankfully this seemed to improve from ‘Down on the Farm’ onwards, with the sound coming to life.
No problems with the drums, played expertly by Stefan Häublein. And of course, Charlie was superb: a benign punk rock general leading his faithful troops over the top, on a charge into a rock’n’roll no man’s land where we could all party together. ‘Warhead’ was rousingly brilliant, everyone singing along. ‘Stranglehold’ (the first Subs song I ever heard, fact fans!) was still a blast of fresh air, all these years later.
Returning for an encore, I remember ‘CID’ and ‘You Don’t Belong’ received by an audience who really didn’t want it all to end. UK Subs persevered through sound problems with power and professionalism, giving the loyal fans an unforgettable night. Personally, I was stoked to finally hear these songs live and be part of a UK Subs audience. Fingers crossed I’ll get to do it again. Thanks to all for making this happen, it’s amazing to see classic bands of this stature in the local area.
Here go with a tasty treat, the wonderfully named Saltpig with their self-titled debut album. And who are Saltpig? The band are a duo consisting of drummer Fabio Alessandrini (formerly of Annihilator) and Mitch Davis (formerly of everyone from Mark Lanegan and U2 to Damon Albarn, crazy!) on everything else. Together they have created this mysterious yet compelling piece of work, released by the ever-reliable Heavy Psych Sounds.
The musician’s previous experience is superficially surprising, as Saltpig’s album is a rutting beast comprised of doom, stoner, psych and occult rock parts in equal measure. Filthy, fuzzy riffs and manically clattering drums are what we get, and we get it good – right from the rolling, rollicking menace of ‘Satan’s War’ onwards.
Gutsy and powerful, not bloated, the next four tracks follow the opener in a similar unforgivingly retro style. Songs like ‘Demon’ and ‘Burning Water ‘ go unashamedly full throttle, proto metal with bouncy rhythms, aggression and melody.
‘When You Were Dead’ slows the pace slightly for a classic Sabbath gloom rocker. ‘Burn the Witch’ has a slinkier, groovier feel and ticks the obscure horror film dialogue box, too. No idea where that sample is taken from, but I feel I should…
Finally, this all leads up to a mega epic called ‘1950’, nigh on twenty-minutes of repetitive, fuzz drenched pummelling guitar and distorted vocals that builds slowly, has only subtle variation for the most part and threatens to drive the listener mad. That may sound like hell to some, but I bloody loved it. It’s a dark, tormenting, almost religious experience and strangely intriguing.
Saltpig’s first album is an enigma: heavy as hell, brutal, surprising, hypnotic and fascinating. I’ve slapped on an easily deserved score of 8.5, but this could go higher over time.
November 25 1991, Manchester G-MEX. That was the last (and first) time I saw The Cult perform live. They were my favourite band and being there to witness them in person was a hell of a thrill, I was barely 19 years old and I’d never been to a gig of that scale before. Years go by, and I’m finally going to see The Cult again, this time at the far more atmospheric Apollo, rather than the cavernous aircraft hanger of the old G-MEX.
Yes indeed, it had been a long time since I saw my old mates Billy and Ian up on a stage. A lot had happened during that time – for all of us – but the music was always there.
Our support act this evening, in a seemingly incongruous move, was Jonathan Hultén. Standing solo on stage, swathed in veils and enigmatic face paint, Hultén was not what many were expecting to open the show. His music was dark, ethereal folk, with acoustic guitar and haunting vocals. At first I was intrigued, as the music continued I became thoroughly engaged. Just a few days before Halloween, this Scandinavian folk horror and gothic bombast was entirely appropriate to open this event.
More surprises, even more pleasant, revealed themselves when The Cult took to the Apollo stage – accompanied by a sample of ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ from Apocalypse Now (a genius move in itself). Launching into an earth-shaking ‘In The Clouds’, followed by ‘Rise’, from the insanely underrated “Beyond Good and Evil” album, this was not what I was expecting at all. Both songs are later entries in the band’s cannon, and sit gloriously at the heavier end of their repertoire. I adore both tracks – this was going to be interesting.
“Electric” album cut ‘Wildflower’ was next. One of my favourite Cult songs, I could’ve left at that point and been satisfied. More hard hitting classics followed with the swagger of ‘Star’ and Charlie Jones’s thudding bass introducing ‘The Witch’. New track ‘Mirror’ slots in seamlessly, then we get another mighty song from “Beyond Good and Evil”, ‘War (The Process’). All well known songs to Cult freaks like me, but not obvious choices by any means.
Billed as “The Cult 8424” – a 40 year anniversary tour – I’d expected a Greatest Hits set, culled mainly from the bands mid 80’s days. Early non-album single ‘Resurrection Joe’ was therefore no surprise, otherwise, this set spanned eras and albums confidently. Next was an acoustic ‘Edie (Ciao Baby)’ – I’ve always preferred this song in stripped down form to the “Sonic Temple” production.
‘Sweet Soul Sister’ was my chance for a quick “comfort break” – I’ve never been a huge fan. Great riff, overblown chorus! Another surprise followed, with ‘Lucifer’ from the “Choice of Weapon” record. The huge, epic riff of this song has made it one of my favourites, so a real bonus to hear live. John Tempesta on drums really powered all these songs home flawlessly, with both groove and power.
The latter part of the set delivered all the big crowd pleasers; an anthemic ‘Firewoman’, a truly captivating ‘Rain’ (surely one of the greatest rock riffs of the era), the tribal beauty of ‘Spiritwalker’. Billy Duffy, playing to a home town crowd, performed guitar magic throughout: from gutsy, gritty riffs to mesmerising yet direct, never fancy melodies. Lightning bolt energy from Ian Astbury galvanised the audience, as he revelled in the role of shamanic leader. And with a final roar through ‘Love Removal Machine’, it’s over.
Except it isn’t! Of course not, we all know The Cult will be back for an encore. But what will it be? Any more surprises?
‘Brother Wolf, Sister Moon’ is a classic track from the wonderful “Love” album, but wasn’t a single and so a very welcome reward. Finally, of course, the legendary ‘She Sells Sanctuary’ rings out and unites the crowd in a euphoric shared moment – Astbury’s air raid siren vocals leading the throng. I swear that man doesn’t need a microphone.
My return visit to The Cult’s sonic temple took a few years longer than anticipated. It was great to see them on such fine form, revelling in the classics and confident in their position as genuine, treasured heroes. What really made the gig for me though, was the sheer joy of hearing a very generous helping of less obvious, but very beloved tracks that I wasn’t expecting. No ‘Lil’ Devil’, but the rest of the set made up for it. I’ll return sooner next time.
PS: we need “Beyond Good and Evil” re-releasing on vinyl, please lads!
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