January 10, 2000 CitySearch Music  
by Lissa Townsend Rodgers, D.X. Barton and Curtis Waterbury
 
Immolation
"Failures for Gods"

Kittie
"Spit"

Mike Ness
"Under the Influences"

Bows
"Blush"

 

past reviews

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Immolation Immolation
"Failures for Gods"

(Metal Blade)

Y’know, there may be no band more disappointed that nothing biblical went down at New Year’s than Immolation. I can just imagine them sitting at home with toes and fingers crossed, black candles blazing, eyes glued to CNN, hoping that the Antichrist would indeed arise from the sulfurous depths of Heck to do battle with The Man Upstairs. An unfortunate turn of events, or lack thereof, because this metal outfit from Yonkers has created the perfect soundtrack for Armageddon in "Failures for Gods," their fourth aural assault on all things holy.

There are certain genres of music, like hardcore, ska and death metal, that perpetuate themselves indefinitely by adhering to a strict orthodoxy of form. Bands like Immolation will most likely never be huge—I say "most likely" because I’m hedging my bets so I can get a good job in the carrion factory if Satan ever does show up—and it really doesn’t matter what rock critics or anybody else thinks about them. They’ll just keep on keepin’ on, as they have for quite some time, apparently, with their barely-tonal machine-gun metal assault, sung-from-the-bottom-of-the-toilet-bowl vocals and sacrilegious lyrics. Dig this, from "Stench of High Heaven": "Father in Heaven, a desolate kingdom/His paradise, his promise, a faded flame extinguished by the dark"—adored by their fans, scoffed at and misunderstood by the rest of us.

But I’ve listened to enough metal in my day to feel some affinity for this album, though I like mine a little more tuneful and a little less Satanic. The guitar work is pretty good in most parts, and some songs, like "Your Angel Died" and "God Made Filth" are kinda funny. I’ll leave it to social scientists to locate what part of the human psyche this kind of thing comes from, but I will say this: Live in the suburbs long enough, and the dullness will lead you to at least consider devil worship, if for no other reason than change of pace. —D.X. Barton

Kittie
"Spit"
(Artemis)

Kittie Finally. One band that offers an antidote to two of the things that currently annoy me most about popular music. You know what I mean: the endless parade of teenage ex-Mouseketeer nymphets churning out tunes that make the Spice Girls sound like P.J. Harvey, and the equally limitless run of goofy, meat-headed rap-metal bands spewing about "nookie," "balls in your mouth" and other gang rape-inducing sentiments. Kittie, however, is a bunch of 16-18-year-old girls who have no Svengali and no implants, and play pretty damn weighty heavy metal.

You couldn't call "Spit" brilliant or innovative, but it's got balls and you can bang your head to it—and some of the tunes will actually stay in your skull afterward. The band's power essentially stems from Morgan Lander's vocals, which alternate between a clear, girlish voice and a truly horrifying, from-the-gut roar that would be impressive coming out of any female, but is truly unnerving from one who's still in high school. Likewise, Tanya Candler's bass propels their sound forward with a solid, bludgeoning bottom.

On "Raven," her ominous riffing broken by throat-ripping shrieks of "Get the fuck away from me! Stay the fuck away from me!" sounds more like the inside of a teen psychopath's head than anything I've heard in quite some time. "Do You Think I'm a Whore" reverses the usual soft verse/loud chorus trope with gravely screams and grinding guitars that give way to softer, more expansive instrumentation and cooing vocals that would almost be a come-on if it weren't for what brackets them. "Brackish" is Kittie's foray into industrio-techno-metal (and the single, surprise, surprise) with loops and beats; the mix works well, especially the abusively loud 'n' fast chorus that should make for some really, really great mosh pits.

Still, "Spit" has its problems: "Choke" features a spoken interlude that I can't figure out (is she reciting some kind of lame poem? rapping without flow?); and "Immortal" opens with a rather pointless spooky synth interlude that screams "bad goth! bad goth!" "Spit" does tend to get a bit repetitive in parts but, overall, it kicks ass. And, really, what more do you want? —Lissa Townsend Rodgers

Mike Ness
"Under the Influences"
(Time Bomb)

Mike Ness "If you don't have roots, you don't have shit," says Mike Ness, and he proves his point on "Under the Influences,” an album of covers of songs that have affected how he composes, sings and lives. Those musical inspirations include both the well-known and the obscure, which gives the disc enough variety to keep it interesting.

Ness offers up fiddle-filled, tears-in-your-beer versions of "Let the Jukebox Keep Playing" and "Six More Miles.” On the up-tempo end, "All I Can Do Is Cry" and "Gamblin' Man" zip along with typical rockabilly snare-snapping. He pounds out "I Fought the Law" and tears through a spirited “Funnel of Love.” However, you won't find Ness sounding any more seductive than on the slow, bluesy “One More Time,” pleading "come back baby, let's try it over, one more time" with a quiet, burning intensity underlined by a warm tenor saxophone. The disc closes with a great honkytonk version of Ness’ own "Ball and Chain," complete with banjo and pedal steel, proving he can sing about life's troubles with the same emotion and in the same plainly-stated fashion as his heroes. —Curtis Waterbury

Bows
"Blush"
(Too Pure)

Bows Another addition to the canon of Brit trip 'n' drum n' hop 'n' bass (or whatever they call it now). "Blush" is one of the more enigmatic albums I've heard lately, probably because of the way parts of tracks (if not entire sections) seem to come from underwater or far away—an effect that sometimes compels the ear, sometimes just leaves you open to distraction.

"Troy Polenta's Big Break" is a pulsating, crooning number complete with applause, like a concert heard from outside the stage door. '"King Deluxe" opens with barely-heard vocals behind somewhere-down-the-street beats which bloom into string glissandos that ebb and flow like an ocean at night, as the previously semi-audible sounds clarify into an almost breathtakingly graceful whole. The strings on "Britannica" drive like a chase scene over jungle beats, but the drowsy female vocals subdue the edge. "Blush" is like luxuriating in a lovely warm bathtub, relaxed into blissful semi-consciousness—except for those moments when the water gets a little tepid. —Lissa Townsend Rodgers


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