Album of the year. Last year.

23 Feb 2021 – I wrote this review at actual, proper album-of-the-year-review kind of time, at the end of December 2020, and due to the shambolic nature in which this blog is kept, despite my promises to the contrary, it has only just found its way up here. So yeah, hopefully this is late enough that it in fact now evokes warm fuzzy feelings of nostalgia for the incomparable delight of 2020.

Well, the bizarre mess that was 2020 did at least bring a slew of fantastic new albums. There was, of course, Beau Bowen’s debut ‘The Great Anticlimax’, covered elsewhere on this site, as well as a great new release from Mike Vennart, an all-time musical hero of mine, entitled ‘In the Dead, Dead Wood’. Another few favourites have been VUKOVI’s sophomore effort ‘Fall Better’, Rina Sawayama’s superb debut, and the mind-boggling ‘Eleventh Hour’ from British prog-metal outfit Novena.

Album of the year though, is a surprisingly easy choice. One new release, more than any other, has both captured the spirit of this dark, disconcerting and gloomy year and also helped me through some of its lower moments. It’s been my most-played album of the year by some distance, and I wouldn’t hesitate to say it’s earned a place among my favourite albums from any year in my living memory. That album is ‘I Let it in and It Took Everything’, the stunning second album from Liverpool-based metal band Loathe, which was released on the 7th of February.

This has been a year in which I’ve rediscovered a love for low-tuned, growly metal music, which in recent years had taken something of a back seat as I explored new styles. I’ve come back to find that tunings have crept lower and lower, and breakdowns have become more punishing, but that creating an atmosphere is often just as important as doling out sonic violence. Loathe do this exceptionally well – the album is a masterpiece of light and shade, with a great many haunting Blade Runner-esque ambient passages punctuating the drop-tuned brutality. But those heavy sections have a compelling atmospheric nature to them as well – their most intense moments have a sound which is uniquely baleful and malevolent. Kadeem France’s growled vocals are superbly vicious and the album is laced with industrial-inspired textures which only add to the sense of foreboding.

The other main sonic component of this album is a far more melodic approach, with some wonderful soaring choruses that invoke Deftones to no small degree – a band whom Loathe cite as one of their stronger influences. This melodicism comes to the fore in lead-off single ‘Two-Way Mirror’, as well as in my favourite track from the album, ‘Is It Really You?’, which is one of the most beautifully melancholic pieces of music I’ve ever heard from a modern metal band. Loathe have a knack for writing rich and sweeping chord progressions, and the orchestration of the guitar and synth parts illustrates them perfectly. Far from being the ‘filler’ such moments might be in the hands of other bands, the aforementioned ambient sections stand up as pieces of music in their own right, and are immensely evocative. There isn’t any filler at all here, really – I’ve found this album to be a fantastic experience to sit through from start to finish, taking everything in as a whole. That isn’t always the case with metal bands.

If, however, you like your metal to come in the form of sheer blunt-force trauma, there is plenty to satisfy you here as well. The guitar sound is nothing short of a malign entity, sometimes taking the form of a thick and ominous cloud of shoegaze-esque noise, sometimes a focused and direct assault using some of the lowest notes you may ever have heard a guitar playing before. It gets quite technical in places, but such is its atmosphere that you don’t really notice that unless you pay specific attention to the parts. It certainly isn’t an album that beats you over the head with chops – there are no solos, and no points at all in which you feel anyone’s showing off for the sake of it. 

The band have become somewhat known for contributing to a huge increase in demand (and second-hand prices) for the now-discontinued Squier baritone Jazzmaster used by both guitarists, Erik Bickerstaffe (who also serves as co-lead vocalist) and Connor Sweeney. The tuning? Well, there are a few but (if I remember correctly) all based around the same combination of intervals. It appears the main one they gravitate to is E A E A D F#. And that low E is indeed a bass-register note, for those uninitiated to modern metal and its penchant for whale-bothering low notes. Some tracks, such as the aforementioned ‘Is It Really You?’ move this whole tuning up four semitones, so the lowest note is Ab. On some occasions, however, such as the whirlwind of sonic violence that is ‘Gored’, that E-based tuning is dragged down four semitones so the lowest note is C. That’s right – one fret away from the bottom of a five-string bass, but on guitars. It’s low. And it sounds killer.

(If you’re wondering what bassist Feisal el-Khazragi does when his bandmates are encroaching on his register like this, the answer is NOT going down an octave himself – the trick, it seems, with many bands who tune this low, is to have the guitars and bass at the same pitch but using the instruments’ differing tonal characteristics to fill out the different frequencies.)

This album is the sound of 2020 for me. I’m aware that this sounds like damning with faint praise after the spectacularly wank year we’ve suffered, but I don’t mean it in that way. It’s more to say that this album has, for me, captured the low moments uniquely and spoken to me during those, but its sheer accomplishment and brilliance has also hugely enhanced the times when I’ve listened to it in a better frame of mind. In other words, it’s been an important album and one which I’m certain will stand the test of time as a high point for the current wave of metal bands.

The other side effect of this album review being posted so late is that Loathe, whose productivity puts mine to shame, have in fact released another whole album. ‘The Things They Believe’ is out now.

We Will Praise Him: Remembering Tim Smith, 1961-2020

The death of Cardiacs frontman Tim Smith, a couple of days ago, came as a real shock and I’m still trying to find a way of putting the words together.

I’ve read some beautiful words about Tim in the last few days, many from those who actually knew him, and although I feel I have no hope of adding anything genuinely new, I know that I should at least try – because Tim is one of my greatest musical heroes. 

An Iceman as well. A man of exquisite taste.

I’m listening to the 1989 Cardiacs album On Land and In the Sea as I type this, perhaps in the hope that this obituary piece might turn into a magical stream of bizarre compositional genius in the manner Tim might have created in musical notes. But I know that won’t be happening – because Tim was, unquestionably, utterly unique. No-one else on earth writes like he did, and we will never see his like again. Flashes of his influence can be seen far and wide, but I doubt even the most fervently Cardiacs-inspired musicians would ever actually profess to be “like Cardiacs” – acknowledging their influence is one thing, but it seems a sort of unspoken rule that no-one is truly “like Cardiacs” and to those of us who love their music, to suggest otherwise is sacrilegious.

Tim Smith was a musical mind that I find almost impossible to make sense of. I remember my first exposure to the masterpiece that is 1996’s double Cardiacs album Sing to God, and it became my favourite album pretty well instantly. I can’t see that it will ever be replaced. As I listened, I was struck by the incredible breadth and expansiveness of the compositional technique and the sense that, stylistically, it was totally unclassifiable and absolutely nothing was off the table – and, more than anything, the way it was often so incredibly complex and intense but never, at any point, seemed to be reading from the same playbook as any of the other complex and intense music I knew.

When we think of highly elaborate rock music, the typical image is perhaps prog-rock. Long-form compositions, often very ‘schooled’ musicianship and, even speaking as quite a prog fan, it can seem a bit po-faced – and when not done well, it leans into being uncomfortably pretentious. Cardiacs are the absolute opposite of all that. For a start, Smith’s lyrics are not of this earth – particularly in the later stages of his active career, when they were often cut together from various disparate sources, absurdist to the core and very intentionally disjointed. Usually cloaked in ambiguity, the words were intriguing to many – but were also frequently derided as outright nonsensical. And as for the notes themselves… Sing to God is best described as a vast journey through all that is sublime, and ridiculous, in music. There’s beautiful simplicity to be found in places, but then other parts are head-spinningly, mind-bogglingly difficult, bizarre and (here’s that word again) absurd. All of the above is delivered with a sense of gleeful abandon and no pretension whatsoever. Tim Smith was the opposite of pretentious. Everyone who knew him says that, personality-wise, his music was just an extension of him. It’s absolutely authentic.

As far as I know, Tim wasn’t a ‘schooled’ musician. He wrote his compositions out in notation, but was self-taught in doing so. He once said “I had no idea; the tunes just happened, they just come out of my stupid head.” People have since analysed some of the music and found various compositional traits which pop up time and again in his writing, many of which are very interesting and have seen him compared to leftfield 20th century classical composers such as Olivier Messaien. The staple Cardiacs diet of tonally ambiguous, faintly unsettling but unfailingly melodic chord progressions, frequent use of hemiola, rhythmic displacement and odd time signatures, notable affinity for the Lydian mode and the whole-tone scale, as well as the masterly orchestration and production, lends the music an otherworldliness that makes it incredibly distinctive – some common threads which tie together the band’s otherwise freakishly diverse, multi-faceted sound. And while he might have been happy that people cared enough to work that out, I suspect Tim probably wouldn’t have given much of a toss about any of it. He was a virtuosic composer (without ever consciously acknowledging it) but it seems as though he just wrote the way that he wrote. That ranged from almost nursery rhyme simplicity, through blissfully strange melodic pop, to the kind of thing that a troupe of deranged Satanic clowns would have written in a conscious effort to be as difficult as possible.

That’s not even to speak of the Sing to God track ‘Dirty Boy’, often seen as the most astonishing piece of music Cardiacs ever released… and probably the high water mark of all recorded music, for me at least. And avowed Cardiacs superfan Mike Vennart of Oceansize agrees:

“This is a prime example of just how powerful music itself can actually be. I think the first 10 or 20 times I heard it, I couldn’t grasp the pattern or the melody or the form anywhere, but when it clicked, oh my God. Dirty Boy is my most favourite song of all time. It is all at once grandiose, relentless, loud, beautiful, sensitive and ridiculous. The use of the signature Cardiacs trick of never-ending key changes has never been more perfectly utilised than here. The mid section employs a chord sequence that, somehow, manages to repeat itself whilst moving steadily upwards in key with each rotation. The tension and drama this creates is absolutely agonising… When you get to the end of this song, ask yourself what could have been done to make it any more spectacular. Where do you go from this? It’s the last fucking word… it is truly the sound of the world ending.”

[from loudersound.com, 2015]

But Cardiacs were never taken to by the media, or indeed by much of the public, throughout the 80s and 90s when they were releasing albums on a semi-regular basis. They tend to receive a polarised reaction, and are often quite virulently disliked. The only contemporary review of Sing to God upon its release awarded it a churlish 0/10. But those who love them REALLY love them, and it’s a broad church that includes the likes of Blur, Radiohead, Faith No More and the Wildhearts. Their influence has stretched further and wider than many realise – but as discussed earlier, no matter what, there will never be another Cardiacs. Tim is irreplaceable. I’m just thankful that we have so much of his music to hold onto.

It was common knowledge that Tim was suffering ill health – a heart attack in 2008 left him with rare neurological condition dystonia, which occurs when oxygen is cut off from the brain and leads to, amongst other things, frequent and painful muscle spasms. It also robbed Tim, not of his mental acuity but, sadly, of his ability to speak and to play and create music in the way he was used to. There was hope, however, that his condition might improve enough for him to be able to return home and perhaps oversee the completion of the unfinished Cardiacs album LSD as he had wanted to. Despite his great and numerous difficulties, there had been some tentative improvement reported in his condition in recent years. Certainly, there seemed to be no indication that he was critically ill, but it seems that another heart attack took him, quickly and quietly, while he was asleep. He had recently turned 59.

Irreplaceable.

Tim’s impossibly wonderful, but inarguably bizarre music, and his equally bizarre, brutal onstage persona have formed his public perception, but it also seems that everyone who was closer to him remembers him as an unfailingly supportive, kind soul – a man who always said that his favourite music was his friends’ music. The world has undoubtedly suffered a huge loss, but thankfully there is no shortage of love for Tim any more, his music finally having begun to receive the attention it deserves in more recent years. There’s no doubt that he will endure.

I hope this has been a decent enough read, but I know that really, no words I can say will quite do justice to Tim Smith and his legacy. I suppose it’d be best to leave this with another wonderful piece of music from the man himself. This is another highlight of Sing to God for me.

Rest in peace, Tim.

Album review: Beau Bowen – ‘The Great Anticlimax’

Well, this is quite an entrance from Beau Bowen – but that wasn’t a surprise to me. He first came to my particular notice when I caught him as Paul Gilbert’s support act in September last year. He absolutely floored me – walked out in a red sequinned jumpsuit, with a battered Burgundy Mist Strat, and proceeded to burn through a set of planet-sized riffs, stunning melodies and guitar solos that left my jaw dropped long after he’d left the stage. He could have passed for a time-travelling 70s glam rock icon – but with the addition of guitar chops that could go toe-to-toe with some of the best modern rock players.

Since then, I’ve been keenly anticipating his debut album, and The Great Anticlimax has proven to be anything but an accurate name. To borrow a well-worn cliche, there are in fact more eureka moments on this single album than in many bands’ entire discographies. The title track opens proceedings, in a manner that befits Bowen’s captivating stage presence. A grandiose, near six-minute monster which sets the tone for everything that is to follow – imagine something like Elton John using his powers for evil. The huge wall of sound which forms the middle section of this track is the defining moment on the entire album for me. Said middle section follows the first of this album’s quotient of truly astonishing guitar solos – wait for the mad Yngwie-esque run at the end…

Image is the property of Beau Bowen and other rights holders.

The rest of the album’s run time is a blur of magnificent noise – we hear piano-tinged classical influence, stomping Led Zeppelin influence, modern, fuzz-drenched heavy rock in spades too, and all overlaid with glittering glam-rock attitude. Fans of Queen and Queens of the Stone Age alike will all be able to find much to enjoy here. 

Bowen’s voice is arresting – he has shades of Bowie, shades of the aforementioned Elton John, perhaps a touch of peak-era Ozzy Osbourne. His vocal delivery complements the tone of the music absolutely perfectly, and really adds to the album’s supercharged 70s rock credentials. As for his guitar work – well, suffice to say this is a player you need to be paying attention to. He quotes Jeff Beck as a major influence, and that comes as no surprise when you listen to his delivery – there is the same expressiveness, the same elegant melodicism. There is also the same level of gleeful assault on the venerable Strat vibrato arm, although Bowen’s use of it often seems far more aggressive – in his hands, it is a device used to make squalling, psychedelic, apocalyptic noise as much as it is a tool for nuanced expression. Whether achieved with the bar or with his fingers, his vibrato is particularly stunning, not to mention distinctive in sound. And let’s not beat about the bush – he can shred like an absolute demon as well. The focus is very often on Bowen’s playing, there are lots of solos and all of them are face-melters. He is one of my favourite guitarists to appear in recent times.

The album is not very long – only about half an hour, with seven full-length tracks and two minute-long intervals around the middle of the run time, which are a cool inclusion and genuinely add to the swirling psychedelia that runs as a common thread through these songs. The jumps between quiet, low-key atmospherics and wailing wall of sound, then back again, sometimes happen so suddenly as to be disconcerting, though the overall effect is still one of a very carefully put-together collection of complex, multi-layered songs. The chord progressions and lyrics alike are always skilfully written, and the orchestration of the various parts is superb. A particularly good example of this is the second-to-last track, ‘Universe in Reverse’, the opening strains of which are achingly beautiful in both their composition and their arrangement. But then we drop into a swaggering, heavy riff and bridge section which skilfully outlines the tense, ominous chord progression. And to cap it all, we are treated to a full two minutes of screaming guitar solo – this one is particularly brilliant and may well be the best one on the album.

It is tough to find fault with this album, it really is. It transports the listener to an alternate universe in which it is still 1973 – save for the fact that a mid-80s Yngwie Malmsteen would be proud of some of the classically-tinged shred wizardry on display in the solos. For me, as a man who enjoys beautifully-written, retro-flavoured rock music, and also as someone who is powerless to resist a big ol’ slab of brilliantly executed lead guitar, this album really hits the spot. Watch out for Beau Bowen – my guess is that we’re going to be seeing his face a lot more.

Players You Should Know 2: Steve Lynch

I love hair metal – I often find myself wishing I could’ve been born thirty years earlier, in Los Angeles, so I might have been able to join a band and make a huge amount of money from shredding, wearing tight clothes and having a lot of hair. But there would have been a notable downside of being involved in that scene – the cold, gut-wrenching dread of knowing that one day, my band might end up sharing a bill with Autograph, and I would therefore leave myself vulnerable to being totally upstaged by their astonishing guitarist, Steve Lynch.

Photo credit – last.fm

Steve Lynch doesn’t seem to get the attention that many of his contemporaries do, possibly because Autograph never quite had the success of Motley Crue, Poison, Ratt and so on. That’s despite having a bunch of good tunes too. But if you want to hear a guitarist who could shred with precious few equals on the Sunset Strip, with not a single duff solo in his entire back catalogue, here’s your man. Oh, and he’s no relation to George, if you were wondering. Everyone assumes I mean George Lynch when I’m talking about Steve. I’m sick of people “correcting” me like some human equivalent of Google’s smug “did you mean…?” function. SHUT UP! WATCH STEVE!

Really, you need to watch him as much as you need to listen to him. I was introduced to his playing, unexpectedly, by hearing Autograph’s biggest hit ‘Turn Up the Radio’ on Grand Theft Auto: Vice City, and being so mesmerised by the solo that I was actually compelled to stop the pixellated Lamborghini Countach clone that I’d stolen – and put on hold my requirement to go and extort money from a strip club owner, or something.

I heard a whole string of classically-inspired tapped arpeggios, the sort of post-Van Halen rock guitar idea that was everywhere in the mid-80s, but somehow a cut above. Further research led me to YouTube, whereupon I found a whole load of clips of Lynch, hairsprayed to the nines, demonstrating his own solos on his 80s instructional video The Two-Handed Guitarist. This title is no exaggeration, as his soloing makes more inventive use of both hands than just about anyone else who was recording at the time. 

Forget your EVH-spec arpeggios with a single right-hand finger. Lynch’s solos almost always involve all eight fingers somewhere – whether crossing strings to create devilishly complex arpeggiated sequences which sound more like keyboard parts than guitar, or throwing in a load of picking-hand fingers across one string in a manner that is still rarely matched to this day. And of course, many of the other common 80s tricks are in there – take a drink every time you hear a dive bomb on a harmonic…

There are also lots of fantastic, not to mention challenging, picking-based ideas throughout his lead playing – the solo from Autograph’s ‘Crazy World’ being a notable example. Lynch certainly has a keen melodic ear but, perhaps unsurprisingly, his solos are hard to get right – his licks are often quite left-field in terms of the positioning required to play them, and that’s before even considering his astonishing tapping technique. Naturally, on the second Autograph album, That’s the Stuff, Lynch gets a minute-long unaccompanied solo spot, ‘Hammerhead’, which makes Eddie Van Halen’s ‘Eruption’ sound about as technically challenging as ‘Seven Nation Army’.

Autograph reformed and brought a new album out not long ago, but Lynch had already been keeping himself busy through the post-hair metal days with numerous other bands and solo projects, and now also devotes a large amount of time to teaching. He’s used various guitars over the years, although the one I associate with him is the awesome custom-painted Jackson used in The Two-Handed Guitarist video. I once saw something purporting to be one of his old guitars for sale online, a V-shaped Carvin with his usual choice of Kahler vibrato, and even the same “EKG” graphic (which is on most or all of his old guitars, and looks inarguably badass). I wish I’d bought it somehow. I’m quite sure it would have made me sound and play just like him…

Where to start:

Autograph – ‘Turn Up the Radio’ from Sign In Please (1984)

Autograph – ‘That’s the Stuff’ from That’s the Stuff (1985) – plus the video of Steve playing it!

Autograph – ‘Crazy World’ from That’s the Stuff (1985) – there’s a playthrough of this too.

Autograph – ‘Loud and Clear’ from Loud and Clear (1987) – and this!

Autograph – ‘She Never Looked That Good For Me’ from Loud and Clear (1987)

Top 5: ‘70s rock guitar solos

Don’t worry, it’s not another of those copy-and-paste lists of the exact same tracks you’ve seen a million times before. Stairway to Heaven, Hotel California, Eruption, Comfortably Numb and Bohemian Rhapsody are all banned. Because we can do better.

So, in no particular order:

Manfred Mann’s Earth Band – ‘California’, from Watch (1978)

This utterly jaw-dropping solo from Dave Flett comes in at 1:50. When was the last time you heard a guitar scream like that? 

UFO – ‘Only You Can Rock Me’, from Obsession (1978)

A long-time favourite of mine at 2:10, this is Michael Schenker at his most beautifully melodic. Not a note out of place, and the fact it was most likely delivered on a white Flying V only makes it cooler.

Patto – ‘See You at the Dance Tonight’ from Hold Your Fire (1971)

Ollie Halsall, ripping shit up in a genuinely unprecedented manner, from 1:40. He’s such an interesting and little-discussed player, there’ll be a whole article devoted to him on here at some point. For now, have your jaw dropped by this:

Queen – ‘Somebody to Love’, from A Day at the Races (1976)

Well, there had to be some Brian May on here somewhere – this, two minutes in, is undoubtedly some of his finest work. Again, never a note out of place and just perfectly phrased.

Meat Loaf – ‘Bat Out of Hell’, from Bat Out of Hell (1976)

Todd Rundgren did this bloody thing in one take. It’s about six minutes into the original track but I think it’s best if you watch Meat Loaf and Jim Steinman’s recollections of how he did it. It’s absolutely staggering, and yet another reason to love Todd Rundgren.

Honourable mentions – there are so many I wish I could fit in, even beyond these extra five:

Eddie Money – ‘Two Tickets to Paradise’, played by Jimmy Lyon (1977)
Boston – ‘Foreplay/Long Time’, played by Barry Goodreau (1976)
Mahogany Rush – ‘Tryin’ Anyway’, played by Frank Marino (1975)
Thin Lizzy – ‘Waiting For an Alibi’, played by Gary Moore and Scott Gorham (1978)
Toto – ‘Hold the Line’, played by Steve Lukather (1978)

Players You Should Know 1: Ian Thornley

Ian Thornley is amazing. Best known as the frontman, primary songwriter and lead guitarist for the Canadian/American rock band Big Wreck, he has been releasing material since the late 90s and if you’re into modern rock guitar, he’s someone you just NEED to be paying attention to.

Photo credit: Jim Dunlop USA

A friend introduced me to Big Wreck’s music a couple of years ago – the track “Ladylike”, from their 2001 album The Pleasure and the Greed was the first I heard. It had a really awesome main riff which cycled round insistently, driving everything along, and I was impressed by Ian’s voice too, but thought I had the measure of it after a minute or two – a moderately handy rock guitarist with a good set of lungs on him. But then… a blazing solo, after the second chorus. Far from your standard late-90s post grunge fare – I wasn’t expecting it at all, and I was instantly very curious to hear more from this band, and see if that solo was a fluke…

Reader, it was not.

I delved into Big Wreck at full speed – looking back to their first album, which contains two of their biggest hits, but actually finding more of interest in their recent material. Their 2012 comeback album Albatross is heavy on killer guitar parts, but the one that took me most by surprise, to the point of laughing out loud in sheer incredulity, is the solo in “A Million Days”, in which Thornley doesn’t so much turn up the heat as just let a firework off, indoors. He channels Steve Morse, reeling off blazing-fast chromatic runs and wide, dramatic-sounding bends, and I was stunned. The rest of the album contains yet more of note, and the follow-up Ghosts is even better, if anything – the title track on that album contains a faintly “SRV on Let’s Dance” solo which has to be heard to be believed. Helps, of course, that the rest of the band are killer – as is the songwriting.

Thornley’s playing is quite fusion-inflected, but also incorporates a large amount of classic rock and blues influence, and he can shred with the very best too – I can confirm this after spending a very tiring and physically-taxing couple of days working out his ridiculous lead break at the close of “I Digress”. But here’s the kicker – that astonishing lead playing is just one facet of his musicality. He’s a mean slide player too, for example. He has a whole bunch of tasty riffs and rhythm parts to his name, and is given to working with a multitude of dropped, baritone or even open tunings – the aforementioned “Ladylike” is in open Db minor, for example. And then there’s his voice… if you like Chris Cornell, or perhaps Richie Kotzen, then Thornley’s voice will appeal – particularly in the early days of Big Wreck, Soundgarden comparisons were made frequently. 

As for his guitar tone… well, it’s fantastic. One of my favourite examples is the enormous, thick and room-filling rhythm sound from new track “Voices”, on which the guitars are tuned all the way down to a low Ab – to considerable effect. Thornley has used a wide array of different gear over his career so far, but most recently he’s been using Suhr guitars and amps.

Recent albums, including their very latest, the newly released … but for the sun, have shown no let-up in Thornley’s astonishing guitar and vocal prowess, and he is undoubtedly a player who should be on any rock guitarist’s radar.

Where to start:

Big Wreck – “Ghosts” from Ghosts (2014)

Big Wreck – “Albatross” from Albatross (2012)

Big Wreck – “I Digress” from Ghosts (2014)

Big Wreck – “War Baby” from Ghosts (2014)

Big Wreck – “Voices” from … but for the sun (2019)