Reviews

The southern-fried punk with a twist and turn and humor served in spades.

With an amp on the cover and the title like this, the smile is guaranteed, but the SPINAL TAP allusion is played up by the number of tracks on this Atlanta trio's offer. But who counts when the stone's hurled at the listener with "WTF" - sung not as an acronym when it comes to refrain - and the ball rolls with punky attitude and pop nous on the most of the cuts. Geoff Adams' axe chops the sound thick, while in Wayne Vokovich, whose deep bass swings the contagious "Saints" and the metallic "Champagne Suicide", the band have a Strummer avatar. But if there's a shade of retro in places, "Run Right Back" ropes in the current alternative radio format, while the soulful tune would make "Name" a hit on the waves, and "FMPs" links the jive to the opener. The pump works overtime here, and we got no issues with that.

****3/4

A blast from the past: 25 years on, a lost gem of British hard rock finally releases its thunder to the world.

Mid-'80s weren't the best of times for the U.K. heavy rockers who missed NWOBHM and lacked locks-and-frocks of their younger American counterparts, but for this quintet it was even worse. Their debut, 1984's "Taken By Storm", was a nice slab of molten riffs and brought the band a US deal, but when it came to the second album guitarist Shaun Kirkpatrick was the sole original member in the new line-up who, with Max Norman at the console, delivered this. Or almost delivered because their label went bankrupt, and the tapes got shelved until now that the terminal illness of bassist Lee Reddings prompted Kirkpatrick to finish the job, release "Carried By The Storm" and go on tour with the rest of his squad. And it was worth the wait.

A veterans' label's debut tries to turn their old glories into contemporary success story.

A chill of the wilderness: a grand concept expanse with a freezing aural wind. Not for the faint of heart.

A rough-cut blues collection from the master of the tone who goes beyond the texture this time.

Joe Becker knows his way around six strings too well to deliver every time he hits the "Record" button, and here he cuts straight to the matter, as "(You Were) Never The One" engages from the get-go, once the ballad reveals its boogie core in the piano run. It doesn't matter, then, that the overall sound is a little bit raw, like demo, and why not if the genre dictates feel over smoothness, laid out here in solos?

Irony abounds and pops up even in "Sweet Old Fashioned Blues", that features Joe's namesake Jason Becker's technologically enhanced parts (Jason's lost the ability to play due to his illness) and in the two-part heavy overdrive of "Blues For Drinkin'". Yet there's enough more reflective moments, like in the gilded "Little Brother" or "Thoughts" where unison guitars are stacked into a little orchestra, but for "Martin's Old Uke" Joe strips all the embellishments in favor of strumming his acoustic to deliver the same amount of emotions. Short yet to the point.

***1/2

Warts and all: the raw 'n' dirty stew from the British master of the genre.

A triangle is played out to make a scientific peak for purveyors of the most mathematics-rooted art rock of all.

When it comes to architecture, triangle is the most durable form, so its no wonder that the third post-reunion album from the very geometry-minded prog ensembles, recorded as a trio, is strong. Released on March, 14, which suggests a Pi number, it packs the VDGG's inherent angularity in a circular shape, flowing in and oozing out with the anthemic swell of the band's mid-'70s: "Your Time Starts Now" looms large on Hugh Banton's organ over which Peter Hammill paints a solemn, if gloomy, paean to the temporal run, whereas "All Over The Place" presents a theatrical drama, playful and deep at the same time, complete with Brechtian chorus and spine-tingling synthesizers coda.

But the brain lemmings are never far away from the contemporary configuration of the old guns, and "5533" sees the digital game expressed verbally, while the nervy "Highly Strung" rages in the quirky '80s way in the interplay between Hammill's guitar and Guy Evans' drums. The outstanding tracks are "Mr. Sands" and "Bunsho" which meld elements from all the VDGG's eras into this day's artefact to please old fans and embrace new ones, but the retro light of "Snake Oil" has a special charm to it, too, with piano throwing golden splinters for the guitar to riff, and then a sharp riff forms the base of "Embarrassing Kid" where the harmonies are so subtle they're hard to notice. Yet it's equally difficult not to see the structural beauty in the album's equation.

****

One trip in the mental, elemental and fundamental too far, or grooves that melt one's brain.

An album that almost didn't happen, but there's no such thing for the former HAWKWIND axeman.

A BADFINGER bassist makes good vibes in a good company with no disrespect to the legendary name.

American Mark Healey has been plucking four strings for the great British band since 1986, stepping in five years after BADFINGER had released their last - to this day - album, so there's no surprise his creative juices were flowing. Yet touring, production work and writing for films kept the bassist well-occupied for a long time, until now when, with the help of his colleagues, including the parent group's sole original member, Joey Molland, he delivers this wonderful platter. No pretention in it, the sign of a real master; it's melodies that dictate the run, like in the title track's silky blues and everywhere else.

Starting unassumingly with autumnal "Anything" which could have graced any classic 'FINGER album, the record gains momentum with a four guitars riffy roll and sassy female backing of "Don't Know What Love Is", and hangs a hard rock promise on the funky undercurrent in "Know Who You Are". Then, there's an irresistible Americana urgency in "Just A Matter Of Time", while "Something About To Change" is channelling the Quiet Beatle's catchy spirit in its acoustic web, and "Begin Again" holds a wave of dark-hued optimism in its heart. A lovable record for seasoned souls.

***1/3

The Midwestern hero delivers an Indian Summer message - long but rich on content.

It should be generally prohibited to make records that reach a 75-minute mark without a certain diversity quotient, but Stanley knows his way around Americana too good to stretch his music too thin on the ground. So if the '80s gloss of the opener, "Just Another Night In America", and the funky "Something Do Something" grates, once the epic folk rock closer "Winter" winds down you feel like coming out of a good meditation roller coaster, as the record's groove gets to your nerve. The vibe is really tight in the piano boogie which is "Pay Me Now" and the bluesy groove which shoots through the heavy guitar and Hammond of "Lap Dog Dance". Yet while the tremulous "Angelina" shines like a beacon, tired melancholy permeates "Any Time I Try", and there's a touch of gospel to "Throwing Shadows", a transparent duet with Jennifer Lee. Sequenced differently, the album could have turned out rather dull, but it is warm and welcoming.

***

Rock elite unite their ranks for a valiant cause. And it sounds good, too.

A song is carried on the wind: an ecology trip around the city with a voice as a guise.

A mixed bag of a bluesy rag - and immense talent that shines a light.

This sonic master from Georgia has been ploughing a musical landscape for nigh on two decades now - writing, playing, twiddling knobs, sending his voice over the waves - but now, once Jeff Healey's gone, Joey Stuckey emerges as his true rival and successor. There are many sides to the blind guitarist, which makes his new album feels like a hits collection, with emphasis on "hits" and blues as common denominator, a Southern jive that propels a brass-oiled funk of "Take A Walk In The Shadows" and the slow lava of "Runnin'" and keeps the listener guessing as to what lies around the bend.

Surprises abound, a slap echo of "Funny" bears a vibrant '80s imprint and a hell broken loose, the instrumental "Holy Tree Hopeful" does a samba, while a fusion streak peeking from "The Light That Guides" unfurls its gauze in full in "Hold", alternately gentle and roaring. The maestro even has a go at a power ballad, in "Mr. Mooney", that could challenge any metal band for its sensitivity if not for the slide guitar inflections which give the piece an extra layer of gloss and, thanks to the classical piano thread, class, whereas the cello-augmented "Not The End Of The World" sends emotions into a waltz. An acoustic live take on "Truth Is A Misty Mountain", right out of his soul depth, shows what Joey Stuckey is capable of on-stage. A real thing.

****

Safe and sound attack from Vancouver. Is New Wave of British Columbia Heavy Metal rolling on?

Natural born Liverpudlian takes in the smell of Windy City.

Having worked with Peter Green and having had John Entwistle in the band he led in America, it's no wonder this Brighton-based guitarist has a way with a blues lick - a Chicagoan one, as the title track of Mickey Wynne's four-track EP's title cut shows. It has a desperate crunch and a groove for the vocals to be drowned in, while the guitar rages and wails in short bursts once in a while imitating the harmonica: a brilliant production - echo, effects et al - and a riff to die for, or from. A different, folky vive, yet the same sensibility carries "Against All Odds (I'll Do It)" in its acoustic roll, but "French Blooze" is too airy and languid to catch the skin, and the buzz and slide guitar of "All Quiet (On The Eastern Frontier)" pays tribute more to Mark Knopfler than J.J.Cale as possibly was intended.

Many artists say less in a longplay than Mickey Wynne does on this mini-album. A winner.

****1/3

A faithful recreation of the Summer of Love spirit from the one who was there and remembers it well.

They shared the bill with MOBY GRAPE and BUFFALO SPRINGFIELD yet, up to now, PYEWACKET didn't get to the footnotes in texts on the SoCal scene - even the "Nuggets" aficionados never heard of them. Two years of lifespan left produced some recordings that lay dormant until the tapes became unusable, so when the band's leader John McKindle decided to revive their legacy in 2010, he had no other option than to re-cut the best of it - alone, in his bedroom. Cue these 15 tracks that, from the opener, "Together", pull you into the '60s with jangly guitars and mellifluous harmonies, "I Am The Sky" being a hit which, unfortunately, didn't happen.

It's a fresh recreation of what was before, in the old ways, not like The Fabs' 1969's take on 1957's "One After 909", while "Love For Love" may have found a part in the Liverpudlians', or THE BYRDS', cache, and the acid-seared riffs of "Why Me" and "I Thought" has a retro-modern ring to it and "The 8th Moon" runs a memorable folk thread. There's a beauty of naivete in it; for the most part, though, you can remember a lot of similar, and more successful, music in such vein, "If I Really Cared To" sounds very generic. Still, it's all adorable - what's not to love there? Now, on to "1968".

***1/2

Four-string virtuoso opens up his chest of small wonders - shining dimly.

The John Peel protege gets back in action with his stark chanson verite.

The "Sugar, Sugar" maker returns with more sweet things in store.