Look at us, tugging at them bootstraps with enough force to leave the webpage plague ages. Check it out, ma, we’re bleached clean. Finally, you can come to Last Rites and not think you’re entering a serial killer’s dungeon or taking an impromptu guest spot on True Detective. (Antlers are still mandatory, sorry.) So, what’s our move after joining the rest of the Net by retweeting a page from William Gibson? Tossing you a reoccurring feature on metal’s caveman days, naturally.
Some explainin’: You know LR is all about keeping you abreast of the latest releases. We take that task seriously. If a lava-hot rocker launches out the vent, we’ll track the flightpath and tell you where to stand. And, hey, we’re not just vulcanologists, we’re divers, too. We’ll climb into the ol’ bell and sweep the seafloor for any clam carrying a pearl. But sometimes, the drain of discovering the new-new is too much and we need to be recharged by the tried-and-true. The oldies, the goldies; the musty, the dusty. That’s where this column comes in. Because, hey, you can’t get much more “classic” than the big, bad lizards that rumbled the record jungles in the decade preceding the crash of the NWO_HM comet. Need a hint, time bandit? We’re talking the era when psych got psychotic, when listeners were flogged by prog, when the best test was a lysergic one. The hard rocks, the heavy-ass boulders: that’s what we’re hitting with our shovels. Cool? Then come lend a hand and chip away with us as we explore a few favorites and, erhm, not-so-favorite good-baddies that came before our metal was fully hammered into shape. Bluesy bruisers, Hammond note-holders, righteous biker boogies, fuzzy tones and faces, the bong bedecked, and the squeezed-lemon wet. The best? Well, maybe you’ll think so when we’re through. Until, then let’s go proto.
Now, does anybody remember laughter?
•••••
ATTILA – ATTILA (1970)
Land: USA
Lifespan: 1969-1970
File Under: Wife-stealin’-rock, who-needs-guitars-core.
In Print?: No.
Meat-locker-barbarian aesthetic aside (take heed, young Petrus Steele & fellow Carnivores), the big hubbub here, of course, is that the li’l fella on the right up there is none other than Piano Man Billy Joel. Way, way back in AD 1969, Attila was his short-lived, two-man, self-described “heavy metal” band — and one that eschewed guitars in favor of a Hammond organ fuzzed the fuck out through a Marshall stack.
Now, before you raised-on-“Goodnight-Saigon” types get your hopes up, be forewarned, this album is, ultimately, just so much muso-jacking-off. It starts out tepid (“Wonder Woman” barely rocks, while “California Flash” doesn’t, both ruined by schmaltz vocals), and just degenerates into endless keyboard vamps and outsized drum fills by Jon Small. Throughout the album, there are subtle hints at the Piano Bar Big Rock™ Joel would become known for a couple years later — but mostly this record gets downright annoying by a quarter-way into its 40 minute run-time. The album’s centerpiece is an overwrought instrumental, “Amplifier Fire”, which gets split into two parts: Part I, “Godzilla”, is basically an unsubtle lift of Joe South’s “Hush” (which is odd, considering Deep Purple’s cover had charted in the US two years prior), while Part II, “March of the Huns” is a dead-eyed, tribal march into more-of-the-same-monotony (Vamps! Drums!). Anyway, Joel stole Small’s girlfriend (and married her), and Attila broke up three months after the record came out. The rest was history.
The album’s taken its lumps — it has been cited as “the worst album released in the history of rock & roll – hell, the history of recorded music itself” (Allmusic), and Joel himself dismisses it as “psychedelic bullshit” — so for curiosity’s sake, it’s worth a cursory listen. But once is more than likely enough. Unless you have to write about it. God forbid.
[Kyle Harcött]
•••••
BUFFALO – ONLY WANT YOU FOR YOUR BODY (1974)
Land: Australia
Lifespan: 1971-1977
File Under: Heavy psychedelic, aussie hard rock
In Print?: Yes. Re-released by Aztec Records in 2005.
Australia’s Buffalo released two bluesy heavy rock classics — this one and the previous, 1973’s Volcanic Rock. I wrote briefly about Volcanic Rock some years back — or more accurately, about one of its songs, the ever-underrated “Sunrise (Come My Way)” — so in the interest of spreading the love around, we’ll say a few kind and deservedly enthusiastic words about 1974’s Only Want You For Your Body.
Whereas Volcanic Rock was a psyche-tinged blues jam propelled by a Sabbath-heavy rhythm section and topped with John Baxter’s dirty noodling and Dave Tice’s leathery growl, Only Want You streamlines Buffalo’s stampede into more concise hard rock songs. Opening number “I’m A Skirt Lifter, Not A Shirt Raiser” borrows the bar-room bawdiness of the soon-to-be-legendary AC/DC, only minus Bon Scott’s winking charismatic roguishness. Marry that unsubtle lasciviousness to swaggering stoner-template pentatonic riffing and that’s Buffalo’s basic formula. Their cover of Ten Years After‘s “I’m Coming On” fully displays the band’s Sabbath leanings, with stellar interaction between Baxter’s blues and the heavy-hitting rhythm section of Peter Wells (bass) and Jimmy Economu (drums), both of whom play up their respective parts in a near-perfect imitation of Butler-Ward.
That track is both the album’s heaviest hitter and one of Buffalo’s best, but it’s the following number, the Frank Herbert-inspired “Dune Messiah” that ranks as (probably) my favorite Buffalo song. “Dune Messiah” doesn’t break from the band’s set formula — more heavy-psyche blues riffs and Tice’s wail — but it just rocks harder, swinging through four-and-a-half minutes of sheer proto-metallic greatness with fist-in-the-air abandon.
Only Want You For Your Body pares Buffalo’s hazy proto-stoner stomp into more digestible snippets, and to great results — but it’s the beginning of the end for the band. After the subsequent tour, guitarist John Baxter was ousted and replaced by Karl Taylor, and the following few records were watered down in an attempt to capture the ever-elusive “radio hit.” Bassist Peter Wells would depart after the first of those albums, switching to slide guitar and taking some of Buffalo’s street-level grit into his next outfit, the equally underrated Rose Tattoo. Wells stayed with the Tats from 1976 to 1983, and then off and on during later reunion tours, until his death in 2006. Dave Tice would later perform alongside ex-AC/DC bassist Mark Evans in the imaginatively named Tice & Evans, before forming Buffalo, revisiting to capitalize on interest in Buffalo’s legacy. Now viewed rightfully as a pioneer in the Australian heavy rock scene (predating AC/DC by two years), Buffalo’s two classic albums stand as underground hard rock gems. (The band’s catalog was reissued by Aztec Records in Australia in 2005, each album with bonus tracks — Only Want You tacks on a single version of “What’s Going On” and a live version of “United Nations” from Australian TV in 1974.)
[Jeremy Witt]
•••••
FLIED EGG – DR. SIEGEL’S FRIED EGG SHOOTING MACHINE (1972)
Land: Japan
Lifespan: 1972-1973
File Under: Salisbury steak
In Print?: Yes. Re-released by Phoenix Records in 2011.
After Japan’s Strawberry Path was picked clean, Shigeru Marumo (guitar, keyboards) and Hiro Tsunoda (drums, lead vox) roosted with multi-instrumentalist Masayoshi Takanaka (primarily bass in this setting) and cooked up this hard-boiled trio. In ’72, the crew scrambled brains with the wild Dr. Siegel’s Fried Egg Shooting Machine, using a blueprint of Deep Purple pedal points, Uriah Heep bombast, and Caravan-y prog licks to add just enough sweetness and savory complexity. The unquestioned highlight is the riffacchanalia shared above, “Rolling Down the Broadway.” And, if Linklater knew about it, you know damn well it would’ve scored a scene of Wooderson doing exactly as the title implies. The strut, the guts, the harnessed Valkyries hollering. Damn, this is your brain on “Bird of Prey.” Oh, but that was only one club in Flied Egg’s bag. Dr. Siegel offered a balanced diet of depth and dexterity. Your prescription for bloating: Some acidic ballad biscuits for digestion. Point is, the trio was pleasingly eclectic, preparing all kinds of courses to mange on. With all of this skill, they must’ve killed pushing cartons, correct?
Uh, nope. Shooting Machine did smoke out a small following. It just wasn’t enough. Alas, as these wobbly one-step-ahead groups tend to end, the Egg couldn’t be put back together again. Siegel was followed in the same calendar year by the mostly live Good Bye, bearing a title that didn’t exactly beat around the bush concerning the outfit’s future status. Still, though most of the material was rehashed, it’s like a completely different experience to its sister. To wit, if keys aren’t your thing, give this album an ear, since it showcases more of the strings and skins. Yeah, the three O.G.s didn’t hire a gun to pew-pew on the organ, so it’s a hell of a lot Creamier as a result. Plus, it unleashes something primal within the players: Songs like “Leave Me Woman” are more rollicking than their studio counterparts, almost proto-punky with beastly aggression. Egg clearly wasn’t leaving anything on the table. Truth: “521 Seconds Schizophrenic Symphony” rips the tablecloth out from the dirty dishes with one final abracadabra. It’s simply a fitting farewell, jamming on slinky Eddie Hazel riffs and bringing the Bach-rock back for one more tour of soul-nourishing duty. It leaves the right aftertaste.
Flied Egg definitely did their F-section justice, slotting in between Far Out and Flower Travellin’ Band without sloshing albumen everywhere. Make sure your rack gets updated, Jack.
So, where did they go? After the split, Takanaka went fusion across a series of solo albums and with the Sadistics, while Hiro Tsunoda experimented with pop, funky jazz, and folky rock. (Bonus bar trivia: Tsunoda and Good Bye guest George Yanagi are linked to vinyl dork holy grail Food Brain, with Yanagi also ending up as one of the titular homies in Shinki Chen & His Friends.)
[Ian Chainey]
•••••
HIGHWAY ROBBERY – FOR LOVE OR MONEY (1972)
Land: USA
Lifespan: 1972
File Under: Crazy motorcycles.
In Print?: RCA Reissue on LP only.
Howling power-trio Highway Robbery were fleeced of their chance of success by the most ruthless crime lords of all. In 1972, all signs pointed to untold rockin’ fame and fortune for Highway Robbery after they signed to label RCA and had big-time Hollywood management backing before they even stepped onto the stage. Guitarist Michael Stevens, singer/drummer Don Francisco, and bassist John Livingston Tunison IV hunkered down in the studio with legendary producer Bill Halverson to record their smokin’ proto-metal onslaught, For Love or Money, and it looked like the band’s turbocharged brew of Black Sabbath grit, Led Zeppelin stomp, and Blue Cheer’s amp-melting stonk couldn’t fail.
But it did. Spectacularly. RCA had no idea what to do with high-octane tracks like “Mystery Rider” and “Ain’t Gonna Take No More” — and the deafening, punchy sludge on “Fifteen” and “Promotion Man” left the label less than enthused. Highway Robbery scattered commercial hooks aplenty among the volcanic rock on For Love or Money, but RCA deemed the bludgeoning noise unmarketable, and demanded a couple of radio-friendly ballads on the LP. Highway Robbery acquiesced, RCA endeavored to sell a super-charged rock band off the back of syrupy tunes, and the trio was doomed. Say goodbye to another red-hot band killed by record label machinations, but say hello to a hidden treasure that ranks up there with the rock ’n’ metal riots of Armageddon, Bang, Sir Lord Baltimore, Dust, and Bulletproof.
[Craig Hayes]
•••••
ICECROSS – ICECROSS (1973)
Land: Iceland
Lifespan: 1972-1975
File Under: Heavy Psych, blood icicles
In Print?: Yes. Re-released by Rockadrome Records in 2013.
1972 in America: Watergate, the end of the draft, Apollo 17’s return, The Godfather, and Carlin’s “Seven Words You Can Never Say On Television.” Folks were spinning records like Let’s Stay Together, Music of My Mind, Harvest, and Pink Moon. Those into the heavier side of things jumped up and down like idiots for Blue Öyster Cult‘s debut, Scorpions‘ debut, Deep Purple’s Machine Head, and Vol. 4. Pretty good times, folks. Pretty, pretty good.
1972 in Iceland: Outside of the fact that Bobby Fischer kicked Boris Spassky’s bishop in the dick to snag the chess championship belt in Reykjavik, the only other significant milestone for the time seemed to be a continued struggle with the UK over fishing rights in the North Atlantic called “The Cod Wars.” (You can’t make this stuff up, friends.) But somewhere out of the Vatnajökull in ’72, three cold vagrants clattered up from the ice with the intent to bleed ears with some seriously weighty, weird and dark psychedelic hard rock pushed over the threshold with an über-emphasis on frigid lead guitar. A year spent honing their respective wares, and an eleven-hundred mile trip to a dark studio in Denmark eventually resulted in 1,000 copies of Icecross’ striking debut to be delivered directly into the laps of a handful of lucky Icelanders in 1973.
Listen to a tune like “Solutions” – that bass bumps, jumps and percolates like a beast, and the drums flitter, skitter and scoot like Buddy Rich wired on a double-dose of 5hr Energy, but trve eeeevil strikes when that icy guitar takes over and just freezes the spine. Hardcore psych rock, or the earliest blueprint for A Blaze in the Northern Sky? (Hell, just look at that album cover!) The fact that it’s cold and grim enough to frost a walrus’ nuts in long-underwear probably points to the latter. And this creepy, dark frigidity kicks a similar undead life into tunes like “1999,” “Scared,” and “Nightmare” as well. Really, the only oddball of the bunch is the straight-up blues number “Wandering Around,” which saunters into the funeral like a hippie in a sunhat, particularly after a tune as madly taboo as “Jesus Freaks.”
Sadly, this record was the only offering the band managed to eek out, despite attempts to push forward with a line-up change and a move to the States in 1974. By 1975, Icecross was laid to an early rest. Cold blooded, dudes. Cold, frozen blooded.
[Michael Wuensch]
•••••
INCREDIBLE HOG – VOLUME 1 (1973)
Land: UK
Lifespan: 1972-1973
File Under: Worth a snort.
In Print?: Yes. Re-released by Rise Above Records in 2011.
The year was 1973. For over half a decade, England had steadily produced anonymous blues power trio after anonymous blues power trio. The ground they trod had been stomped to a thick mire, and hardly a chesty belter could raise their heads out of the mud. In an attempt to set themselves apart from the drove wallowing in the muck of curdled Cream, Incredible Hog released a raucous glam stomper of a single. “Lame” was anything but, a rousing singalong of the “Take Me Bak ‘Ome”/”Rock and Roll, Part 2” variety, only a little rougher. It lives in the same grotty alley that AC/DC would strut out of a few years later. “Lame” is a glorious song, utterly ignorant of what simple, sloppy magic it contained. It leads off the album Volume 1, but it’s a red herring in platform shoes; the rest of the record is a more typical mash of Cream and Zep and Traffic and every other heartfelt British blues titan.
This doesn’t make Volume 1 a hard listen, or even a wasted one. The desire is real, the attempt a serious one. The result is solid bit of second tier power blues, hampered more by the recording than the performances. The guitar has a great tone but no presence, and the drums are bright and dull in all the wrong frequencies. They sound like a band who played live but had never made a record, and whatever magic they worked onstage was absent in the studio.
By the end of ’73, Incredible Hog were no more. They had gone through two years of toil with but one record on a small label to show for it. Like most of the releases from their contemporaries, Volume 1 would be nothing more than collector’s fodder for decades. But in 2011, Lee Dorrian’s Rise Above Relics label brought it back into print, and the band even reunited for a few live shows. Sadly, drummer Tony Anwin passed away on Christmas Day, 2013, ending the unlikely second act from Incredible Hog.
[Erik Highter]
