Four String Thunder: Dennis Dunaway

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Alice Cooper, Michael Bruce, Neal Smith, Glen Buxton and our man Dennis Dunaway.

Dennis Dunaway was the bass guitarist in Alice Cooper from 1969 to 1974, before the split between the band and the vocalist who would go on to assume that name as a solo act. He was part of a rhythm section which helped to create four consecutive genre–defining albums through a singular chemistry¹. In these traits Dunaway shares a similarity with Geezer Butler, John Paul Jones and Duff McKagen, but comparatively little has been written about his playing². Like Butler, Paul Jones, McKagen, and even Motown session bassist James Jameson, Dunaway’s lines are clever and assertive without necessarily being the focal point of the song. Reputedly picking up the bass due to that classic rock’n’roll scenario of wanting to join a band and bass being the only instrument left, Dunaway played a Gibson EB0 short scale bass – four inches shorter than most basses – modified with a P Bass split coil (and mirrors), and with a plectrum exclusively for Alice Cooper’s first three albums. He switched to a Fender Jazz bass (also covered in mirrors) by 1971’s Love It To Death. Alice Cooper’s first two albums, Pretties for You and Easy Action, are generally forgotten, generally because they’re forgettable; they present a snapshot of an Alice Cooper that was still evolving, one that had not yet reached the sound that best represents them, and a Dunaway that was yet to make his mark on bass playing. As such, third album Killer, released in 1971, is the best place to start.

Under My Wheels, Killer’s lively opening number, is matched with an agile bass line, using the major pentatonic scale, particularly the major 6th, but the first real sign of what Dunaway can do surfaces on the bass intro of Halo of Flies. He stays off the root note of A, starting from the minor third (three semitones, or three frets, up – think of the second and fourth notes of Whole Lotta Love) and plays around the natural minor scale, with the result of it sounding more like a vocal line. He also likes to bounce between roots and 5ths (in music theory, a 5th, due to the number of soundwave oscillations, is harmonically very compatible with root notes – it’s like peri peri sauce, it goes with (nearly) everything) and octaves (think of the ‘where’ in Somewhere Over The Rainbow). In Halo of Flies Dunaway uses the momentum of this movement over the fretboard as propulsion to play the chord changes.

Dunaway also likes to play arpeggios going down in pitch, often when guitarists Glen Buxton and Michael Bruce, no slouches themselves, are playing ascending lines. Although not something that requires a great deal of technical ability, it’s unusual for an arpeggio to begin on a descent and not to come back up in pitch soon afterwards (Flea of Red Hot Chili Pepper fame does this a lot too). Check out Halo of Flies or I’m Eighteen for some good examples.

Dunaway’s tone was always killer, and fittingly the intro of Killer is where this is first evident; the amount of space in the production keeps each instrument audible throughout, and with the amount of space given over to the bass in these recordings it’s easy to hear that Dunaway played with a plectrum. With this space at his disposal he plays a great ascending run during the second verse, and laid back arpeggios during the harmonised guitar solo. At 3.30 the song goes full–on doomed, with a funereal bass line entering at 4.30. By 6.30, having been reminded of how good all of the musicians in this line up of Alice Cooper were (‘were’ = past tense = Glen Buxton died in 1997, I don’t rate Vincent Furnier’s recent material, and I have no idea what the rest of the band are up to), I had also been reminded, at this particular moment, of how fucked up some of their music was.

There are also lines that are simpler, such as the line that mimics the guitar line in Dead Babies (…talking of fucked up music) two octaves lower. Likewise, on succeeding album Love It To Death, sixth track Hallowed Be My Name, through to the ninth and closing track, Sun Arise, are accompanied by bass lines that are more workman–like, based on root and whole notes. In comparison the preceding five tracks are more lively; opening track Caught In A Dream shows Dunaway embellishing on the chord changes, and  Long Way To Go has a lively line and a great descending fill beginning at 0.48 which flows into a burst of lead bass at 0.55. Extended fills recur throughout the verses, and the post–solo verse has a different, more spacious line. Dunaway also has three writing credits on this album, including I’m Eighteen, Black Juju and Is It My Body. Given the lack of traditional drums on Black Juju the playing is very tight, and the bass plays a great counter–melody to the guitar intro in Is It My Body.

With all this said, had Dunaway’s only musical contribution to this universe been his playing and writing on Alice Cooper’s fifth album/third proper album School’s Out, on which he is listed as a writer on five of the nine tracks, I would still be writing all of these nice things. Some of the best bass playing ever is to be found on School’s Out. After matching the intro of the eponymous opening track, Dunaway throws in arpeggios using the 5th and octave at the interlude at 1.12 and a driving, independent line during the first guitar solo, and then a slight variation on those first arpeggios in the second, post–chorus interlude.

Dunaway chooses his shots well on this album; Luney Tune is driven by a sinister, prowling bass line with swift slides thrown in, and in sixth track My Stars, the bass, except for brilliant moments when it follows the descending vocal lick, hands it over to the piano. The bass intro of Gutter Cats Vs. The Jets, on which Dunaway is listed as a co–writer, makes his use of a plectrum very clear, and the resultant tone is to die for, being equally sharp–edged, gritty and thick. The intro consists of a descending melody, speeding up at the completion of the chord sequence, chucking into triplets as the whole band begins to swing at 0.38. The space in the production really makes it clear how the bass is the bridge between the drums and guitars, and although it’s not as though Dunaway invented the role of the bass, this is why he is one of the best. I don’t like The Beatles³, but when it comes to Paul McCartney it’s a case of game recognising game, and Dunaway’s counter–melody playing is comparable to Macca’s.

A filthy bass riff drives the ‘field recording’ Street Fight, with chromatics played with up and down strokes on the plectrum (which creates on/off/on/off accenting – think of the intro to Metallica’s Whiplash) low on the fretboard on the E and A strings. It fades out into the descending chromatics of Blue Turk, then a call and response with a piano. This is Dunaway at his best here. At 2.10 under a sax solo he starts to walk, leading in from chromatics, through to the end of the solo at 3.50. Momentarily stripped of all other instruments, the tone at 4.00 is to die for, sharp–edged and gritty yet still thick. At 4.50 the bass line begins to descend through chromatics in a leisurely manner, until it feels as though he has fallen off the fretboard and will keep on going forever.

The whole of Public Animal # 9 (the best song name ever) rolls along with the bass riff, eschewing fills to just stick to the action. In contrast, the bass line of following number Alma Mater partially mimics the vocals, throwing fills in with tight slides and at 2.40 goes higher, punching out the strong beats. Closing track Grande Finale has a bass intro (that tone!) that screams excitement, throwing in non–root notes when it changes to West Side Story.

By and large the bass playing is far more fundamental on 1973’s Billion Dollar Babies, and with the exception of a few moments, there isn’t much of note until fifth track Unfinished Sweet. The bass riff zigzags downwards through chromatics during the guitar solo at 2.40 in opening track Hello Hooray, there are a few arpeggios in the questionably titled Raped And Freezing, there is an interesting little run up and down in Elected at 1.30 and lots of quavers and a prominent descending line at 3.00, and a fast ascending riff, which then becomes a motif, at 2.28 in Billion Dollar Babies.

On Unfinished Sweet the tone of the bass suggests heavy palm muting with a plectrum, and at 1.55 there is a turn on the penny change led by a smoking bass riff. There are lots of tempo changes across these four albums, and Dunaway shows his skill in staying tight with the drums to execute these changes, such as the tempo and time signature changing from 4/4 and 128 bpm to 6/4 at 156bpm, which then, inexplicably, rolls into the James Bond theme tune. There is an excellent independent bass riff in the introduction of No More Mr Nice Guy, some nice fills pre–chorus, and between the first two choruses there is an extended high–register fill. And on the last four tracks, there isn’t a great deal of note. It feels as though Dunaway had less creative input and freedom on this album, especially compared to School’s Out; he has writing credits on two tracks (Elected and Generation Landslide), compared to four on Killer, three on Love It To Death and five on School’s Out.

Following album Muscle of Love (another questionable title) has some good tracks – namely, Never Been Sold BeforeHard Hearted Alice, which has some walking bass, and Working Up a Sweat, but there is little bass playing to really talk about. This album is more about the story–telling, cabaret element of Alice Cooper, and less about awesome bass lines. While Muscle of Love has it’s charms (let’s be blunt, some of the tracks aren’t great), it misses the interaction and chemistry of the preceding four albums. This was the last Alice Cooper album with the classic line up, with Alice Cooper becoming a man, rather than a band, so to speak, by the time next album Welcome To My Nightmare was released in 1975.

Sabbath had Geezer. Zep had Jonesy. Guns’n’Roses had Duff. Motown had Jameson. And for four consecutive, genre–defining, perfect–chemistry albums, Alice Cooper had Dennis Dunaway.

  1. Battle Axe, the album released by the post–Alice Cooper band Billion Dollar Babies in 1977, misses all of this magic.
  2. Nor, it should be said, has there been about original Alice Cooper drummer Neal Smith and guitarists Glen Buxton and Michael Bruce.
  3. That’s right, I said it.
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Yob Song by Song: Grasping Air

Grasping Air makes me think of being a cave with no light. Everything about this song is on edge, pervaded with unspeakable dread. The reverberating guitar intro sets teeth on edge before leading into a deadly, crawling riff. Alongside Travis Foster’s skillful drumming maintaining a sense of momentum even at this consistently slow pace, it is also one of my favourite performances by Scheidt. He has described himself as ‘[…] not the most polished guitar player’¹, but in terms of feel he is one of the best. (His statement should be taken with a pinch of salt anyway). Case in point; listening to this song, I had a smart ass theory about what he was playing, but when it actually came up to picking up a (bass) guitar and playing along, it turned out most of the time he’s just playing one chord, a dirty ol’ A tritone. He plays it in such an expressive way that it creates the aforementioned motion and tension, rather than it turning into Another Stoner Odyssey Based On One Chord.

As for the title. If Grasping Air is the action of someone trying and failing not to fall, an instinctive act produced by terror, it means trying to take hold of something that’s not there. In light of the lyrics, and Yob’s general shtick, I read this title as a metaphor for the misconception of reality. And now you’re probably thinking, does organised religion make an appearance? You betcha. Cue chorus:

Ancient wounds fester and bleed
Empty food from which they feed
Sustain the wealth
Subliminate the self
Create the suffering we need

In particular, this song approaches this subject matter from the angle of the cycle of dependency, the first line being ‘Entwine with despair like a lover’. Come to think of it, that’s not a bad description for doom. Is doom metal an organised religion? Either way, we are left in the dark. Dot dot dot.

  1. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KYuFFhE10TE

The Winter of Our Content XVII: Nebraska

Saying Bruce Springsteen’s Nebraska is an album for winter is saying nothing new. If you’ve not heard of this album, just look at that artwork. I can feel the slushy brown snow soaking its way up my socks now.

If like me, you went from the excitement of Born To Run and the romanticism of Darkness on the Edge of Town to the restrained, dour Nebraska, and thought holy shit where the fuck is everything and everyone (vocals, acoustic guitar, harmonica, and that’s it really – just The Boss by this point, no E Street Band), and then had to put Born in The U.S.A. on to cheer yourself up, give Nebraska another listen now while you wait for your socks to dry on the stove.

Whilst not out–and–out misery, with an ambiguity to the lyrics, Nebraska remains stark, bleak, solitary–listening music. The lyrics are about working class characters (generally men) at a moment of crisis; two brothers on opposite sides of the law (Highway Patrolman), an out of work man who gets 99 years for shooting someone during a robbery (Johnny 99) and streams of consciousness from men driving through the night with a lot on their mind (State Trooper and Open All Night). While sometimes this approach has resulted in Springsteen’s lyrics being favoured to the point of the music barely being there (I found this to be a recurring issue on later album The Ghost of Tom Joad), on Nebraska there’s a balance between this starkness with melodies and rhythms that feel more solid. That said, even livelier tracks like Johnny 99, Open All Night and Reason To Believe become a lot more downbeat upon closer listening. It’s this balance, paired with the lyrical search for hope in the gloom, that makes for a good winter listen; something to go on when it’s always dark, cold, miserable and the world seems against you. Even if it’s just in the form of wet socks.

Everything dies baby, that’s a fact
but maybe everything that dies
someday comes back

– Atlantic City.

Review ‘Em All: Julian Marchal, Insight III

Like most people (I think), I don’t like 90% of music, and like even more people (back me up here), I don’t like 99.9% of classical music (‘classical music’ in the common sense of the phrase, not the phase from 1750 to 1820 or whatever. You square). Apparently it’s full of great ideas, but apparently so is Oblomov, and sure as fuck that was a painful 586 pages. This is because I find it (‘it’ being classical music. Forget about satirical 19th Century Russian literature now) to be uninteresting, which is a shame for such a large body of work that, as stated, is purported to contain such a wealth of information. Bach gets mentioned by a lot of metal musicians, how he was the master of harmonies or something, but I’ll take the intro of Damage Inc. over O Jesu So Meek any day, so what the fuck do I know really.

Anyway, it’s nice when someone lives up to the bluster. Julian Marchal is a pianist who composes his own pieces, each of which is titled Insight and suffixed by a number. Insight III (the albums are titled along the same principle) takes us from Insight XXIV up to Insight XXXIII, with the liner notes stating

The Insight’s pieces are conceived […] to put the listener into the piano. The numeral numbers replace titles in order not to create mental images before listening to the music.

Marchal takes this concept of each song being each listener’s own insight and really makes it it work. Like the best instrumental music, the 10 pieces on Insight III tell stories without using words. The removal of the human voice gives these pieces an enigmatic quality, and with his songwriting and playing laid bare with only a piano at hand there is a poignancy and contemplative quality that are endlessly attractive.

As you make have guessed by my opening jeremiad, I’ve never gotten into classical music, so I don’t know who Marchal could be compared to, if anyone. However, the universal appeal in Marchal’s playing is in his melodies. His playing is mainly comprised of homophonic (one note at at time) melodies (think of the intro to Sweet Child O’Mine) rather than chord progressions (think of, say, Knees Up Mother Brown). This isn’t necessarily the better way of doing things, but it does allow Marchal’s knack for a melody to shine through. The highlight of album is fifth track Insight XVIII, with its rolling and dark lines, fading into silence without resolution before returning muted and ambiguous. The recording doesn’t have as much of a close–up feel compared to Insight II – there’s no creaking of the piano – but there is still a tactile quality to the piano underneath a natural reverb.

As stated, classical music, much like certain metal sub–subgenres (from France or otherwise), has a niche audience, but trust me on this one; roll over Beethoven, back up Bach, cease transmissions Classic FM, Marchal’s the man with the insight.

Insight III is out now on Whale Records.

Yob Song by Song: Quantum Mystic

Image result for quantum mystic pedal

The Black Arts Tonework effects pedal. Is this the only song that’s been honoured with an effects pedal? Image© 2017 Black Arts Toneworks.

As with (nearly) all Yob albums, 2005’s The Unreal Never Lived takes its time to start, but when it does get going, it doesn’t fuck around. A nuke explodes, a guitar starts swinging a slow motion NWOBHM¹ riff around, and just like that time your idiot cousin Earl put the tractor through the barn door, the rhythm section slams in out of nowhere and off Quantum Mystic ploughs on a trail of destruction.

I first heard this song when Yob played it at the Camden Underworld in September 2014, and, going on far longer than I expected, I assumed that they were jamming it out and extending the slow gallop of that NWOBHM riff. In retrospect, I doubt that they did start doing extra laps just for fun, but this gives an idea of how long this intro feels. I say ‘feels’ rather than ‘is’, as it’s actually only two minutes, which doesn’t sound like much when compared to Ball of Molten Lead (3 minutes 40 seconds), or Revolution (5 and a half minutes), but with both of those tracks it quickly becomes apparent you’ve left Kansas and are now in Long Intro Territory, so god help you Marine. On Quantum Mystic, with the guitar panned hard to left and with stabs from the rhythm section, for a long time it feels as though the rest of the band’s about to enter at any moment and someone’s going to start singing in a falsetto about how much they love tequila, rock’n’roll and their souped–up Chevy or whatever car they were flipping into ditches during the summer of ’79.

That all said, I stand by my earlier statement that this song doesn’t fuck around; it knows what it’s doing, where it’s going, and when it picks up it’s as fast as Ether or Doom #2. When it does enter it swings a lot harder than either of these tracks, and doesn’t sound as though its needs to resolve almost continually.

So does this song, and album, mark the start of a new direction for Yob, a distinct turning point in the body of their material? No. The notable difference is that the vocals aren’t run through an EQ gate, or at least far more subtly than on their earlier recordings. The lyrics are still preoccupied with theological concerns; who is the quantum mystic? What is his message, which ‘still resounds for all time’? Sure as fuck it’s not your idiot cousin Earl. Actually, the lyrics are quite specific:

Born in India
A modest shopkeeper living in the seat of Bombay
He raised a family, a common, simple life
Until he met his master and through grace opened eternal eyes.

Quantum mysticism, as far as I have managed to figure out, is a set of beliefs in which consciousness, in the spiritual sense of the word, is related to the idea of quantum mechanics, and generally seems to be regarded as a pseudoscience. Last time I checked, quantum mechanics is/was a scientific theory that explains parallel universes and that Michael Crichton was using to write stories about time travel. Although I can’t speak for Yob’s collective belief in parallel universes and appreciation of Crichton’s fiction (Timeline is good, give it a read), given their spiritual leanings these lyrics could be understood as a willingness to understand that the world and universe exist beyond our physical means of perception;

Beyond all birth and death
The real is timeless
Open the shutter of the mind
And it will be flooded with light

Although this is not new ground for Yob to be covering – song for song, they’re one of the most explicitly philosophical bands going – this song is different in that these kinds of lyrics are matched with that marching riff. It feels more imperative than most other Yob riffs do, and whilst this juxtaposition doesn’t make the song, it certainly doesn’t hurt it, to the point of Quantum Mystic being a fan favourite and regularly appearing on their sets. Even your idiot cousin Earl likes it.

  1. NWOBHM = New Wave of British Heavy Metal. Check Riot’s Swords and Tequila

Killing Your Darlings: Jane Doe, Converge

Album cover © Equal Vision Records

I don’t like Jane Doe. Yeah, that’s right, you, you reading this, reading this right now, with the Jane Face hoodie, t–shirt, patch, tattoo and flip flops, I said it.

Context:

I like Converge (I wrote a piece about Nate Newton’s bass playing here).

I like their early material, like Halo in A Haystack (1994).

I like their more recent material, like All We Love We Leave Behind (2012).

I don’t like Jane Doe.

Decibel described it in their Hall of Fame, six and a half years on from its 2001 release, as ‘…[F]ar and away the most crucial metallic hardcore record since fellow Massholes Cave In […] unleashed Until Your Heart Stops three years earlier […] It was feral, it was ferocious, it was fucking unstoppable. And it’s still all those things today.’ [1]

Listening through it again, I found things that I like; opening track Concubine is full of very cool, jagged riffs, the riff to Homewrecker wouldn’t leave my head for a while, Phoenix in Flight makes me feel all fuzzy and mellow, and the eponymous final track, with its build up, clean ‘ahhs’ and guitar melody, is great. The lyrics are great (Homewrecker : ‘I have bled and I have given/The longest of rivers and the longest of ropes/And you’re not grasping and my light is sinking on the horizon/Knee deep among your wreckage and uncertainty’). I even enjoyed the Berklee video about the making of this album.

Yet, loyal readers, dislike it I do, mainly for that is the lack of melody in Jacob Bannon’s vocals. His vocal style has always been divisive – nothing by Converge is going to make it onto Ultimate Chillout any time ever – but listening to Concubine, it’s just so squawky, even when compared to surrounding albums When Forever Comes Crashing and You Fail Me. The same for Fault and Fracture; the drumming’s great, but by the time I’ve gotten through it and onto third track Distance and Meaning I want to pinch the bridge of my nose and listen to Kenny G, and it just goes on. Hell To Pay has some very catchy riffs and cool time signature switches, and the chugging chorus riff with the cowbell and the structure of Homewrecker are great, but again with the squawk.

By the time I’ve gotten to eighth track Heaven In Her Arms I just can’t take it. You don’t like three quarters of a band (or in this case, an album); you gotta like all of it (which is why I can only partially get into …And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead and Muse). Every now and then something wicked comes along, like the breakdown in this song, or the melody in that chorus, that hooks you back in, only to realise you don’t like any other part of it.

I like the aforementioned surrounding albums When Forever Comes Crashing and You Fail Me (ignoring split release Deeper The Wound and compilation Unloved And Weeded Out), finding them both to be diverse listens. In comparison Jane Doe feels monotonous, ultimately living up (or down?) to its namesake.

I like Converge.

I like their early material.

I like their more recent material.

I don’t like Jane Doe.

  1. https://www.decibelmagazine.com/2008/01/01/converge-jane-doe/

Yob Song by Song: The Illusion of Motion

I used to be unhappy. I used to wonder, ‘what does obey the riff really mean?’ Thanks to The Illusion of Motion, know I now. Now I am happy. Now I am doomed.

The Illusion of Motion is slow, often dissonant, unfriendly on the ear as it scrapes along, and confrontational through the extremities that it presents; the average bpm is under a beat per second, the guitars are tuned to Drop A, the chords are slurred, and it seems to slow down as it rumbles on. Individually these characteristics can be found in many Yob songs, but here they have all been combined, and at 26 minutes and ten seconds, this melding has taken placed within Yob’s longest song.

Whilst wondering why this album was named after this particular song, I found myself thinking that maybe, at over 20 minutes long, this song is an illusion of motion in its form. There are a couple of problems with this idea. Firstly, I doubt this would have been Yob’s thought process – it seems a bit self–defeating. Secondly, this form and this repetition become part of this song’s strength; as is the case with nearly all Yob songs, it feels as though these lengths are not played for their own sake, but because these lengths are needed for Scheidt, Sato and Foster to play all that needs to be played, and for Scheidt, the main song writer, to channel all that he needs to say. Infinite Jest is over 1100 pages long (shut up, it’s great) because that’s how long David Foster Wallace thought it needed to be to tell the story that it does. Thirdly, and more explicitly, this title refers to, you guessed it, organised religion, though through a decidedly more philosophical angle this time round;

Try to climb the human walls
Tear them down and see what remains
Emptied of the embattled false
Will to resist disappears
Emptied of half truths taught from birth
With the dawn of emptiness

The lyrics confront the idea of getting what we want but not being happy; that’s why it’s called The Illusion of Motion. This brings its confrontational properties back to the fore; at 19.40 (yes, that’s minutes and seconds, not the year) a sudden burst of speed drags the track into a whirling, feedback–heavy skronk–out.

As an album, The Illusion of Motion is the first album where Yob began to write big, sad songs, and is more expansive than previous album Catharsis, which remains relatively straightforward within the oeuvre of Yob, and a sign of the slightly less doom–orientated and more particular approach of Yob’s next album, The Unreal Never Lived.

I used to be unhappy. I used to wonder, ‘what does obey the riff really mean?’ Thanks to The Illusion of Motion, and it’s big, sad songs, know I now. Now I am happy. Now I am doomed.

 

Riffs To Give You Sunburn: Spiral Shadow

Perfect weather for sludge metal, no?

Spiral Shadow emanates heat. Although this is true for most sludge metal (can you think of an icy–sounding sludge band?), Kylesa’s knack for melody, which, of their seven albums, they showcase most effectively on this one, puts a bit of pep in their sound that goes nicely with the sunshine. The Pimms of sludge metal, if you will.


 
Combine this warmth with a woozy quality – Kylesa clearly dig Pink Floyd and guitar pedals – and this album, despite sludge’s traditionally blown out sound, suggests a lot of space. The shimmery intro of Tired Climb leads into one of those riffs gives the << button a lot of use, and even at these cave–in moments, of which there are a couple throughout the album, this album feels expansive. This is coupled with tight song writing (only two songs run past four minutes) and a variety of styles; Cheating Synergy (the definition of the latter, neatly, being ‘the interaction of elements that when combined produce a total effect that is greater than the sum of the individual elements, contributions’)[1] mixes punk, sludge and shredding. Crowded Road uses the Arabic scale. Don’t Look Back combines the cheery thunder of Torche with a Pixies vibe. To Forget sounds like a raga. If I knew a few more indie bands I might say Back and Forth sounds a bit indie [2]. The vocals vary throughout, from punk shout to sludge growl to Laura Pleasant’s cooing.

Point being, while it’s cool to spend an hour imaging you’re tromping through the desert with the Sandraiders and Ewoks and Dobby the Elf whilst spinning Dopesmoker, if you’re after something more akin to a collection of, well, songs, put Spiral Shadow on and enjoy that Pimms.

1. http://www.dictionary.com/browse/synergy

2. That’s a compliment.

 

Yob Song by Song: Doom #2

As the title suggests, Doom #2 is much less expansive than most of Yob’s other numbers. Standing at six minutes long, it is their second shortest song and comprised of only two main riffs, neither of which are particularly refined. The intro riff could be a weighed–down Black Flag track until the drums kick in with cymbal–heavy fills and Scheidt starts roaring.

 

Going by the title, I’d guess that this was an early song that Yob didn’t feel would fit onto whichever of their earlier albums, or even their 2000 self–titled demo. At another guess, it could just as equally be a number Yob wrote off the cuff. Besides being their second shortest song ever (the average track length on this album is nearly 13 and a half minutes), this is also one of Yob’s most nakedly aggressive, and at 168bmp one of their fastest. Even when it thins out for an interlude there’s menace lurking under that wah, and lyrically Scheidt et al carry the flame from Exorcism of The Host by still sounding particularly pissed about organised religion;

Inside the anger grows
From words made up of dust
The false leaped from the breath of centuries
Tearing our lives apart

I wasn’t a particularly big fan of this track at first. For a band that can be as good as they can be, I thought that this was quite a generic harsh stoner number, ultimately disposable, lacking memorable riffs and a captivating structure. However, with time I have come to consider it to be quite distinctive; maybe it’s the way it sits between a 13 minute song and a 26 minute song, or, in a discography of a band known for their depth and philosophical concerns, its rough edges and punk energy.

Yob Song by Song: Exorcism of the Host

…Yob disagree, Mr Angel.

As in preceding track Ball of Molten Lead, Exorcism of the Host begins with a tolling bell. Somebody says something through backmasking. Scheidt roars. Drums crash. Guitars hammer in with a weird, harsh, descending riff full of chromatics. This is funeral doom (for those not in the know: think of a dirge) and the most mournful track Yob had penned to this date. The momentum of prior track, Ball of Molten Lead, is misleading – it really doesn’t carry through, although this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Although there is some pace in the ‘verses’ and ‘choruses’, including a great, clean, solemn guitar solo at 8.30, Exorcism of The Host still averages a bpm of 44 and is heavily repetitive, leading to two thoughts:

1) The exorcism in question is an auditory one, created through the repetition of the aforementioned hammering riff for seven and a half minutes, until heaving into a riff of concrete after nine minutes and finishing on a scream best described as ‘painful’. This matches the lyrics, which invert the usual concept of exorcism by placing organised religion as the evil that needs to be cast out and away from humanity:

Oil and water
Fuel for the slaughter
Breeds remorse and breeds regret
The false prophets scream their disease

2) What separates this – and there certainly is something that does – from more average funeral doom bands, who also rely on extensive repetition? More specifically, what if these bands were made to go acoustic, as a kind of litmus test? This is a bit of an unfair question, as being amplified is clearly part of most doom bands’ sound, but bear with this idea; would their riffs and song writing still function without spiralling feedback, decibels and distortion? Going out on a limb, I’d say that for Yob the answer is yes, and that certainly wouldn’t be the answer for a couple of big bands I can think of. Despite the heft of this track, maybe this is because Yob don’t sound like a doom band whose only direct influences are other doom bands.