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Comin’
back from a trip in the red caves of hell, my friend the demon makes me look
glad.
The
first line of ‘Fibula Fibroid’, the opening track of the Junkyard Birds’
first full length album (considering the fact that the tapes of the real first
album ‘Anthems for the son of a bitch’ were burned during a heathen ceremony
a few years ago) announces the entrance into a world of creatures who attend
black masses in rural oblivion, who adore Black Sabbath, Maiden and maybe Kiss,
some tall guys who praise reversed Christian crosses, long hair, big amps and
fat food. For a noviciate like me, this is the quintessence of heaviness with
this kind of ‘straight to the point-ness’ in the Birds’ music.
‘Fibula Fibroid’s heady panzer division riff makes you bob your head
inevitably, with such a sentiment of power while mimicking the guitarist. The
birds play heavy stoner stuff with an ironic eye on clichés they like to use.
Two guitar heroes play on the record, alternatively engaging themselves in
startling leading parts. Drums and bass are handled with great vigour and
hardness, supporting the advance of the bulldozer. ‘Beyond my Tombstone’
unravels in three parts: an heavy speed metal thing, a Black Sabbathean mid
tempo riff, and a heady darker apostrophe to The Grim Reaper that ends with a
haunting bass melody. ‘Graveyard Blues’ is a sticky threnody and makes your
body complaint about being so prudish and undersized. I am not sure that the
line Sunshine of your love / ashes of the dead in ‘Wall of Gold’ is a
reference to Cream cos Eric Clapton never played so loud and so fast. Yet again
the sound is impressive, especially for a homemade record, a ‘gravel sound’
as they say. ‘The Last’ is a little bit weaker than the rest of the album in
my opinion, except for the blitzkrieg-ending riff and Iron Maiden style solo.
‘Eternal Sunrise’ succeeds in melting melodies with heaviness, this one
presents more variations on the central theme of the Birds’s music: Kick ass
with class.
What more can I say? Buy this album, worship its creators, and unleash the
children of the beast who will soon embrace the dark age of the fallen angel
because the time has come when the sun won’t rise up again.
Contact
junkyardbirds@libertysurf.fr
-Angus
‘sugar free’ Anderson.
/feb 15th 2004/