without Internet Explorer,
in 1280 x 960 resolution
Time Travelling Blues, by Orange Goblin. The more I say that name, the more it occurs to me that this may be the greatest naming juxtaposition in the history of the cosmos. Time Travelling Blues. By Orange Goblin. It brings to mind some sort of crusty, pot-fuelled D&D game, back in the days when it was psychedelic, weird and violent - and not about twee elves on Epic Quests to Save the World.
In any case, this is one HELL of an album. Released in the UK in 1998 - a time when nu-metal was lunging like a pedophile into the nursery of mainstream consciousness - this is an album of unashamedly old-school power. No, not even old school - there's something timeless about this, such that everyone who thrills to the sound of electric guitar, smashing drums and roaring vocal fire and brimstone will latch on to it like some kind of heavy metal limpet. The whole album is thick with a kind of anti-pretension; these guys so patently don't give a fuck what a worm like you thinks, musing about time traveling, psychedelic exploration to the tune of a universal arsenal of riffs and searing, eyes-to-the-heavens cosmic jam solos. You can almost hear the band's thought: if this shit isn't mighty enough to stomp Godzilla's scaly face into a smeared mess on the asphalt, it's not REAL music.
But what does it sound like? Driven, swirling riffs in the blues scale sear and smoulder with irrepressible groove and thick, monster distortion, backed by clattering drums rammed to bursting with fills and delightfully accentuated cymbal work. Over the top, a thunderous vocal presence courtesy of Ben the Awesome roars like a vat full of Jack Daniels poured into an exploding megaphone, wielded by Chuck Norris on testosterone supplements. And just on the off-chance you're a flaccid pussy and get tired of the magnificent destruction, the band slides with consummate ease into a psychedelic or bluesy jam, suffused with soul and stargazing wonder. The whole concoction causes insidious gyrations of the body, delightful convulsions of headbanging, blissful considerations; inducing delirious trips into psychedelic hyperspace.
And the riffs! Holy mother. So much groove has never before been experienced by man or woman - and we're talking REAL groove, groove from the very bowels of Satan, a vicious, stalking groove so thick and insistent it could carve its initials in reinforced titanium. These riffs come and live in your house for weeks on end, lurking in the stereo like some malignant presence. They won't go - they're to awesome, to monstrous, too manly to leave until they want to.
Songwriting? Marvellous. From the storming, too-cool-to-be-true rage of Blue Snow, through to the soulful, melodic, magnificent title track, the album bursts at the seams with killer moment after killer moment. Even the 'throwaway' bonus track is just great to listen to, documenting the failed attempt of the drunken band to perform the unfortunately eternal Billy Rose/Lee David aural tumour 'Tonight, You Belong to Me'. If you've ever been there - three in the morning, pleasantly drunk, guitar in hand, forcing flagging limbs to play a stupid song you can barely remember - you'll laugh. A lot.
If you hadn't guessed already, this is fucking great and I love it.