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Sunday, July 14, 2013



EDITOR’S NOTE: Jeffrey Morgan (@CREEM) is on vacation. Ghost writing his column for the next few months will be valued colleague MACHINE ROCK (@MachineRock) who promises to try and ape, as closely as possible, Mr. Morgan’s idiosyncratic; emdash-addicted; comma-eschewing; alliterative; run-on sentence style of writing. Let’s see how well he does this week:

Joe Satriani
Unstoppable Momentum (Epic) :: If you only buy one Joe Satriani album this year, make sure it’s not this one. “Unstoppable” my crazy cracker ass: a used wetnap could wipe this 486 DX2 50 MHz era video game music away. If you want to hear what a real instrumental rock album sounds like, then listen to Satriani’s 1992 benchmark meisterwack The Extremist.

Chickenfoot & Chickenfoot III (E1) :: But if you’re in a mellow mood, why not sit back and relax to Joe’s laid back folk outfit in which he’s aided and abetted by the lay down the law firm of Hagar, Anthony & Smith, MFIC.

Vagina Dentata Organ
Cold Meat (WSNS) :: Come now, you’ve never read an actuarial table in your life, have you? Why, they’ve got ten volumes on suicide alone. Suicide by race; by color; by occupation; by sex; by seasons of the year; by time of day. Suicide, how committed: by firearms; by drowning. Suicide by poison, subdivided by types of poison, such as corrosive; irritant; systemic; gaseous; narcotic; alkaloid; protein; and so forth. Suicide by leaps, subdivided by leaps from high places; under the wheels of trains; under the wheels of trucks; under the feet of horses; from steamboats. But of all the cases on record, there’s not one single case of suicide by listening to a long playing phonograph record!

Supermachine (Small Stone) :: You can always depend on the heaviest and the loudest record company in the world to perpetually skew you on the right track when it comes to serving up a primo paint-peeling, gasoline-siphoned, lease-breaking rock ’n’ roll brew that’s guaranteed to do you through—which brings me to Supermachine’s self-titled sonic sludgefest.

Rabidly reeking with ripe riffs that’ll waft right up your wazoo, you can bet your bottom daughter that this quim-quivering quartet has got what it takes to snatch the cooze carpet out from under you with such snorting thud puds as “Flesh Farm” and “Pill Cruise” and the bone-pulverizing “Crutch” which is about as close to a Brutal Planet outtake as you’re likely to hear without having your ears slawed off.

Oh, and don’t worry about not being able to find a copy the next time you’re in a record store ’cause it’ll be filed under:
Unstoppable Momentum.

ow for that doofus last line:

Be seeing you!

Sun, July 14, 2013 | link 

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