Which is a trick that’s tough to pull off, after all. The last person to pull it off successfully was Lou Reed, who so hated the results of what he’d done that he’s spent the last twenty years trying to prove that he’s actually not just some dumb guy from New York who likes to make loud noises with a guitar while singing about dope dealers; and Lou is so utterly bent on unmaking his legacy these days that it’s hard to even listen to the old stuff any more. Eyehategod, on the other hand, won’t be going the singer-songwriter route any time soon. It’s a small miracle every time they make an album. Confederacy, which marries bookishness to total brain death and then gets way too drunk at the wedding, is a piece of work whose high school parking lot riffs deserve the time it will take to notice the real cunning underneath them. Getting to know this stuff will make you uncomfortable, but that’s part of the point of the tradition within which Eyehategod belong: Celine, Bukowski, Huysmans, Jim Thompson. Unlike a lot of other people who’d like to find themselves in such company, though, Eyehategod aren’t overeager for you to know that they’ve done their homework. They’d just as soon you thought of them as a bunch of inbred southerners who found some Crate amps and a drumkit down at the pawn shop next door to the local Mister Money USA. You should listen to Eyehategod. They are a little more pertinent than the next guy. Let the mighty eagle soar. |
| 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 [home] |