There was this guy I knew that described The Black Angels as a band that makes “music to have great sex at a funeral by.” As long as I weren’t the deceased, it might be a funeral I’d want to be a part of—I like to keep my options open. Besides, I remember reading somewhere that Walt Whitman wanted his funereal to be nothing short of a wild celebration of not just his life, but life in the truest sense of the word, full of song and unbridled orgiastic expression dancing confidently alongside death. The Black Angels evoke this same kind of haunting gala with relentlessly pounding drum and bass rhythms, fuzzed-out guitar droning and heavily echoed vocals that are vaguely discernable above the controlled chaos of their creations.
I’m usually not one for the depressed/depressing genre of woe-is-me noodling, but this crew has enough grit and loud tempo shifts to hoist their stuff high above the usual fare. On cuts like “18 Years,” “Science Killer,” “You In Color,” and “Doves,” declarations displace whining, increased volume and interesting effects push aside the common technical posturing bands too often fall prey to. Additionally, I’ll confess straight-out that I’m a sucker for extended discordant jams backed by competent drum work. The closing track, “Snake In The Grass,” at over 18 minutes long, delivers my guilty indulgence on a sizable platter of audio bliss. Sure, there are nods to John Cale-era Velvet Underground jams, and even some choice Throbbing Gristle-like experimentalism and Psychic TV noise-making, but the musicianship and the sheer impact of what The Black Angels are doing make them easily suitable for contemporary ears. Theirs is a music that is alluring, meditative, multi-layered, unquestionably dark and surprisingly redemptive.
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