Akercocke – Antichrist

Author: BD Joyce

Akercocke – Antichrist

• Artist: Akercocke
• Album: Antichrist
• Year of Release: 2007
• Country: UK
• Label: Earache
• Format: Jewelcase CD
• Catalogue Number: MOSH347CDL

After four albums of increasingly progressive and free-wheeling death metal, Akercocke clearly felt that it was time to rein in the experimentation, and instead of continuing to expand their sound by incorporating additional outside influences into their increasingly diverse sound, the band apparently felt that the time was right to narrow the focus and deliver what is, at least by Akercocke’s standards, a fairly straightforward death metal album. Of course, straightforward death metal in the hands of Akercocke is still unfeasibly intricate and dynamic in comparison to the more atavistic elements of the genre, but it does mean, for the first time in their career, that the band take a step, if not exactly backwards, certainly sideways. In terms of the quality of the music itself, it is of course significantly better than functional – the band may be cruising in fourth gear, but they are running on an engine built by master craftsmen from the best available materials. For listeners such as myself, however, that had followed the band’s increasingly wild sound with enraptured interest, Antichrist cannot help but be tinged with a small amount of disappointment that Akercocke have not ventured further still into the unknown, instead preferring to revisit familiar vistas and well-trodden paths.

Setting aside the question of whether this is the Akercocke album I want it to be, and focussing instead on the Akercocke album it actually is reveals a core of molten death metal, contained within a succinct and streamlined package. The frivolities and fripperies of their third and fourth albums have been excised completely, and the psychedelic satanic warriors seem to have had the idealism and exoticism knocked out of them, responding with a taut set of muscular and largely memorable songs. The first track proper, following the de rigeur intro, is a perfect example of this. Exploding into life on the back of an extended tom fill that acts as a perfect tip of the hat to the master, Dave Lombardo, ‘Summon The Antichrist’ dissolves prime Floridian death metal into an already heady solvent of technical, but grooving Suffocation-style riffery, and the resulting compound is absolutely explosive. Vocalist Jason Mendonca pours his scornful vocals across the band’s hellish soundtrack, and once again Akercocke demonstrate their mastery of the form, successfully blending vicious aggression with unforgettable hooks, and viscous, chunky rhythmic motifs in a way that is simply beyond the reach of most bands. Where Choronzon or Words That Go Unspoken, Deeds That Go Undone might have used this foundation to build new worlds of progressive metal though, their tendrils reaching out to pull in sounds and tones from more esoteric sources, this track (and the majority of its counterparts across the rest of the album) is a fairly linear journey, the usual twists and turns confined to some fiddly Absu-inspired riffing working in contrast with an unusually rudimentary drum pattern, and a brief foray into the kind of haunting atmospherics that offer a slightly nostalgic throwback to the spectacular days that gave us their career-best The Goat Of Mendes. As undeniably exhilarating as this more sleek incarnation of Akercocke is, it is difficult to avoid posing the question of whether, in casting off the experimentation, something essential has been lost from the core of the band?

This is a question that I return to throughout Antichrist, a loose thread that I can’t help absentmindedly playing with, despite the attendant ever-present and irreversible risk that pulling it too hard could destroy the entire structure. The case for the defence rests on a clutch of tracks that, simply put, are unimpeachable Akercocke classics, and spectacular additions to a back catalogue that needs little burnishing. The first of these is the magnificent ‘Axiom’ which would be a fine candidate were one required to select a single track from the band’s discography which most effectively encompasses all dimensions of the band’s wide-ranging sound. Akercocke’s metallic credentials have never been in question, but were a particularly dim-witted listener to challenge them, the punchy, galloping thrash riff that surges into life in a flurry of legato runs and pinch harmonics part way through the track would be the perfect riposte. As ever though, part of the impact of such a thrilling riff is the contrast that it draws in comparison with that which precedes it. Rarely a band to simply put their pedal to the metal in a heads down race to the end, ‘Axiom’ pulls the listener in via the intriguingly incongruous combination of pretty, clean guitar arpeggios and constantly rumbling double-bass work, courtesy as ever of the extremely proficient David Gray. A soaring vocal melody continues this juxtaposition, working against a churning post-metal chord sequence in a way that is obviously Akercockian, but simultaneously somehow novel for the band, before the aforementioned grin-inducing thrash sees the band move from 0-60mph in a fashion marginally quicker, but significantly more satanic than a high performance sports car. If this were not enough, the latter part of the song sees the band giving free rein to their predilection for squelchy electro and dissonant guitars, and this is augmented by an elastic bassline from new member Peter Benjamin. ‘Axiom’ welds clever composition to immense groove and feel in a way that cannot but satisfy even the seasoned Akercocke obsessive. Moreover, the lyrics also stake out a clear philosophical position that compliments the musical vision of the band, elegantly quoting Bertrand Russell with the lines “I believe that when I die I shall rot / And nothing of my ego shall survive”. One might mistakenly read nihilism into a statement that in fact opens up endless possibilities and removes limitations, urging humanity to maximise the pursuit of pleasure during the only life that we have.

Similarly inspiring is ‘The Dark Inside’, which experiments with a much more rough and ready sound than the progressive precision that Akercocke have become known for. The heavily rhythmic, almost mechanised d-beat of the verse is redolent of classic Ministry, spliced with an aggressive punk-metal feel that approximates Chaos A.D. era Sepultura, minus the tribal elements. The unstoppable forward momentum of the propulsive riffing suggests that the guitars are locked on to a track from which there is no escape; every note, every beat is as inexorable as it is powerful. As if to underscore this more animalistic approach, Mendonca’s vocals are some of the most feral that he has ever committed to tape, approaching the intensity of Blasphemy, or even Revenge, not bands that Akercocke typically belong in the same sentence as. Generally speaking, when Blasphemy are desecrating cemeteries in preparation for their nefarious rituals, Akercocke are more likely to be found reclining in the drawing room with a full-bodied Bordeaux, discussing Rimbaud and Flaubert, and it is gratifying here to observe Akercocke briefly allowing prominence to the beast that inhabits all of us, a beast that has perhaps been a little repressed of late. As they tend to at their best, Akercocke then move effortlessly from the bestial to the beautiful, as shimmering indie guitars and honeyed clean vocals transport us immediately into more tranquil climes, before the band return to their roots, unleashing a pulverising syncopated death metal riff of the kind that is positioned in the exact midpoint of the admittedly minimal distance between Morbid Angel and Slayer. The stampede becomes a lumbering lurch, the sound of an awoken giant learning to walk, before destroying everything in its path as the berserker metal of the earlier part of the track returns for a triumphant conclusion.

‘My Apterous Angel’ is further evidence of Akercocke’s mind-boggling versatility, and distinguishes itself with the most jaw-dropping segment of the entire record, a staggeringly clever instrumental section, as a brutal single note caveman riff is dramatically spun into a dissonant and considerably more complex version of the same progression, to ridiculously exciting effect. Were the entire album this dazzling in scope and execution, Antichrist would perhaps take The Goat Of Mendes‘s crown as the band’s greatest achievement. However, although the tracks which complete the album are well-performed death metal, they are not very much more than that, contenting themselves with replicating their influences, as opposed to transcending them. ‘Man Without Faith Or Trust’ demonstrates Akercocke’s enduring ability to compose memorably sinister death metal riffs, but offers little more than catchy brutality, and although ‘Footsteps Resound In An Empty Chapel’ improves on this in a dizzying technical blitzkrieg of prog-thrash, it’s difficult to avoid the nagging feeling that the band are breaking no new ground here. Where once every track promised to journey to unexplored realms, this time round they are returning to familiar destinations, albeit displaying the benefits of the intimate knowledge of the regular visitor, although the wide-eyed wonder of the first-time traveller is now lost. Even the atmospheric interludes feel like a somewhat lazy retread of the evocative sounds of Choronzon, and consequently cannot reach the heights that they ascend to on that album. Even the selection of the tracks covered on the special edition of Antichrist are somewhat obvious – Morbid Angel’s ‘Chapel Of Ghouls’ and the title-track from Death’s Leprosy. There is of course nothing wrong with paying tribute to your forbears, and I suppose it’s possible that these covers introduced some fans to these untouchable giants of the genre, but apart from some spooky synths added to the former, Akercocke play it disappointingly straight, delivering admirable but uninspiring versions of unimprovable songs. How much more interesting it might have been to hear them cover something from outside the genre, identifying and honouring a kindred spirit in ideology, if not in sound.

It is important to clarify in conclusion, that Antichrist is not a poor album. It is in fact an excellent piece of work that even at its most generic conceives and executes extreme metal at a level well beyond the abilities of the majority of death metal acts. However, for the first time in their discography, the only real surprise to be found here is the fact that there is very little surprising about Antichrist, and for a band as ambitious as Akercocke, this feels like the first retrograde step in a career that has hitherto only moved in one direction. Perhaps they felt like they had taken the experimentation as far as they could under the Akercocke banner, and it’s easy to understand the attraction and challenge of creating such a tight and concise statement after several albums of increasingly intricate and progressive music. Seen in this light, Antichrist is indeed successful – an easily digestible blast of pure Akercocke, each track reduced only to its most integral parts. Were this the first of their albums that I heard, it is easy to envisage the delight with which this listener would have embraced such an overwhelming display of death metal dominance. However, in light of the greater triumphs that came before Antichrist, it cannot help but marginally pale in comparison, the band scaling Kilimanjaro, having summited Everest previously. A harsh judgement certainly, but then Akercocke have earned the dubious right to be judged to a higher standard than lesser bands. Expectations were met, but this time, they were not exceeded.

Score: 82%

Alice In Chains – The Devil Put Dinosaurs Here

Author: BD Joyce

Alice In Chains – The Devil Put Dinosaurs Here

• Artist: Alice In Chains
• Album: The Devil Put Dinosaurs Here
• Year of Release: 2013
• Country: USA
• Label: Capitol Records
• Format: Jewelcase CD
• Catalogue Number: 509999 47800 2 4

When the apparently defunct Alice In Chains improbably returned from the dead, they even more improbably stuck the landing, with an excellent comeback record, Black Gives Way To Blue, in 2009. With the weight of expectation fully absorbed by their first record without their iconic former frontman Layne Staley, one imagines that recording the follow-up came with a feeling of freedom and serenity, safe in the knowledge that any questions about their ability to recapture the magic of their first incarnation had been permanently settled. The only real question would be whether, shorn of the emotional impact of the way in which their previous record dealt with the death of Staley, The Devil Put Dinosaurs Here would combine musical quality and intense catharsis to the same devastating effect. Objectively, one would have to concede that it doesn’t quite reach the same redemptive heights, and perhaps expecting that it might is fundamentally unreasonable. However, the brilliance of Cantrell’s songwriting, and the performances of all members of the band means that even an album that is somewhat inferior to its predecessor still houses a raft of excellent songs, as well as representing the point at which the band finally free themselves from the burden of their complicated past, opening up a future of unlimited possibilities.

Alice In Chains made their name via the hefty metallic weight of their first three full-length albums. Despite this, the best moments found on Black Gives Way To Blue were often the tracks on which the sludgy riffs were traded in for the kind of country-inflected melodic rock that filled the band’s mostly acoustic EPs. It is, therefore, a surprise, that The Devil Put Dinosaurs Here, at least across the opening tracks, sees the band return to the challenging sounds of their self-titled third album, an album that saw them at their most atonal and confrontational. Daring the listener to blink first once again, the first three tracks here find the band in a dark and downbeat mode. The opener, ‘Hollow’, is ridden with gloom, located at the heart of the band’s pain cave, music emanating from a soul enshrouded in impenetrable mist. Rejecting the layers of instrumentation that made the previous record such a bounty of melodic riches, ‘Hollow’ is a sparse and almost cavernous song, with Cantrell and DuVall’s voices combining in ghostly fashion, spectres intertwined, somewhere in another realm. Old habits die hard though, and the band lighten the load a little with a customarily memorable chorus, which provides a melodic anchor for a song that might otherwise be perpetually adrift. ‘Pretty Done’ and ‘Stone’, which follow, very much offer a musical continuation of the opener, with the latter significantly more impressive than the solid, but slightly uninspired song that precedes it. ‘Stone’ is seriously heavy, dominated by a classic seasick Cantrell riff, which shows the band’s command of negative space. Indeed, the gravity of Alice In Chains seems almost able to warp time itself, but without sacrificing a bluesy groove, which calls to mind Corrosion Of Conformity, or their many Southern brethren. The bridge even features something approaching a breakdown, with a monolithic knuckle-dragging riff taking us towards the kind of nu-metal that Alice In Chains undoubtedly influenced without ever really aligning with, before some fleet-fingered, but understated, leads bring us back into more conventional territory. With a quarter of the album gone, the listener has been thoroughly pummelled, but the relentlessness of the somewhat similar punches are risking a loss of feeling, and something different is required at this point to allow some level of feeling to return.

What comes next brings precisely that, a spring breeze through an open window, carrying the promise of better days ahead. Just as the band sounded at their most fluent and comfortable on the previous album when they eased back from the iron-plated riffage, and instead allowed their country and classic rock influences to come to the fore, so the same is the case again here. It’s not exactly that Alice In Chains have transformed their sound, more that they have the capacity to accentuate elements of their sound that have always been latent, without losing their instantly recognisable identity. All of the best songs on the album embody this sound, and the first of them is the wonderful ‘Voices’. Across their (mostly) acoustic EPs, Alice In Chains used sparse but infectious chord sequences to create gentle grooves which provided space for the vocal melody to breathe, and connect with the listener. Here, we see them repeating a similar trick, but with a fuller instrumentation. Three chords and a little rhythmic economy is all it takes here to create a compelling song, the AC/DC formula utilised by a guitarist equally as familiar with Judas Priest as the Bob Dylan song that they were named after. The verse is blissful, but very much the opening act to a blockbuster headliner of a chorus that combines glorious, winsome harmonies and a devastatingly pretty Rickenbacker-sounding guitar line that adds a shimmering beauty to match the perfectly pitched vocals. The song is spellbinding from start to finish, a timeless slice of wonder to add to a storied back catalogue. The album finds a similar peak towards its conclusion, in the shape of the stunning ‘Scalpel.’ The warm intimacy of the acoustic chord sequence that commences the song calls to mind Nirvana’s Unplugged In New York, suggesting something loose and off the cuff, but the dark lyrics belie the delicate vocal lines: “It’s a lie, you hide in someone else / Like a shining scalpel, cut yourself.” The guitar lines play off the verse like sparks emanating from kindling, and the chorus is gripping, more countrified harmonies elevating the track to a rarefied level of mastery. ‘Scalpel’ is the light at the end of the band’s long, dark tunnel found at last, the first breath of a new-born, a place to rest at the end of a long journey, and despite its lightness of touch, it bears the weight of everything that Cantrell and his colleagues have struggled through to get to this point.

Not all of the songs quite reach the standard attained by ‘Voices’ and ‘Scalpel’, but that’s not to say that there isn’t much to enjoy about the majority of the record. The title track is especially intriguing, representing a rare moment of social commentary from a band that have tended to focus on the personal, as opposed to the political. Providing the context for the curious statement made by the album’s title, the chorus relates “The devil put dinosaurs here / Jesus don’t like a queer / The devil put dinosaurs here / No problem with faith, just fear”, and it’s clear that the band are taking aim at the religious hypocrisy so prevalent in their homeland, a nation in which a lying, pussy-grabbing millionaire can apparently persuade the pious Christian heartlands of the US to turn out in their millions to vote for him, while all the time he gets richer, and his supporters get poorer. It’s a welcome statement from a band that clearly felt the need to shed a little light on their own ideology, having kept their cards close to their chests for many years. ‘Low Ceiling’ is another infectious track, melding metallic Americana to alternative rock with an easy and natural charm, and the song also boasts a sensational guitar solo, featuring a recurring motif that is cold and sharp, a knife cutting through a glacier. In the latter part of the album, the DuVall co-write ‘Phantom Limb’ successfully ramps up the heaviness once more, incorporating a thrilling stop-start riff that one could imagine Staley singing over, a glorious re-fashioning of the thunderous material that made the Alice In Chains name so revered in the 1990s.

Elsewhere though, the album’s lengthy run-time becomes a weight around its neck. When Alice In Chains released their third, self-titled, effort in 1995, the confrontational nature of an album that employed repetition and extreme song lengths to challenge the listener created a compelling test of endurance, where simply surviving the coruscating nature of the assault felt grimly satisfying. With the band’s heart of true darkness no longer beating, at times this album simply drags. ‘Lab Monkey’ is pedestrian and bland, ‘Breath On A Window’ feels rote and self-plagiarising, and the tedious ‘Hung On A Hook’ makes five minutes feel like twenty-five. There is nothing catastrophically poor here, but the balance of the record feels uncomfortably close to tipping in the direction of the mediocre, the lower quality songs threatening to undermine strong foundations. The final track, ‘Choke’ closes the album satisfactorily at least, but it is hard not to form the impression that, for the first time in their career, the band have dipped a little from the stratospheric heights at which they have primarily operated. The Devil Put Dinosaurs Here is frequently a better album than many bands make across their entire career, but Alice In Chains are a band that must be judged by a higher standard, given the calibre of their discography. And the fact of the matter is that, while its very existence is to be celebrated, this record feels like an uneasy compromise between the melodic hard rock band that now feels like the most natural mode of their current iteration, and the more aggressive metal band that they once were. Alice In Chains are not yet the dinosaurs of which they sing, but this album brings them a little bit closer than it should.

Score: 73%

Alice In Chains – Black Gives Way To Blue

Author: BD Joyce

Alice In Chains – Black Gives Way To Blue

• Artist: Alice In Chains
• Album: Black Gives Way To Blue
• Year of Release: 2009
• Country: USA
• Label: Parlophone
• Format: Jewelcase CD
• Catalogue Number: 50999 308266 2 5

It was widely, and not unreasonably, assumed, that Alice In Chains’s self-titled third album would forever remain the full stop at the end of the band’s career, following the death of their iconic frontman, Layne Staley, in 2002. This itself occurred some years after their effective dissolution, following an abortive tour in support of Kiss in 1996, with guitarist and main songwriter Jerry Cantrell embarking on a solo career that was already a couple of albums deep by the time his erstwhile partner-in-crime passed away. The somewhat unexpected reactivation of the band came against the backdrop of the kind of critical opinion that any band that loses an integral member of their perceived ‘classic line-up’ will be familiar with. And while it’s not unfair to note that once again utilising the Alice In Chains moniker would surely generate a greater degree of financial security than any alternative (not that one imagines Cantrell, at least, especially needed the cash), the remaining members were undoubtedly taking a huge, and potentially fatal risk by reuniting. Irrespective of the quality of any new music released under the name, there remained a strong possibility that a substantial proportion of their existing fanbase would simply reject the new version of the band, with all goodwill towards Cantrell, Kinney, and Inez burned to ashes on the bonfire of the kind of fallout that one could easily imagine occurring, however pure and untainted by avarice the motives of those involved. That this didn’t happen on the release of Black Gives Way To Blue, or subsequently, is testament to the way in which the band have conducted themselves over the years, never exploiting Staley’s legacy or their audience’s nostalgia for the previous iteration. It also speaks to the fact that the same audience understands intuitively that Alice In Chains belongs to Cantrell every bit as much as it did to Staley, and that their return in fact represents a reclamation of his own music, on his terms. And make no mistake, this is very much Cantrell’s music. It would be incorrect to suggest that this is a Jerry Cantrell solo album in all but name – this is not a Black Sabbath Seventh Star scenario – but the guitarist / vocalist does take sole songwriting credit for all but two of the record’s eleven tracks. Touring buddy William DuVall (once of California punks Bl’ast) joins the band, ostensibly in place of Staley, but one suspects his role was to provide moral support to Cantrell as much as it was to offer a substantial contribution.

Alice In Chains always possessed something of a contrarian streak, and here this manifests itself in the way that the album commences in a slow and studied fashion, as opposed to the way in which ‘Them Bones’ ensures that Dirt thunders out of the gate like a wild horse unleashed. Opener ‘All Secrets Known’ takes the road less travelled, building its foundations slowly, brick by brick, as if the members are painstakingly attempting to reassemble a structure once familiar. In something of a parallel with the previous album’s ‘Grind’ though, in which Staley takes direct aim at the rumour-mongering concerning his (admittedly ailing) health, the lyrics that traverse the tentative arpeggio of the guitars immediately address those who might be questioning the validity of their rebirth. With the band’s signature haunting vocal harmonies intact, albeit with Cantrell now taking the lead, and DuVall in support, Cantrell is clear that the remaining members recognise the difficulty that some will find in accepting in the reunion, and stress that it will be both the same, and necessarily different from what came before: “Hope / A new beginning / Time / Time to start living / Like just before we died / There’s no going back / To the place / We started from.” As the song progresses, their motivation is transparently stated: “Calm / Old wounds are healing / Strong / Truth is worth saving / I want to feel alive”. There is something disarming about the honesty and sincerity of the message, and the need to codify the band’s stance in song, and it acts as an effective gateway into both the album itself, and the ongoing career that will follow.

After the lush, but laidback, texture of the opening track, Alice In Chains land a huge sucker-punch with the swaggering ‘Check My Brain’, perhaps the most immediate song on the album, and a real return to the riff-based composition of their earlier incarnation. Cantrell is a master of economy, and generates the monolithic and monumental riff which runs through the song from little more than a single string-bend, his guitar groaning like a steel beam being twisted by the hulking grip of a giant. Even more gargantuan than the riff is the hugely infectious chorus, which describes Cantrell’s amused surprise at finding himself, a died-in-the-wool Pacific North-Westerner, living in Los Angeles, a city harbouring so many of the decadent temptations that once would have represented an unavoidable trap for the now-reformed drug addict. The chorus begins with turning the name of the state in which the City of Angels sits into a multi-syllabic melody that forms the track’s pivotal hook. The word “California” is an incredibly pleasing array of sounds that rolls so perfectly off the tongue, and lends itself so easily to song. It’s no surprise that it has landed in so many iconic tracks throughout the history of rock ‘n’ roll, and the band’s own addition to the canon stands proudly among classic tracks by The Eagles, Dead Kennedys, Joni Mitchell, and The Beach Boys, among many, many others. ‘Check My Brain’, and the alternately grinding and chugging heft of the song that immediately follows it, ‘Last Of My Kind’, are perhaps the closest that the album gets to reproducing the sound of the first incarnation of the band. The latter continues the album’s strong start, despite the fact that the vocal rhythms of the pre-chorus strangely recall Rob Zombie’s late-90s floor-filler ‘Dragula’, and although it’s a very good song, the arrangement could conceivably have been tightened to improve matters even further, given the clear supremacy of the second half of a song that takes some time to really take flight. The key to really embracing Alice In Chains v2.0 though, is to accept and enjoy that fact that despite the many obvious similarities with the band they once were, they have become something subtly different, a fact clearly demonstrated by the remainder of an album that creates new possibilities and a new future for a band that had no choice but to move on.

This truly happens during the last third of the album, where, like a flower coming into bloom in the winter, the album peaks as Alice In Chains cast off their fetters, and transform fully into their new iteration. Losing the oppressive heaviness that was such a crucial part of their history, but a part that was irrecoverably lost with the death of Layne Staley, the band sound comfortable and confident in their new guise of heavy, country-tinged rockers, able to pull from the metallic past at will, but choosing to live in the present from this point forward. Where once, Alice In Chains were almost deliberately obtuse, the warm open chords of ‘Lesson Learned’ signal a more approachable and even human version of the band. Everything about the track flows naturally, like a river to the sea, the verse into a majestic pre-chorus, and then into the main chorus, stacked with glorious, sun-dappled harmonies. In feel, if not sonically, this is the band that were capable of an album as overflowing with killer songs as Dirt, and the golden run continues with the wondrous ‘Take Her Out’, another slice of country-inflected hard rock that suggests enormous work has gone into the crafting of vocal lines across a record that relies heavily on Cantrell’s ability to carry the songs with his voice, ably picking up the slack left by his fallen brother. The foregrounding of the vocals reaches its apex on penultimate track, ‘Private Hell’. The musical backing is gently psychedelic, a series of sparse arpeggios vaguely reminiscent of Dirt‘s ‘Down In A Hole’, which provide a slender foundation for a song built largely from layer upon layer of voices. Cantrell has made no secret of his love of The Eagles, and the multi-part harmonies on this track have never sounded more like the classic country-rockers. There are parts of the record where the lyrics are smothered by the full sound and gleaming guitars, as if Cantrell is not yet quite confident enough in his ability to replace Staley’s more direct compositional skills. That is not the case here, however, and it allows the sad chorus to make a direct emotional connection to the listener, as Duvall joins his bandmate, intoning “I excuse myself / I’m used to my little cell / I amuse myself / In my very own private hell.” The details of the precise perdition of which the band sing here are sketchy, but this just allows an empathetic audience to project their own psychological suffering onto the band, perhaps finding solidarity and catharsis in the shared emotional outpouring.

Black Gives Way To Blue concludes with possibly the most affecting and beautiful song that Alice In Chains have ever written. Historically, outside of the slightly different (and mostly) acoustic EPs, the band have sometimes obfuscated heavy emotions beneath walls of iron-plated guitars, eschewing vulnerability in favour of retaliatory spite. This title-track, however, is uncluttered and straightforward, utilising little more than slide guitar and piano, to offer a gorgeous tribute to Layne Staley. Once before, on the Sap EP, the band were able to invite one of their heroes, Heart’s Ann Wilson, to join them in the recording studio, and repeat the trick here. It is a demonstration of their enduring reputation that a musician as celebrated as Elton John is the guest on this track, adding the tasteful and unobtrusive piano that provides the scaffolding for Cantrell’s heartrending vocal melody. There is something incredibly dignified and fitting about closing their comeback album with such a tribute, and as Cantrell sings the lines “Lay down, black gives way to blue / Lay down, I’ll remember you”, the listener can sense the easing of the band’s tangible grief, and the closing of that chapter of their career, liberating them to make music in a way that no longer needs pay such deep respect to their history, allowing them to create a new future for Alice In Chains. Black Gives Way To Blue is not a great album, in the way that Dirt is, but it is a truly excellent one that occasionally touches greatness, enough to satisfy old fans, and potentially gain a new audience at the same time.

Score: 82%

Alice In Chains – Alice In Chains

Author: BD Joyce

Alice In Chains – Alice In Chains

• Artist: Alice In Chains
• Album: Alice In Chains
• Year of Release: 1995
• Country: USA
• Label: Columbia
• Format: Jewelcase CD
• Catalogue Number: 481114 2

It is, sadly, almost impossible to evaluate Alice In Chains third, and self-titled, album, without considering the influence of what happened after its release on the way in which we now view a record that was presumed, for some time, to be band’s final act. This would ultimately prove not to be the case, although it is the last album to be recorded by the quartet which featured their iconic lead vocalist, Layne Staley. By the time that Alice In Chains was recorded, Staley’s health had declined as his substance dependency had increased, and the band no longer functioned effectively as a conventional recording and touring act. Indeed, the tensions within the band, exacerbated by the abortive (for now) attempts of guitarist, Jerry Cantrell, to forge ahead with a solo career at the same time as Staley teamed up with Pearl Jam’s Mick McCready in Mad Season, meant that the band were operating within a swirl of understandable, but destabilising, speculation about their future. Rather less understandable, and rather more malicious, were the unfounded rumours of Staley’s demise, rumours that he would address directly with the very first line that he sings on the album. Although the rumour-mongers were wide of the mark in 1995, at least in terms of Staley’s continued existence, in the years that followed, once they had completed a small number of dates supporting the reformed Kiss in 1996, Alice In Chains would lie dormant until Staley’s eventual death in 2002. Consequently, it is difficult not to hear Alice In Chains as a farewell, and Staley’s troubled voice as a ghostly call from another realm, regardless of the intention of the band during the recording. This sense is only heightened by an album that is awkward and challenging, as if Alice In Chains gave in completely to their emotions, following them wherever they led, irrespective of how uninviting some of the territory may have been. There is still treasure to be found for the listener that is prepared to work hard to uncover it, but it refuses to reveal its charms without exacting a high price.

From the outset, the contrast with Dirt is stark. Even before opening the CD case, we are confronted with artwork bearing the image of a three-legged dog, a analogy perhaps for the circumstances the band found themselves in during the recording, circumstances that culminated in Staley being effectively coerced into completing his vocals by the band’s impatient record label. Retrospectively, we might see it as an analogy for a band tragically shorn of a member; alive, but wounded. Where Dirt leaps out of the speakers with the energised ‘Them Bones’, Alice In Chains dials the tempo right back, a slow, almost robotic chug, introducing ‘Grind’. Jerry Cantrell builds layers of sound with eerie, dissonant guitar lines contributing to the song’s frigid ambience. The first verse contains a superbly sardonic Staley lyric, which offers a direct rebuke to those commentators that publicly questioned his mortality: “In the darkest hole, you’d be well-advised / Not to plan my funeral ‘fore the body dies”. It’s a startling moment, but for all of Staley’s defiance, his effects-laden rasping voice sounds (perhaps intentionally) sick and ghostly, some way from the rich and strident tone of which he was once the owner. Despite the cold, almost mechanical nature of much of the track, Alice In Chains show their unerring ability to pull themselves out of the vortex at will, with a sweet lullaby of a chorus. Even here there is a sting in the tail, however, with Staley despairing about his circumstances: “Let me sleep so my teeth won’t grind / Hear a sound from a voice inside.”

The overtly metallic nature of ‘Grind’ is mis-directional in terms of the overall sound of the album, with only the tonally similar, but more aggressive ‘Again’, offering anything with both the overt metallic heft and the immediacy of Dirt. Appearing approximately halfway through the record, ‘Again’ once again utilises the cold, industrial feel that permeates Alice In Chains. This is music that belongs in a dank abandoned abattoir, lit only by flickering strip lights, the sound bouncing off concrete and metal, reverberating from an array of hard surfaces. The main riff of the track is a rhythmic masterclass from Cantrell, introducing an offbeat accent which transforms what would otherwise be an unremarkable progression into a truly memorable, but strangely elusive, motif. Staley’s vocal is ghoulish once more, but simultaneously confrontational and stark, opting not to follow the quick chug of the guitars, and instead creating a fascinating counterpoint to the music, as if they are operating at different velocities. The stacked harmonies of the snappy chorus create an overwhelming wall of voices, and, unlike the rest of the album, the band follow a conventional pop song structure. The grungy bridge, probably the only time the band could realistically be compared to Nirvana, brings relief from the relentless chug, returning again to conclude an almost breezy four minutes, the band’s energy peaking before the overwhelming ordeal of the second half of a tough and difficult album.

If the latter half of the album is challenging, for a number of reasons, the run of songs from the opening track through to ‘Shame In You’ is an outstanding exhibition of just what the band are capable of, when taking the opportunity to stretch their music across a wider canvas than they made use of during the composition of Dirt. After the confrontational violence of ‘Grind’, the atmospheric ‘Brush Away’ and the deeply unsettling ‘Sludge Factory’ see the band descending into a hellish, but thrilling, vortex of despair. The former uses unconventional guitar tones to generate an industrial rumble, as if the band are demolishing in the chorus what they have built during the verse, a Sisyphean act of creation and negation. The latter is grim and gloomy, Staley picking through the bones of what remains of his previous life, wallowing and resigned. Even Cantrell’s guitar licks, as deft as ever, seem stunted and diseased, flora emerging from poisoned soil, malformed and ugly. As the song concludes, following seven minutes of horror, a robotic and monotone vocal repeats the chilling phrase, “Your weapon is guilt”, over and over again. It’s not clear exactly who Staley is addressing here, but it feels intimate and accusatory, as if the listener is privy to something more private than they should be permitted to access. In a masterstroke of sequencing, Alice In Chains pull the listener from the quicksand at the conclusion of ‘Sludge Factory’, with the pastoral acoustic tones of the wonderful ‘Heaven Beside You’ representing a pause in hostilities, a brief ceasefire sorely needed. Tonally, this is a return to Jar Of Flies, the warm and resonant guitars allowing Cantrell the space to adorn the resonant chord progression with some incisive blues licks and gorgeous melody lines. Much of the record feels almost intentionally jarring and disjointed, but ‘Heaven Beside You’ flows like a river, the verse into the chorus into the bridge, as if the song could only ever exist in this form. Any alternative would inevitably be inferior. Even here though, the warmth of the music is undercut by Staley’s cold lyrics perhaps referring to the torment of withdrawal: “Like the coldest winter chill / Heaven beside you (hell within)”, before the weary sign-off of the bridge “I’m just see-through, faded, super-jaded / And out of my mind.” The usually understated Sean Kinney dominates the thunderous ‘Head Creeps’ that follows, with a rolling tom-tom beat underpinning a serpentine riff that pulls Alice In Chains as close as they’ve ever been to doom, before the brilliant ‘Again’ leads us into the pinnacle of the album, the magisterial ‘Shame In You’. Combining almost everything that makes this album what it is, ‘Shame In You’ is both delicate and weighty, an anvil built of feathers. The guitar work is devastatingly beautiful, and Staley’s lyrics, delivered insouciantly, are a punch in the gut from a man that appears to have become accommodated to his fate: “When I waken / And I’m achin’ / Time for sleepin’, yeah / When I’m sayin’ / Time to go, and / I’ve been hurtin’, yeah / When I’m layin’ / I’m still tryin’ / Concentrating on dyin’, yeah”. The chorus that follows this is nothing short of epic, a windswept landscape of melody in which every single note is a shard of ice through an ailing heart, before the song finally dissolves to nothing, a valediction for the ages, and an emotional peak that it feels almost impossible to move on from.

If ‘Shame In You’ feels like the apex that the album is building to, it is followed by a series of songs that feel like the punishment meted out to a broken man, a torture victim with no secrets left to disclose. Both ‘God Am’ and ‘So Close’ pound like a lethal migraine. The former drags like a sludge AC/DC, and features a main riff made less from actual notes, than crunching machinery and impetuous stabs in the direction of recognisable chords, although another soaring chorus provides something of a focal point for the track. The latter is harrowingly claustrophobic, the glassy arpeggios played by the guitars mirroring the unbearably brittle vocals of Staley. As he sings “Man, I nearly snapped my twig” the listener becomes uncomfortably aware that Alice In Chains is the sound of irredeemable mental anguish that simply cannot be assuaged. ‘Nothin’ Song’ is, if anything, even more whacked out and out of kilter than ‘So Close’, nonsensical, dopesick non-sequiturs that somehow attach themselves to one’s consciousness “like peanut butter on the brain”, gnawing away, listen after listen. Finally, we reach the nadir of Staley’s downward spiral with the brutal and bereft ‘Frogs’. The sparse minimalism means that the lengthy song is, presumably intentionally, challenging, daring the band’s now long-suffering fans to stay with them until the bleak and despondent end.

Concluding the album with ‘Frogs’ would make some sort of grim sense, but it is typical of the band’s pitch black, and slightly obtuse, sense of humour, something that remains despite the travails catalogued by Staley’s increasingly desperate lyrics, that instead Alice In Chains closes with the breezy ‘Over Now’, a throwback to the sound of the Sap EP, as well as literally expressing the relief of everyone involved that they have reached the end of a torturous process. Where much of the album is noisy and monolithic, ‘Over Now’ is admirably restrained. Alice In Chains tend to see the guitars and vocals dominate, but here it is the rhythm section that star, with an especially deft drum part allowing Sean Kinney to come to the fore in a way that reinforces just how important he is to Alice In Chains. Heartbreakingly, Staley’s final line of vocals for the band hears his voice, naked and shorn of the distortion and effects that have been used across much of the album, intoning “Yeah, we pay our debt sometime”. He, of course, would subsequently pay the ultimate price after the dissolution of this iteration of the band, and his loss continues to be mourned by many today. The uncomfortable truth though, is that this version of Alice In Chains were inseparable from Staley’s pain, and could not have existed in the same way without Staley’s experiences, despite the cost to himself. One hopes that he would be in some way satisfied by the incredible legacy that he helped to create; an untouchable series of albums and EPs that continue to resonate with a large audience, long after his passing. Alice In Chains is not the best of these albums – that honour can only be bestowed on Dirt. But for those that choose to stay the course, Alice In Chains is a fascinating and frequently magnificent sequel to that album, and a fitting coda to the Alice In Chains that ceases to exist with this record. It is sprawling, difficult, and imperfect, in many ways the distorted reflection of Dirt. It is precisely these characteristics that make it so endlessly compelling though, and it succeeds because of these traits, rather than despite them. Like the mutt on the album’s cover, we cherish here what Alice In Chains possessed, not what they were missing.

Score: 90%

Alice In Chains – Jar Of Flies

Author: BD Joyce

Alice In Chains – Jar Of Flies

• Artist: Alice In Chains
• Album: Jar Of Flies
• Year of Release: 1994
• Country: USA
• Label: Columbia
• Format: Jewelcase CD
• Catalogue Number: CK 57628

Alice In Chains released their first EP, Sap, in the period between their hugely successful debut album, and the all-conquering masterpiece that was its follow-up, Dirt. Flushed with the swaggering confidence of a band that knew that they had something special in the can at a time during which mainstream rock had just come round to their particular brand of classic rock-inflected metal, Sap was a wonderful, loose-limbed bridge between the first two records, the band’s songwriting talents laid bare for all to see, with the fuzz and distortion mostly stripped away from a clutch of songs that required little more than the melodious harmonies of Layne Staley and Jerry Cantrell to take flight. Although Jar Of Flies is superficially close in tone to Sap, seeing the band operating primarily in acoustic mode once more. Close enough, in fact, to see the EPs frequently packaged together into a single compilation in the years since their original release. Despite this, though, the band were in a very different place in 1993 than they had been prior to the release of Dirt, when they came to record their second EP. Alice In Chains were now operating in a post-Nevermind world, hailing from a Seattle that found itself at the epicentre of the somewhat-confected ‘grunge’ movement. A band that boasted a barely-hidden hair metal past, and no traces of the 1980s US hardcore that so inspired Nirvana and Mudhoney, were now both critical darlings, and commercial behemoths. In 1991, Alice In Chains had opened for Van Halen and Poison (as well as joining the legendary Clash Of The Titans trek with the thrash-oriented line-up of Slayer, Megadeth and Anthrax), and nothing quite demonstrates the changes afoot in hard rock more starkly than its 1993 equivalent seeing the four-piece join Jane’s Addiction mainman Perry Farrell’s travelling Lollapalooza festival for the summer, a new mecca for the newly-created legions of alternative rock fans across the USA. Furthermore, the road-weary band had seen what might once have been decadent indulgences with narcotics transformed into full-blown addictions. These substance issues would prompt the replacement of bassist Mike Starr with Ozzy Osbourne’s sometime bandmate Mike Inez, as well as the ultimately terminal descent of frontman Staley into the outer reaches of an opiate habit that would eventually kill him, some years after the release of the final Alice In Chains record to feature his magnificent voice.

Not dissimilar to the way in which Metallica broke-in Jason Newsted via the covers EP generally know as Garage Days Re-Revisited (before practically silencing him via the infamous …And Justice For All mix), Jar Of Flies represented a rather gentler initiation than the Hetfield hazing for Inez. Coincidentally, Inez later auditioned to replace Newsted in Metallica when the latter left the thrash giants, and one imagines he would have been seriously considered, before Rob Trujillo, who had replaced Inez in Ozzy Osbourne’s band, was instead chosen. Where Metallica had chosen to blast away the cobwebs via a series of punk and NWOBHM covers, Alice In Chains were in a more contemplative mood, the extensive touring in support of Dirt having made the rest of the band somewhat weary of the kind of thunderous power that characterised their live show. Instead, they retreated to a Seattle studio for a week of mainly-acoustic jamming and song-writing that was not initially intended to yield their next release. Such was the band’s productivity, however, and so easy was the chemistry with Inez, that band and label quickly came to the conclusion that to withhold songs of the calibre found on Jar Of Flies would have been an unnecessary act of self-sabotage, and the reaction of their fanbase was predictably ecstatic, with the EP shifting a staggering two million copies in its first year of release alone, while simultaneously becoming the first release in that format ever to top the US albums chart. In many respects, Jar Of Flies was simply the right record at the right time, capitalising on the mania for all things grunge, while showcasing a country-infused classic rock sound that broadened their appeal to virtually anyone interested in contemporary rock, but without sacrificing any of the emotional heaviness and sincerity that had gained them a significant audience already.

This emotional heft is immediately apparent from the first rumblings of the instantly recognisable acoustic bassline that heralds the start of the classic ‘Rotten Apple’. Warm and resonant, it is as if the band is in the room with the listener, and the intimacy that this creates only serves to strengthen the bond between band and listener, lending a confessional element Staley’s ever-haunting vocal. As the languid track progresses, Jerry Cantrell, a master of restraint, enters the fray, delivering a squalling, wah-heavy screed of lead guitar, an almost-human cry from somewhere beyond the physical realm, before the delicate melodies of the verse are joined by Staley’s half-mumbled vocal. Belying the short duration of the recording sessions, Alice In Chains here seem to be a band with time on their hands, allowing the song to gradually build into a wonderful chorus, unexpectedly jazzy chord voicings showing the versatility of Cantrell’s playing, and combining with the elegant vocal refrain to create alchemical magic. ‘Rotten Apple’ ends as it starts, the instruments falling away to leave Inez’s dextrous bass, suggesting that the song is eternal, rising and falling like the tide, always there if one chooses to hear it. Impressively, ‘Nutshell’, which immediately follows, is the equal of its stellar predecessor, the bright open-chord jangle that dominates the verses indelible. Amateur guitarists the world over will often find themselves working through similarly rudimentary progressions, in search of something with the simplistic, but singular, brilliance of Cantrell’s sequence, and it’s a mark of the Alice In Chains man’s genius, that he is able to turn three chords into something original so frequently. ‘Nutshell’ perhaps doesn’t contain the kind of redemptive peak that ‘Rotten Apple’ boasts in the shape of its chorus, but the masterful way in which it creates and maintains the ambience throughout shows an equally engaging side of the band.

After such a strong, but in character, opening to the EP, Alice In Chains begin to enjoy the freedom to experiment that the format allows, firstly in the shape of ‘I Stay Away’. While the band’s classic rock heritage has always been the foundation of their sound, ‘I Stay Away’ is notable for embracing the sound of classic Americana more fulsomely than ever before. The breezy arpeggios of the verse, augmented by the winsome strings that float, almost untethered, above a sweet vocal line, would fit comfortably on a Tom Petty or Glenn Frey composition, although this creates a false sense of security before they are rudely interrupted by a sludgy, swampy chorus, the instrumentation mimicking the viscous funk of Stevie Wonder’s ‘Superstition’, completed by yet more outstanding and spectral harmonies from Staley and Cantrell. Considerably less disjointed in practice than the description might lead one to believe, ‘I Stay Away’ further emphasises the band’s range, arguably wider than that of any of their Seattle peers, and fully convincing no matter which elements of their influences they choose to combine at any given time. Less surprising, but just as successful, is the more conventional ‘No Excuses’, which shows a lightness of touch that even Teenage Fanclub might admire. In contrast to the loose groove of ‘I Stay Away’, ‘No Excuses’ is one of the band’s tightest and most economical arrangements, flowing like a silent river into one of their most unforgettable choruses. The delicacy of the acoustic guitars is brutally torn apart, however, by a despairing chorus, Staley detailing the loneliness and isolation of a drug dependency that has moved some way beyond the gleeful transgression of ‘Dirt‘: “Every day it’s something hits me oh so cold / Find me sittin’ by myself / No excuses, then I know”. The straightforward nature of Staley’s deadpan delivery somehow accentuates the heart-breaking sadness of the lyric, as his previous defiance seems transformed before our eyes into resigned acceptance. One of the band’s finest tracks, ‘No Excuses’ is also a pivotal song for the band in thematic terms, marking the point at which Staley’s anger at the world begins to turn inwards towards himself. A signal, perhaps, that the end was inexorably approaching.

The second half of Jar Of Flies cannot quite keep pace with the first, although they continue to utilise their licence to experiment, a ‘Get Out Of Jail Free’ card brandished on multiple occasions before the conclusion of the odd and awkward ‘Swing On This’. Before this, ‘Whale & Wasp’ is a blissful instrumental that adds some Allman Brothers-style melodies over a pretty, string-laden arpeggio to delightful effect, but not much more than that. Unsurprisingly, given the circumstances of the EP’s genesis, there is an unfinished feel to a track that perhaps could have been developed into something more substantial in time, but it nevertheless stands as an intriguing curio. ‘Don’t Follow’ combines the kind of blue-collar Americana that we have already encountered on ‘I Stay Away’, with a fragile and plaintive George Harrison-esque verse, and the kind of pure country vocal harmonies that filter Staley and Cantrell’s usual sinister intervals through a golden-hued lens, an alternative vision of a quite different band that perhaps could have existed under different circumstances. It’s all very charming, but almost disarmingly conventional. Possibly sensing this, the aforementioned ‘Swing On This’ redresses the imbalance, a jaunty and theatrically-delivered verse dissolving into a woozy, amorphous chorus that never quite resolves the reptilian vocal line that meanders around the band’s light psychedelia. At the conclusion of a record that was, of course, never intended to be evaluated as a record, the prevailing feeling is one of unsettled tension, despite the quality of its best tracks. Although it’s unlikely that this was intentional, it means that Jar Of Flies represents the perfect segue into the band’s next album, the self-titled LP that will also be Staley’s last with the band, and a record that is comprised of little more than musical and psychological tension. Jar Of Flies is more than simply a bridge to another destination, however. At its best, it is a magical demonstration of the songwriting abilities contained within Alice In Chains, and an exhibition of the true breadth of a talent more constrained on their longer works.

Score: 80%

Alice In Chains – Dirt

Author: BD Joyce

Alice In Chains – Dirt

• Artist: Alice In Chains
• Album: Dirt
• Year of Release: 1992
• Country: USA
• Label: Columbia
• Format: Jewelcase CD
• Catalogue Number: 472330 2

Alice In Chains had unleashed the debut album Facelift on an unsuspecting public, right at the point at which alternative rock, a fairly broad musical church that can be traced back to the DIY American hardcore scene of the 1980s, had begun to supplant glossy hair metal as the cornerstone of contemporary rock music. By the time that Dirt came out in 1992, the intervening period, punctuated by the excellent EP Sap, the mainstream rock scene had changed dramatically, with the band’s native Seattle the global epicentre of a grunge movement that had captured both the zeitgeist, and the imagination of rock fans eager for something grittier and more relatable than the flabby mess that stadium hard rock had become. In truth, ‘grunge’ was more of a description of an aesthetic and artistic sensibility than a musically coherent sub-genre, given the obvious differences between the melodic punk rock of Nirvana, and the blue collar Americana of Pearl Jam, but however applicable the term was to Alice In Chains, the circumstances of the album’s release, coupled with the member’s Pacific Northwestern heritage, as well as Alice In Chains’s already substantial commercial success, ensured that Dirt would be scrutinised with a forensic intensity that was unlike anything that the band had previously been accustomed to. Despite the weight of expectation, however, one imagines that the band themselves had little to worry about, safe in the knowledge that they had recorded an album of the highest quality, and one that shook off any remaining vestiges of the glam-metal that was still audible on their debut, now arriving at a sound entirely of their own.

Even before we hear a single note of Dirt, the simple, monosyllabic title gives us a pretty good indication that what we are dealing with here is a thematically bleak record, with a lyrical focus that is dominated by Layne Staley’s use of narcotics, and more specifically heroin. While the use of this particular opioid has long been synonymous with Seattle, not least due to Kurt Cobain’s much-publicised addiction, other band’s references to their own struggles with the drug are typically much more oblique than Staley’s, a background presence, in comparison to the uncomfortable foregrounding that we find here. Indeed, Staley seems to be, in some ways, fighting through his music an internal battle between the various parts of his consciousness that desire, reject, and even romanticise drug use. There is certainly a rebellious glamourisation of the dissolute lifestyle of a user to be found within some songs on Dirt, as if Staley is boasting of his own ability to dance with, and even control, the devil that will eventually overwhelm him, still believing at this point, that he can control the insidiously deadly power of the poppy seed. Like the beat poets before him, Staley occasionally succeeds in achieving a sense of seduction that threatens to beguile the credulous listener, leading one to imagine that, perhaps, exploring narcotically-assisted frontiers of consciousness is truly living, pushing the envelope just to see how far one can go. The cautionary tale of what would come next is enough to stifle such thinking, but it would be disingenuous to suggest that Staley’s darkly compelling tales are not one of the key reasons for the enduring brilliance of the album that contains them.

Almost immediately, as the magnificent ‘Them Bones’ explodes from the speakers, it is clear that Alice In Chains have and transitioned into their final form, combining lean, lithe metal with the rich, sonorous vocals of Staley and Cantrell, the glam and funky tendencies that surfaced occasionally on Facelift brutally eliminated. Where Facelift felt loose and open, Dirt is tense and twitchy, the chronicle of a band perpetually on the edge of bursting into scorching flames. Frequently, the structure and arrangements of the songs seem almost calculated to escalate this feeling, and the rising, stuttering chug of the riff that precedes the verse, and propels ‘Them Bones’ is no exception. Cantrell is a master of utilising subtle variations on simple guitar lines to alter the feel of a song, and the way in which the lead riff transitions into a gritted-teeth dirge opens up the space for Staley and Cantrell to unfurl their haunting twin harmony vocal for the first of many times on the record. Their dual vocal approach is used sparingly across their previous work, but here, it becomes perhaps the defining feature of the band’s sound. Of course, vocal harmonies are hardly a new feature of rock ‘n’ roll, but the unconventional intervals (fourths, when popular music typically favours the more straightforward third and fifths that complete the major and minor triads) utilised by Alice In Chains, together with the thunderous musical accompaniment is something that it is hard to find a precedent for in metal. Perhaps the most obvious antecedent vocally are The Eagles, an early influence on Cantrell, but the California sunshine that their music evokes is replaced here by the perma-drizzle of Washington state. And, even more so than The Eagles, the similarity in tone of Staley and Cantrell almost cause the dual vocals to become a single, multi-dimensional voice, a fusing together of two individual parts to become something more than just two voices singing in unison, a new and more powerful voice. Emphasising the dominance of vocals on the album, ‘Them Bones’ is the first of many tracks that feature a gigantic chorus, the tension finally broken by Staley intoning the unforgettable sardonic quip that represents the song’s apex: “I feel so alone / Gonna end up a big old pile of them bones”. Always a band of contrasts, bleak lyrics rub up against rich melodies, somehow generating something with huge appeal, despite the fatalistic darkness at its core.

Like many great albums, part of the brilliance of Dirt comes from the way in which the album combines the immediacy of obvious classics such as ‘Down In A Hole’, ‘Rooster’ and ‘Would?’ (it is no coincidence that all of those tracks were released as singles, back when singles mattered), with another layer of equally special tracks that do not give up their charms quite so easily, but with repeated listens do not suffer in comparison to the more well-known songs, while also being utterly essential to the overall flow of an album that barely dips in quality at any point. The emotional core of the album is to be found in a trilogy of songs that catalogue an addict’s descent from decadent recreational drug use, into the vicelike grip of addiction. The on-the-nose ‘Junkhead’ is especially chilling, given Staley’s eventual drug-fuelled demise, with the dreamy, psychedelic chorus the counterpoint to a brutal verse, on which Cantrell’s thick guitar tone verges on sludge. The golden melody, bursting through the heavy cloud like the last sunrise on Earth, sees Staley confident that he can bend the chemical gods to his will, laughing in the face of fate: “What’s my drug of choice / well, what have you got? / I don’t go broke / And I do it a lot”. The final verse is especially contemptuous, Staley (or the persona that he is channelling here) trying to persuade the listener to join him: “You can’t understand, the user’s mind / but try, with your books and degrees / If you let yourself go, and open your mind / I’ll bet you’ll be doin’ like me / And it ain’t so bad.” One can understand why Alice In Chains were criticised for glamourising opiate usage on the basis of this song, but this reveals only an overly simplistic interpretation of the song, together with a wilful ignorance of the songs that continue the narrative, with the subject of ‘Junkhead’ spiralling out of control. It also overlooks the courageous honesty and authenticity of Staley here, reporting authentically on the user’s mindset and experiences, not unlike Burroughs before him. It is hard to imagine anyone was truly seduced by the glimpses that he offers here of the lifestyle that would ultimately kill him, however convincing he sounds here. ‘Dirt’ continues the descent, debauchery transforming into dopesick addiction, and Cantrell’s musical embodiment of the insidious skin-crawling nature of the torment described by Staley further demonstrates the pair’s almost telepathic relationship, the voicelike timbre of his wah-assisted lead guitar line moaning like Staley’s addict over a dragging tempo, as Staley rebukes the junk that holds him in its fearsome embrace: “I want you to scrape me from the walls / And go crazy like you’ve made me.” The trilogy is completed by ‘God Smack’, concluding with the addict falling victim to an overdose at the hand of his master: “What in god’s name, have you done? / Stick your arm for some real fun / So your sickness weighs a ton / And god’s name is smack for some.” Musically, ‘God Smack’ is surprisingly up-tempo, perhaps representing the sweet release of death from junk’s sickly prison. Sean Kinney’s funky drum pattern brings the kind of swing that we frequently encounter on Facelift, but is generally absent from Dirt, and Cantrell’s choppy rhythms bring some necessary variety to a mostly downbeat album. Once again, Staley shows his capacity for utilising his voice as another instrument, employing a shaky delivery presumably intended to mimic the physical tremors of the addict. The overall effect is quite overwhelming, and utterly compelling.

Of course, the aforementioned classics are referred to in that way because they are. While not necessarily intrinsically better than ‘God Smack’ or ‘Junkhead’, they do possess an immediacy that the more slow-burn tracks on Dirt do not, as well as containing the kind of gold-plated hooks that are a requirement for the kind of rock radio domination that Alice In Chains achieved. ‘Rooster’ is perfectly positioned, the relatively quiet track providing some breathing space after the intense opening to the album, despite the gloomy nature of the song. Cantrell’s father is the titular ‘Rooster’, a nickname given to him during his time in the Army, during which he served in Vietnam. A song of resilience, detailing the conflicted feelings of a man sent to kill an enemy, and yet made to feel unwelcome in his own country, the track’s acoustic guitars bring a texture reminiscent of the Sap EP on which it could easily sit, were it not for the way that the song builds into a powerful climax, Cantrell’s expressive guitar lines scything through the rumbling low end like bullets from the frontlines. Indeed, Cantrell’s ability to carefully employ a range of tones and effects showcases his thoughtful use of tone, a characteristic not dissimilar to another famous Seattleite, Jimi Hendrix. The other acknowledged classics are positioned as the final songs on the album, in a masterful feat of sequencing. We should note at this point, that there are multiple versions of the Dirt running order, some of which place ‘Down In A Hole’ somewhere in the first half of the record. Positioned as the penultimate song as it is here though, optimises the album’s inherent dynamics, acting as one half of a sublime duo, with its companion ‘Would?’. The former’s majestic grace, pairs Staley and Cantrell’s wordless harmonies to incredible moving effect at the start of the song, over intimate acoustic arpeggios. Staley is magnetic throughout, a clean and stately performance, and the way in which his lead vocals create an interweaving call and response with Cantrell’s spectral harmonies creates one of the most magical and sophisticated moments in the band’s entire catalogue, a song that allows the band to transcend grunge altogether, positioning them as a great American rock band, regardless of period or genre. Finally, the band’s tribute to the late Andrew Wood, frontman of Mother Love Bone, a band that would ultimately spawn Pearl Jam, closes the album in fine style. The propulsive, and instantly recognisable bassline feels like an oncoming storm, and Cantrell’s creepy harmonies join with Staley at the end of each line, like a grunge Beastie Boys. Unusually structured for such an overwhelmingly popular song, the song contains two choruses. The first, which appears twice, is good, the second, which concludes the track, is spectacular. It’s almost impossible to think of another album that finishes, as Dirt does, with the best vocal line on the entire record, and one which uses a melody that isn’t found anywhere on the song. The final line of ‘Would?’, where Staley absolutely howls the words “If I would, could you?” is a devastating final blow, and sears the lyrics into the listener’s mind eternally, a blazing fire that burns forever.

Layne Staley would not last forever, succumbing to the life that did so much to make him and break him in 2002. The unerring and undimmed brilliance of Dirt, the pinnacle of a virtually flawless catalogue, ensures that Staley lives on, immortality granted by a record that is among the most searingly fantastic rock albums of all time, reflecting the America that Alice In Chains inhabited back at itself, the grim and the glorious existing side-by-side and simultaneously. Dirt is a chronicle of a specific time and place, but universal enough to belong to everyone.

Score: 94%

Alice In Chains – Sap

Author: BD Joyce

Alice In Chains – Sap

• Artist: Alice In Chains
• Album: Sap
• Year of Release: 1992
• Country: USA
• Label: Columbia
• Format: Jewelcase CD
• Catalogue Number: CK 67059

Following the huge success of their debut album Facelift, Alice In Chains found themselves in the midst of a rich vein of songwriting form. In the 18 months that had elapsed since its release, the world of mainstream rock had changed substantially, and the weight of expectation shouldered by virtually any band from Seattle in a post-Nevermind world was substantial, in comparison to the almost total lack of pressure that had surrounded the composition and recording of Facelift. In the lead-up to the band’s second album, Dirt, which would be released later in 1992, Alice In Chains would subvert this expectation, by releasing an EP, Sap, with virtually no publicity or marketing, a treasure for eagle-eyed fans to encounter in the record store, or discover via word of mouth. For some bands, EPs are a contractual obligation, or an opportunity to make some money from the offcuts that failed to make the grade for their full-lengths. Alice In Chains are a rare beast, however, as their EPs are every bit as essential to their discography as their albums, and Sap is no exception.

Sap is referred to by some as an ‘acoustic’ EP, as is its counterpart, Jar Of Flies, released two years later. This is not strictly true, although the majority of the music is indeed performed on acoustic guitars. There is, perhaps, a misplaced desire to co-opt these EPs into the ‘unplugged’ trend that boomed during the 1990s, as a consequence of the MTV series that resulted in a series of successful albums, spearheaded by Eric Clapton, Nirvana, and eventually Alice In Chains themselves in 1996. Although it produced some wonderful live performances (the aforementioned Nirvana session stands comparison with any of their studio recordings), MTV Unplugged eventually became little more than a shortcut for artists to prove their authenticity, as if simply stripping away the studio production and performing in an intimate setting replete with Persian rugs and exotic ornaments, could offset the lack of the credibility that the less-serious likes of Katy Perry and Ricky Martin so desperately craved. Although the MTV series was already up and running by 1992, the first episode (featuring Squeeze, among others) airing in 1989, Sap is simply the sound of a productive band finding an outlet for a the surfeit of songs that they had written during the composition of the wondrous Dirt. The mostly acoustic performance is surely less of a conscious choice to prove just how earnest the band are, and more simply a natural mode of operation for a band clearly comfortable with removing the distortion and heft from their sound, and instead finding the dark heart of songs that need little more than Staley’s inexhaustible supply of memorable vocal melodies to lodge themselves in the consciousness of all who hear them.

It may seem facile to say so, given Sap‘s position in the Alice In Chains discography, but the EP really does bridge the albums that sit either side of it effectively, allowing the band to shake off the final vestiges of their glam / hair metal past that were so audible on Facelift, clearing the ground for the much more downbeat Dirt to follow. ‘Brother’ opens the mini-album with a dirge-like blues, and the spectral harmonies that will become such a trademark of the Alice In Chains sound are in full effect. In this case though, rather than combining Layne Staley and Jerry Cantrell’s wonderfully complementary voices, Staley sits the track out, Cantrell instead joining forces with Heart’s Ann Wilson. One of Seattle’s most successful acts, the close relationship between the bands suggested that at least one of the Wilson sisters very much saw this as an opportunity to pass their torch to a group that they clearly saw as kindred spirits, however different they superficially appear to be. The song is sparse but compelling, with the swampy texture added by the thick acoustic bass ensuring that the sound is still rich, despite the skeletal nature of the arrangement. We are already aware of Cantrell’s skills from his stellar work across the band’s debut, but the flawlessly-composed guitar solo that features here is more confirmation of his brilliance, evidence of a musician equally adept in the world of rock, blues, or country, and able to pull phrasing and tones from all three at will. ‘Got Me Wrong’ is even better, deploying a laconic groove, and this time utilising the show-stopping voice of Staley, in addition to his guitar-wielding vocal partner. Staley’s verse melody is simply magical, the heavier guitars of the chorus bring some welcome dynamics, and the whole track builds to a soaring bridge that perhaps marks the precise point at which the band arrive at the sound that will ultimately define them.

The third of the four main tracks (the EP concludes with a hidden track that is presumably not supposed to be taken seriously) is probably the least substantial, despite its quality. However, the stripped-down blues of ‘Right Turn’ means that Staley’s vocal here is wonderfully intimate, allowing the listener to hear every crack and flaw that gives his voice a tone of such enormous character, and facilitates such as strong emotional connection with the listener. As Staley intones the sardonic words ‘She ain’t right’, one can practically see the wry smile on his face, expertly communicating complex feelings so directly, and in so few words. The same track is notable for the involvement of Mudhoney’s Mark Arm, and Soundgarden’s Chris Cornell, and indeed the EP bills the band that performs this track as Alice Mudgarden in recognition of the contribution of the band’s fellow Seattleites. The lead vocals are shared by all three, plus Cantrell, but it is no surprise that it is Cornell that steals the show, taking over the final chorus in a searing performance that is as good a reminder of his talents as anything else that he recorded. Sap reaches a sublime climax with ‘Am I Inside’, a magical piece of work that remains one of the band’s very best tracks. From the way in which Staley’s verse melody seems to switch through major and minor scales in a single line, creating the kind of thrilling ambiguity that the band thrive on, ugly and pretty pushed so close together that they virtually become indistinguishable. Cantrell’s delicate harmony is just audible, almost occurring in the listener’s imagination, as is a distant piano line, virtually an apparition of music. The highlight of the entire record is the gorgeous chorus that the song builds to, a chorus that the band chose not to use until after the second verse, and the combination of the lilting melody and the fact that it is used so sparingly shows an incredible and measured understanding of composition and arrangement for such a relatively young band. We should not forget Ann Wilson’s contribution here either – the female harmony adds an almost choral descant to an already majestic track, and brings a feeling of completeness that is hugely beneficial for such a short, but significant release.

We shouldn’t hold the silliness of ‘Love Song’, the hidden track, against Alice In Chains. The musicians swap instruments here (Sean Kinney takes lead vocals, for example) and thrash out a few minutes of uncontrolled noise, but one imagines that it was blessed light relief after the psychic heaviness of what has come before, particularly in the knowledge that the oppressively bleak Dirt was just on the horizon. It’s unnecessary, and the EP would be better without it, but it cannot obscure the coming of age that Sap represents overall. This is a band on the precipice of greatness, and everything that makes them great is present on Sap.

Score: 86%

Alice In Chains – Facelift

Author: BD Joyce

Alice In Chains – Facelift

• Artist: Alice In Chains
• Album: Facelift
• Year of Release: 1990
• Country: USA
• Label: CBS
• Format: Jewelcase CD
• Catalogue Number: 467201 2

There are a great many myths surrounding the rise and fall of grunge, and one of the most pervasive and oft-repeated is that grunge is responsible for the cold-blooded murder of hair metal. If this was indeed true, it would have been a mercy killing, but the fact of the matter is that the music that tends to be considered grunge co-existed peacefully with cock rock / hair metal for several years, before a combination of the changing zeitgeist and the key progenitors of the glammier end of hair metal running out of steam meant that cock rock was responsible for its own demise. That there was a new generation of rock ‘n’ roll bands emerging from the tail end of the 1980s US hardcore scene, slightly more attuned to the changing tastes of popular culture, ready to grasp the baton being dropped by their forbears meant that, at a distance, it looked as if the one replaced the other, but the reality is rather more ambiguous than that. Not least because of the fact that some of the self-same bands that were now supplanting Poison, Warrant, and Mötley Crüe had, only a few short years before, been part of the very scene that they were supposedly so set against. Just as the earnest blue-collar rock of Pearl Jam emerged from the ashes of the funky psychedelia of Mother Love Bone, so did Alice In Chains themselves narrowly escape their own past as a more glam-oriented rock act, landing on the right side of credible, following a string of bleak and heavy albums. A string of albums that started with 1990’s Facelift, perhaps named because it described the band’s own transition from the glam-metal of their previous iterations, a heritage of which we still hear vestigial elements across an album that is not quite reflective of the Alice In Chains that most rock fans are familiar with today. Facelift is not the complete and cohesive definitive expression of a fully-formed sound that the band will arrive at with their next full-length, Dirt, but it is still an excellent record, and the additional variety on offer here provides a fascinating insight into the other possible futures open to Alice In Chains at this point in their career.

It would be unfair to accuse Alice In Chains of front-loading the album, although the art of sequencing dictates that all good albums require a one-two punch to establish an early incursion into the listener’s consciousness, but it is also the case that the two songs that would ultimately prove the most enduring in the context of the rest of the band’s career happen to be placed serendipitously at the beginning of Facelift. Although the album would be marginally improved were the order of the tracks reversed, ‘We Die Young’ still ensures that the band make an eye-catching entrance, like a gregarious and half-cut acquaintance arriving a little late at a sedate social function, immediately drawing attention and igniting revelry. Musically, ‘We Die Young’ occupies a space that few other bands ever have, the grinding, chugging metal riffs that comprise the song’s skeleton revealing a considerably harder edge than the majority of their Seattle compadres, while the trace elements of hair metal bridge the gap between rock ‘n’ roll eras in a way that perhaps only pre-Badmotorfinger Soundgarden can rival. The music alone is immediately compelling, but when the mercurial Layne Staley opens his mouth to join the gleaming guitars, another unearthly dimension is unlocked, one that for the remainder of the band’s career with the frontman will define them, and set them apart from the many lesser bands that seek to emulate their inimitable brilliance. Not unlike Axl Rose, Staley’s body houses many voices, and here, he moves from verses virtually spat through gritted teeth, as if the very words that he is singing exact a physical cost on release, to a soaring, angelic chorus, deploying seemingly improbable power, given his slight and wiry frame. There is something singular in Staley’s tone, an authenticity that carries deep truth within, but even at this early stage in his career, it is a remarkable and unmistakeable facet of the band’s sound. Given both Staley’s tragically early death in 2002, and that of Facelift bass player Mike Starr just under a decade later, it is easy to assume that ‘We Die Young’ is lyrically prescient. However, although the song’s title is decidedly eerie in retrospect, the lyrics actually provide a commentary on the gang violence plaguing American cities, rather than a prediction relating to the band themselves. Even so, it is an early indication of the darkness that would be such an ever-present theme throughout the band’s frequently downbeat music.

An auspicious start then, and one that will get even better, as ‘We Die Young’ is followed by the incontrovertibly classic ‘Man In The Box’. A object lesson in simplicity; a single chord, repeated three times in a syncopated, mid-tempo rhythm, is all it takes to create the foundation for a track that demands total attention from its first note. The minor key lead guitar melody, doubled by Staley’s wordless voice, that overlays the propulsive riff, enhanced by Cantrell’s use of a talk box, amusingly inspired by Bon Jovi’s ‘Livin’ On A Prayer’, is virtually the template for every great Alice In Chains song yet to come, the mournful and dragging melody adopting a tone that could be no other band. Unlike their more experimental peers Soundgarden, Alice In Chains (at least until their third album) show their roots in classic rock in their adherence to the pop song structures that continue to dominate the FM radio that will so enthusiastically pick up the band’s early singles. ‘Man In The Box’ is no exception, and this means that the song is transformed from good to great at the point at which Staley’s howling vocal hits and sustains the high note at the top of the phenomenally memorable chorus. According to the band, ‘Man In The Box’ is an anti-censorship tirade – the titular man being kept in his box by a mainstream media feeding the masses with government-approved information. These days, this theme would perhaps be seized on by conspiracy theorists, finding a dubious link between Alice In Chains’s desire to ensure that their audience think for themselves, and their ill-conceived intention to ‘do their own research’ via questionable internet sources. In the early 1990s though, when rock ‘n’ roll had been recently afflicted by the attempted censorship of Tipper Gore’s PMRC, one imagines that Alice In Chains motives were noble. In truth, the lyrics are not as sophisticated as the intention, but nevertheless, the portentousness of lines such as ‘Feed my eyes / Can you sew them shut? / Jesus Christ / Deny your maker” makes a virtue of the simplicity of the imagery, combining apocalyptic emotional heft with bittersweet melody to majestic effect. Alice In Chains have many fine songs, and ‘Man In The Box’ is as good as any of them.

If Alice In Chains already sound like the finished article on ‘Man In The Box’, there are also points at which the bridge that they build between the glam sounds of their past and the harder sounds of their future becomes more apparent. ‘Sea Of Sorrow’ sees the band appearing as a darker cousin to Aerosmith or Guns ‘N’ Roses, a continuation of classic American hard rock, but with the hippie idealism of the 1960s replaced by the opioid paranoia of the post-Nixon 1970s, the alienation of disillusioned peaceniks flowing into music that often sounds dopesick and queasy. ‘Sunshine’, on the other hand, is a bright as the title, riding a gigantic rolling riff that could easily sit on Bon Jovi’s New Jersey, or No More Tears, released by Ozzy Osbourne almost exactly a year down the line from Facelift. It is perhaps no coincidence that Mike Inez, Osbourne’s bass player when Facelift was released (although he didn’t actually play on No More Tears) would eventually join Alice In Chains, following the ousting of Mike Starr. The upbeat sound of ‘Sunshine’ continues across a brace of tracks that, quite incredibly, bring a not inconsiderable degree of funk to the band’s sound. ‘Put You Down’ recalls Van Halen, Cantrell displaying his impressive virtuosity with a satisfyingly fiddly riff, and ‘I Know Somethin (Bout You)’ teeters on the edge of the kind of thing that Red Hot Chili Peppers might have put out around the same time, Alice In Chains demonstrating their intuitive musical chemistry with a loose groove that is enjoyable enough to obscure the fact that it never quite coalesces into a coherent song, a collection of free-associating ideas, bouncing off each other, in vain search of a theme that pulls them all together.

Despite the variety that sometimes betrays the fact that Alice In Chains are, like an aeroplane circling an airport in a storm, approaching their destination without quite landing on a definitive sound, Facelift is still a considerably more accomplished debut than the band have any right to produce at this point in their career. Rubbing shoulders with the unimpeachably classic double-whammy that opens the record, the rest of the album does much more than fill the remaining running time. ‘Bleed The Freak’ displays elements of a formula that Alice In Chains will perfect on Dirt, utilising tempo shifts from the sinuous verse to the grandstanding, half-time chorus to bring huge dynamism to a song that would be less compelling were the band to maintain the same velocity throughout. The chorus almost intimates that the band can slow time itself via sheer willpower, and creates a powerful tension inherent in the listener’s knowledge of just how much power the band are choosing to withhold. ‘Love, Hate, Love’ is similarly excellent; sparse post-punk guitar lines and arpeggios like shards of glass sharp enough to cut deep, but fragile enough to break at the slightest touch. Staley’s vocal here is especially spine-tingling, and the track overall is deliciously menacing. Finally, ‘Confusion’ which would be a fine closer, ahead of the slight and inessential ‘Real Thing’, employs huge open chords, and conventional arrangements to remind us all that Alice In Chains are, of course, a classic rock band at heart. The conclusion of the album is revealing, offering a brief glimpse into the humour that could still be found in the music of Alice In Chains at this point, a band still revelling in the possibilities that recording could offer, before addiction and death overtook them. The last thing that we hear is Staley screaming “Sexual chocolate, baby!”, a reference to Eddie Murphy’s Coming To America, in which Murphy’s character sings in a band of the same name. This rare moment of levity is something to treasure, knowing the trauma and trials to come. That is in the future though. In the band’s present, as it was in 1990, Facelift is a superb album in its own right, deservedly propelling the band to the forefront of a rock and metal world that was about to change dramatically, with Alice In Chains at the heart of this change.

Score: 89%

Alice Cooper – Along Came A Spider

Author: BD Joyce

Alice Cooper – Along Came A Spider

• Artist: Alice Cooper
• Album: Along Came A Spider
• Year of Release: 2008
• Country: USA
• Label: SPV
• Format: Digipack CD
• Catalogue Number: SPV 90602 CD

Alice Cooper is a restless artist. As we have previously observed, he has typically settled on a sound for two, occasionally three, consecutive albums, and as his career has progressed, he has often revisited previous eras. Along Came A Spider marks yet another shift in the Cooper sound. On this particular occasion, it is an especially disappointing shift, given the ease with which he had slipped back into classic rock mode on his previous brace of albums, as he emerged from the ill-fitting guise of industrial-metal Alice Cooper that we encountered on Dragontown and Brutal Planet. One might have imagined that Cooper had registered that he had returned home on The Eyes Of Alice Cooper, and found a mode of expression that he could settle in for the remainder of his career, but this proves not to be the case. And, commercially at least, it seems that he was right. Along Came A Spider, yet another concept album, was his most successful since Hey Stoopid was released at the height of grunge in 1991, but artistically, it is undoubtedly a moderate failure.

Like many, perhaps even most bands, Alice Cooper is often at his best when there is a clarity of purpose in terms of the musical tone and the lyrical concept, something that is typically of prime importance to an artist that has built a career on storytelling, and the inhabiting of various, sometimes contradictory versions of the Alice Cooper persona. Too often here, that clarity is obscured, and the result is a muddled mess of an album. It appears that Cooper is trying too hard to reconcile a number of different eras – the garage stomp of his most recent albums, the dextrous classic rock of his early solo career, and most disappointingly, the anaemic industrial metal of the Dragontown era – and the result is something that contains more troughs than peaks, and fails to hang together as a coherent piece of work, a record that might be a ‘best-of’ compilation, were it not for the almost complete absence of hits.

Despite the overall downbeat assessment of Along Came A Spider, it doesn’t start terribly. The spoken word introduction is sub-King Diamond, but amusingly hokey, and ensures that the listener is alerted to the fact that what we are dealing with here is, of course, a concept album. Given Cooper’s previous success in this field, with Welcome To My Nightmare and The Last Temptation, this is presumably intended to indicate that this album is a serious undertaking deserving of respect, and that one should trust in Cooper’s evident ability to build a suitably creepy and compelling narrative, as he has done many times before. And it’s possible that, were the record to demonstrate a greater degree of uniformity, and more certain direction, the listener might be more willing to buy into the conceit. As this is not the case, however, and it is, in fact, unclear exactly how the songs between the prologue and epilogue provide the connective tissue to this particular body of work, it is difficult to imagine that the purported concept is anything other than an afterthought, or worse, a marketing angle for Cooper to exploit. Introduction aside though, ‘I Know Where You Live’ is a more than adequate way to start the album. Sonically, it is an unconventional track, and the unexpected nature of the tonal choices enhance a fundamentally strange song. Cooper is sometimes guilty of layering his arrangements with unnecessary clutter, and with this in mind, the first verse, which sees Cooper almost unaccompanied, save for a propulsive drum part, is a welcome use of negative space. It does, however, give rise to a complaint that will return several times during the album. Although a human drummer (Eric Singer, once of Kiss and Black Sabbath) is credited for the whole album, the drum sound is horribly synthetic. The song, and by extension the album itself, would be immeasurably improved by a more organic production that allows the pounding snare to really dominate the beat, rather than simply flow unimpeded through the track as it does here. The almost deconstructed guitar tone, on the other hand, is strange and dirty, and overall a pleasingly weird texture that is as menacing as the song’s theme. The lyrics themselves are unoriginal (“I know where you live / I know where you hide / I know what keeps you alive”), but it is difficult not to be carried along by the half-time thump of a truly memorable chorus. The lack of vocal harmonies seems like an oversight here, and their presence would add polish to a song that travels close enough to excellence, but this is a fairly minor complaint, particularly considering the riches that ‘I Know Where You Live’ represents in comparison to the paucity of ideas found elsewhere on the album.

Hopes are raised even further, as the opener is followed by the one truly spectacular song to be found on the whole album. Highlighting the way in which the album fluctuates, seemingly at random, between various different tones and textures, ‘Vengeance Is Mine’ is a swampy, blues-metal monster, riding a wave of syrupy southern-boogie guitar, inflected by a liberal use of the wah-pedal. The closest comparison in Cooper’s career to date would be some of the heavier tracks on The Last Temptation, and here, that album’s guest turn, Chris Cornell, is replaced by Guns ‘N’ Roses legend Slash. This is not the first time that the top-hatted Les Paul-wielder has collaborated with Cooper (he also appeared on the title track of 1991’s Hey Stoopid), but his involvement here is much more pivotal to the song, which bears all of his hallmarks. The descending riff which slithers and undulates throughout the song is infectious, and even if the vocal melody is slightly uninspired, the song as a whole drips with a lean hard rock power that is not found anywhere else on the record. One of the most difficult aspects to comprehend about the long journey of an artist such as Alice Cooper as they reach the latter stages of their career, is the question of how they become comfortable with putting out generally middling music, given the flashes of genius that they are still capable of. ‘Vengeance Is Mine’ is one such flash, and it’s virtually impossible to imagine that the artist is not aware of this. Perhaps the only sensible reaction at this point, is simply to enjoy the high points when they arrive, and ignore the rest.

Unfortunately, this means that there is an awful lot to ignore. Most importantly, we must ignore the execrable ‘Wake The Dead’. While it’s not the worst thing that Ozzy Osbourne has ever been involved with, this listener would sooner listen to his ‘Changes’ duet with daughter Kelly on repeat than listen to this limp offering even once more before death. It is an especially vertiginous fall after the majestic ‘Vengeance Is Mine’, and underlines just how uneven the record is from song to song. After the greasy groove of the previous track, ‘Wake The Dead’ is plastic electro-rock that sounds as cheap and nasty as supermarket own-brand fizzy pop. The syncopated rhythms owe some kind of debt to The Beatles’s ‘Tomorrow Never Knows’, but Cooper’s song is a retrogressive and ham-fisted as Lennon / McCartney’s effort was progressive and forward-thinking. The Chemical Brothers’ ‘Setting Sun’ was a considerably more powerful update of the same rhythmic idea, and sounds rather less dated, despite being released a decade earlier. ‘Killed By Love’ is less obviously objectionable than ‘Wake The Dead’, but the doo-wop inflected power ballad is bland and featureless, and simply fails to exert the kind of emotional pull required to elevate such transparently manipulative material to the kind of transcendent level that the best songs of this type are able to attain.

Elsewhere, the album is primarily solid and listenable, if far from inspirational. ‘(In Touch With) Your Feminine Side’ just about raises a smile lyrically, and the Primal Scream-playing-Rolling Stones staccato groove is pleasing, as is the lead guitar work that precedes the final chorus. In fact, the solos played by the album’s guitarists, David Saber and Greg Hampton (it’s not clear how lead duties break down across the album, but the smart money is on Hampton for the most exciting work, given his hard rock heritage), frequently rescue mediocre songs, such is their ability to fashion memorable licks from the ruins of songs that are not quite sturdy enough to stand up to scrutiny. The otherwise adequate AC/DC impression, ‘Wrapped In Silk’ benefits from the instrumental ability of Saber and Hampton, as does ‘I’m Hungry’, which is considerably better; a jaunty glam jam that evokes T Rex and displays a fluency and easy joy, which allows the listener to enjoy the track with all cynicism or suspicion of Cooper’s motives briefly suspended. Sadly, Along Came A Spider does not close on the truly magnificent ‘Salvation’, very nearly the equal of ‘Vengeance Is Mine’, and a real throwback to the Bob Ezrin-produced magic of Cooper’s mid-career peak. The varied instrumentation, including some tastefully deployed strings and minimal piano supply a real sense of dynamics lacking elsewhere, and Cooper sounds decades younger as the track opens satisfyingly into a gigantic chorus. It all suggests that a level of thought and intent has been allowed to linger on a song that could comfortably fit on 1978’s From The Inside. The only question is why this level of effort cannot be detected throughout. The anticlimactic, and whiny ‘I Am The Spider’ unfortunately closes an inconsistent album, with industrial-lite beats returning uninvited, and the spectre of nu-metal hovering in view. The epilogue reveals the presence of returning Cooper character Steven, which should be a stunning revelation, but instead just reminds the listener of the artist that Cooper once was. Along Came A Spider is not bad enough to write Alice Cooper off permanently, but it does signal the end of yet another renaissance. Alice Cooper has never been just another washed-up rock star, but here, he is as close as he has ever come to embodying such a cliché, the tangled web that he weaves failing to catch its prey.

Score: 57%

Alice Cooper – The Eyes Of Alice Cooper

Author: BD Joyce

Alice Cooper – The Eyes Of Alice Cooper

• Artist: Alice Cooper
• Album: The Eyes Of Alice Cooper
• Year of Release: 2003
• Country: USA
• Label: Spitfire
• Format: Jewelcase CD
• Catalogue Number: SPITCD090

Few artists make it as far as their sixteenth album (discounting those made by the Alice Cooper band, prior to Cooper’s solo career), and even fewer have lived the kind of life that Alice Cooper has. By 2003, the former hellraiser had been sober for some time, swapping speedballs for golf balls, and spending more time in the church than the bar, but to be surviving and thriving into the twenty-first century is a significant achievement nonetheless. Although Cooper may not have been quite ready in 2003 to ease into the comfort of retirement, The Eyes Of Alice Cooper sees the rock legend retreating from the industrial-metal tones of Brutal Planet and Dragontown to the reassuring sounds of classic rock ‘n’ roll. In some respects, this is perhaps indicative of an acceptance that he could no longer cut it at the vanguard of modern rock. Throughout the 1980s and 1990s, Cooper had updated his sound to keep pace firstly with new wave, hair metal, grunge, and eventually nu-metal, with some success, and a few missteps. Whether or not this was a conscious decision, however, it allowed Cooper to preserve his dignity, and focus on his strengths. After all, there is nothing less cool than an ageing rocker desperately trying to be cool, but there is something rather cool about an old rocker who cares not for coolness.

If Alice Cooper was once (at least in part, we should concede that he had some help) responsible for creating the sound of rock ‘n’ roll, inspired by post-war British psychedelia, early rock ‘n’ roll, and the primitive garage rock of Detroit, a city that gave the world both the MC5 and the peerless output of Motown Records (both referencing the ‘Motor City’ in their sobriquets), at this point, the snake has eaten its own tail in an Ouroborean feast, as Cooper enters the lineage of the genre for the second time, now clearly inspired by the bands that he once inspired, an ever-decreasing, but virtuous, circle of musical influence. During its best moments, The Eyes Of Alice Cooper is a riotous love letter to goodtime rock ‘n’ roll, evoking the wild-eyed fervour and balls to the wall energy of Guns ‘N’ Roses, The Wildhearts, and The Sex Pistols. When the standard slips, on an album that would be improved by the judicious mercy killing of two or three tracks, things get claustrophobically close to mid-1990s punk-pop – not necessarily intrinsically bad in the right hands, but rather unedifying for a man in his mid-50s, with one of the the best discographies in rock in his rearviewmirror. To Cooper’s credit, he is aware of the conflict between young and old, novelty and experience, and works through his predicament on the wryly self-referential ‘Between High School & Old School’. Musically, the song is not the strongest on the album, the loping chord sequence a rudimentary take on Green Day’s more plodding moments, but lyrically, Cooper is impressively on the nose: “I’m stuck somewhere between high school and old school / I can’t decide between my rules and your rules / I’m stuck somewhere between high school and old school / So I defy maybe all rules maybe no rules.” In some respects, this is not just the familiar tale of the alienation of the social misfit that Cooper has always seemed to represent, but the acceptance of the fact that to some extent, he knows that he’s too old for youthful rebellion, and can no longer be the punk outsider, even while he refuses to bow to the pressure to conform. It is this very acceptance that surely allows Cooper to leave the experimentation and industrial production behind this time, playing to his strengths, and mostly winning.

The greatest of these victories typically arise when the slightly-too-calculated and self-referential likes of ‘Between High School & Old School’ are left behind, in favour of the kind of honest, blue collar rock ‘n’ roll that is difficult for any dyed-in-the-wool rock fan to resist. The wonderful ‘Novocaine’ delicately treads a wistful line between bitter and sweet, the mellifluous melodies belying lyrics which describe the desensitised emotional state of a downtrodden individual who, perhaps like Cooper himself, has seen a little too much of the darker underbelly of life, to the point where the only thing that can be felt is nothing at all: “I miss the pinch, I miss the pain / That shock sensation in my brain / ‘Cause when you touch me / When you hold me / When you kiss me / I don’t feel anything”. In the time-honoured way, an insidiously catchy rock song acts as a trojan horse for the writer’s unsettling thoughts, and in some respects, this is significantly more disquieting than the overt tales of horror that populated Brutal Planet. Once again, the easy melodic fluidity of Ginger Wildheart is an obvious point of comparison, and the power-pop Americana of The Replacements later work, and even Bob Mould’s Sugar also appear to have seeped into Cooper’s consciousness, as the contrivances and aimless aggression of his industrial-metal era are thankfully cast-off in favour of something that feels at once more natural, and more joyful.

On a generally solid album, there are two other tracks in particular that push ‘Novocaine’ hard for a place on the podium. It’s no coincidence that both ‘This House Is Haunted’ and ‘The Song That Didn’t Rhyme’ make a virtue of Alice Cooper as he is, in 2003. Some of the glamour may have faded, the voice may be a little rough around the edges, but the lack of artifice, and the character that shines through, coupled with some sharp songwriting, ensure that Cooper makes a true emotional connection with the listener, and he becomes compelling once more. The former is a real throwback to the creepy shock-rock of Love It To Death, but without descending into self-parody. Recalling Bob Ezrin’s clever use of classical instruments, the reedy clarinet that stalks the vocal lines brings a noir-ish feel to a multi-part epic that resounds with faint echoes of ‘Steven’, or ‘Only Women Bleed’, the laid back tempo eventually given way to a strident, portentous, and satisfyingly metallic riff. The latter mines the sound of classic 70s rock, and amidst the well-worn rough of Cooper’s world-weary voice, we find glittering diamonds in the shape of the chiming arpeggios in the guitars, and a wandering bassline that allows the listener to journey a short distance, before returning back to the core of the track, Cooper’s cracked and intimate vocal. Like an ageing actor removing their wig and make-up on stage to reveal the authentic artist underneat, Cooper’s vulnerability in these moments is hugely touching, and the folky melody draws us close, enthralled by a great storyteller that still has a few tales to tell.

Strangely, the track on which one imagines Cooper wishes to showcase his enduring narrative skill most overtly doesn’t quite achieve the same effect. ‘Detroit City’ is surely the intended centrepiece of the album, Alice returning to the city in which he made his name, and with which he is so deeply associated. The booming toms and bright horns, presumably intended to evoke the soul and R’n’B that drove the success of Motown, Detroit’s greatest cultural export, are great fun, but it seems a little too contrived and calculated. The melody itself is too close to ‘Between High School & Old School’, and the lyrics are trite and cliched. It seems harsh to criticise Cooper for literally singing the praises of his contemporaries, but it is equally difficult to truly enjoy such basic couplets as: “Me and Iggy were giggin’ with Ziggy and kickin’ with the MC5 / Ted and Seger were burnin’ with fever / and let the Silver bullets fly / The Kid was in his crib, shady wore a bib / and the posse wasn’t even alive / Shock rock choppin’ block, songs to make your heart stop / Shove it in to overdrive.” The concept of ‘Detroit City’ has clear merit, but the mediocre execution results in an aborted take-off.

Thankfully, due to its placement, ‘Detroit City’ is not the listener’s enduring memory of The Eyes Of Alice Cooper, with the second half containing some of the most immediate songs on the record, and finishing strongly with the Rocket From The Crypt-meets-Guns ‘N’ Roses energy of ‘Backyard Brawl’. Once again, Cooper’s dedication to the rock ‘n’ roll cause is re-established, after the largely artistically unsuccessful industrial-metal experiments of the early-2000s. The world probably doesn’t need another Alice Cooper album, and in relation to the highs and lows of a lengthy career, this one lands roughly in the middle, but it is nevertheless joyful entertainment while it lasts, and reassuring proof that there is plenty of life in the old dog yet, even if this one does rely on old tricks.

Score: 67%

Ahab – The Coral Tombs

Author: BD Joyce

Ahab – The Coral Tombs

• Artist: Ahab
• Album: The Coral Tombs
• Year of Release: 2023
• Country: Germany
• Label: Napalm Records
• Format: Jewelcase CD
• Catalogue Number: NPR1159DGS

Ahab are a German doom band, whose music is centred around nautical themes, initially focussed on Herman Melville’s classic novel Moby Dick, although the band have widened their sphere of influences in recent years to encompass other literary works that relate to the oceanic depths. The surprise here, is not the existence of a metal band with this kind of concept at its heart, but the lack of existence of a larger number of metal bands that base their own music around similar themes. While some of the other conventional areas of interest for heavy metal are unquestionably well-suited to such dramatic and extreme music – Tolkien’s Middle Earth, historical military conflicts, and Lovecraftian horror – the almost fathomless depths of the waters that make up so much of the Earth would also seem to be almost perfectly designed to inspire a legion of bands just like Ahab. This is not to say that there is a total absence of interest in the ocean; the pinnacle of Mastodon’s achievements is Leviathan, an album that is loosely based on Moby Dick, Running Wild represent the respectable tip of the iceberg of the sometimes risible ‘pirate metal’ scene, and both fellow Germans The Ocean, and Devin Townsend’s Ocean Machine show a self-evident interest in this area. However, it is fair to say that no other metal band to date quite embodies the many moods of the open waters in quite the way that Ahab have mastered so brilliantly. Ahab do not only write about the ocean, they sound like their music has been trawled from the sea floor, or wrought directly from the waves themselves, briny liquid reshaped into muscular riffs and shimmering melodies, forever moving, eternally present.

Perhaps conscious that there is little remaining mileage in Moby Dick, The Coral Tombs, the band’s fifth full-length switches attention to Jules Verne’s own classic tale, 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea. The first track, ‘Prof. Arronax’ Descent Into The Vast Oceans’ is a pretty on-the-nose title for a song that introduces the key figures in Verne’s novel, Professor Arronax (a French marine biologist, and narrator of the story), and Captain Nemo. The latter is a marvellous literary creation, inventor and pilot of his own submarine, The Nautilus, the craft in which the men descend, as suggested by the song’s title, into the mysterious depths of the ocean. The track begins in unexpected fashion, given Ahab’s status as a funeral doom act, with an extended Dave Lombardo-style drum fill introducing a passage of discordant noise, overlayed with anguished screams. This surely adapts the section of the book in which Arronax is captured by Nemo, before being brought inside Nemo’s craft, before the vessel is lowered beneath the surface in search of underwater marvels. Calm is quickly established though, as the frantic introduction ebbs away into something more tranquil. Beatific chords, barely picked, come into view, like waves gently lapping at the shore’s edge, immediately creating a truly immersive atmosphere that sets the scene wonderfully for the lumbering doom that the band finally drop into. Despite the relative simplicity of the band’s style of riffing, the swelling resonance of the huge walls of guitar chords generates a rich and sonorous harmonic structure, the sonics as captivating as Daniel Droste’s wonderful melodies that carry the rest of the song. Droste’s plaintive timbre, and even his note choices, strongly resemble Patrick Walker’s magnificent work on Warning’s landmark Watching From A Distance, and although he does not bring the same level of almost-unbearable emotion that Walker contributed to that band, the openness and sincerity with which Droste imbues Ahab’s music effortlessly holds the listener’s attention. Droste’s lilting vocal lines are memorable enough to betray a songwriting capability unusual for the sub-genre, all the while relating Arronax’ pivotal introduction to Nemo, the Captain taking the song’s final verse: “Civilised people abandoned me! / Alas I’m not, I am not to blame! / I bow alone to mother sea! / And Captain Nemo is my name!” Like the song built around it, this is quite the opening gambit, preparing the listener for a voyage of discovery in which almost anything is possible.

The Coral Tombs is a very consistent album, with no major flaws, but it reaches an early peak with the appropriately-titled ‘Colossus Of The Liquid Graves’. In a sub-genre that can often be defined by a high degree of devotion to, and even emulation of, a small number of totemic bands (Black Sabbath being the most obvious), Ahab successfully carve out a distinct sound, while operating firmly within the doom realm. However, ‘Colossus…’ runs through a number of sections that do recall a host of doom masters, and it makes for an immensely satisfying track. The spiralling, slightly dissonant lead guitar line that introduces the track is a huge nod to early Katatonia, and Ahab go full Peaceville with a main riff that is an almost perfect synthesis of pre-Icon Paradise Lost and pre-Radiohead Anathema. The tempo drags in the best possible way, as if the guitars were physically hauling the drumkit behind them, while Cornelius Althammer (nominative determinism at its best) continues to pummel the cymbals and toms. As they demonstrate on numerous occasions throughout The Coral Tombs, Ahab have a compositional nous that elevates them above many of their peers, and this comes to the fore with immense results here. The downbeat trudge of the verse, sacrificing nothing in terms of oppressive weight, gives way to a glorious descending guitar run that is pure Iommi, a chink of sunlight permeating the unending deep, and providing a sense of equilibrium to a track that benefits from the swinging groove that cascades sinuously through an utterly outstanding song.

The swing of this track, while showcasing the band’s ability to access the roots of doom when they elect to, is something of an anomaly on an album that mostly takes a more modern approach to the sub-genre than Sleep, or Electric Wizard, for example. Indeed, the cavernous vocals, and queasy lead guitars of ‘Mobilis In Mobili’ place the band briefly at the death metal end of the death-doom spectrum. Here, Ahab view 1990s death metal through a cracked lens, a slow-motion Morbid Angel gradually suffocating the listener, as opposed to snapping their necks. Elsewhere though, their lightness of touch allows the Germans to create an extraordinary dynamic range that accentuates every crushing note wrenched from the fretboard. The glacial title track is barely there at times, a wraithlike vocal presence occasionally coming to the fore, spindrift on the wind, and the pretty post-rock of the early part of ‘Ægri Somnia’ combines with lush and complex chord voicings to create true tranquillity, eventually shattered by the churning guitars that dominate the latter half of the track. The uncluttered nature of Ahab’s music forces the listener to meditate on virtually every single note played, the pick scraping the coiled string becoming almost palpable, as we are drawn further and further into Ahab’s underwater world, journeying with them through the aquatic universe. Every note is given the chance to live, to breathe, and to die; a deliberate and considered choice selected for optimum impact, and deployed to huge and emotional effect. This reaches an apex on the masterful ‘The Sea As A Desert’, which employs as an anchor the kind of drone that we might find in the music of Neurosis or Amenra, the guitars gradually moving away in steps from this point, as if ebbing away on the waves, before the band finally allow their boat to float free of encumbrance, in a huge release that gives the listener up to the wild ocean, overtaken by unstoppable nature.

The Coral Tombs is an excellent album, but it would be disingenuous not to point out the flaws that are infrequently displayed. Once or twice, Ahab don’t quite master the dynamics that make their best work so special, and this is never more apparent than on ‘The Maelstrom’, which closes the record. The song does eventually blossom into a dense passage of riffing, that rivals YOB for transcendent intensity, but it takes a little too long to reach its destination, and is perhaps a track too far, on an album that requires the listener to hold their focus for an extended period of time. These misgivings are nearly swept away by the scorched earth conclusion, but Ahab’s aspirations require us to hold them to an exacting standard, and this means that we cannot entirely forgive the moments in which their music does not quite reach the heights that they prove themselves capable of ascending to. As affecting as Daniel Droste’s plaintive vocals generally are (and a refreshing change from the characterless growls that often accompany second-tier death-doom), the lack of variety found in his melodies becomes increasingly apparent as the album progresses. Similar intervals and note choices are employed on a number of tracks, and it is clear that the band possess an innate limitation with respect to the composition of vocal melodies. While they do not actively detract from the band’s stately sound, the opportunity to push Ahab to the kind of rarefied level occupied by only the absolute masters of the genre is lost. This is especially egregious when one considers the wonderful lyrics that Droste has at his disposal, lyrics that virtually beg to be transformed into towering and memorable hooks. It is not a huge leap to imagine the closing verse of ‘A Coral Tomb’ in the hands of a band such as Mastodon: “Sleep, my friend / Entangle me in gloom / Safe from shark and man / Sleep in your coral tomb”, but here, the potential impact of such vivid imagery is attenuated, the band failing to maximise one of their biggest assets. In the final judgement though, we must record that on balance, the scales of justice fall firmly in favour of The Coral Tombs. In a sub-genre that tends towards the generic, Ahab’s songwriting ability is anomalous, and they effortlessly combine thunderous heaviness with elegant beauty, resulting in an album as deep and mysterious as the ocean of which they write, and one which will last as long as the sea itself.

Score: 82%