When this blog began I wrote my first few entries in a comedic,
mocking style. One of these entries ended up being my most listened to album of
2014. I never truly gave it the literary admiration it deserved, so if you’ll
forgive a repeat entry, I’d like that second chance.
Riff mark: 6:01
Man. Can’t throw down anything these Scots do but this
single, sad, mourning relic, a frustrated, grey cry in an otherwise underwhelming
discography of who-cares. I return to Hair
of the Dog like a suicidal church, a weekly confessional of every hard rock
gloom and every hard rock I’ve never smoked. Just… real, relatable depression and
hurt, and it’s unashamed in crying, naked in front of you, more than any album
I’ve known. There’s a violent duality between fight and defeat throughout,
spitters like the infectious groove title track and inevitable Sabbath-mate Miss Misery shouting heresies to women
like witch trials, while Everly Brothers cover and radio smash Love Hurts and Guilty (unreleased on US editions, worth mentioning) are apologetic
palate cleansers post-binging. Dan McCafferty, mouth full of smokes and gravel,
pushes air through what little esophageal lining he has in one of the truest
exhaustions of human desperation; a fateful precursor to Axl Rose. His back-up
gang is unremarkable, but effective. Two throwaways: Changin’ Times (complete rip-off of Black Dog) and bluesy Whiskey
Drinkin’ Woman (out of place and boring) to be sacrificed to the pit or the
3-headed bat from the cover for Please
Don’t Judas Me, a near 10-minute spaced-out disintegration of aggression,
pushing away all sin and negative thought, desperate to swim ashore to land or
mantra, away from women, woes, friends, vices. Hard rock pulling its hair (ha
ha) from the roots. Maybe that’s why I’m in love with a snapshot of something
crying.
No comments:
Post a Comment