Howlin Rain
Magnificent Fiend
American Recordings
By Mike Randall
During the mid-90s before the term “jam-band” was coined as a defamatory descriptor, there was a collection of bands in the northeast that incorporated exceptional musicianship to help paint the pictures of their songs much like an extra voice. They were bands that listened to Steely Dan as much as Led Zeppelin, and Otis Redding as much as Steppenwolf. They didn’t jam for jam’s sake, but you knew they could play the shit out of their instruments in just about any style. God Street Wine, The Hatters, Ominous Seapods and to an extent, Percy Hill, all had that nostalgic sound built from a mixture of standard issue classic rock, jazz, folk and even country.
Fast forward to today and skip across the country to California’s bay area, and you’ll find an altogether different specimen of neo-psych, one that follows those same principles yet adds a unique dimension of creative storytelling. Howlin’ Rain spawned from the acid-rock meanderings of Comets on Fire, coming across musically as flower children prancing stoned in a world of bones and snakes and dark skies, secret worlds and extraordinary characters.
This kind of duality is all over the album – the highs, the lows, the earthy sound, the dark subject matter – yet it all still flows together cohesively. Driving chord progressions give way to instrumental breaks that drift effortlessly into guitar and organ jams that transport the listener from Point A to Point B without hesitation. After kicking off with “Requiem,” a tranquil piano and trumpet instrumental, Fiend then explodes into an abrasive and unexpected mix of Hammond B-3 and electric guitar. Named for a series of science-fiction books by writer Michael Moorcock, “Dancers at the End of Time” finds frontman Ethan Miller screaming energetically in an almost-Brian Johnson yelp. The imagery conveyed is vivid and poignant: “Upon a beach of bones the iron orchid stands and casts her cobalt gaze across the years.”
On songs like “Calling Lightning Pt. 2,” Miller’s howl is transformed into a soulful gnarl not unlike John Bell from Widespread Panic. With Allman-esque twin guitar harmonies, it’s catchy but complicated, propelled by layers of keyboards and B-3 organ reminiscent of bands that could play but also had the ability to weave together a story. This is particularly evident during “Lord Have Mercy,” as Miller tells the tale of a man’s fear of judgment after a life of sin, singing, “Lord, he has my number under the thunder in his hand” before leading a charge into a solo Lynyrd Skynyrd would be proud of.
The glue that holds such a musically diverse record together is Joel Robinow’s Wurlitzer and B-3. Injecting the record with Memphis-flavored R+B soul, Robinow provides the cushion for Miller and company to ride the music’s peaks and valleys. He even morphs the band into a modern-day Traffic on “Nomads,” as his work on the keys lays the foundation for Miller’s falsetto and spiraling flanger-laced guitar lines. On jazzy bumps like “El Rey” and the funky wah wah-infested groove, “Goodbye Ruby,” the loose and relaxed vibe created by Robinow’s backing allows Miller to do his best Curtis Mayfield impression before returning to his gravel-y roar.
The complaint against jam-bands has long been that their songs are hollow – all flash and no substance. Not every record has to be filled with lush orchestration or heart-on-sleeve lyrics to be enjoyed, though. Pink Floyd couldn’t pen lyrics like Bob Dylan, but the Bard couldn’t play something as visually stimulating as “Shine on You Crazy Diamond.” Howlin’ Rain won’t make you think on any contemplative level, but what they will do is make you imagine. Isn’t that what good art is supposed to, anyway?
|
