Aural Fixations

LONESOME BOB
Things Change
(Leaps Recordings)
Many a blues fan from decades past cut his or her teeth on a transistor radio stashed beneath a pillow, stealing a listen to some distant AM signal blasting out from Chicago or Memphis. Howlin' Wolf's "Moanin' in the Moonlight," which opens with a guttural moan that'll chill your spine in daylight, must have been unforgettable in darkness.

A lot of CDs cross this desk each year, but never has one come so close to capturing the Wolf's vibe as does Lonesome Bob's Things Change. In fact, it happens more than once over the course of these dozen songs. During "Where Are You Tonight," about his teenage son's death, or perhaps during the moaning outro to the title track, Lonesome Bob (AKA Robert Chaney) summons something that can't be faked.

LB gigged in the 80s for an extended stint as drummer for Ben Vaughn, and he briefly played guitar with former Mekons singer Sally Timms. A Nashville resident for several years, he's collaborated here and there with country singer Allison Moorer. Things Change, LB's second solo CD, sways under the influence of a plethora of genres, spitting out stark, brutally honest songs. His voice is reminiscent of that of David Allan Coe; more importantly, one can almost smell the bourbon and cigarettes on his breath. (more)

Stagestruck

DIMMU BORGIR/CRYPTOPSY/KRISIUN/DIABOLIC
@The Back Room, Austin, TX; March 9, 2001
I've been dipping my toes into the shallow end of the extreme metal pool lately, sampling bands like Opeth and Borknagar, reading up on the pioneers like Emperor and the stars like Cradle of Filth. So it was with no small amount of anticipation that I attended this rare show at Austin's Back Room, long the home of metal in the River City, extreme or otherwise. (Thanks to the fine folks at Century Media and Nuclear Blast for the comp.) The last metal concert I had been present for was a Savatage/Fates Warning pairing several months before, and I was hoping the brand of more aggressive sounds I would see tonight would outshine the mediocrity I endured then. I was also looking forward to the opportunity to directly contrast black metal (in the person of the headliner) with death metal (everybody else), a distinction blindingly obvious to the fans, I'm sure, but not so much to a newbie like myself.

When I arrived, Diabolic was already onstage. (A metal show starting at 8 p.m.? Who'da thunk it?) The trio was hustled offstage within five minutes of my arrival, so I was unable to form much of an impression. While various roadies schlepped equipment, I examined the crowd. Mostly (but not entirely) male, mostly (but not entirely) early-to-mid twenties, all adorned in black T-shirts with heavy metal logos on them. In fact, I was the only person in the entire club NOT wearing a black band tee—in my button-up long-sleeved shirt and striped sweater, I couldn't have stood out more in this crowd if I was naked. Not that it mattered—the folks at this show were exceedingly friendly, especially to an obvious neophyte like myself. One young man recommended which album by the headliner to get; another just out and out gave me a CD-R copy of his own band's music, and this is without knowing that I worked as a critic. I quickly learned that this enthusiasm for their chosen genre crossed over into intense support for the bands.

Brazilian death metal trio Krisiun hit the stage and started roaring right out of the gate. Drummer Max Kolesne pummeled his kit mercilessly, guitarist Moyses Kolesne flailed away and bassist Alex Camargo screamed brutally (and unintelligibly) into the mike. This band has a great reputation for speed and precision, but unfortunately the latter was difficult to discern. Not because of the band's abilities or lack thereof, mind you, but because the club's sound mix focused on only one or two aspects of the cacophony onstage. Fans of death metal drumming and vocals would have been well-pleased, but folks like me wanting to hear the guitar work (outside of the ridiculously twiddly solos) were left in the cold. The crowd dug it, though, especially the surprisingly large contingent of Latinos, who gave the evening's mightiest cheer when the bassist thanked them in Spanish. Speaking of gratitude, this band had a lot of it. Death metal bands from any country have to rely on an underground support system of 'zines and word-of-mouth, and Krisiun made sure the crowd knew how much it appreciated the efforts of the fans. "Thank you very fucking much," said Camargo in the same cookie-monster growl he employed when singing. "Without your support, we are nothing. We are shit without you. So thank you very fucking much." It was very sweet in its own way. If only the club's sound system had given them as much support as the fans... (more)

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