Solid GOLD
Been rocking out with my cock out the last cpl-three days to some seriously good 70s style classic-rock stoner jams, with a sprinkling of punk rock thrown in, as churned out by the one, the only Fu Manchu. Git some…
Drums pounding; bass throbbing; fuzztone guitars squalling in sweetest agony; vocalist shouting monotonally; ultra-plush 70s conversion vans a-rockin’ (don’t come a-knockin’!); vintage Ford Rancheros turning donuts; heads bangin’ and long hair flailing about, all in grainy, old school black and white—I ask y’all, what’s not to like here?
The thing I noticed right off about these Cully-forny boys when first I beheld ‘em soundchecking at CLT’s storied Snug Harbor dive bar/music venue long, long ago is how incredibly adept they were/are at working a miles-deep stoner rock groove calmly, patiently, relentlessly—painstakingly crafting a breakbone musical climax out of next to nothing at all in the way of raw material. Honestly, I’ve never seen anything quite like it, neither before nor since. This next selection is a pluperfect example of the Fu-Mu process.
See what I’m talking about, people? The song is built around one (1) single fucking NOTE, droningly recited throughout by the second guitar—although the bass and lead git-fiddle elaborate on the basic (!!) theme a bit, while never straying too far away from that one urgent note, that one crunchy-ass chord. Nonetheless, by the time the band brings the song’s unlikely climax crashing down over your heads, I defy any right-thinking rock aficionado to NOT be banging his head furiously in time with the music. It’s a joy and a wonder to behold.
KINDA-SORTA CAVEAT: Throughout my musical life, I’ve always felt that the fade-out was the last refuge of a rock and roll scoundrel. Having been raised on the Ramones, my firm rule has always been that you dive in, you hammer through it, and you get the hell out…but there must always, always, ALWAYS be a discrete ending. In most every rock and roll subgenre, fade-outs are cop-outs, to my way of thinking. They don’t do ‘em in classical; you hardly ever hear one in jazz or trad country or blues or big-band or rockabilly. So what makes the classic-rock crew, whether pioneering originals or latter-day revivalists, think they ought to get a pass?
Nope, nope, and NOPE, they shouldn’t. By my (slowly dimming) lights, the fade-out is and of right ought to be the exclusive province of stupid-ass, radio-friendly pop/disco crapola, old movies and/or TV shows, and, say, Frank Sinatra—and that is absolutely, positively IT. Although of course and as always, YMMV.
That said, the fade-out which wraps up “Laserbl’ast” works like a charm, even for my overly-exacting, picksniffity ass. In fact, it’s difficult to imagine this one ending any other way, really. So I suppose I’m willing to grant a special dispensation here, just this one time.
Ain’t but one way to properly enjoy rock and roll this tasty, this outstandingly scrumpdillyicious, and that’s cranked WAAAY the fuck up through a set of subwoofer-enhanced compooter speakers capable of toting the Fu Manchu load. The linked system is the one I have myself, and it’s been well worth every last penny of the measly sixty bucks I forked over to Amazon for it too, and then some. At only 50 watts, Lord knows it’s stout enough to drive my poor cats into hiding for the last few days.














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