Chimpomatic

With this third release on Vice from Atlanta garage-rock four-piece Black Lips, the band skillfully manage to side step much of the expectation that has been put on them since 2007's fantastic Good Bad Not Evil. Having started out as a bunch of young, unwashed punks they quickly developed a reputation that got them banned from many venues in Georgia for their pretty wild live shows. After a few decent but hardly memorable albums, Good Bad Not Evil has boosted their stock no end. It stays true to their ragged aesthetic and is full of lo-fi blues rock that frays at the edges but stays this side of unpredictable and is packed full of wooly hooks that guide you through its many ups and downs with surprising warmth.

200 Million Thousand however, refuses to expand on this success and is almost a two finger salute to all the praise that came with the last album. That's not to say it's inferior and the fact that they've chosen such a route off the back of what can only be called a break through album is impressive.

Much of the jaunty bar room jams are replaced here with a much more sluggish soup of hazy narcotic songs that recall bands like The Velvet Underground and early Rolling Stones. They have always nodded towards sounds of old and their success comes from their ability to incorporate these with their gritty, no-bullshit sensibility and throwaway passion for rock n roll. But their references seem more clear here and while not necessarily detracting from the songs does change the overall feeling of the record. The twang of their guitars throw up an almost impenetrable veil of sound that swirls around each song. Cole Alexander's vocals growl and crawl through this mist like a possessed Jim Morrison. It's thick and at times hard going, Alexander seems far away from the listener as he's surrounded by this sound and the distant production.

The moments when this mist lifts and the tempo rises are very effective. Drugs and Short Fuse both have an infectious rolling tempo lead by a fantastic surf guitar chord that dispels a lot of the haze and hints to us that the band haven't totally forgotten what they started on the last record. And I suppose as beacons in the slush they are bound to sound all the more sweet. As we descend back into the swirling dream world of songs like Starting Over and Trapped In A Basement, we wait for these beacons to guide us through but like a drug setting in we feel unable to turn our backs on this sound that is pulling us under. Alexander's proposal of "come and ride with me, I'll make some room in my dirty back seat," seems unattractive to a normal mind but here feels almost too much to resist. This is the kind of music you need to shower after as it's scuzzy to say the least but it's a bit of a fuck you of a direction change and while being slightly less enjoyable than its predecessor it hints at the worth of this band

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13th Mar 2009 - Tumblr