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GREAT CRUSADES - Never Go Home (Glitterhouse)
Imagine a guy with a voice part Cocker, part Cave and a bunch of country rock musicians with a sound as loose (and dangerous) as a wild, bucking bronco. Imagine music that is tailor-made for the next Tarantino bloodbath, and could have been on his last classic Pulp Fiction. Imagine funny, sad, angry, love, hate, and booze; plenty of booze. Wrap it all up, shove it through an eight-track and what you end up with is a band with the crazy name of The Great Crusades and an album called Never Go Home. And what a hoot this record is! Hand Grenade Head is a threatening instrumental and vocal fuse which burns till the middle eight when steel guitar and harmonica explode, and set off a series of vocal detonations. It's a cracking song to open this diversely paced album. The final lyrics say it all: "Can you take your car and pick me up? I'm down to my last cigarette, My head feels like a hand grenade, and you're the only one who can keep me from exploding." Track three, Field Of Sad Horses, slows the pace with a melancholy, wailing guitar and vocal lament about love and loneliness. It convinces utterly that this is history repeating itself in music - it couldn't possibly be anything else with the passion and expression exhibited here. Back Then is my pick of a glorious bunch with its heady melody and chorus, and distinctly pop flavour. It's a beauty and is immediately followed by a Tarantino-esque slab of Tex-mex guitar rock. No need for vocal here; bass and steel say it all. Much of what lies in these grooves is story-based and highly emotional, which is right down my highway. But what I like most of all is the intuitive, loose structure of the instrumental and vocal performances which are in sharp contrast to so much of today's recorded rock that takes months to complete and many mixes to arrive at the final over-polished, souless product. On track nine, Phylis, you can picture the guys standing around the studio (probably some shack somewhere); cigs hanging out of mouths, beer cans close to hand; just letting the music roll out, with a casual nod signalling that it's done and dusted. This great record creates pictures, and surely that's what music is supposed to do. But it also takes a bunch of together and skilled musicians and writers to make it work. One of the closing tracks, Cold Weather, has the beautiful contemplative ambience of Springsteen's Streets Of Philadelphia. The forelorn vocal is accompanied only by solitary piano notes, and the song just takes my breath away. This is my first outing with this band, and it certainly won't be my last. Strongly recommended. 4.5 out of 5 more press |
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