Year : 2015
Genre : Heavy Metal, Hard Rock with superb glam affections
Label : UDR Gmbh
Origin : United Kingdom
Rating : 8.2 / 10
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A fresh Motörhead album probably has no other dormant expectation to live up to than to deliver the same quality Lemmy Kilmister - "Did you Kill, Mister?" - and his collaborators have established themselves with on the primordial metal surface. Regardless of your other alleged fascinations, you would need to be quite biased to deny that this group is doubtless synonymous with the mere ethos of metal, and now that Lemmy is about 666 years old, the music that is pouring out of him - the same music, essentially, but there is nothing wrong with this - gets even more sinister. Sinister Kilmister, the frontman did not really lose anything of his charisma as a performer, and his pipes have started to reflect a lifetime of commitment towards the oh, so sweet primordial form of metal. This commitment is commendable, be it to anything.
From a production standpoint, there is no effect wizardry included on this release, and the agenda, not surprisingly, once again is the exploitative-, no-time-to-fuck-around deliverance of super-boomy sonic assaults, arranged into forms that all seek to reflect their original, out-of-the-naked-amp forms as closely as possible, yet no particular regards (snobbery) are given for the final results of their continuous collisions. This very limitation, which, at the same time, is central to the working mechanics of the disc, also equates with the eternal charm of this group. Read on to know more, because Lemmy knows where you live.
The album, of course, is an angry, hefty, meaty power chord fest that execrates insatiable love and thirst for the warm pulsation of 4/4 pummeling, orchestrated to massively morose guitars that have no worries about bleeding into each other. The deliberate sonic bleed-through reigns as one of the main driving factors of the release, responsible to express the rampant desire to simultaneously fuck and kill all, as it should be normal and nominal in the context of metal, and anyone telling you otherwise, simply does not really get it.
The roaring guitars are tastefully complimented by Kilmister's vocals, which sound that of a sinister old man who is about to take your daughter out, but the scary thing is that he never asked for this, shit, it was your sassy daughter who wanted to go out with him. In other words, the "Bad, bad guy" vibe permeates the release with 100% authenticity, and I personally am remain eager to hear and see the consecutive results of Lemmy Kill, Mister?'s vocal evolution, as it is very unlikely that the guy will stop singing, and thank God & Satan & Lemmy himself for that!
The songcraft on the release is quite beefy and decent, when inspected from the angles of possible expectations regarding a new Motörhead spin. If you wanted anything else or anything "more", then you clearly are in the wrong frame of mind and reference. (And you will end up as Lemmy's gimp.) Motörhead has been doing this nieche of music since times immemorial, and will continue to do that until the day they die, and, from then on, I personally expect the members of the band to immediately emerge back to an undead form of (un)life as a necromantic affair, and they will continue to unleash this type of unmistakable music with massive macabre malice! I mean, if you tell me right now that Lemmy already is dead, and he is an undead frontman, I would probably consider it both plausible and awesome. I mean, the fucking guy SOUNDS like it, and this is sufficient. But you know I'm sick, so...
The record showcases a truly decent command of glam affectations, but do not assume that the group would go soft on your receptors, or would express sexist spandex glam romanticism or whatnot. Instead, it is a masterful awareness of the classic glam phrases and sonic corridors that is on clear and eloquent display, and these timeless groove-patterns get hefty compliments and nicely sculpted harmonic passages to shine briefly, but fully in, from time to time. For an immediate example of these tricks, soak some ears into the song: "Fire Storm Hotel", which summons extremely notable glam metalesque riffing and songcraft, especially throughout the solo section: it has a definite "Night Train" vibe, see the Guns 'N Roses song from the late '80s.
As noted, the disc is jam packed of raging sounds demanded out of guitars with worldkiller ambitions, yet the bleed-through between the instruments is never so extreme as to cause harm in the fabric of the intended stimuli, the goal instead is to make the most loud record possible with the most stone-traditional-, "out-of-the-naked-amp" vibes that are summonable by radical guitar molestation.
Thing is, your papi, Lemmy Kilmister is turning into a demilich on the stage, and I can't think of a single fucking thing to not like about this.
Rating : 8.2 / 10
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