Ogre |
While much of indie rock seems to be headed the way of the sally-ass singer/songwriter (sorry Sufjan, you’re great and all, but you’re a pansy), and radio rock gets all ‘80s with the synthesizers and the programmed beats, a dedicated few bands still think there ought to be an 11 on the amp dials and that hardcore has unfairly stolen and overused the primal scream vocals.
Portland’s own Ogre, winners of this year’s Best Metal Act BMP, are a perfect example, having landed a deal with Japan’s Leafhound Records (thanks to a familial connection with the Blood Farmers, and a Japanese stoner rock lover named Toreno) for the release of their sophomore disc, Seven Hells. Like 2003’s self-released Dawn of the Proto-Man, it’s full of dirge-y, dirty, crunching guitars from Ross Markonish; pounding, but melodic, drums by Will Broadbent; and fat-bottom bass and soaring vocals from Ed Cunningham.
Judging by the album’s opening feedback wash, you might think this was headed toward the doomcore of Ocean, but “Dogmen (Of Planet Earth)” quickly cycles up into something of a boogie, Cunningham aping Chris Robinson at times, and “Woman on Fire” is a straight-up rocker like Cream at their height, Markonish ripping Clapton solos and Cunningham channeling Jack Bruce.
Elsewhere on the seven-song disc, which includes a pair of songs that spiral past 10 minutes without it barely registering, “The Gas” is an acid-trip of a tune, with sharp guitar bursts emphasizing the pointies as “naked women claw at me,” and “Sperm Whale” features a sprawling and understated two-minute-plus drum solo (yeah, remember those?) from Broadbent. God, it’s smooth. Then Cunningham and Markonish do their best to mimic whale calls (which perhaps are more humpback than sperm?) before actual whale calls finish the track.
By the time you hit the iconic and varied “Flesh Feast,” from which the disc’s title is culled, you’ll be more than ready for the challenge it presents. Ogre go accessible early, interesting late, and never fail to disappoint.
