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The Blood Brothers
Burn Piano Island, Burn
ARTISTdirect CD
At sundown, The Blood Brothers and their devotees lit bonfires and began circling around the flaming warmth, dancing beneath the glimmering moon, singing, cackling, and shouting. With the sizzling and hissing of burning logs, the restless instrumentations grew into ritual as the singing started to swell. They began to throw their mediocre punk-rock records into the fire in order to exorcise the mundanity of rock, and as the fragrance of wax ablaze rose, the first rhythms gradually sprouted while the flames grew, feeding on the remains of rock 'n roll's insipidness.
Seattle's The Blood Brothers' got that fire.
Electrifying in a live atmosphere, The Blood Brothers' wild, disorderly, compulsive line of attack excited me intensely, and Burn Piano Island, Burn comes pretty damn close, capturing well the energetic power The Brothers discharge on stage.
As on their previous album, March on Electric Children, The Blood Brothers bring spasms of creativity, outbursts of emotional excitement, and probing influxes of guitar frenzied wailing and grating, incited by fucking filthy emotion. Über-producer Ross Robinson (past productions included At the Drive-In's Relationship of Command, Sepultura's Roots, Korn and Slipnot's debut albums, among others) has cleverly synthesized The Blood Brother's bold aggressiveness onto record and, to my surprise, with crystalline results. But, Burn Piano Island, Burn is no substitute for The Brothers' hot-blooded live shows.
Whitney and Blilie's duel screeches and shrieks can, at a drop of a dime, turn into infectious and catchy sing-alongs: "You'll never see your wife and children again, so tell us what it was going through your head when you looked into their eyes and said, 'No thanks, I'll take the hooker instead.'" Oh, and sing along you will . . . you will.
Burn Piano Island, Burn's volatility will remove you from the consciousness of the earth.
by Fake Train
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