aaamusic | On 31, Jan 2011

Garage rock. Now, it has to be said that on the whole, “smoky sex appeal” doesn’t free-associate with this genre so much as ratty tye-dye and greasy leathers, however vampy psych-stompers Rodeo Massacre are here to change all that, bringing all the esoteric strangeness of psychedelia and the primal force of garage, and drenching it in a heady mist of sneering eroticism.

We are introduced to sizzling LP ‘If You Can’t Smoke ‘Em Sell ‘Em’ with the dusty blues of ‘Desert Man’, which features languid trumpets, thudding bass drum and cinematic spaghetti western atmosphere. Think early Cult in the surreal Western mystical rock, only sans metal and fronted by a stellar female vocalist in the seductive sonic school that includes Imelda May in its alumni. The song progresses from saloon blues to a mariachi-esque jazz solo session with slick and addictive ease. However, if you can resist the urge to simply play this one track on a loop, the album has so much more to offer. ‘Love’ is a dirty little rock dance number, part smoky barroom cabaret and strongly leaning on the tradition of guitar-reverb garage rock n roll, as organ stabs provide lush backing to a soulful, percussive track with a sultry bassline and fantastically effective chorus hooks. As for ‘Turning Wheel’, it could easily provide the soundtrack to a steamy scene in a cult road movie, blending Deep Purple and Eartha Kitt to create something that both purrs and roars. Yes, that is a synchopated cymbal/finger click beat and yes they have given it a garage rock organ solo and pounding bass drum undertone, and if that walking bassline/vocals combo doesn’t do it for you, you might want to get help.

However, as ‘Zombies Of Life’ proves with its unhinged harmonica wails and gritty guitar, Rodeo Massacre are in possession of a veiled danger and excitement that are what really sets them apart. Just as you settle into the warm embrace of their earlier mood, you’re slapped around the face with a rapid hop-skip belter that ramps up the tempo and features some controlled yet savage improv-style solo sections from all fronts alongside some real rock snarl.

Perhaps the most jaw-dropping track is the searing ‘The End’, a truly menacing yet hugely enjoyable spurned-lover number that doesn’t just bite with its sharp tongue but slices straight to the bone with clashing rock cacophony that is wrapped in pure rockabilly attitude and silken stockings, barbed with a cowbell click. Ditto with ‘Mama Told Me So’, a smouldering, stomping proto-metal garage rocker that is in possession of a keyboard so warm and deep you could drown in its mesmeric melodies, as you are driven deeper in by the dirty guitars and driving rhythms. As for ‘Deadly Bite’, it slinks addictively into the listener’s ears, a shimmering beaded percussion and serpentine walking bassline dual attack as the vocals belt out a pitch-perfect yet sinister serenade.

‘Heaven Or Hell’ is another spaghetti western type number, infusing blues, cabaret, psychedelia and the air of a gun-toting lone ranger, albeit one who looks and sounds like Siouxsie Sioux in a Stetson and stilettos, hunting down wrongdoers backed up by a swinging set of musicians, as heavy piano, whirling organs and bluesy guitar/drumkit combo create a swishing, swirling backdrop of cymbals and melodic strangeness.

Just to nail the rock credentials and surreal fringes of this record, Rodeo Massacre slip in a cover of Alice Cooper’s ‘I’m Eighteen’, transforming it from a shock-rock yowl into a lush, exotic piece of sensuality that is held up by echoing drums and driven by panpipes and flutes and a jangling wild west guitar.

‘Woman’ continues the wonderful jangling guitars, bringing them to the fore over galloping bell/cymbal beat, creating a luxuriously menacing melody the lassos the listener into a tapestry of interwoven psychedelic sounds, and a truly exhilarating ride of an instrumental followed by a subtle yet thrilling close.

Finally, we have the devastating ‘I’ve Got A Big Foot Now’ with its feral backing vocal refrain, and the bonus track ‘Sneaky French Love’, which feels like some obscure Euro-funk hit played by the White Stripes and a horn section. And to make this into a compliment takes some considerable talent on the part of the band.

‘If You Can’t Smoke ‘Em Sell ‘Em’ is not merely a good record, but a true gem. Seductive, subtle yet full of clout, there is simply no reason you should not buy this record and let it ravish your ears and mind with its blend of flawless mixing, lush sonic fullness, seductive devil-may-care attitude and feral artistic grace. It simply beats me how any band can be this good with their debut release.

Author: Katie H-Halinski