When a band combines four-on-the-floor Suicide drum machines, acid synths, tastefully unhinged feedback and a buuuuuunch of reverb, it’s safe to assume it’s going somewhere good.
That’s the case with Radar Eyes, who have been scoring the scuzzy Chicago night in a way that reaches the same parallels as Vega/Rev did with the psychoses of NYC in the ’70s. But Chicago in 2013 isn’t New York in 1975, and the band isn’t foolish enough to pretend it is. Continue reading
There is a time and a place for tin pan fuzz — that whiny, treble-icious guitar sound that pierces eardrums worse than a Billy Corgan vocal flourish.
And hardly anyone knows exactly when or where that is. The rumbling, gut-punching tone of low-end fuzz is common among psych rock acts wishing to prove their mettle against level-headedness (so, all of them) but when that effects pedal is still down going into the solo, it throws the balance of the tune out of whack. Continue reading
Black Porridge 