Review : Red Fang - Red Fang
TinymixtapesDon’t get me wrong; I like straightforward metal as much as anybody else. Motörhead’s “Ace of Spades” is one of my favorite songs, and “Overkill” isn’t too far behind it. I even like new-school heshers like Valient Thorr and Early Man. But doesn’t it all just get kind of old after a while? Maybe it’s the cynicism bred by spending more time than is due with middling metal records such as this, Red Fang’s self-titled.
To be fair, it has its moments. The build-up that leads into “Humans Remain Human Remains” shows that the band is capable of playing with dynamics. The song itself builds upon its glassy drone with dirge-like bass and stumbling drums before it really waves its post-Sabbath slow-metal banner. The doomy riffs here play something like Sleep and even more like The Sword. But while Red Fang’s three vocalists seem content to moan the song’s title a few times instead of writing a chorus, these ears aren’t so easily entertained. While there’s nothing wrong with the way Red Fang sounds, there isn’t a whole lot that’s right about it, either.
I could tell you from experience that driving with the album playing and the windows down is pretty fun, but I’m not convinced that really means anything at all. Even in these ideal conditions, it’s hard to make it through Red Fang in a single trip. It’s a shame, too, because closer “Witness” is one of the record’s best. It sounds like a real Valient Thorr pants-bulge barnburner, with ringing hits on the ride cymbals and speedometer-pegging thrash riffs. And at a concise two and a half minutes, it makes its point and gets the hell outta there, which is exactly what I wish Red Fang would do the rest of the time....full text
BlogcriticsI keep having this dream where Lindsay Lohan and I go on an outrageous bender. There are a bunch of sequences of her and me going in and out of ropey clubs here in Vancouver, drinking low-cost beer out of tall boys, smoking weed, and blogging via BlackBerry on MySpace. It’s a hell of a dream but it always ends the same way: she and I drop by this one back alley club where this incredibly sludgy band is playing and right before the name of the band is announced and right before Lindsay’s lips reach mine, I wake up.
Of course, there's very little to connect these persistent dreams to my reality. I don’t drink cheap beer (often), I don’t smoke weed, I don’t have a BlackBerry, and I’ve never actually been on a bender with Lindsay Lohan. Shocking, I know....full text
Absolutepunk.The latest grunge-revival act grounded solidly enough in their sound to make a noticeable run for stardom is Portland, OR's charismatic Red Fang. While the band claims a hometown synonymous with the most popular indie innovators of the age, Red Fang certainly doesn't play no hipster jive. Instead, they take pride in a set flooded with enough rock'n'roll to get Dimebag headbanging in his grave, and this self-titled LP proves it with fervor.
"Time to kiss your ass goodbye!" moans the vocals on "Prehistoric Dog," and the album is off on a barbaric sprint to the finish line that is the berserk of "Witness." Listeners will have to sport some jock muscles to resist the urge to dance, head-bob or whatever it is grungies do the music carries. Madcap solos and Neanderthal-istic vibes set the album up as irresitible fun and "the best" re-hearken to neo-grunge in years.
Lyrically the album is scattershot of lines to acheive inebriation to. "Prehistoric Dog" chronicles "Dogs that howl from outer space / Come to Earth to lay to waste / With fang and claw to shred your face / They will erase the human race." "Night Destroyer" sounds like it's growling about the ability to "destroy your name;" no one can be remotely sure without a guiding booklet, but who really cares? The slightly muddled vocal production just adds to the savage drop-it-all-and-rock-ism of the album, and if you want to interpret the lyrics to be about destroying names, so be it. Just don't shy from chipping in to the call-and-response-esque character of the song....full text
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