a quick review of a new album by an Italian band, Loose Sutures

Loose Sutures returns with a sound shot with axle grease and cheap wine. A Gash with Sharp Teeth and Other Tales, the band’s sophomore album, gets going with “Stupid Boy.” After two minutes of control-slipping rock ‘n roll, the song tumbles down a smokey segue, then falls back into stripped-down, heavily fuzzed rock.

My favorite song is “Sunny Cola”: the band’s faux-vintage sound blends sixties’ suede rock and a film-noire sound during the verses, but then sidesteps into an oceanic riff at the chorus. Just a city-leveling sound accompanied by dryly intoned lyrics: “The more you have, the more you smile.” On “Last Cry,” the overdriven guitars crackle out, with the lead guitar pumping more adrenaline into an already heart-pounding attack; and the final two minutes of the song are just a fuckin’ jam.

Loose Sutures are a heavy fuzz-rock group from Sardinia, a large Italian island in the Mediterranean Sea. A Gash with Sharp Teeth and Other Tales, due out October 15 (via Electric Valley Records digitally and on colored vinyl), follows last year’s self-titled debut; since that release, guitarist-singer Gianpaolo Cherchi left the band, and guitar player Giuseppe Hussain joined up.

I asked the band how Hussain has changed the band’s sound. 

"Giuseppe joined the band when we were about to step into the studio to record A Gash. We soon realized how talented he was and how much his style could turn our music into something else. Comparing the two albums, you'll see that there's a groovier guitar sound, more solos, and more accuracy in the guitar texture. Thanks to Giuseppe! Moreover, he's a singer and songwriter, too."

Major influences remain The Blue Cheer and Fuzz; heavy fuzz and stoner rock still front the Loose Sutures sound. But the new album has a bit less punk and little more psychedelic-space rock.

Instruments are treated with echo and heavy reverb; the vocals, which sound less snotty than on the debut, are pushed to the back of the mix so that the singer often seems to be shouting over the instruments. So I also asked the band about its writing and recording process. 

"It all starts from guitar riffs: we used to play these tones ‘til we got a good rhythm session going, then we would add vocal lines and lyrics. The last and most important part is to get the best fuzzy sound from each instrument. We were lucky enough to record in the same place that we rehearsed and wrote the songs; that's pretty relaxing! We know how the room sounds while using the same gear and amps. And Alfredo Carboni, the sound engineer who recorded both albums, is a longtime friend who built up the studio. So recording for us is part of the same process, and it's extremely fun."

The band sounds like it's having fun on “Animal House,” pounding out an almost Sabbath-like groove. A Gash with Sharp Teeth and Other Tales closes out this binge with a big double: “Death Valley I” opens with more overdriven, blown-out guitar; that song takes a breath, and “Death Valley II” picks up there, lets the music drift, spaces out, and then pulls itself together with a little hair of the dog.

 

an album review of “Let’s Not (And Say We Did)” by Zeahorse

The blurry streetlights and bitterly ferocious noise rock of Sidney.

Zeahorse’s latest album tyrannosauruses through a world experiencing a mass-extinction event. The first song, “Designer Smile,” careens forward with its weight-throwing groove and tyrannical vocals. The sweaty, raving lyrics—“I wish you could see me know / I'm exercising my designer smile!”—sound both insecure and commanding.

Let’s Not (And Say We Did) is the Sydney-based band’s third album and first in over four years. Zeahorse’s sound calls to mind bands like Unwound and Fugazi. Think noise rock and post-punk.

After a couple of galloping tracks, Zeahorse canter through a chunkier groove on “Guilty.” The lyrics describe treading water in a hyper-self-conscious culture of self-improvement. The rising and falling vocal sneers, “When our heads get turned into mush, blame it on the hoo-haa, the Friday night fuss ‘cause I’m dated and bloated and boring and sinking / The party will never end with someone like you / Whatever you do will only make it worse; whatever you do now will only make it hurt.”

On “The Ladder,” Zeahorse bare teeth at the ladder-climbing company man: “Ah, I climb the ladder—there is nothing better! If I could be the spanner, will you be my hammer? Ah, I climb the ladder—there is nothing better! I could be a friend to everyone!” This disaffected lament boils over to the sound of hard-charging post-punk.

Find a slight change in sound, from post-punk to a sludge-gummed crush, on “20 Nothing.” The song opens with a big beat, then rolls out a savage bass tone that sounds great with splashy cymbals. Zeahorse flash big, broad noise-rock stripes and more satire in the lyrics: “I'm so happy, I'm so ready to turn my moments into nothing / Suffocating under the money tree / This ain’t no place for you, and it ain’t no place for me.”

The four-piece band keeps it loud in the pocket. Songs on Let’s Not (And Say We Did) seethe massive grooves and layered, blaring vocals. The singing has that quality of sounding taunting, scolding, and pleading all at once—Johnny Rotten-style, already done. The lyrics deliver indelicate attacks on the materialistic, shallow, and image-obsessed—familiar targets and features of culture that, the louder you rail against them, the more they envelope you.

 

Note: Not really my taste in music, but I think it sounds good and can imagine others enjoying it.