Via The Soda Shop:
The screeching, rising roar of focused, ecstatic cocophany, a dervish of a riff over a sustained shriek in key, like maybe an alto sax in the background… like a sludge band from 1001 Nights… a revolving riff like Mountain Song….
He was sweaty, he panicked: all he could think was, The Black Crowes as a psychedelic sludge band— but it made no sense, it didn’t scan: those sounds shouldn’t go together–
–but they did. They were.
He needed to frost out his awe, his unease, his bête noire— this genre mingle, this sound brew– it couldn’t last the whole record…?
But the din just kept coming:”Stormbringer,” like a chant, like a sonic cycle, like the whole album, rotating from verse to chorus to solo… “Sour mirage” was early 80s new wave with heavy stringed guitars over keyboard melodies, “Give In To Live” had that jangly minor third riff that metal stole from rock stole from blues… and it was in their hands now: Wildildlife used it like they stole it and the fuzz was sirening over to take it back, and take it back hard….
The “live”vibe to songs –the echo in the background like ambiance in a dive you know’s gonna bilk you out of your percentage– the space, the time between notes, somehow gave the brash rock sounds of Give In To Live a taproot in quiet, in anonymity– they knew when to rock and when to breathe.
He’d be back, he knew. The sounds drew him back like bees to honey, like a hot-blooded man to a swell-looking babe–
*A stool pigeon told him it was pronounced “Wildlife.” Just… “Wildlife.”