Like a sonic devil they tempt your pigeonholing and defining of their sound and with the same Mephistophelian glee side step every attempt with their infernal webs of sound. They are Oregon rockers Wizard Rifle and their latest album epitomises their devilish conjuring of creative deception. Their self-titled offering also provides one of the most rousing and thrilling encounters of the year. Their sound is punk, sludge rock, psych and thrash punk, noise rock, metal and much more besides in one cacophonous temptation; quite simply it is feral rock ‘n’ roll and across forty four minutes pure contagion.
Emerging in Portland in 2009, Wizard Rifle are no newcomers to high praise as their electric live presence, which has seen them share stages with the likes of The Melvins, High On Fire, YOB, Lightning Bolt, Bongzilla, Buzzov*en, Black Cobra, and Church of Misery, over time has been accompanied by two well-received full-lengths in Speak Loud Say of 2012 and Here in the Deadlight two years later. Now the duo of guitarist/vocalist Max Dameron and drummer/vocalist Sam Ford are ready to take on the world with a release which embraces the building blocks of its predecessors and shapes a proposition which defies convention, relishes devouring expectations, and sets out its own unique agenda in virulent noise.
Rocket to Hell ignites the babel of sound devouring the senses from with the album though there is no confusion in its creation and enterprise. The opener teases from its first breath with the plucking of guitar strings, the gentle lure the persuasive deceit before the ferocious babble of sound momentarily waiting to erupt. And break out it does with ravenous intent; the pair’s united vocals as harmonious as they are untamed as around them sonic squalls casts melodic and sonic temptation as raw as it is virulent. The track continues to infectiously nag as it rapaciously ravages, that tempest of flavours previously mentioned blended into a predacious trespass strapped with the keenest of hooks and salacious grooves.
As discord and melody craftily entangle it is a glorious incitement and matched by that within the following Cevaman Waltz. Rhythms prowl as a chugging guitar goes eye to eye with instincts, a devious grin lining rapid grooves and an epidemic of infection while equally compelling vocals ride its hungry currents. Again it is a mix which nags and harries but with less voracity than its predecessor though that is replaced by a pressure of urgency which only accelerates by the minute until erupting in a cyclone of wild and fertile commotion with those original grooves still steering the greed for the band’s invention.
A Celtic spicing infects the compelling landscape of next up Beneath the Spider, its emprise a tapestry of rabid intent and collected melodic dexterity spun with craft and imagination. There is a great manipulation to the Wizard Rifle sound, its hooks and grooves an infestation of the body as melodic irreverence grip the imagination and no more inescapable and powerful than within the eight minutes making up this slice of potent incitement.
The next twelve minutes plus comes in the shape of Funeral of the Sun, the closing cyclonic tempest of the previous track reaped of its incessant sonic persecution by the opening bait of its successor. Dangling acidic guitar lures it entices and then devours in swirls and expulsions of creative ruthlessness and barbarity but an assault which is pure untamed catchiness. Similarly vocals harmoniously invite and venomously bite before the progressive heart of the track emerges to just as potently seduce. The tide of noise cannot be abated for long and it returns but with a much more melodic breath. Pure fascination exudes the track, which never suffers in its length, as pleasure floods ears before it.
V concludes the release, psychedelic seducing radiating from within its intrepid venture of sound and ambition. Seductive and fierce, subtle and bold, the track provides an unpredictable multi-textured furnace of flavour and captivation.
Wizard Rifle’s album is a glorious contradiction; it is animatingly wild yet cleverly composed, boldly untethered but chained to distinct imagination and craft. It is also another of the year’s major pleasures which should see the band burst beyond previous boundaries of attention.
The Wizard Rifle album is out now via Svart Records; available @ https://wizardrifle.bandcamp.com
https://www.facebook.com/wizardrifle/
Pete RingMaster 06/09/2019
Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright
That mellower air blows through the following Fields of Bones in voice and music though there is always a certain volatility waiting to catch which it does with a dirtier, grouchier eruption. Virulently catchy and manipulatively fascinating, the song is quite superb and if the album collapsed in on itself thereon in, with its two companions, would make Outlander a notable recommendation.
The following Guillotine is just as fevered in its attack, maybe more so but unafraid to slip into less intensive examinations of the listener as it conjures its own web of salacious grooves and rapacious enterprise. Bywater’s voice and riffs infest ears but even more so his grooves and sonic espionage manipulates body and appetite already caught by the primal claws of the rhythms.
It is a thrilling creative ferocity more than matched within next up Consume. From its first breath grooves bait and trap the imagination and hips, the bruising of further predatory rhythms and the malice of vocal antipathy soon arising as the scent of a Bloodsimple joins punk irritability as much CIV as it is High On Fire like. Stalking the senses with more ursine dexterity and rigour, the track is viral vindictiveness but itself slightly eclipsed by its successor in the shape of the new All At Sea single Gimme The Mic. Initially there is a similar holler and shape to its attack to the previous track but an essence soon woven into and consumed by the song’s own groove laden, spite fuelled stomp. There is a bluesy taint to that grooving which simmers rather than flames within the sonic fire and rhythmic battering but adds another great hue to the uncompromisingly intrusive and anthemic battle front of the encounter.
The gripping start is reinforced by the almost carnal resourcefulness and snarling nature of Make Them Die Slowly. Riffs immediately provide a tasty intrusion, seeming to relish their antagonistic presence within a web of sinister yet seductive grooves. With vocals across the band stalking the imagination too, the track reveals a punk infused attitude to its Crowbar meets High on Fire meets Earthride like trespass.
The powder keg of sonic fire and heavy brew of classic intoxication opens with its title track, Shoulders of Giants an initial shimmer with instant intensity and drama that only grabs attention and imagination. Gilchrist is soon spinning a web of melodic intrigue as the swiftly impressive voice of Donnelly blossoms in sound and narrative. Straight away she is a focal point but through the strength of the flavours and craft surrounding her soon the song as a whole is in command again, the rhythms springing a mix of anthemic intimidation over which the guitar casts a tonic of grooves which at times finds a Skids like tang. The track is a mighty start to the EP, full of striking textures and enterprise that alone needs numerous plays to fully explore with increasing rewards.
The album’s title track starts the thrilling violation, its lumbering body prowling the senses initially as guitar and bass spread intrusive riffs backed by the hefty swipes of Kiss. Almost deceptively the song is soon enveloping the listener, vocals fusing melody and aggression as they lead the swarm of gnarly sound and invasive shadows. Even more invasive as the album proceeds, Fear of Man is like a cauldron seeded in Melvins, High On Fire, Pigs, and The Great Sabatini but becoming more distinct in character and individuality with every raw trespass offered.