by Brian Smith
There are numbskull riffs, thud-pocket drumming and (we imagine) nerve-pinching head flips. There are tangled-up-in-blues guitar leads flittering through wah pedals and scads of other Stooges finger-pistols. Shit, even the cowbell on Turn to Stone could be turned up. But dont yawn just yet, chief; this beast of a bong-loading, zit-squishing, porn-watching, beer-gut fueling, stoner-psyche record moves through the system like a sizzling rush of crystal meth.
Ably recorded in Ferndale, this 11-song disc (the Detroit bands second) finds croon-howl-croon frontman Mark Miers back in the fold, eluding goofy metal posturing. On Machine, he and band sound positively pissed-off, and such impressive Bush-defiant phrases as Dont want it/Dont need it/Dont want your war machine rattle your head long after the CD has been shelved, long after another mothers son has been buried in Arlington.
Dark Aftermath shows, um, a sensitive side; its filled with lofty guitar melodies ready-made for open beers on the open road, watching the haunted Detroit skyline recede in the rearview. Bury Me Alive couldve been an Alice Cooper ditty with Slash guesting, and the mosh-ready Roll You even kicks-starts with a cop of the Damneds Neat Neat Neat bassline (RIP Novadriver bassist James B. Anders). Thats class.
The instrumental Blackout contains climaxes that hoary guitar heroes the world over strive for its the aural equivalent of syrupy Peter North cum shots strung together in a video montage and viewed in slo-mo. Hence the finishing Whiteout, to which we imagine a spent North slowly toweling himself off. So, yes, Deeper High is a fine, fine record.
Brian Smith is the music editor of Metro Times. Send comments to firstname.lastname@example.org.