Written by: Andrew Stecz
Rating: 6 out of 10
The Black Lips, hailing from Atlanta, Georgia, (and not welcomed in India) release their 5th album, 200 Million Thousand in 2009, interpreting previous lo-fi/garage rock generations through the gaze of their previous 4 albums. “Take My Heart” sets the tone with a miniature glam-rock riff reminiscent of T. Rex (instead of the New York Dolls), and its refrain with a lo-fi ethereal call for solitude and devolution leading into the fun times “Drugs,” which lives in a summer breeze, a Plymouth Barracuda, and decadence - The myth of Rock. Slowing it up to the Byrds-like guitar, “Starting Over,” nothing new in is added to the Black Lips language and nothing grown on “Let It Grow” as the band channels Neil Young’s prolific solos between verses and drunken squeal thereafter.
Cute and desolate, “Trapped In A Basement” documents a girl’s experience of The Cave, exposing her daddy’s-little-girl relationship for its malevolent propensity for stupor it possesses. The single “Short Fuse” is another uninspiring restrained rocker, the quintessence of the band’s aesthetic, seems to be played with the garage door closed for fear of either someone hearing or waking the neighbors, I am not sure. Adorable as can be, “I’ll Be With You” harks back to the 50’s as the singer yells his refrain of desire over soft rhythm and guitars, as the swampy “Big Black Jesus of Today” starts to develop a bit of attitude the album lacked thus far only to be lifted by the airy “Again & Again.”
The Black Lips begin on the next three tracks to delve into a catrnistic urbanlia – new and old – with “Old Man” cutting very close to The Velvet Underground’s “Venus In Furs” with its minor chords, effervescent chorus, and tribal percussion, but without The Ostrich (though some heads are surely buried), debauchery, and venomous viola. The next in the trilogy is the hip-hopped rocker “Drop I Hope” with a sample of a galvanizing speech for defense of…something (civil rights?), and finally the lively “Body Combat” is a dancer for the college bacchanal. Ending sentimental, “Elijah” and “I Saw God” limp to the end, burning what fumes are left and framing the album as best it can, not deviating too much from what can be found in the previous 40 minutes, or the previous 4 albums for that matter.
Moreover, the album is decent (6): not a waste of time, but surely not worth the 6-7 listens I needed to get the energy and focus to write this review. A 6 is a high rating for this album, I was preparing myself for a garage-rock album and I got basement-rock. I am not sure if the band is incapable to amp up the sound, the attitude and/or their thesis of their songs but they need to “start over,” and now; move out of the basement, or open the garage door, and possibly take fewer drugs (or write fewer songs about them) and let their blood flow and not their kisses onstage. I LOVE GARAGE ROCK – I love the Sonics, the Velvet Underground, the Fleshtones, the Animals, early Stones, Pere Ubu, Captain Beefheart, Chrome (and many others)…but this is not that sound. 200 Million Thousand is a derivative of that sound, bound and gagged without the lash, dreams and shiny, shiny leather, and further condensed beyond reproach, figuratively and literally – the vocals need to breathe and grow, not compacted electronically.
This album, and the band, is essentially an infantile renaissance of all the aforementioned juggernauts (all of whom I recommend that everyone track down one way or another), which is not a bad thing, but is not performed well to even that order; Royal Trux, and to a lesser degree the White Stripes, exercised this aesthetic much more convincingly (and energetically) on each of their self-titled debuts (Royal Trux consisting of a caustic minimalist set of legendary proportions, but only as a warm-up to their epical and dirty masterpiece Twin Infinitives). I guess The Black Lips need to heed their own lyrics and get loose, and stop being short fuse, be the deluge of fire and brimstone, the point of no return, not T. Rex but The New York Dolls – do as they’ve said, not as they’ve done.
Cute and desolate, “Trapped In A Basement” documents a girl’s experience of The Cave, exposing her daddy’s-little-girl relationship for its malevolent propensity for stupor it possesses. The single “Short Fuse” is another uninspiring restrained rocker, the quintessence of the band’s aesthetic, seems to be played with the garage door closed for fear of either someone hearing or waking the neighbors, I am not sure. Adorable as can be, “I’ll Be With You” harks back to the 50’s as the singer yells his refrain of desire over soft rhythm and guitars, as the swampy “Big Black Jesus of Today” starts to develop a bit of attitude the album lacked thus far only to be lifted by the airy “Again & Again.”
The Black Lips begin on the next three tracks to delve into a catrnistic urbanlia – new and old – with “Old Man” cutting very close to The Velvet Underground’s “Venus In Furs” with its minor chords, effervescent chorus, and tribal percussion, but without The Ostrich (though some heads are surely buried), debauchery, and venomous viola. The next in the trilogy is the hip-hopped rocker “Drop I Hope” with a sample of a galvanizing speech for defense of…something (civil rights?), and finally the lively “Body Combat” is a dancer for the college bacchanal. Ending sentimental, “Elijah” and “I Saw God” limp to the end, burning what fumes are left and framing the album as best it can, not deviating too much from what can be found in the previous 40 minutes, or the previous 4 albums for that matter.
Moreover, the album is decent (6): not a waste of time, but surely not worth the 6-7 listens I needed to get the energy and focus to write this review. A 6 is a high rating for this album, I was preparing myself for a garage-rock album and I got basement-rock. I am not sure if the band is incapable to amp up the sound, the attitude and/or their thesis of their songs but they need to “start over,” and now; move out of the basement, or open the garage door, and possibly take fewer drugs (or write fewer songs about them) and let their blood flow and not their kisses onstage. I LOVE GARAGE ROCK – I love the Sonics, the Velvet Underground, the Fleshtones, the Animals, early Stones, Pere Ubu, Captain Beefheart, Chrome (and many others)…but this is not that sound. 200 Million Thousand is a derivative of that sound, bound and gagged without the lash, dreams and shiny, shiny leather, and further condensed beyond reproach, figuratively and literally – the vocals need to breathe and grow, not compacted electronically.
This album, and the band, is essentially an infantile renaissance of all the aforementioned juggernauts (all of whom I recommend that everyone track down one way or another), which is not a bad thing, but is not performed well to even that order; Royal Trux, and to a lesser degree the White Stripes, exercised this aesthetic much more convincingly (and energetically) on each of their self-titled debuts (Royal Trux consisting of a caustic minimalist set of legendary proportions, but only as a warm-up to their epical and dirty masterpiece Twin Infinitives). I guess The Black Lips need to heed their own lyrics and get loose, and stop being short fuse, be the deluge of fire and brimstone, the point of no return, not T. Rex but The New York Dolls – do as they’ve said, not as they’ve done.
