Blowtorch – Automotivation – Review

Blowtorch

Automotivation (St. Roch)
by Scott Hefflon

Recorded in a service station in New Orleans, Louisiana, and produced by Kim Fowley (whose credits read like a who’s who) – that’s the introduction to Blowtorch. Then things start to get a little weird. Released on a new New Orleans label, St. Roch (pronounced “St. Rock”), Automotivation opens with “Meat Market,” a rocking number that combines loose grooving bar band rhythms, raspy, Metallica-esque vocals on the verge of overloading the mic, thick, rolling bass lines, and guitar and drum production that somehow hints at cavernous space. The second song wastes no time in getting to the point. “I hate my girlfriend and all of my girlfriend’s friends” is so damn catchy, it’ll have you singing along (and most likely getting punched by your girlfriend) by mid-song. Like “I Want You To Want Me,” only a touch more resentful, the song doesn’t even need meaningful verses to support it. Which is convenient, because there aren’t any. In a better world, this would be a radio staple, but the PC contingency would probably think it mean. Stupid fucks.

The next few songs continue with the rude and raw rock theme, blending melodic, harsh vocals with styles ranging from swagger, to coked-up suburban metal, to ugly-sounding three-chord punk that recalls old Misfits. And that, dear reader, is where it all begins to come clear. Shambling along, with little regard to precise timing, the songs do in fact remind one of the more rock-oriented Misfits material. With Hetfield singing. Less horror-related topically, but in its place, the songs mention ice cube trays never being full, falling in love momentarily with a totem pole, and something about “Zero Ave.” keeps taking me back to 22 Acacia Avenue with a snarling Wrathchild America tour guide. Don’t ask. Picturing such throaty abuse coming from Steve Halprin, the thin, grease monkey-looking dude on the cover with his head shaved ‘xcept the stripe down the center lookin’ like, “What!?” just doesn’t seem possible. But then, Clutch’s Neil Fallon doesn’t look like he could blow out a candle at fifty paces either. Songs nine and ten don’t do shit for me, but everyone’s allowed to write a few dull filler songs. Somehow I knew “Drunk” would be good. Straining barely within his range, Steve’s lyrics hit the mark even when his voice misses the notes. Like any of us bellowing at the top of our lungs while shitfaced, it’s the passion that counts. Just ask us. Yeah, it’s a shout-a-long party fave in the making. So what if it’s a cheap shot? Shut up and drink up. When the bridge repeats “Say goodbye to your liver,” it sounds so close to the roaring chorus of Metallica’s take on “Last Caress,” I can forgive them almost anything. Garage days indeed. Sure Blowtorch blow a bunch of their songs with lousy transitions between fist-pumpin’ anthemic debauchery, but they’re a struggling young band with good ideas and attitude to spare, so cut ’em some fuckin’ slack, would ya?