Core
The Hustle is On (Tee Pee/MIA)
by Craig Regala
That the previous Core LP, Revival, came out on Atlantic both heartened and perplexed me ’cause this stuff was of a desert jamtastic nature that seemed to defy any commercial expectations in the culture at large. Now I dig the groove those rats spilled: peers of Kyuss, spawn of the zoner AZ/Cali tradition of Randy Holden, Black Sun Ensemble, Blue Cheer, Thin White Rope and power trio acid sky pilots creeping out from under Chris Goss’ manly “skirts” here, there and (one hopes) e’v’r’y’where. I think if a video had pushed the third track on Revival, the super-catchy “Kiss The Sun,” (imagine Janes Addiction as a more full-on, less sissified roll through power wha wha gunk) IT could’ve happened… You may read this as rebirth cultural reentry of proto metal proper – the real hard rock ala’ Frost/Grand Funk or DC3/Electric Peace with no specific retro leanings, just similar techniques in handling the instruments in a post SST/SubPop landscape.
Alas, the art I find is the love I make; pt. 2. So… Core now resides with an indie that can relate and steer them toward a long haul career w/o potential high stakes pop market place. One chance in 30 success. You can hear (and see, hell check the time of the track!) aspects of the “Hustles” jam rock/jazz fusion similitude poke-its-bean-up-and-peer around on Revivals last couple cuts, albeit now the metalloid moments have been more subsummed’n’liquefied, kinda like Clutch did when they went from the tunes “Molt” and “Shogun” to “The Elephant Riders.” Like moving from Sabbath’s “Paranoid” to “Supernaut” or “Swing The Chain.” So you get a more fluid flow with less stomp-pound and more rolling note flow; at times close to Mile’s Pangea/Agartha with a tune sense and tone that wouldn’t scare a Santana fan. (OK, a Santana fan who loves Buddy Miles, Jimi, Coltrane, and Santana’s Lotus). So any doomishness is ghostlike. Of course, to make me work writing this review, they throw a classic piece of mid-period SST-goes-Mahogany Rush kick-ass right in the middle of the fray. To wit; the ninth tune, “Skinny Legs and All,” with its coda, “10.” Then, they follow it with what I thought the Dead was gonna sound like when told about ‘m as a spud. I GIVE THIS FOUR STARS AND DEMAND A TOUR WITH FATSO JETSON AND THE MASTERS OF REALITY. Thank You, GOODNIGHT!
(PO Box 1236 Canal St. Sta. NY, NY 10013)
