Zen Guerilla
Trance States in Tongues (Sub Pop)
by Jon Sarre
If yer sittin’ around and still haven’t heard the woolly’n’blustery acid-damaged gospel o’ the blues is the gospel of rock and rock is gospel, too, and vice-versa fucking downright confusional confessions of the mighty Zen Guerrilla, just punch yerself as hard as you can, in the face, in the nose, the stomach, anywhere, everywhere (just like that geek in Fight Club). How come? Sh-i-i-i-i-i-t-t-t-t-t, man! Yer missin’ out on what oughtta be the end-all and be-all of rock’n’roll, that’s why! Even if ya think ya don’t care, you’d change that radio-saturated tune yer whistlin’ if ya had the pleasure of watchin’ these gentle giants (they’re all over six foot, y’see, with singer Marcus Durant topping the charts at an NBA-tall height, like three Jon Spencers stacked on top of each other!) wrack yer ear drums with sonic testimonials that hit ya straight in the gut like the fist ya should’ve planted in yerself after the first run-on sentence. Thru the murky lights of any particular divey club stage on many a nite (cuz they tour like the bubonic plague) you can witness drummer Andy Duvall dwarf and pummel his kit like some stick-hurling Bonham-savant, thrill to gonzo bluesmaster guitarist Rich Millman shaking his face so hard you’d swear his skin was gonna fly off during the next righteous, noisy cacophonic solo, take in Carl Horne as he handles the John Entwhistle role of keeping everyone else rock-steady with his bass, otherwise they’d all get sucked up in the vortex of Durant’s karate-kicking Elvis with an Afro’n’a distortion box trip (which alone is almost worth the price of admission, best thing is when he flips up the goggles he usually wears and sorta looks out at the audience like he just woke up and doesn’t know what planet he’s on).
(www.subpop.com)