When rock’n’roll burst into popular consciousness in the ‘50s, the self-proclaimed guardians of public decency feared the worst. With its penchant for hip-thrusting licks and salacious commentary, the emergence of rock’n’roll was the musical equivalent of a plague of locusts descending to devour society’s moral fibre. Things got so bad that Pat Boone was dispatched to co-opt this evil force and saturate it in an insipid sanitising wash.
Were such attitudes still dominant, it’s reasonable to assume Seedy Jeezus’s debut album would be viewed as further evidence of the impending moral apocalypse – which, in the context of rock’n’roll’s perverted sense of righteousness – is a badge of honour. To witness the delicious riffs of Shakin’ the Fuse is to immerse yourself in the best song The Powders Monkey never got around to writing; hang around for Wormhole, and it’s Led Zeppelin at the height of their vainglorious reign. Universal Overdrive throws back a double shot of Humble Pie attitude and casts a leering grin across the room, Chasing the Dragon’s Tail is Black Sabbath before the cocaine fog set in and the psychotic fury Pick Up is palpable.
Then, you’ve got the 15-minute, kaleidoscopic metal treatise of How Ya Doin’. It starts slowly, a casual stroll through the poppy-strewn fields of early ‘70s psychedelic rock. There’s a fraternal feel in the air, and we’re all walking together, mesmerised by Lex Waterreus’ freakish guitar skills. The sonic atmosphere clears, the sun begins to shine and rock’n’roll enlightenment beckons. The mood breaks and the air drenched with the spirit of Jimi Hendrix. You can hear the sounds of nature in the background, a subtle nod in the direction of Zeppelin’s mediaeval folk indulgences; a drum solo appears out of the darkness, and it’s 1976 again, but in the very best of ways. Things get loud again, and everything is beautiful.
The come down is brutal, but strangely comforting – six minutes of dirty, grimy, nasty rock’n’roll in Sun In My Car. It’s tempting to ponder what Pat Boone would make of Seedy Jeezus, but he’d be too shit scared to hang around to find out.
BY PATRICK EMERY
