Reviews
Daddy's Hands
Welcome Kings!
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Add to del.ico.us.Review Date: 2007-03-18
Daddy’s Hands have been working the west coast, British Columbia, for ten years now – enjoying a kind of local hero status; this new album is their first attempt at reaching a broader audience. If you’re as addicted to the e-bomination that is YouTube as I am, you can see them play live at Cross Town Traffic in Vancouver. They look a little like the kids from your high school assemblies, or coffee houses – the band class hermits you were surprised to find had it in them. Their sound, however, is much more sophisticated.
Welcome Kings! is an eclectic mash-up of just about one-third of my CD collection. But that’s not to say the album lacks direction. The audible influences on this album have been shrewdly selected, and the band seems to have a good handle on where and what they want to be. There’s a real garage band feel to their production which gives each song a kinda out-of-the-blue, live feeling. But it’s all too well mixed to be a one-track jam. The grunge sound is a clearly intentional decision. There is also a kind of heavy surf-rock feel on most tracks – rolling percussion, and echo-distorted electric twang. In this, the band seems to be channelling The Dead Kennedys, and for that I am instantly in love. It’s kinda like they set-out to make a concept album, based on the life and works of Quentin Tarantino.
The best part is: this is a punk band, friends and neighbours! A real, honest-to-god punk band. Settle down, you Sum 41 fans, ‘cause I’m talking about the real thing. (P.S.: Iggy Pop, buddy, I know you’re hard-up for heroin money but dear Christ, what were you thinking?) Each track has about a two to three minute attention span – something to put on while you down the rest of your liquor, and head on out to the show. These tracks are usually a negotiation of two jarringly separate themes and time signatures – the musical equivalent of a divorce court lawyer. The mood of each song swings back and forth between audio assaults at break-neck speed, and heavily sedated or inebriated meditations.
There is a problem with the structure of each track. Each song sticks to its motif with a sort of stubbornness. There’s rarely a noticeable climax on these tracks, and when there is, it’s stuck somewhere weird like the very end. I like when a song’s structure has a story to tell: set-up, conflict, climax, and dénouement. But the strength and absurdity of each track’s musical themes are often intriguing enough to carry the song – you may find you forget about narrative altogether.
Key Tracks:
“Great Balls of Fire” is not a cover; it’s a staggering homage to the golden oldie of the same name. It’s Jerry Lee Lewis and his pumping piano, in hell for marrying his thirteen year old second cousin, twice removed. The lyrics here are some of the best on the album – directionless anarchic musings about peeing up escalators, and a sarcastic remorse for our own mortality, “a waking dream on a respirator.”
“Meantime Bride” is an obese, stripped-down, fist-pumping rockabilly anthem I would love to see live. The doom-and-gloom here is palpable, and the vox swing back and forth between a howl and a whisper, with a chorus everyone can get behind. Here’s a little taste of George Thorogood & The Destroyers – this song should come with a free bottle of Johnny Walker.
“I Went Back in Time (to shut you down)” is hands-down, the best song on the album. Structurally, it’s the most put together, it really strings you along. Plus, it’s got two distinct hooks I can’t get out of my head – one of which is a nice lift from the dearly departed James Brown’s “Super Bad.”
Singer/songwriter Charter Cruise is an unstoppable train-wreck on this album. His vocals are ridiculously versatile, covering Jello Biafra, Pelle Almqvist, and brief moments of Eddie Vedder on ballads like “French Made Simple.” Unfortunately, shortly after Welcome Kings! was finished, Cruise was killed in a hit-and-run incident. Fuck! It figures – I finally find a contemporary band I don’t despise and… well… shit. For this reason alone, if the album sounds like your kinda thing, it’s well worth the $12.99 – I’m really afraid this may be the last we hear from this band. Which is a shame, because Daddy’s Hands is punk-grown-up, with broader horizons, and a keen eye for musical allusion and appropriation.
But I don’t wanna say this is the end. The only mention made of Cruise’s death is in the press package for the album. There is nothing about the accident on the band’s MySpace page, or the Kill Devil Hills’ label website. It could be that the label, and the band’s remaining members, aren’t ready to throw-in the towel just yet. They may be able to push past this thing. And why the hell not, eh? Worked for AC/DC.
Score: 7.5
- Glyn Bowerman