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Old Growth

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Dead Meadow

 
Old Growth
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Avg: 4.0 (76 ratings)

Stoner-rock riffage of the highest order.

  • We Say...

    For some, Washington DC’s Dead Meadow is a band out of time; the kind of species that might have stalked Jurassic Park were its scientists cloning late 1960s/early 1970s rock bands instead of dinosaurs. It would be a hard heart indeed, though, which didn’t warm to the gargantuan stoner-rock riffage of Old Growth. Its inspirational touchstones may be Sabbath and Zeppelin, but some of its gritty, down-tempo grooves are as head nod-inducing as the hippest hip-hop beats.

    Like the group’s 2001 album Howls from the Hills, Old Growth was recorded at a remote farmhouse in rural Liberty, Indiana. Belonging to Dead Meadow drummer Stephen McCarty’s grandfather, the property reportedly has its own ghost. McCarty, singer/guitarist Jason Simon and bassist Stephen Kille nailed the dozen songs on Old Growth in two weeks, then jetted their “barnyard stomp skeletons” to Los Angeles, where Brian Jonestown Massacre alumni Rob Campanella and producer Dave Schiffman helped put flesh on bones. Campanella provided exotic instruments such as Mellotron and Indian lute, while Schiffman, ensconced at Sunset Sound studios, was able to grant Dead Meadow access to echo chambers once frequented by Jim Morrison.

    Unsurprisingly, the resulting psychedelic stew is imbued with a certain amount of magic and mysticism. The percussive acoustic number “Seven Seers” recalls Page & Plant at their most esoteric, while the Mellotron-led (or should that be Led?) “Til’ Kingdom Come” quickly evolves into something redolent of Zeppelin’s “Achilles Last Stand.” It’s all done in the best possible taste, though, and Jason Simon’s low-mixed vocals — think indie slacker rather than priapic hard rocker — spice things distinctively.

    Like the best stoner rock albums, Old Growth can take you higher when you’re straight, the mighty thump and bounce of “What Needs Must Be” evidence that, five albums into their ten-year career, Dead Meadow are still leaders in their field. The album’s sleeve, replete with artwork by surrealist painter Charles Wish, isn’t a scratch ‘n’ sniff affair, but if it were I suspect it would smell of hash, patchouli oil and Jimmy Page’s wah-wah pedal.

  • They Say...

    Dead Meadow's fifth studio album, and their third for Matador Records, was recorded in two locations: Sunset Sound, a 50-year-old studio on the Sunset Strip, rumored to be haunted by Jim Morrison's ghost, and in a restored abandoned Indiana guest house next door to the farmhouse of drummer Stephen McCarty's parents -- where the band first recorded Howls from the Hills. Potential for a doomy throwback to their early works seemed high, with the latter space boasting 14-foot ceilings perfect for massive drum reverb, old cupboards, and closets for isolation rooms, and surrounding a bottom-lit brick well in the center of the kitchen to make shadows dance while mysterious ghost stories circulated about the shack. As legend has it, a park ranger who rented the secluded space prior to the recording pulled his gun on hand prints that were making their way towards him across the carpet in the middle of the night, and supposedly, as a result of the eerie environment, if you listen carefully, you can hear paranormal sounds bleeding through on some of the guitar tracks, along with footsteps and violin noises coming from nowhere. The spooky back-stories that portray the setting of the album as the cabin from Evil Dead, and cover art that depicts a claustrophobic forest would lead one to believe that this is going to be a stoner rock throwback to the fear-inducing lumbering thunder of Sabbath and Blue Cheer. Unfortunately, fans of Dead Meadow's pummeling self-titled album will be disappointed in the lack of bombast, as now the DC trio is continuing down their path of laid-back entrancement that was becoming all-too comfortable on 2005's Floyd-esque Feathers. There's still a woozy taste of psychedelia in the air, even though most of the songs now fall under the five-minute mark, with most of the grunge saved for the guitar solos. Frontman and guitar slinger Jason Simon still wails on his wah when time permits, but he sounds more apathetic than ever while singing, and the songs are more compact than before, resulting in what feels a lot like a blues-rock version of Spiritualized. Some moments specialize in the plodding groove ("Til Kingdom Come"), some are more experimental and trippy, like the tanpura drone and frantic build of "Seven Seers," others are surprisingly quaint acoustic based numbers like "Down Here." Where the group used to sound like a bulldozer demolishing rubble, now they're more like a snow plow gently shoving away a winter wonderland. It's still good, but isn't stoner rock supposed to sound destructive?

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