Black Rebel Motorcycle Club ASK iAN * PITCHFORK MAGAZINE – DID YU REALLY HIRE ‘EVE? WoW…. .*

Ask iAN

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Black Rebel Motorcycle Club’s career hasn’t exactly been distinguished, but it has been long, and at some point you simply can’t argue with longevity. Routinely dismissed as derivative mope rockers subsisting on the least interesting scraps of warmed-over Ride, Stones, and Brian Jonestown Massacre records, BRMC make music as predictable as their look: black shirt, black leather jacket, black shades, pouty lips, downturned heads. What started out as a pose is now baked in; BRMC may lack the pedigree of a legacy rock band, but they certainly have the mileage. On the group’s sixth studio effort, Specter at the Feast, BRMC make the transition from classic-rock pretenders to full-on classic rock. At this point, grizzled weariness comes naturally to the San Francisco trio. Like fellow trad-rock true believers the Black Crowes, Oasis, and Marah, BRMC have co-opted another era long enough that they actually seem like they’ve been around forever. For better or worse, you know what you’re going to get from a BRMC record, and that sort of brand engenders loyalty, no matter the latest fashion. The downside of sticking around is that profound loss inevitably rears its head; for BRMC, this sad eventuality occurred in 2010, when the band’s producer and sound technician (and father to bassist Robert Levon Been) Michael Been died from a heart attack in the middle of a tour. Specter at the Feast was made in tribute to Been-- a journeyman rocker himself who fronted 80s AOR band the Call, whose populist anthem “Let the Day Begin” is probably spinning on some classic-rock station this very moment, between “Hot Blooded” and “Twilight Zone”. BRMC’s covers “Let the Day Begin” on Specter, and while it doesn’t quite fit with the band’s usual blacklit gloominess, it does square with their stubborn survivalist instinct. So long as there’s an audience for meat-and-potatoes rock songs like “Let the Day Begin”, there will be bands like BRMC. If only BRMC’s “rock” songs lived up to their rock attitude. The central weakness of Specter at the Feast is rather inexplicable: Its goodness is inversely proportional to its loudness. Given the record’s somber inspiration, it’s understandable that the best tracks are the ballads. “Lullaby” is all heart-tugging jangle and dreamily descending guitar riffs, sparkling with the mournful beauty of a last encounter. On the haunted-house blues “Some Kind of Ghost”, Robert Been whispers, “Sweet lord, I’m coming home for good” over a funereal church organ. The valedictory vibe is even more pronounced on “Lose Yourself”, an exquisite symphony of sap that evokes the final minute of “With or Without You” as directed by Cameron Crowe. The obviousness of Specter is forgivable on these songs; even the record’s de rigueur Spiritualized rip-off, “Sometimes the Light”, carries the weight of real grief. Where the record falters is on the rockers, which are composed of clichĂ©s and exhausted riffs only. The record’s saggy middle section is absolutely murder in this regard: The rubbery basslines, brassy cock-rock guitars and needlessly repetitive choruses of “Hate the Taste” and “Rival” are autopilot junk that pad what should be an intimate record with cavernous emptiness. (Specter supposedly was a planned double-LP; it really should be an EP.) What hurts Specter ultimately is that this band can’t get out of its own way. The requirements of making another rockin’ BRMC album choke what could’ve been an affecting, low-key detour. BRMC has experience on its side; if only it also had a little wisdom to share. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Punch for Punch You Punch Drunk Pussy. Come forth. When is the last time You picked up a Guitar, Steve? When is the last time You spent 2 years Spiritually Land'locked inside? ironic. I get it, you're bad...clever...and you stab out. Those who can't teach, teach Gym, i get it. What i don't get is the fact that You are reviewing a record and You do pretty much everything but. You claim that our career isn't distinguished. Whatever gave You the idea that we were Aiming at Distinguished? If you mean like the President where You wear a smart suit, get a nobel peace prize as you drone kill children in places other than Afghanistan and Iraq...well You are spot on Stevie...we are not in anyway distinguished. You in fact ARE arguing with our longevity and insult our fans by your poor cross eyed little hunting dog. Yu actually wrote the word mope. 10 years on the road to gain your 10 second attention...mopers. Right. Hi, My Name is Steve. i am a fucking Nimrod. Ride, Stones, BJM... Friends of ours...people we care for...sound like? Q-Tips Steve...and a bleached asshole while you're at the Salon. Now our look is Steve Predictable. If we've never changed our clothes (This is a record review right?) then it's only some type of unpredictable to You then innit Steve? Where do magazines find these leptons? In my last record review i describe the shirts, cuff-links, and socks and thus... Strange how You froth over Jack White's Nudie suits torn clean from Gram Parsons and Porter Wagoner ghost and half ghost and feel so moist, you twat. You soft cunt. Maybe we wear black for the same reason Cash did. The Colour is on the inside. What colour is the shirt you are wearing now, Stevie? Thought so. Make Up for what You never had inside. i bet your heart is the color of money. Bet. In case You failed to notice we have a woman drummer (she does help to force us to do laundry once a month, this was a record review right?) but yeah, where wuz i at? Oh! Steve...yeah...remarkable name. Um...yeah... Authentic, flashless, durable, road worthy, Levis, Americana...Mom & Pops...You poor little sick and twisted's a record review right? So why You wanna sniff my jeans? we don't wear underwear or socks Should we have tube socks and clean white underwear to make our record more acceptable to You? Somebody please put a lit cigarette out in my hand before i ring this cocksucker's neck. Is there any mention of the good and kind folks that we worked with? Do you have any words in your rolla'dex beyond shoegaze, grunge and rock? Have You dreamt with UNKLE? Do you desert drift? No. You live in a studio apartment too big for your small guitarless balls... A quick wit the likes the would give Oscar Wilde death rattle shit fits. It's so scary to imagine what it must be like to be YOU, Stevie. Makes my balls tremble...and my vocals nauseated. You're a record reviewer Right? So let's talk about all the lovers that left you. You live in a loft You once owned a futon, Right? No...You had a king sized bed to enhance your the size of your pussydick. Oh, did i mention we wear black clothes? What you didn't know is that when we record at Dave Grohl's studio...we only wear orange and a 3-D McDonald's shamrock shake in for the florida vulva, hot for the Kahlo sun drenched rabbit piss...and...did this guy steve really review our denim jeans and t shirts? WoW! Specter at the Feast is a whole bunch of unwashed black clothing that U do not want to add BLEACH to.... Cut! Film Script! God's Balls! Jesus Camp! Our other clothing isn't made by poor children that are taken advantage of everyday for 3 cents an hour, you silly cunt. Check Your G.Q. Prez master for that. Goddamn Steve are you really this hard up for coin...or is it just that you can't be honest with yourself because the last time you were, your asshole hurt past midnight? classic-rock pretenders to full-on classic rock? What fucking record are you listening to? It's not ours. Just because your butthole hasn't been pegged by your x, doesn't give you the right to hash out on us, all because your anus hair wasnae flux'd. Look bub, we're a rockand roll band with feelings...we're not trying to be Scott Walker film noir pig meat microphone blixa and if we are so classic rock...which i feel this new album will be someday...i would like to get paid for being such. Yes we write songs that have longevity...just like all the old bands on the radio...that still make people other than steve, reflect, moan, miss their x, miss the good times, take one back to prom, to back seats of steamy sad fucking, so in a classic rock bet...i know yu meant it as an insult, just didn't work 4 ya. Hell yeah...we miss golden black nights of lip gloss, kisses that meant death or the world...oh sorry, i was getting you'll probably write a review of how i wasn't keats, yeats, or longfellow enough...oh yeah? Richard LeGallienne told me to tell you to get Fucked ... Steve. Christ....Thank God that the Sun of God wasn't born as a STEVE. STEVE CHRIST! steven fucking steve! fuck lord! Writing this reply has been one of the most tedious and unworthy vile task i have ever been forced to dance with...and i quit dancing long ago... So vacuous...your entire Izod spirtless hanger yu call a soul...poor cad. you know what you’re going to get from a BRMC record - STEVE FORK REALLY? I was involved in the entire making of this RECORD and was surprised at the textures, the audacity, the depth, the sadness, the yawp, and levels of remorse, reflection, insanity, cold calculation, death night moves, scratched out beauty, hurt, and i could go on...unlike Yu. You knew? What fucking year were you born? What age are you living in? Somebody take that man's no. 2 pencil away and break his fucking fist with a brick! I get the feeling that somebody in this band of ours fucked either your boyfriend or girlfriend. It was me... balls deep with a cupped over mouth praying your Mother's name with my Ass squinching kool in the motor pool of Jesus moonlight am i really writing this? Yeah! Some dingy bastard that fancies himself a critique with no guitar hands no guiar heart no bleeding nothing but probably short on bagel and dog coffee.... Put two rubbers on mah dick Mom i've got a bull fight with a slack jaw to attend. Steve. Same Name as the drummer for Guns N' Roses Yeah...i remember he couldn't get into the biker bar i was at out in the desert. I remember my host...a tall nice fellow who rode the hogs...and he died...and i hated that....he had given my close friend a job....and was always up front with him on pay and even allowed him to drink on the job...later on my friend got sober and wrote and produced some of the most horrific music known to man...but that is another story.... Steve...'eve....the kinda name that when the lotion or the balm is rubbed in just a certain way...really makes the balls collape....Peter...Now there is a an echo....haunting really....Peter....a haunting echo....chambering out from the lips of your girlfriend....oh i'm sorry, ignore that....just people that wear black ya'know... for better or worse...what a slogan'eer' sounds a lot like your short lived career* 'Eve gloominess, it does square with their stubborn survivalist? Put the hash pipe with noxema down...and if YOU...Steve, ever....say the words Michael Been in front of my face ever? I will make sure your throat doesn't work for You ever ever ever Again. Those are not your words. Your words are Yes Sir! Gulp! Right Away! i'm Sorry! i was Wrong! This is good chicken, freak! Over your head you sorry cunt. brassy cock-rock guitars? Is it our clothes, pussy or cock that makes Yu hurt? Poor soul...poor soul steve... Do people at Pitchfork really hire fuckers like 'eve? Goddamn! i need to get me a job there...i could make motor bank there! The new My bloody Valentine L.P. They still have hair and guitar pedals and are making good people cum...what bastards! We can't all be 'eve Tell me what town you are in 'eve so when we come round next i'll let you smoke my chain after i put your skull lid in a trash compactor... You bet we are classic... Wanna lay down a bet mr. big dice roller? Where the fuck will Yu be in 6 YEARS? Don't fuck with a seer....longevity isn't a word born for your foam mush mouth. Put in the years yu sorry left handed pussy. If yer gonna spout for a decent publication have respect for those you work for and for the artist that do for years what you couldn't do in consecutive lifetimes....wipe your ass, change your tampon and suck my fucking fist you invisible little ass hurt artless twerp. What hurts Specter ultimately is that this band can’t get out of its own way. The requirements of making another rockin’ BRMC album choke what could’ve been an affecting, low-key detour. BRMC has experience on its side; if only it also had a little wisdom to share. * STEVE WISDOM TO SHARE...CHRIST YOU OLD BAT, WE SENT 3 MOTORCYCLES TO PICK YOUR PUSSY ASS UP! HAHAHAHA! WE HAVE NEVER GOTTEN OUT OF OUR OWN WAY....WE ALWAYS CHALLENGE OURSELVES YOU SHIT BAT RASCAL...COME THE FUCK HERE SO I CAN SLAP SOME SENSE INTO YOUR POOR DUMB SKULL! AFFECTING LOW KEY DETOUR...IS THAT LIKE NAIL CLIPPERS WITH WIND CHIMES AND FUBAR SUBLIMATES? CHRIST...IF YOU STEVE...ARE TEN YEARS OLD, FORGIVE ME...IF OLDER THAN 21 BURY YOUR SKULL IN THE PISS DIRT AND BEG JESUS FORGIVE YOU FOR BEING SUCH A LOVERBOY FANATIC HOT FOR THE WEEKEND COCK. I HAVE SEEN SOME BAD CRITICS...BUT WOW...STEVE IS LIKE A GUY WRITING FOR A CHURCH PAMPLET WHILE COVERING A FIST FUCK CONVENTION.... OH AND STEVE? nevermind... fuck You 'eve* God damn dumb people...i cain't pay my own rent and this dild lives a fine life....God is on vacation, no sweat...just don't complain when your asshole hurts, asshole.     307280_299821376709083_1173548970_n     IN FIVE YEARS LOOK UP THE SONG WRITERS OF BRMC...AND THEN LOOK UP STEVE.  I REST MY FUCKING HOLE. FUCK YOU STEVE.  YOU GOT CHILDRENS?  I'D LOVE TO WRITE A REVIEW ON THEMZ.  YOU PICKLED FUCK.  YOU WILL KNOW MY HAND...WHEN YOU SEE STARS.....YOU POOR BASTARD. LEAVE ME YOUR THE ADDRESS OF YU'R FAVORITE COFFEE BAR STEVE.....I'LL BMOB AND CURE YOUR JAW AND PEN WRIST.  LATE COCKSUCKER.  FACE UP TO THE FAKTS.......................YOU'RE JUST ANOTHER HACK THAT CAN'T GET LAID UNLESS IT'S PAID...WE ARE DOING ANOTHER 10 YEARS...IF WE WANT...IF YOU STILL HAVE YOUR JOB BY NEXT MONDAY, IT'S ONLY BECAUSE YOUR BOSS LOVES BOLOS AND BON IVER.. I'VE BEEN TO JAIL AND I'VE BEEN TO FUNERALS...and i am ready to do it all again just for You, 'eve.  You fucking spiritless  hack.   iAN*
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