This band may have sprouted from the germs of some art school graduates but there’s not an asymmetrical hairdo, skinny suit or punchy pop riff in sight. Hardly surprising when we’re told that this, the duo’s forth album, was made “deep within a gitmo-styled riff prison”. Not sure what one of those is but the fact that such an earth-shattering racket can be made by two people, is scary. With Brian Chippendale on drums and Brian Gibson on bass you can forget comparisons to The White Stripes: Describing their instruments as a 300 foot long bass and kick drums the size of Exxon supertankers, they’ve been more fittingly likened to Slayer and The Ruins. Despite being extremely loud, they are a hook heavy band and ‘Hypermagic Mountain’ sicks-up more vocals than on previous albums. This by no means hints at commercialdom: ‘Megaghost’s’ disfigured vocals sound like the girl from the Exorcist squealing into a tin can. Figuring out the words is near impossible but understandable when you learn that in order to sing and drum, Chippendale stuffs the microphone into his mouth and then crams his head into a mask made from a pillowcase. Why hasn’t anyone suggested that to Keane? The abominable noise continues, a brief pause between each song being the only respite. And even that sounds loud, so raw are your ears and so untouchably frantic is their playing style: On ‘Riffwraith’ and ‘Mohawk Windmill’ in particular, the drumming is so furious that Chippendale sounds as though he’s about to lose control of the beat any second. ‘Magic Mountain’ is basically a really long melody of ascending notes over what sounds like the devil himself repeatedly revving a motorbike in order to mow you down the second you turn your back. ‘Dead Cowboy’ shows a little variation, including a guitar solo and a smattering of erratic but simple hooks carried along on a sea of grimy sludge. In the foreground, a thousand bulls raid a drum-kit shop.
There are very few bands who could pack this much volume and intensity into a live show, let alone a CD. Lightening Bolt’s own shows are not for the faint hearted, especially given that they only play on ground level with nothing to separate them from the crowd. Next time they’re in town, we dare you to pop along.
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