Gotta get a message to you

Transmission - The Tea Party (1997)

On their first three albums in the early 90s, Canada's The Tea Party earned an esteemed reputation by weaving the hard rock sensibilities of the west with the instruments, rhythms and textures of the far and middle east. Crafting songs of philosophically-bent lyrics and dense layers of exotic orchestration, no instrument was too difficult or obscure for the band to learn.

For their fourth album, Transmission, the trio add yet one more layer to the mosaic, a pervasive electronic motif. While the electronic embellishments are prominent, they are applied always precisely, in no way detracting from the vitality of the music presented.

The change is apparent right off the bat, though. The album opener, "Temptation", (82/100), is a good example of the merged musical styles. Opening with the artful ruminations of a tar, an Iranian lute thought to be an ancestor of the modern guitar, the first hint of an electronic loop enters around :20, vanishes and re-enters at :47. All manner of electronic swoops and swirls then follow a Zeppelin-esque beat as the song finds its stimulus. There is also a synthesized symphonic element in the bridge of this song about one who has sadly "lost all control" to the sly, illusory machinations of the world.

A buzzy riff animates "Army Ants", (87), arguably Transmission's hardest and purest track. Very little, if any, production ornamentation is evident here, allowing throat-scorched vocals to "still shine on" with pedal-gorged guitars and bash-and-bang drums. Apparently inspired by Russian novelist Yevgeny Zamyatin's We (1921), its "Kashmir"-like bridge at 2:43 also affords a John Paul Jones reference.

According to psychologist C. G. Jung, a "Psychopomp", (95), (http://www.mediafire.com/?qfqcoc0q185sb2o), is an intermediary between the conscious and the unconscious. Historically understood as a guide or conductor of souls between the realms of the living and the dead in the mythology of most cultures, the ancient Greek's Charon is perhaps the most renowned. He'd also seem to be a particular favourite of the band, what with the Styx being the "The River" in question on the opening cut of Splendor Solis (1993).

The Transmission track, developed by vocalist/guitarist Jeff Martin and drummer Jeff Burrows since they were teenagers, is an unqualified epic as presented here. The first verse is soft, an acoustic strum backed by an industrially flavoured sequence, and introduces the unforgettable piano riff that becomes the song's leitmotif. Synth-strings and drums are added to the second verse which are amplified for the chorus. By the song's second chorus at 3:24, the severity has further heightened with a killer electric guitar melody. The Tom Lord-Alge mix, offered on the Psychopomp promo single, is slightly shorter, minimizing the industrial sequence while emphasizing the fuzzy guitar.

"Gyroscope", (91), coils itself into being, its riff a dizzy whirlwind. The guitars blast powerful gusts of chords here, swelling under electronic treatments. Like the device for which it's named, this song maintains its orientation amidst the chaos of even "worlds ... collid(ing)". The song pushes forward with irrepressible momentum until it just as impressively winds down at the end. Among the best lines: "'Quiet now,' she said, 'you're waking up the dead.'"

The album traverses the terrain of nightmare in "Alarum", (90), negotiating "darkness", disturbance, "desperation" and "devastation". The rupture of vocals on the choruses indicate the cracks of extreme pressure on the dread face of fear that is becoming no more than the sum of one's animalistic impulses. The lyrics name-check Italian engraver Giovanni Battista Piranesi as the architect of the harsh landscape, much like one of his frightening and grotesque imaginary prisons, at once complex and cavernous.

The next track was released as a single to benefit the White Ribbon campaign, opposing violence against women. "Release", (94), driven by a rich, yet ominous keyboard flush and a steady bass-drum thump, is an earnest appeal for gender reconciliation. Martin has gone so far as to deem this song "an apology to women" for the abuse and discrimination they face around the world even today. The charity single features another Tom Lord-Alge remix (as well as Rhys Fulber's extended take on "Temptation", which showed up again in 2000 on the Special Tour Edition of Triptych). The album version is followed by the first of two hidden tracks Transmission harbours, an untitled fifteen-second failed phone call drowned in reverb.

This sets up the title track nicely. "Transmission", (93), itself begins with a call to arms. As if by some electronic ram's horn at the walls of Jericho or a conch in the hands of Triton on the Aegean shore, listeners are summoned to attention. A sample of a clearly agitated voice then enters. Its words, reputedly from a Lebanese funeral chant, remain unclear despite frequent repetition. Ushering in the chorus, another voice declares "I think I hear it, man," regarding the message being transmitted, which might acknowledge the seeming futility of communication, while striving still for understanding. The mesmeric rhythm reminds there are means of expression that transcend mere words.

The Tower of Babel comes to mind as the next track, "Babylon", (74), begins, although no overt mention of it occurs in the song's lyrics. Neither are the decadence and glory of the once mighty empire recounted here, but rather its inevitable collapse: "glimpses of grandeur now faced with defeat". The song itself is very repetitive, with no bridge to break up the monotony of verse, chorus, verse, chorus, verse, chorus, verse, chorus. Tinny drum programming in the first verse feels overdone and distracting. "Babylon", however, is followed by what may be the album's premier interlude, the second hidden track, entitled "Embryo", which fashions an outstanding synth-sequence and piano duet for two minutes.

"Pulse", (90), is another very good song, opening with a nice wah-capped lick. The verse melody is reminiscent of that of "Alarum", and like "Alarum", a dream is described at one point. The horror of this dream, though, is in disregarding one's own transience. As on most of Transmission, the necessary and beneficial end of existence is recognized with a stoic "nothing's forever". Even empires crumble, even songs fade. This one ends rather abruptly, though, as if being sucked through a vacuum.

The gentle strum of "Emerald", (95), (http://www.mediafire.com/?qme5l1dlu2mz541), then, paired with an ever-so-slight keyboard purr feels calming and reassuring to begin. A treated snare on the verses adds to the sense of reverie. The power of this compelling song is only augmented when the electric guitars literally burst through for each chorus. The double-tracked vocal harmony on "I'll be waiting for you" is an aggressively convincing call to come away from the "dark, lonely place" where people unsuccessfully try to hide from their pain.

Approaching complete mechanization for "Aftermath", (89), the album winds down in mellow contemplation. The wavy sounds of transistor radio tuning permeate the subdued track, with only vocals and drums to preserve a human element. The percussion is strong, whether rendering the impression of striking pipes, as on the verses, or the eightfold bap that brings the song its most elation leading into each chorus. Even in the darkest worlds, even when time is wasted and taken for granted, "glimpses of hope exist."

Although credited for conception or direction of art in nearly all Tea Party projects, Transmission surprisingly marks the sole instance of bassist Stuart Chatwood's own work gracing the cover of one. The painting here is entitled, "The Earth We Inherit"

Even for its often gothic and industrial feel, Transmission does relay a positive beginnings-from-ends type vibe. There would be even more changes to the Tea Party's style by the time their next album, Triptych, dropped in 1999. Espousing a more radio-friendly approach would garner their greatest commercial success, but it is on their earlier albums, like Transmission, where the band creates its legacy.

Transmission (album): 89/100.

The power and the glory

Kingdom Come - Sir Lord Baltimore (1970)

In the early days when rock was still hardening, the power trio Sir Lord Baltimore erupted with an album boosting the frenzy to a new level. Losing their keyboardist before the album sessions even began did not faze the group in the least. If anything, the remaining three members amped up their own contributions in creating a debut, Kingdom Come, for the ages.

The name Louis Dambra has not entered the lexicon alongside contemporaries like Tony Iommi and Ritchie Blackmore, but as soon as the riff-deranged "Master Heartache", (90/100), begins, one realizes one is listening to something equally explosive. The guitar squeals and burns no less than those of the aforementioned, even harkening at times to Alex Lifeson of a soon-to-be-formed power trio. John Garner busts out thundering vocals all over the scale while laying down a bombastic beat.

Everything is turned up even farther on "Hard Rain Fallin'", (93), (http://www.mediafire.com/?7c4698di3h67g21). How the strings don't melt on the guitar solos at :51 and 1:59 is as much a mystery as why this album languishes in obscurity. Gary Justin rounds out the heavy brew with flourish, acknowledging his murky bass inspiration by way of Jack Bruce, from a recently disbanded power trio of his own.

A Morrison-esque "Fi-yuhh!" begins the next track, appropriately enough, "Lady Of Fire", (87). With swagger befitting such a histrionic album, this song eschews conventional structures of the day, (establishing hard rock conventions of the future), with schizophrenic guitars all over the place, even bouncing back and forth on stereo channels. One particular riff brings to mind one that Deep Purple would later use on their 1973 hit, "Woman From Tokyo". The maniacal vocals here conjure a twisted cocktail of Lemmy Kilmister and Uli Jon Roth.

"Lake Isle Of Inersfree", (86), is the only song on the album for which co-producers Mike Appel and Jim Cretecos do not share co-writing credit with Dambra. Appel, who played in The Balloon Farm which charted "A Question Of Temperature" in 1967, also wrote songs for The Partridge Family, and the would go on to co-produce Bruce Springsteen's first three albums. Cretecos also co-wrote for the Partridges and was around to co-produce the first two Springsteen efforts in 1973.

"Inersfree", however, is a definite departure from everything else on Kingdom. The regal tones of harpsichord open the song and are soon complimented by twelve-string acoustic. As such, it takes a moment or two to reorient oneself, but the song delivers. Building from lost love lament to a powerful "What's become of my life?" denouement, the drastic turn in mood leaves a bold impression. No overt thematic connection is apparent to W.B. Yeats' similarly-titled poem "Lake Isle Of Innisfree" (1888), or to the Dick Farrelly song, "Isle Of Innisfree" (1950), aside from yearning, but for very different things.

The gusto returns in short order as side one ends with "Pumped Up", (90). The band plays as though feeling the need to make up for having committed the atrocity of an acoustic number. This insanity is full-scale, from the shriek of Garner's knife-edge howl to the delirious rhythm, but made especially and utterly manifest when Dambra's guitar literally solos at 2:15, leaving even the rest of the band behind (perhaps in Inersfree?).

Side two begins with the thick and fat riff of the title track, "Kingdom Come", (94). Like all good epics of the early 70s, this song's got tall ships in danger, sirens, wizards and a phoenix to keep those parts of one's mind occupied which are not completely liquefied by the unrelenting onslaught of double-tracked guitar. Alternately sludge-fuzzy and trumpet-sharp, this song, with its suitably bold title, is nothing less than a proclamation of rock arrival.

"I Got A Woman", (82), is a wild tribute to one who "make(s) love real" for the narrator. There is a nice instrumental passage beginning at 2:17 with just the rhythm section. The guitar soon falls in with a fevered riff to embody the passion being sung about. That passion is even more pronounced in "Hell Hound", (88). The "born to the midnight" woman celebrated in this emphatic song has triggered an emotional outburst of volcanic proportions. In spite of the by-now familiar bluster, an enigmatic shroud is generated.

The next track is more straightforward. Two instrumental passages open "Helium Head (I Got A Love)", (95), (http://www.mediafire.com/?edkc82w8k2yof5r). The first, an ascending riff embellished by squeaks of molten guitar and crazy drum rolls, is later in the song entrancingly augmented with moans like the chants of Benedictine monks. It gives way to a more hyper passage before insatiable vocals finally enter at 1:01. "Helium" repeats this structure into a blistering coda that rages unrestrained until basically burning itself out, everything fading away but the drums.

The album then concludes with its shortest song, "Ain't Got Hung On You", (92). In no way less vehement, the guitars, vocals and drums scratch, rasp and hammer one more time, giving a sonically big album a deservedly big finish. Stunned listeners to this day are looking for the number of whatever just hit them.

CD reissues of Kingdom begin with the title track and the rest of side two before going back to side one. Reason for the switch is unknown but not unprecedented. The Seventy Sevens also transposed the vinyl sides when their 1984 album All Fall Down was finally released on CD.

Sir Lord Baltimore never rocked as hard as on this album. They released a self-titled successor the next year, but even adding Dambra's brother Joey with another guitar to the mix could not possibly reach Kingdom levels. Work on a third album was aborted by the band breaking up, but was eventually reworked lyrically and released independently in 2006 as Sir Lord Baltimore III Raw. While certainly worth a listen, even at its most rollicking, it too cannot realistically be expected to match one of the most raucous albums ever recorded.

Kingdom Come (album): 90/100.

Sit and listen to 'em by myself

Songs For Singles - Torche (2010)

The band is tight, the music loud, but there is also an element of fun on Songs For Singles, beginning right with its double-edged title. While nothing here overtly suggests this collection of songs is better suited to the lonely or solitary, they are, however, short and radio friendly. Well, to a hard rock station, anyway. But the songs generally stick to less than the three-and-a-half minute radio breaking point. As a matter of fact, only the last two songs run any longer than 2:17.

The songs are bite-sized portions of massively heavy riffs, one flowing effortlessly into another. It has the illusory effect of casting an album full of little songs into one twenty-two minute epic.

Singles opens with "U.F.O.", (82/100), a rumbling behemoth which somehow incorporates all its raw energy and fury into one minute and fifty-three seconds. The song first appeared in demo form on Phoning It In: A Hydra Head Digital Sampler (2010), adopting the squeals, grunts and otherwise enthusiastic vocalizations of David Lee Roth from Van Halen's 1978 "Runnin' With The Devil". While having an odd charm and even an unexpected appropriateness to it, Steve Brooks' vocals on the album version transfer the song to the more disenchanted 2010s, with the music sounding even bigger.

"Lay Low", (78), is the album's shortest number, clocking in at fifty-one intense seconds. The guitar is sharp and lots of cymbal is employed. Similar to something by a band like The Sword, for example, this song magnifies big noise without ever losing control of its melody.

With all this rampant aggression, perhaps Torche's greatest accomplishment on the album is somehow mitigating the rough edges by their smooth playing. Make no mistake, these songs are fast and boisterous. Volume is not spared, nor passion sacrificed. The music gains power by precision but without overpowering and destroying its own listeners.

One example of this is a great guitar solo on "Hideaway", (82), the second part of which, around 1:09, manages to produce a nice screech that does not deteriorate into annoyance. The song's entirety lasts only two seconds more than two minutes, but again, packs a punch its size belies.

Another example is the blunt, imposing beat that beckons war as "Arrowhead", (85), begins. When the vocals and guitars enter with an ardour that could incite armies into final combat, the threat does not extend to listeners. Of course, any battle with this song as its cry would have to conclude within 2:17, anyway.

A recurring screech almost becomes a chorus in the first part of "Shine On My Old Ways", (87). Astonishingly, three distinct sections are evident in a song twelve seconds shy of two minutes. The screechy intro gives way to what must constitute a bridge around :50, before riding a drum-heavy feedback-fired instrumental from 1:20 to its finish. Again, the result is invigorating as opposed to irritating.

"Cast Into Unknown", (85), is the last of the particularly short numbers, accomplishing all its rocking in 2:11. The guitars are really charged here, featuring another outstanding long (relatively speaking) solo and extended power-chord fadeout.

Then, finally breaking the three-minute barrier is "Face The Wall", (90), a deliberate trudge pushed by a hefty double-beat spurred by ever-encroaching guitars. Taking its sweet time, this leisurely (again, relatively speaking) rocker easily executes its four-and-a-half minutes. It actually seems too soon when it collapses and closes in its own feedback frenzy.

After all this, with its six minutes and ten seconds, "Out Again", (92), (http://www.mediafire.com/?72u42rycqzo2t5s), is palpably epic. The song's two verses and choruses are finished by 1:30, which leaves the remainder of the song a colossal coda. Settling into a hypnotic groove which lasts longer than any other complete song on the album, the band showcases its prowess one final time, crafting an infectious riff and a storm of elation around it.

One never really gets a chance to get very comfortable or catch their breath on this fast and furious album, but that does not discredit Songs For Singles in any way. There is certainly nothing wrong with brevity and straight-to-the-point feels refreshing in a long-winded world. Probably not an album to doze into sleep with, but as a rock workout, it is hard to match.

Songs For Singles (album): 85/100.