Wolfmother

    Wolfmother

    8
    Interscope/Modular - May 2, 2006

    The
    buzz is entirely accurate. Not only do I buy the hype surrounding
    Wolfmother, I would invest several thousand shares. This Australian
    trio will probably
    receive some sort of critical correction in the
    coming months to reign in their pre-ordained status as the next big
    thing, but it’s not coming from me. On the strength of its self-titled
    full-length debut, Wolfmother should become the first band since
    Soundgarden and Tool in the early ’90s to capture the hearts and minds
    of hipsters and heshers in equal measure. It’s that good.

    [more:]

     

    The
    influences are unmistakable. Wolfmother are experienced. They are iron
    men. Their time is gonna come. And they’re obviously not the first rock
    band to go down these roads. If listening to a Jet or Lenny Kravitz
    album becomes a parlor game of name that classic-rock artist, the
    members of Wolfmother bring their own riffs, style and attitude to
    every last song. Yes, they are like Zeppelin, in that both are awesome.
    The various formulas have been tweaked enough so that they have their
    own signature style — call it psychedelicock-rock.

     

    Singer/banshee Andrew Stockdale has the pipes of Robert Plant, the hair and energy of Cedric Bixler,
    and the premature but knowing egocentricity of Jack White circa 2002.
    Drummer Myles Heskett provides the requisite power and precision to the
    proceedings. And thank God for Chris Ross: His bass and organ work
    gives Wolfmother its exquisite heaviness.

     

    In the age of wisenhiemer blogs and Best Week Ever, Wolfmother
    is irony-proof classic rock. The exuberance, meticulous songcraft and
    sheer balls of a song such as “White Unicorn” put me in the strange,
    unfamiliar position of not caring that I dig a song called “White
    Unicorn.” Unlike the Darkness or Eagles of Death Metal,
    these guys don’t think this shit is funny, and instead of making them
    ripe for mockery, it makes Wolfmother that much more respectable.

     

    Perhaps
    the best compliment is that listening to Wolfmother’s album made me
    jealous of the kids lucky enough to turn sixteen in 2006, driving their
    first cars, heading out to Friday night high school football games and
    to keggers afterward, driving down Main Street and blaring Wolfmother from their speakers. This will be their soundtrack, and it will serve them well.

     

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