Slaughterhouse (In The Red)
Me What’s Inside Your Heart” and “Muscleman,”
Ty Segall Band
where it overlays the earnest coos of back
What does evil space rock sound like?
ing singers—but, in places, it’s buried beneath urgent, sludgy guitar and guttural growls.
According to San Francisco thrasher Ty
The most exciting moments on this record,
Segall—who’s used the term to describe his
though, are tracks like “Wave Goodbye,” where
latest release Slaughterhouse—it’s steeped in heavy riffs slam into hummable melodies to reckless fuzz, doused with loose, jangly melody,
create a tornado of punk destruction, ‘60s pop
and smeared with bratty sneer.
sensibilities and metal muck. Here, Segall culls
At least, that’s the backbone of the new the lean urgency from the simple lo-fi tracks on album, his first under the Ty Segall Band moni- which he built his reputation and steers them in ker, crafted with the help of his tourmates and a new direction, straight off a cliff. released via garage-
F l ippi ng
punk label In the Red
further through
Records. The album is
his
the second of three he
collection, Segall
plans to put out this
also
year, trailing a collab-
an unceremoni-
orative release with
ous take on Bo
Tim Presley’s White
Diddley’s “Diddy
Fence,
Wah
which
came
record includes
Diddy.”
In place of the
out in May.
original’s earnest
Slaughterhouse (it’s
his
seventh
grooves are driv-
LP,
though
Segall’s
ing guitars and
discography includes
an
an endless string of
almost
gleeful
EPs,
scream:
“Fuck
7-inches,
compilation
and
this
contri-
butions) seems especially raucous on the heels
exuberant,
fucking
song!” The result is thrilling, sloppy, and brim-
of last year’s Goodbye Bread, which is groomed, ming with impulse. gentle, easy listening by comparison. Maybe
Collectively, the record is a full-on sprint
Segall was willing to oblige his lover and buy to the 10-minute, aptly-titled closer “Fuzz the damn couch she longs for in “Comfortable War.” Comprised almost entirely of desperate Home,” but one gets the feeling she’s now sleep- hisses and rumbling noise, it saps the blistering on a lumpy futon, happy or not.
ing energy of every track that comes before
Segall and his crew set the tone immediately it; guitars scream for mercy, drums clatter in with nearly a full minute of squelching guitars confusion and a ceaseless drone gets lost in the and a stream of wonky reverb leading the album’s
ether. It’s both otherworldly and evil, and caps
opener “Death.” Dig in deeper and you’ll find
off one of Segall’s strongest efforts to date.
traces of psych-pop—especially on cuts like “Tell —Alyssa Noel
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