O'Death: Head Home

o'death The South has risen. Up to Williamsburg. In the form of creepy, yet competent dirty can-baning shirtless dudes. Receiving constant comparisons to Waits and Americana is nothing new to O'Death, though at this point they are one-trick ponies compared to the complexities of American roots music or the prolific, strange lyricism and breadth of someone like Tom Waits. But these boys is young yet, let 'em grow. At times a messy pile of broken strung-together whiskey bottles being dragged across a washboard, and others more hoe-down, skeleton square dance, their sound is contagious in a way. I once saw them play a basement in Philadelphia and they sounded great, somehow managing the distorted pick-ups on all of those hollow-bodied instruments without feedback, bringing their own, sometimes annoying, brand of hootenanny and hooliganistic energy. They all howl together at times, crying to Jesus or some other such cliche, over that plodding swampy back-beat. It works for them most of the time, and I think that they're a very fun band to see. This album is an enjoyable listen too, if a distant-sounding one. The affected vocals and their references to "blackgrass" leave me wanting it to be much much more frightening. This is something indie rock college kids will get down with, surely... something they can sink their missing teeth into, at least for a night. Hopefully O'Death will stay one step ahead of the game... I wish that they'd play actual square-dance nights and barnyards and back-county cemeteries rather than crowded bars. That they really came from the mountains of western North Carolina and were all fucked up inside, men of constant sorrow. We'll see what happens. For now, things are looking good, pending death and gimmickiness spares them over til another year :: O'Death: Head Home - City Slang.