It's a well known fact that
drummers hate their bands. Not the bass player with whom they sometimes share
an allegiance, perhaps, but certainly the lead whose noodlings are the very
reason the drummer has a job. Bands not being exactly democratic enterprises,
this means drummers usually end up working for the man. And everyone hates
working for the man. Revolutions happen for good reasons, often.
So, who does Lamont Thomas
drum for? When I finally caught up with Puffy Areolas' mayhem at Cake
Shop last spring, it was an hour of thrilling silt dirt noise and he was
beating the traps (without drink tickets, apparently). But I can never
tell who's in Puffy Areolas anyway, or if they even have a leader, so whatever.
Then there's This Moment IBH.
But Thomas may be best known for his work in the Bassholes, the vehicle by
which Don Howland impresses babes and intimidates record hounds. As such,
and despite ostensibly being a righteous rocknroll guy, Howland is, after
all, an artiste. He probably countenances no miscues or misreps of his
art, the proper presentation of which is dependent on none other than Lamont
Thomas. An artiste in this context = band boss, just like Captain
Beefheart or John Petkovic or Sun Ra or Jon Spencer or Lemmy or Nancy Wilson,
and band bosses can, do in fact, incur the resentment of their
band. It's the natural order of things (“Play it faster!” “Play it slower!
“Play like Ellen Hoover!”).
Of course, this could just be
a misplaced sound off about my boss. Then again, Lamont Thomas
offers clues: “I never liked you anyway” he wails on “I’m Bleeding Now”; he refashions
Howland's "Daughters" in his own image; and he stares out from the
cover, mouth soaked with blood as if he just pulled Howland's heart out from
his chest and ate it. You tell me what the message is. I’m telling you
what it looks like.
What it sounds like is
an amazingly crude occupation of the space around 1’10” into “Skunk
(Sonically Speaking)" at which point the guitars unfurl and open the
portal to where gnarled clots of Cheater Slicks vomit wet kiss the delirium
psych of the Original Sins. Thomas apparently plays all instruments and owns
every piece of this record. It's a stupefying and grimy pile up of
unbeatable freakbeat action - howling and relentless. He also
undrapes some lovely tunes – buried ‘neath the murk they may be, but they’re keepers,
some with falsetto and crush, all audacious and bold. It’s the record to be
flaunted when pretenders are done pretending. And while it won’t necessarily
foment revolution being played three times in a row on my way into work, that
doesn’t mean I won’t cut my eyes and think some nasty thoughts. It’s that kind
of soundtrack. That’s why Obnox’s I’m Bleeding Now is the 20th seating of
2011’s wicked company. Thank you Lamont Thomas for taking the time.
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