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Boris, "Pink"
If it isn't swathed in black and grim enough to cause rigor mortis, then it can't rock. That seems to be the prevailing attitude the nay-sayers take towards Boris and their newest record. Without a shred of reason, I've seen Pink hated upon in vitriolic doses, the result of a trendy paradigm shift towards doom metal and its various incarnations. Boris is going to appeal to a different crowd, though, a crowd that thinks My Bloody Valentine could rock just as hard as any metal and that dirty is just as good as heavy.
Southern Lord
The opening "Farewell" doesn't strike me as belonging to the Southern Lord family. Sunn0))), Khanate, Lair of the Minotaur, and Earth—these are the bands that define what the label is all about. "Farewell," on the other hand, sounds like it belongs to mid-90s along with a lot of other shoegazing bands. There's an electric sheen sizzling on the guitars, a melodic emphasis that is absent from so many doom and sludge-laden bands, and a clear vocal part that, though buried in the mix, sounds more important than most growling and shrieking ever does. Boris' Pink (a name that probably pissed off a few fans to begin with) is a monster record, a rabid Tasmanian devil of music that splits homes in two, tears cows into shreds of beef and leather, and launches tractors through people's windows. After the slow pounding of "Farewell" ends, this trio takes a sword to their instruments and slashes out a million mile per hour rock fest; it's a puncturing, balls to the wall album that only slows down long enough to give the band a breather or two. All the recognizable (and sloppy) rhythms that tumble through Pink are what makes it so beautifully brutal and intense. Khanate might crush people under their increasingly heavy heel, but Boris explode with all the power of a semi-truck traveling at a light speed and slamming into a two ton block of steel and human flesh, the impact initiating a flight littered with entrails, shrapnel, and massive explosions. The swift, cutting action of the record is more powerful, more fun than anything Sunn0))) has ever choked out of their E string.
The tones on this album are deep and fuzzy, the guitars humming and overloading like a guitar on fire with too many amplifiers turned up to 11. Initially that might sound like a bad thing, but Boris keep their sound under tight control. The guitars and bass are dirty when they need it to be, and free but concise when appropriate. The point is that the music is fucking gritty, mean, and tough all without sounding like a total mess. This is controlled chaos handled by professionals. I can't imagine this being played anywhere without spontaneous eruptions of violence happening everywhere, putting Axl Rose and his pansy voice and shitty faux rock to total shame. Go ahead and listen to this and then tell me that your favorite metal bands can rock anywhere near as hard. Massive amounts of drugs must be induced when listening to this album. I've never been one to love narcotics, but I feel like I should at least be getting drunk and beating people over the head with chairs when I hear this.
The other side of this album's beauty comes in just how exploratory it is. If the hipster, elite crowd is pissed at Boris for both their pink cover and their enthusiastic embrace of traditional rock elements, they have to admit that this is also Boris entertaining new ground with complete abandon. You can hear how joyful the band is when "Pink" opens up and the drums begin to pound away a groove so thick it's suffocating. When guitar solos erupt from the noise, they sound like volcanic prayers, sprays of heat and lust on a crash course with God. It's beautiful and intense, a rapture beneath a sky of noise and rock. They don't eschew their background, their past, or any of their fans by necessity. Their pounding riffs and long, droning strands of sludge still exist here and there and most notably on "Just Abandoned My-self." The song begins as though it's going to be another fast, orgasmic slice of feedback-laden melody and then transforms into a cannibalistic blob of cacophony. For the majority of the song's 18 minutes, nothing but black, greasy death spills out of the band's instruments. This attitude is all over the record, but within the confines of high energy, thundering and rhythmic pulses. Boris are being as experimental as ever, they're just doing it in a format more people are going to recognize and enjoy.
This record refuses to leave my player. It has been with me everywhere I go. It is a superb rock record littered with enough influences and playfulness to make it both interesting and addicting. I laugh at people who are giving this a cold shoulder; if the underground crowds are too hip to like something that rules this hard, then they're letting go of a band and a record that could make every other heavy rock group around look like a bunch of girls in, ironically, pink skirts. My only complaint is the artwork. While the acid tabs were a good idea, the lyrics and information are impossible to read because of the color and layout. I've noticed this happening with a lot of bands. Why would anyone put white text on a sheet that already contains a ton of white or otherwise light colors? The packaging is beautiful, but unintelligible for the most part. Musically, from beginning to end, this album kicks a whole lot of ass, enough to stick in my mind as one of the better things I've heard this year. The move from droned out, space rock to thrashing, truly dirty rock and back to space again is hypnotic and absolutely a must hear. Don't let the bullshit you've heard or read about this band fool you. That's just the sound of a bunch of trendy assholes getting pissed off over the fact that Boris did something great and did it without being willfully obscure and difficult in the provess. At one point I called this the bastard child of Blue Cheer and My Bloody Valentine and though I now think that Blue Cheer isn't quite heavy enough to make that comparison work, it's a perfectly good explanation of just how dirty this record is and just how beautifully melodic it ends up being. I couldn't recommend an album more enthusiastically or to more people. It's everything a great record should be: a good time, a great listen, and an entirely unique perspective from some very unique musicians.
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