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Album REVIEWS BY JOHN B. MOORE

Reviews

Gasoline Lollipops All The Misery Money Can Buy (Soundly Music) Gasoline Lollipops front man Clay Rose spent his timing shuffling between Colorado, living with his weed dealing/truck driving dad and Nashville, where his mom wrote country songs for Willie Nelson, among others. Coincidentally his dad sold a fair amount of pot to Willie as well, so that connection is pretty strong. That unorthodox upbringing can be heard all over Gasoline Lollipops’ latest, All the Misery Money Can Buy. It’s a powerful mix of Americana, Outlaw Country and just enough punk rock swagger to appeal to those who won’t admit to liking those other two genres. The album serves more as a soundtrack to tearin-my=beer reflective moments than to bar fights, but there are some rousing moments to be sure, like “Lady Liberty” and the addictive “Get Up”. The down and out “Gypsy” coming toward the end of the album is a stunning song made that more powerful by Rose’s distinct raspy delivery. The title track, starting off the record, with its funk-heavy bass lines, swamp organ, Bluesy guitar and church-worthy backing vocals is the first sign that the band is not penned in by a specific sound. What follows is a distinctly American record, a melting pot of styles borrowed from just about everywhere and lyrics that keep the politics and social commentary front and center.

Bob Mould Blue Hearts (Merge) Bob Mould is anything but predictable. Across an impressively influential career that goes back four decades, Mould put midwestern punk on the map with Husker Du before segueing into a quieter solo run and then pivoting to a madly addictive distortion-bathed power pop with Sugar. For the past 20 years or so, he’s back to being a solo artist, but forging an unpredictable path that draws both from the immediacy and fury of Husker Du and the hook-filled, melodic moments that made Sugar such a fun listen. While last year’s Sunshine Rock, true it its title, was definitely drawing from the music that defined Sugar-era Mould, with Blue Hearts Mould is certainly calling on his Husker Du bona fides. The album, absolutely pitch perfect for our current reality, is pure piss and vinegar Mould aiming his vitriol at those responsible for the shitstorm our country is currently trying to weather. A flag waving narcissist using Evangelicals as a shield as he oppresses just about anyone who is not a straight white Christian male; Reagan Redux with even an even stronger sociopathic streak. The song “American Crisis,” coming in under three minutes is pretty much the thesis for the record: “I never thought I’d see this bullshit again/ To come of age in the ’80s was bad enough/We were marginalized and demonized/I watched a lot of my generation die/Welcome back to American crisis.” What follows is a frantic burst of fury, with Mould’s whip smart, insightful lyrics shielded behind a barrage of machine gun drumming and a layer of distortion so powerful that the last time he played Letterman he literally shook the dust from the rafters. Despite the heavy Husker Du punk vibes that cover Blue Hearts, there is still a powerful catchiness to these songs unlike anything he put out in the ‘80s. Songs like “When You Left” and “Baby Needs A cookie” would fit right in on Sugar’s Copper Blue or File Under: Easy Listening. Coming in at 14 tracks, but still just a few moments over 30 minutes, Blue Hearts is over while you’re still trying to catch your breath. It’s sad Mould needed to pull together and album’s worthy of angry protest songs, but it serves as the perfect to soundtrack to our march to the voting booth in November.

Bonnie Whitmore Last Will & Testament (Aviatrix) Bonnie Whitmore may have spent a bulk of her music career just out of the spotlight - having played bass and sung with everyone from Hayes Carll and John Moreland to Jimmie Dale Gilmore - but Last Will & Testament proves she clearly belongs at the front of the stage. An even more compelling album than 2016’s F*** With Sad Girls (which was a pretty damn fine album) her latest finds her mixing Americana, rock, blues and pop for a strong blend that wouldn’t sound out of place on a playlist beside Stevie Nicks and Tom Petty. The emotionally affecting opening title track is about suicide, while “Asked For It” deals with rape culture and “None Of My Business” was written after the tragic 2015 Paris attacks at a concert hall, stadium and restaurants – all topics that are heavy as fuck – but all manage to go down smoothly thanks to Whitmore’s powerfully moving vocals. “None Of My Business,” in particular, with its slow tempo build, subtle strings and Whitmore’s arresting vocals, keeps drawing you back for repeated listens. She even draws on current political divides with “Right/Wrong.” Not every track is heavy; “Love Worth Remembering” is a mixtape-worthy love song (you know, if this were the ‘90s) and “Fine,” also about relationships, serves as a bit of levity between heavier topics. On her last record, Whitmore proved she’s not one afraid to keep her opinions to herself for fear of alienating future fans. Thankfully, she leans into that mindset on Last Will & Testament.

Cold Years Paradise (Eone Music) The Scottish band Cold Years may be based in Aberdeen, but it’s clear from their sound that they were raised on Jersey rock. On their debut, Paradise, you can see a straight line connecting Cold Years with Springsteen, the Gaslight Anthem, and Jersey-adjacent, Philly native Dave Hause. From the driving rhythms, weighty guitars, and the underdog lyrics delivered with an almost “come at me” defiance, the band have managed to recreate the regional uniqueness of the Garden State sound without sounding like they are simply borrowing someone else’s grievances. Songs like the triumphant “Burn the House Down,” with its powerful, harmonizing vocals and the opening salvo “31” with its slow-build, acoustic intro turning into a full-on sonic blast with the chorus “There’s blood on the streets tonight/I want to drink ‘til I die,” the band turns in a remarkably passionate debut clearly driven by the angst that Brexit, Trump, and his nationalist ilk across the globe have brought onto everyone with a conscious. There are a few stumbles along the way, like on the mediocre “Breathe” or the lyrically simplistic “Too Far Gone,” but those moments are few and far between. Taken as a whole, Paradise is an impressive, passionate love letter to Springsteen and his punk rock acolytes and a damn fine album to start a career on.