Listening Station: Motorhead, Big & Rich, Killswitch Engage

Motorhead

Inferno

Something you might not realize about Lemmy Kilmister, gravel-choked vocalist for the pioneering metal band Motorhead, is that he's a poet. Goshdarn it, the guy has a way with words. And just like the great poets of yore, Lemmy is preoccupied with certain heavy topics--death, war, world destruction and evil. Lemmy's world is basically Road Warrior 24/7.

Take, for instance, this fine bit of scene-setting in "Killers": "The sun beats down like thunder/ We ride to meet the foe/ The clash of steel and leather/ The only song we know." Lemmy understands that good metal isn't about girls in high school or the ravages of the road between gigs. It's about good guys and bad guys, the strong and the weak, the warriors and the trolls. Metal is also about fear, and Lemmy sends chills on "Smiling Like a Killer": "I'm the knocking at your door when you're all alone/ I'm the scratching zombie claw in your twilight zone." Of course, he finds ways to make all this relevant in the 21st century, as on "Suicide," which hints at an environmental streak: "We are destroyed by our own plan/ The air we breathe will kill us all/ And no one left to give a damn."

Lyrics aside, the best thing about Motorhead is it hasn't been infected by so-called nu-metal, which almost universally sucks. Inferno is straight outta 1984, when metal was defined by fast guitars, menacing vocals and doomsday lyrical sketches. Although Motorhead is generally credited with inventing "speed metal," its brand of it seems rather accessible compared with the metalcore offerings available today. For one thing, Lemmy enunciates well for having a kisser full of nails. Inferno is a lot closer to classic Judas Priest than to, say, Converge or Pig Destroyer. "Life's a Bitch" echoes the boogie rock of Motley Crue, although Lemmy would never be mistaken for Vince Neil. That said, Motorhead cedes nothing to the next generation, as Inferno offers 11 tracks of relentless headbanging. Metal axe wiz Steve Vai sits in on "Terminal Show" and "Down on Me," and unleashes a pair of his trademark six-string fusillades. Always eager to toss in a surprise, Motorhead's 12th track is an acoustic Delta blues number. "Whorehouse Blues" sounds like something genuine that Aerosmith or the Rolling Stones might toss off in rehearsal before strutting around like idiots at a Super Bowl halftime show or something.

Motorhead's heyday may have passed, but it's no dinosaur exhibit. Unlike so many of its defunct contemporaries, it's still riding to battle and carrying the banner high.--Geoff Schumacher

Big & Rich

Horse of a Different Color

Country music would sound a lot more refreshing if it just didn't give a fuck. For all the laidback imagery of the Bible-belt chanteuses and modern cowboys, mainstream country music is largely stiffer than a corpse, and has about as much life as one, too. Exceptions hardly abound, but country fan and detractor alike look to be pleasantly bucked from Horse of a Different Color, the new album by Nashville songwriter Big Kenny and former Lonestar singer John Rich--billed as Big & Rich. The duo has run an eclectic locals' night back home called "Muzik Mafia" for some time, and finally it has recorded its own genre-clash twang collection that almost perfectly balances irreverence with sincerity.

Big & Rich grants itself a wide open space to play in on Horse of a Different Color, highlighted by a significant complement of instruments (ranging from lap steel guitars to traditional fiddles), as well as the "Simpsons"-like variety of cultural references (Escalades, CNN and Prozac all get shout-outs). Most notably, the chuckle-worthy lyrics reveal their creators' worldliness, while often self-effacingly dismissing the Stetson machismo so prevalent in modern country. It takes some considerable sac to open your album with the declaration, "Country music without prejudice," but the duo backs it up by relaying the true music fan's curiosities. There's even a "hick-hop" MC solo in "Rollin'," which also drops this priceless lyric: "Charley Pride was the man in black/ Rock 'n' roll used to be about Johnny Cash."

All this cleverness would typically reduce the songs to novelty, but Big & Rich ensures the other elements of its music are not overshadowed by irony. Furthermore, none of the 13 tracks sounds anything alike; from barroom honky-tonk and highwayman cruiser-rock to garage blues and ragtime pop, the aural scenery always seems to be changing, though co-producer Paul Worely doesn't allow the sound to stray too far. Part of the album's cohesion lies in Big & Rich's near-perfect harmonizing, which projects a passionate but easygoing demeanor. Sadly, this also lets the corny moments slip by. Some of its inspirational numbers, though hardly zealous or even standard, almost belie the duo's reputation as genuine Music City rebels. No matter--the album's real saving grace is its enlivened approach to an increasingly moribund artform.--Mike Prevatt

Killswitch Engage

The End of Heartache

Judging by the cover of The End of Heartache, when Killswitch Engage gives up on love it finishes the job with a box of galvanized nails. Unlike Aaron Lewis and his fellow pansy-ass purveyors of nu-metal, Killswitch Engage doesn't dump its psychological problems ("I'm not pretty enough," "Nobody sees the real me," "My daddy didn't love me," etc.) on its fans; it pummels their ears with a jackhammer dose of grinding metalcore.

At least it does on eight of the 12 songs on The End of Heartache. The rest, however, follow nu-metal's trail of tears to the well of emotional excess. The descent begins with the fourth track, "Rose of Sharyn." Apparently named after the Steinbeck character who served up her teat to the dying old codger in Grapes of Wrath, "Rose of Sharyn" has all the cathartic power of a Clay Aiken single: "What would I give to behold the smile, the face of love?/ You never left me/ The rising sun will always speak your name." What sort of foul conjuring turned all of that piss and vinegar into syrup and honey?

Also troubling is the title track, which starts out promisingly heavy, but quickly degrades into a cheeseball metal anthem. "For comfort! For solace! For the end of my broken heart!" howls frontman Howard Jones. This certainly isn't Killswitch Engage's first foray into crybaby hysterics (2002's Alive or Just Breathing featured the line, "I believe love will overcome"), but the offending tracks on The End of Heartache seem intentionally touchy-feely--as if they're self-conscious attempts to reach out to a wider, less hateful audience. While this kind of tender bullshit might suit a band like Staind or Sevendust, it definitely doesn't fit a band like Killswitch Engage--not like a scream, a hammer and a metal heart.--Newt Briggs