From time to time, IFL and I will challenge each other to review specific albums. Ideally, the albums will enlighten (or torture) the reviewer. Either way, we’re guaranteed a fresh perspective.
My first real experience with the Queens of the Stone Age took place in or around 2004 at a Red Hot Chili Peppers concert somewhere in Ohio. It was my first time seeing RHCP live and I was excited enough to tear my shirt off in a fit of passion. The Queens were the opening act. Of course, opening acts can often be surprisingly good and add value to the concert experience. However, in this case I was not in the mood to have my horizons broadened and they symbolized the last barrier between me and my Frusciante face-melting destiny. Their angular riffs just seemed stupid and abrasive to me. The vocals were incomprehensible. I felt like I stood there for hours, suffering through song after seemingly identical song. It was on that day that I decided: I hated the Queens of the Stone Age.
My gut reaction when IronFishLantern sentenced me to multiple listenings of QOTSA’s new album ...Like Clockwork, was predictably one of disappointment. How could ‘RonFish be so cruel? He was well aware of my anti-Queens stance! He’s practically begging for a retaliatory Gary Cherone era Van Halen review challenge.
Okay, so maybe that’s a little dramatic. In reality, I’ve been softening to the Queens for a few years now. I’d seen them open up for other bands a few times since the original ear-raping and I was willing to concede that they weren’t awful... I was willing to chalk up the first time to a bad set on their part and high expectations on mine. Through IronFishLantern and other sexual acquaintances, I became familiar with some QOTSA songs that I really, really liked. The infectiously syncopated “Better Living Through Chemistry” and gritty “Feel Good Hit of the Summer” from 2000’s Rated R opened my eyes to why so many people whose musical opinions I respected were recommending the Queens of the Stone Age. With that tale of failed first impressions and subsequent redemption in mind, I give you my review of ...Like Clockwork.
There are definite sexual undertones throughout ...Like Clockwork. Not in a cheesey, overt way; it’s almost as if Homme can’t help but taint anything he creates with the subconscious echoes of his own repressed urges. The effect it has on the album is huge. It permeates almost every song with an aggressive helping of sexual tension, which keeps it from sounding like other promising, but ultimately generic cookie-cutter, modern alternative rock albums (see Zeitgeist by The Smashing Pumpkins or Wasting Light by the Foo Fighters). Speaking of the Fighters of Foo, Dave Grohl contributed drums to a number of tracks, as well as an impressive list of collaborators, including Elton John, Trent Reznor, and the Arctic Monkey’s Alex Turner.
On “Keep Your Eyes Peeled”, the album opens with the sounds of breaking glass followed by a reverberating, sludge-drenched guitar riff. It’s like the music to the Sega Genesis game Cyborg Justice on acid. In a good way. Josh Homme’s falsetto moaning and growling vocals swirl over the quasi-perverted rhythmic instrumental interplay. “I Sat By The Ocean” changes gears with a rocking, upbeat guitar intro and handclaps in the pre-chorus.
My personal favorite track is “If I Had A Tail”. It saunters into your eardrums with a Rolling Stones-esque guitar riff that could make a dead Keith Richards cum. Homme conjures a horned up David Bowie as he sings some of the most explicitly sexual lyrics on the album. The guitar solo is, again, pure Keith Richards. So brief and restrained, yet satisfying, like an impromptu fling with a co-worker during your lunch break.
A low point for me is the guitar intro to “My God Is The Sun”. To me, this recalls everything I originally didn’t like about the Queens of the Stone Age: a harsh, angular riff being stupidly forced down your throat and repeating into eternity. The rest of the song redeems itself enough where I clicked the “thumbs up” next to it in my Google Music, but this type of guitar riff turns me off every time --and I’m one to forgive great depths of guitar wankery and mal-riffage.
“Kalopsia”, featuring lyrical contributions from Alex Turner, is a contrastingly gentle ballad that starts off slightly reminiscent of “Porcelain” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers then explodes into a feedback laden sing-along finish. Another bright spot is “Fairweather Friends”. Elton John’s driving piano and Trent Reznor’s screaming backing vocals help make an already good song into one of the best on the album.
The Queens summon a late-70s Zeppelin-style disco metal sexbeat for “Smooth Sailing”. Homme again utilizes falsettos and overdriven growls as he “blows his load all over the status quo”. All accented by a guitar solo that would bring color to Jack White’s pallid flesh and an intense sonic buildup/release near the end.
I don’t know much about Josh Homme’s personal life, but like most people, I’m sure he’s a complex guy with his share of hang ups and vices. I can’t help but feel like these “negative” qualities of his personality had a very positive effect on the shape and sound of ...Like Clockwork. A more zealous reviewer might attempt to draw Freudian parallels between specific elements of the album and certain events in Homme’s personal life. I’m content knowing that no artist is able to completely remove themselves from a creative work. The best learn how to use their strengths while minimizing the self-indulgent side-effects. By this measure, Homme and company did a stellar job of creating a uniquely accessible album that gives equal emphasis to the talents and faults of the creators.
Perhaps the truest testament of the auto-proselytizing, redemptive goodness of ...Like Clockwork has to do with Biff, my brother. Biff had a similarly awful Queens of the Stone Age opening act experience at Lollapalooza several years ago. Biff spent hours on an oppressively hot day in a rowdy, sweaty pit (waiting to see the Red Hot Chili Peppers!) and was psychologically scarred by the incredibly loud, boorish guitar bashing that held him hostage on that fateful day. The other evening, when I was giving the album a listen, Biff dug it and couldn’t believe that it was the same band that buttfucked his ears in Chicago.
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| Ginger Elvis |
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