Culture Blues

The band that we know as Wolfmother has undergone a great deal of drama since the release of their self-titled debut record. First, they conquered their native Australia in a manner not seen since (sigh) Silverchair, then came the plethora of awards, after that international stardom, and lastly the dreaded (yet often unavoidable) line-up changes. None of that has seemed to unsettle singer/guitarist/songwriter Andrew Stockdale; he and his new brothers in 70's-rock arms just dropped a record that completely SLAYS. Cosmic Egg (the record is named after a yoga position) is the kind of sophomore album that bands dream of making; the sound is bigger, the songs are better, and the epic is (yes) even more epic. What you have here is a Stockdale sticking to his vision of resurrecting the ghosts of Zeppelin and Sabbath while proudly growing his hair long and wearing his denim jacket. Is it a little much at times? Totally. Does it matter? Absolutely not.

The record kicks off with the absurdly rockin' California Queen, a song featuring the mother of all Big Muff's, Stockdale's trademark Robert Plant meets Jack White banshee yell, and some marvelous vintage pentatonic leads (the addition of a second guitarist, Aiden Nemeth, is instantly visible and truly works). After that track finishes melting off your face you are treated to a long (maybe a little bit too long) journey of gigantic riffs (Sundial, 10,000 Feet), crushing chords (White Feather, Violence in the Sun), and lyrics that probably get written after a tremendous amount of weed gets smoked (it really is that obvious). There are acoustic moments that don't come off as compulsory, there are phased out landscapes with whistling winds, there is even some cowbell; everything that you would expect to be in a record like this is totally here and at its worst only comes off as slightly cliché. Sure, some of the downtempo stuff (there really isn't that much) can drag here and there, but there are usually enough overdubs on a track to keep your ears entertained.

I strongly suggest acquiring this record (who knows how some of you kids are getting your music with your fancy internet machines), busting out a lava lamp, getting some bitchin' black-velvet posters of a chick riding a dragon, and preparing yourself for some hearing loss. No Wolfmother didn't reinvent a single thing with this album... They just totally killed it...