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Music

Suckling At The Teats of Wolfmother

Posted by Matt / May 31, 2006

wolfmother1.jpgPhotos by Darren Curtis

What a stupid headline, eh? It was originally supposed to read "I Am Romulus, and This is My Brother Remus, And Together We Sup At The Swollen Teats Of Our Wolfmother, And Will One Day Found Rome." But alas, the wags at this blogsite obviously have a very low esteem of their readership. There may be something appropriate about their edit, however, in that sometimes a beast must be disguised in fancy silks so as to get an invitation to the ball.

And that’s the thing with Wolfmother (nice segue, no?). It is a band that rocks hard. Very very hard. When listening to their album, one can’t help but imagine them as ugly, buck skin-wearing rock-warthogs (think Lemmy or the late Bon Scott). Just as their press releases say, they really are an amalgamation of Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, and The White Stripes, and were I not to have seen them at Le Nationale on Tuesday night, I would have bought the whole thing.

Imagine my surprise then, when expecting to see three greasy headbangers ensconced in black velvet, the lights come up on two clean cut dudes, Myles Heskett and Chris Ross on drums and bass respectively, and afro-clad singer Andrew Stockdale. I have to admit, the first little haze of magic I felt when listening to their album at home quickly evaporated. Where were the hobbits and orks, the “ancients of gentler races”, the unicorns or minotaurs? Where were the naked warrior chicks so vividly painted onto the cover of their album? Namely, where was the love?

Now it’s not that I believe image is everything. Hell, I don’t care what they look like while I’m listening to the album, but for chrissakes, dress it up fellas. At least give me some semblance of tradition. There are at any given moment 73,000 totally earnest high school bands doing their best Led Zeppelin or Black Sabbath impressions just in Quebec. I looked it up. What separates them from the real deal, aside from having to stop halfway through Black Dog or War Pigs to adjust their fingering, is that they look like high school kids and not like rock stars. They don’t have huge, major-label cheques to go buy tassled vests, medieval medallions, inflatable gorgon beasts for stage shows. But you guys at Wolfmother do, so let’s see it.

A good counterweight to Wolfmother can be found with the boys from Priestess. Here we have four greasy, pot-bellied long hairs from parts unknown. They are surly, they wear black, and they don’t give a shit. Being at a Priestess show has the ring of authenticity, what it must have been like to be at an early Motorhead show in some pub in Leeds. And with music like this, which is admittedly not reinventing any wheels, isn’t the whole game authenticity? The question is, however, who is ultimately going to be the greater success?

The answer, I think, lies in another myth: Zeus is trying to seduce Leda, but it’s not going anywhere because who wants to get involved with some burly, shit-kicking, beer-belly- havin’ king of the gods? So he transforms himself into a lovely swan and Lida is seduced, and done six ways from whatever Sunday was on the Greek calendar. So there you go. Swans, like good looking bands, have easier times seducing their audience than Zeus/Priestess. Simple.
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Discussion

8 Comments

Evelyne / June 1, 2006 at 12:13 pm
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I'm metaphorically slapping myself so hard for missing this my aura is purple. Not that I really care about auras; WOLFMOTHER!!!
/ December 12, 2008 at 05:58 am
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<h1>secures ourselves lovingly bureaucrats ball outer humiliate Crete: </h1>

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