The Almighty Defenders illustrates what can go terribly wrong and wonderfully right when you make a record in a fevered rush. The songs that don’t work suffer from excessive self-indulgence and half-baked ideas that feel more like inside jokes than enjoyable music. But when the record works, it buzzes with the bottled-lightning vibe of an unforgettable concert album– only instead of being recorded on a hi-tech sound board in a sold-out arena, it sounds like it was taped in some underground night club where shrunken heads hang on the walls and strangers offer you drugs you’ve never heard of.
This collaboration between members of Black Lips and The King Khan & BBQ Show kicks off to a rollicking start on “All My Loving.” Driven by ramshackle garage punk, gloriously drunken soul singing, simple but strong hooks and contagious passion, the song sets the tone for the best of what’s to come. Even though “The Ghost With The Most” slows the pace to a zombie sway on track 2, neither the fun nor the urge to dance ever diminishes. “Bow Down and Die” keeps the party going, capturing the spirit of a bunch of college dudes singing along at last call as the jukebox plays Motown hits.
The album reaches its peak on a gem called “Cone Of Light” that could pass for a long-lost jam session between The Stooges and Sam Cooke. As with the rest of the songs here, the lyrics are often obscured by distortion, distance and reverb, which might frustrate some listeners. The lack of clarity hardly matters to me, though. Singer Mark Sultan could be recounting a memory of a boyhood trip to the ice cream shop, and even if that were the case I wouldn’t love this song any less. Whatever the story is, Sultan tells it like it was one of the happiest moments of his life, and his joy comes through loud and clear above the fuzzy, muddy racket.
So it’s extra disappointing that right after “Cone Of Light,” the record screeches to a halt. I’m not sure if the fifth track, “Jihad Blues,” is supposed to be edgy or darkly funny (”Give me a box-cutter and a one-way ticket,”) but I do know that its questionable taste could be redeemed by a good tune. Alas, there’s barely a melody here, and the song writhes and wails like a wounded walrus.
To make matters worse, it’s followed by two consecutive interludes of generic garage-rock riffing possessed by cartoon voices that bark, howl, cackle and grunt when they’re not imitating The Three Stooges or Jim Carrey. I tried to lighten up and let these tracks grow on me each time I listened to the album. Really, I did. But ultimately, I remain convinced that I could have tolerated this kind of nonsense as harmless, goofy fun if only it were condensed into a thirty-second palate-cleanser. Spread over two tracks and three whole minutes, though, this part of the album approaches tedium. At least the band members sound like they’re having a blast.
The Almighty Defenders temporarily regains its spark as the band repeats its winning lo-fi soul-punk formula. There’s a feisty cover of The Mighty Hannibal’s “I’m Coming Home,” followed by the moseying “Over The Horizon” and the finger-snapping “She Came Before Me.” Then the album dies a slow, painful death on the closing track, “The Great Defender,” which delivers a five-minute sermon over a 1950s horror-movie synth. Here, the frequently incoherent lyrics actually pose a problem. Sure, we can tell that the vocals belong to a caricature of a hellfire-and-brimstone preacher, but unlike Mark Sultan’s Sam Cooke homage on “Cone Of Light,” the voice doesn’t make for an entertaining listen by itself. Maybe if we could tell whether the sermon had a more original or complex message beyond “REPENT SINNERS!” then it might have served some interesting purpose. As it is, it’s just boring, abrasive noise.
Of course, “The Great Defender” might have a key function in the band’s apparent concept of themselves as a post-modern gospel outfit. While I appreciate their ambition and willingness to experiment, I find this pretension unfortunate and unnecessary; The Almighty Defenders already do well by playing songs that could have been top-40 hits in the late ’60s. After all, when you’re cranking out an album during an eight-day bender, you’re probably better off listening to your gut more than your head.