If Geezer Butler and Robert Plant had a baby, then abandoned it in a dumpster in Birmingham? It'd grow up to be Wolfmother. I'm not claiming they did that, and that it did... I don't want to get the cops involved, or have to start screening my calls... I'm just sayin' if they did, it would... and it does. Luckily.
So, truth: the truth is, the skinny guys with the bad 'fros have made an awesome, Zeppelinesque debut album. There are only a handful of adjectives -"Colossal," being used already as the opening song title- to adequately describe the mammoth sound of Wolfmother. Indeed, it sets the scene perfectly with giant guitar riffs punctuated with drums heavy as water-sodden lead. You can't not compare Andrew Stockdale's vocals to those of Jack White and Robert Plant... listen to songs like Apple Tree and Joker and the Thief, and try... I dare you. I double-dog dare you.
Turn up this album to as loud as a very loud thing, light some joss sticks and maybe dig out those sunglasses that are shaped like stars that looked so cool on the spinner at Fisherman's Wharf. Lay back, let the sonic wave wash over you... heck, gather some friends in hemp to join you... you'll find yourself in the early '70s before you can croak "Robby Benson."
You'll probably even listen to some Uriah Heep afterward. And like it.
In their eponymous debut album, the boys to men who are Wolfmother explore their most psychedelic aesthetic and in Pyramid Stockdale's vocal chords become a theremin. Wolfmother is a stoner rock album with no muthafuckin' apologies, my friends.
It's about time.
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