I've literally been staring at my computer screen for over five minutes now, trying to figure out what to say about this album. Sometimes it's hard trying to come up with something interesting to say about each of the many discs that make their way across the vast desks of the Decapolis Staff. Some are fantastic, true works of art that inspire us to build bridges, topple oligarchies, adopt children, and make love. Some are abysmal failures that make us want to drown whole litters of kittens just to save them from accidentally hearing this album, or amputate our own ears. If you take a look at our rating scale you'll understand that there is actually an extremely rare but potent class of album which can lead to death upon auditory ingestion.
The hardest category of albums to write about are those comprising the vast majority of the submissions we receive; works that fall into the category best termed "mediocre". These albums wear many different masks, from the semi-original rip off of another artist's work, to the tired troopers who march faithfully within the simple bounds of genre templates. Then there are the groups that aren't trying hard enough but who could be better, always a shame to see.
It's hard to think positive about a lot of these reviews and it's our duty to be honest as a staff. At the same time I can understand the volatile nature of reading someone else's at times apparently flippant opinion of something you've ostensibly put a lot of time into. That notwithstanding, I'd like to ask the guys in Nile of the Palms to cool it with the death threats; "Drowning in Guts" just wasn't any good.
Where was I? Ah yes, mediocre albums. Enter Kudzu Wish, an aspiring group of five guys from Greensboro, North Carolina. Now judging from their back log of tour dates, the Kudzu boys toured for the better part of 2003 in support of Reverse Hurricane. That's admirable. Most of these dates seem to have been with different bands. Self-booking is a huge challenge in its own right. Again, I'll applaud that. The fact that these guys seem to have played with literally hundreds of mediocre punk and hardcore bands over the last few years and still kept up a fire for what they're doing is pretty amazing. It also may explain part of what's going on with the song writing process in this band. Because folks, I hate to break it to you but there's not much going on in that department.
In what is sadly an all too common side-effect in this line of work, listening to this album gave me the sensation of getting home from an hour long run in 80 degree weather, heading to the kitchen, and taking a big long swig of really warm water. Of course you don't really know what I mean, because we're five hundred words into the review and I haven't said a thing about the band's actual sound yet. Wait for it.
If you've ever heard a Fury 66 album, you're familiar with the style of "singing" Joe Clements uses so effectively. It's not the deep throated bellow that some hardcore vocalists employ. It's shriller, more urgent. Kudzu's Adam Thorn employs a style of screaming closer to yelling. It's a slightly less abrasive approach. And that royally sucks. If you're gonna scream, scream. If you're gonna whine, whine. Thorn does neither, simply sounding for the entire record like he's getting peeved at someone and "raising his voice" as your mom would say. That's to say nothing of the lyrics he's delivering. Track 2 is entitled "We've Got Big Hands", and I quote;
"we all need things of our own/cause we're each a big fat king/on a big fat throne/ you know the reason why?/huh-uh, i don't know!/ you know the reason why?/huh-uh, i don't know!/"
Need I say more? Then there's the actual music. And that's the fly in the ointment. Or rather, vice versa. Because some of the instrumentation on the record ain't half bad, most notably the intro to "Disguise! Disguise!" which kicks off the album. Guitarists Devender Sellars and Eric Mann slowly fade in with a harmonized looping riff which cycles higher and higher, building until it softly soars. Nor for long enough though, as it's broken off too soon by the rest of the band led by the charging Thorn. It's like hearing a rhinoceros charge through the Harlem Boys Choir.
On a whole though, the music couldn't save this ship. Predictable progressions, tired rhythms and uncreative structures which could be mistaken for classic if paired with good vocals fall short here when tied to the rhino. Hopefully these guys can get something good going musically to complement their obvious dedication and passion.
2/4
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