Buckethead
Monsters And Robots

"Corrosive" is not the exact word. But it's the first that comes to mind.

If the criminal genius of literature of our times, known as Chuck Palahniuk, were to express his idea on the criminal genius of the guitar of the third millennium, he would probably say something like this.

Buckethead is corrosive. And his is a corrosive rock, even if the word "rock" is too limiting. It disturbs to the excess with its dissonant and cacophonous melodies on a first listen. But there is more behind it. There must be more. Let's momentarily put aside the fact that we're dealing with a rather singular character, just to use a euphemism. Let's leave aside the fried chicken bucket on his head and the white mask: then it will be spontaneous to intuit that we have in our hands an album that is actually very simple and not at all convoluted. Buckethead plays the guitar the best way he knows how; he avoids the easy path, the one that shows you the sunset over the sea and the cliffs washed by the sea, and rather he prefers to take steep and rugged paths, venturing into dangerous passages where one risks finding themselves lost. But imagine the fun! The sound of the guitar that seems to come out of a small 20-watt amplifier, trashy backings over which Brian Carroll (yes, he does have a name!) improvises, draws blood from his guitar, makes it spit out notes at the speed of light and a second later those six strings shoot out harmonies that are as hypnotic as they are feverish.

Episodes of "Jowls" and "The Shape vs. Buckethead", just to name two, are testimonies of the guitarist’s inclination towards horror films. He is adept at translating into music the perversions that this cinematic genre brings with itself. On the verge of cacophony, on the verge of listenability; but still pure and heartfelt songs that pulse like living flesh and somewhat bring out the paranoias that we desperately try to hide.
If the manifesto of his character can be found in the lyrics of "The ballad of Buckethead" sung by the impeccable Les Claypool (Primus), where his (real?) childhood spent in a chicken coop is recounted, perhaps all the humor hidden under that white mask comes out in "Who me?", the only acoustic episode of the album but truly entertaining, in which a bored Buckethead yawns as he plucks a slow melody, perhaps eager to get back to producing distorted and corrosive songs indeed.

This album will be hard to digest for refined palates, but it is a must for those who feel the need to stray off the known path, and venture for just under an hour into a macabre amusement park where fun is guaranteed, amidst sinister sounds and clumsy clowns. It will sound exaggerated to many, a few will find it thrilling. But this album has the merit of sounding different. And considering it's now ten years old, that's not a small feat!

A damned genius in full rule. Paranoid. Crazy. Or simply someone playing a joke on all of us, succeeding brilliantly.

In any case, a must-listen at least once.


NB: For anecdote lovers, the words introducing the first song "Jump in" are words that Michael Jordan says in a videotape titled "Come fly with me" dedicated to his feats many years ago! Since I grew up with that video, thanks to this madman with a bucket on his head, I was transported back to the old days for a moment.

I can't never stop working on...Each day I feel I have to improve...
Hard work, determination...I got to keep pushin' myself.