Caustic Resin
The Medicine Is All Gone

The Pied Piper at the Gates of Boise, Idaho…

The turn of the '90s sees the project Treesold, a group holding the secret of a dark post-hardcore, come to a halt, imploding on itself. From the ashes rise two distinct phoenixes of the American underground, which will characterize the last decade of the past century, contributing to the revival (development) of star-spangled music. Built To Spill, led by the melancholy Doug Martsch, explore the more melodic/psychedelic side of this shapeless monster called indie, earning a place in the sun (albeit, limited to national borders), a large and faithful following, and a horde of disciples (Modest Mouse above all). Brett Nelson's dirty spirit, on the other hand, evolves into Caustic Resin and begins with the issues of Seattle's "new grunge fashion," expanding to explore territories in a backward path to the re-discovery of the cosmic frontiers of space-rock, the lunatic Barrettian psychedelia of the piper or the more "arty" side of Waters' wall.

The third chapter of the saga, "The Medicine Is All Gone" is the one with the most form and substance, compact, hard, and at times violent… where every track seems unwilling to ever open up to hope. An aura of unstable claustrophobia seems to pervade the entire work, so "Dripping" develops undecidedly between Alice In Chains and Kyuss and "Half Step" is a back-and-forth between P.I.L. and Gang Of Four, with a malevolent slide as the mediator. The murky folk-core of "Hate In You" and the "Barrett-esque" one of the opening "Cable" are the doors to enter the splendid "You Lie" where Crazy Horse and Neil Young try to play extended jazz in the style of Sonic Youth during their middle period (the '90s… Editor's note).
The America of great spaces is sublimated in the splendid "Mysteries Of… /Hold Your Hands Up", a traditional transfigured within the pop-noise circle of the music hell; with Netson's voice echoing the metal singers of the '80s. "Once And Only" is the slide duel with friends/rivals Built To Spill, set in a world shrouded in the rarefied morning fog of "Salamander" or in the storm that breaks out at the dusk of "Enough". I reserve the finale for the visionary desolation of "Niacin", where our guys attempt to annihilate Bowie's hopeful intergalactic odyssey, capturing Ziggy Stardust's spaceship in a whirl of liquid distortions and for the unsteady country of "Man From Michigan", a southern style exercise on which the (over) much-hyped Sufjan Stevens should take some lessons.

In short… 5 sure stars, for anyone who feels at home with the anguish of living.