Dead Fly Buchowski
Land of the Rough

Be honest. How long has it been since you listened to a CD from the first to the last note? To be clear, mentioning "Song For The Deaf" doesn't count. It's already too old of an album. Stick to the last two years. Haste makes waste, so moving forward in reading can be a great help. You don't have to go too far. We're on an island, neither too Caribbean nor too deserted. We're in Scotland.

Starting with "Russian Doll", Dead Fly Buchowski make it clear they're not British. They don't drink tea but prefer a Fisherman's Friends accompanied by a glass of cold water. Like having an iceberg in your throat. The bass lines bleed while the soul of the blues is accompanied by a drum set played with mutton bones.

Someone pissed off by talking about the Scottish answer to the White Stripes, someone else pissed as they sat down and compared them to Pearl Jam. It's true that the riffs of "Didn't Hear You Right" have something to do with McReady's guitar, but we're not quite there yet. The blues spirit of this quartet, the esotericism of Roddy Campbell's voice, the dark atmospheres, the thrilling guitars playing in a limbo. Mark Lanegan and QOTSA are on the DFB bandwagon. Listen to "Anyway" and prove otherwise. Something's missing. We can't yet shout: Land!, Land!. "The Way She Goes" is just another hint, "Blacker Than Blue" is the fog dissipating. And then comes "Ground Nero"; hope goes back below deck, where the smells are so strong you'd wish you were dead. Then, at the last minute, a barrel bursts open and a ray of sunshine hits you squarely in the face. It hurts at first, and tiny silver snakes surround your head. You stagger. Finally, everything goes black. Everything goes Black. Everything goes Black + Sabbath. That is, Black Sabbath. It’s "Sun Song". The blonde braids, blue eyes, and then... the dark cellar where we, without your company.

Amen.