Tesla
Psychotic Supper

THE REVIEW

The hard rock of the 70s had its sacred monsters (no need to name them), the 80s saw the birth of new weapons for the conquest of women (Whitesnake above all), while the 90s represent natural selection. When there are too many and new species threaten to invade the scene, the majors proceed with wild and random deforestation. Budgets, contracts, and productions are cut. A genre takes the path of extinction in reality and that of the "oldies" in TV reality rotations. But among the oak trunks that have always stood splendidly firm is the robust and gnarled one of Tesla, a Californian band that has never known any crisis from a production standpoint and, objectively, I don't think they've ever released an album that could be rated with less than four stars. Or bullets?

The Tesla I want to talk about are in their most flourishing period and have already released two studio albums. The first in 1985, Mechanical Resonance, a hard rock calling card lacquered with blues in the sound and street in the production. The second in 1989, The Great Radio Controversy, in which they continued to emphasize the compactness of hard rock, taking a decisive path and abolishing the slightest fashionable and glamorous contaminations of the era. After all, having a past on stage alongside Dokken and David Lee Roth - to name a few -, the production of their first demos entrusted to the legend Ronnie Montrose and signing immediately with Geffen, which has always aimed more at quality hard rock than at sleaze trends, couldn't leave any doubts. With these credentials, Tesla arrives in 1991 at the moment of truth: once the horse is saddled, with five years of preparation where the technique has been increasingly refined, the guys are ready for the "now or never". And the answer is forever.

An hour of great, surprising, complex, multifaceted, rich, well-assembled hard rock of primitive creation, that shows the Sacramento boys in their best form both in the compositional phase (pieces and songwriting by master craftsmen of hard rock), in the creative one and, if we want, also in the encyclopedic one. Mastering a genre means living with your hands constantly on the tools of the trade and your mind busy absorbing, processing, and elaborating sounds to produce a quality product. The universality of Psychotic Supper is its greatest strength. It's a convergence record where the main currents of the genre get to know each other, respecting and immediately finding the right balance for peaceful coexistence. Notable, indeed, is the strategy in the selection of the tracklist. Arranged in this way, the 13 massive tracks show that the word randomness never crossed the mind of anyone involved in making the album. A sonic wall with foundations designed by sound engineers, erected to defend a genre and jealously guard it over the years. Target achieved to a great extent.

It starts with Change in the Weather, an unusual opener for a hard rock album, which would immediately please fans of bands like Molly Hatchet: it begins at a country/southern pace, in a well-engineered and tested device designed to last an hour. Solid and well-structured guitars keep time, constantly challenging themselves in pursuit of the complex rhythm riff. Solos emerge in clusters, alternating between virtuosity and rawness lasting several seconds. With Edison's Medicine, Tesla's branded hard rock takes hold. A cult track for the band, the second of the album contains the musical choice that most characterized the group. It is from here onwards that one can rightly speak of a Tesla sound no longer in its embryonic stage. Then there's Don't De-Rock Me. I interrupt the rhythm with a period because you always need to catch your breath after such a piece. A rock so hard it can be defined as a close friend of heavy. Jeff Keith sands his voice even more for the occasion and reaches a sonic short circuit along with all the other members going full throttle in a powerful piece, as three shocking solo sessions kick off. I've never heard such hard rock in my life. You catch your breath with Call It What You Want, melodically rough, a track for tender-hearted hardrockers. Another everlasting composition by Tesla is Song & Emotion, a ballad full of dramatic pathos that confirms a sophisticated use of electricity and acoustics, for an overall very plastic sound that gives way to roughness only at the apex of each song. Time is a track, certainly the only one, victim of street infiltrations followed by the few acoustic seconds that play the role of an interlude, of Government Personnel. When the second round begins, there's immediately Freedom Slaves, hard rock invested by ascending currents that take the genre to the edge of its existence, in front of a chasm with no visible bottom. Had Enough is a motel-style hard rock, to be lived in jeans and a flannel shirt. It precedes What You Give, the true ballad of Psychotic Supper, which starts from Keith's raspy voice and an incredibly engaging acoustic accompaniment, climbing to a magnificent and explosive orchestration of sounds that decree the rightful success (also chart success) of a track with noble origins. After this song, naturally, the level of attention decreases but the quality does not drop a millimeter. After 10 songs, Tesla has already proven what they needed to and allow themselves three more easy-going, relaxed tracks suitable for listening while riding a motorcycle, as I like to say. Among Stir It Up and Toke About It, I prefer Can't Stop, unleashed hard rock that has yielded to melodic advances.

Approximately 130 concerts for the tour that followed the album. Hard rock for defenders. A practically unmissable album.