The Glasspack
Powderkeg

THE REVIEW

FILTHY, DIRTY, IMBECILES. I can't find other words to describe this bunch of sociopaths, entirely devoted to the spirit of sex, drugs & rock 'n' roll.
Their music is a successful mix of Southern riffs, with a sound reminiscent of Stoner but mostly of the Stooges of Funhouse.
From the Detroit band, they inherit the degenerate, dissolute, and masochistic spirit that pervades this album.

Don't expect a well-balanced recording; it all seems documented almost as if it were live, an approach that further highlights the visceral nature of their sound.
The driving force is a bass that defining as distorted is quite reductive, as the low and piercing frequencies are spat out from your hi-fi. Not to mention Dirty Dave's voice, a continuous howl, fueled by low-quality whiskey.

To better understand the luciferous and captivating nature of their sound, just listen to a track like Mrs. Satan, a sordid anthem to the woman as a (welcome) temptress, supported by a distorted voice and a piano insisting on a single note (Raw Power docet). Whiskey House sends the drunken ghost of Robert Johnson to hell and leaves him on the street, not before having beaten and robbed him. Mopar Fire Paint sounds as if played inside a desecrated church, with a fantastic organ prominently featured, followed by the relentless pace of the guitar.
They even allow themselves an almost psychedelic digression in the middle, but their winning weapon is stone-crushing rides like The Heebeegeebees, where the bass surpasses the definition of "distorted." Demolition Derby drags on heavy and suffocating, full of (alcoholic) fumes with broken bottles in the background!
At the end of Jim Beam and Good Green, catastrophic and oppressive, the feeling is one of awakening after a colossal hangover: broken bones, mephitic breath, barely restrained retches. And what is the best remedy for a hangover, if not going back to the same bottle from the night before?