The Gris Gris
The Gris Gris

Gris gris: in Vodun (or Voodoo) a talisman or spell used to protect its owner from evil forces, or to harm others.

Voodoo, in other words, means New Orleans, the birthplace of Delta blues, Cajun cuisine, and a paradigm of the fertility inherent in the meeting/clash between different cultures.
The Gris Gris well reflect the place they come from with their music. The album, released late last year, is a gem of musical syncretism, as it manages to merge ghosts of the past (Gun Club, 13th Floor Elevators, and early Floyd) with contemporary pagan cults (guitar noise bordering on Sonic Youth's).
All of this is infused with a sepulchral and spiritual aura typical of Voodoo practices.

The founder and frontman of the band is Greg Ashley, a plausible earthly receptacle of Baron Samedi, whose vocal timbre seems to evoke, or better put "unearth," both past (Roky Erickson) and deceased (Elliott Smith?) presences, while remaining at the same time a distinctive personal element of the band. These presences are often more than elusive apparitions; they seem to truly possess us with otherworldly vehemence; one example being Everytime, a successful fusion of the subtly disturbing 13th Floor Elevators of Rollercoaster, Pink Floyd's Interstellar Overdrive, an acid-soaked Morricone, and The Addams Family theme. It was all recorded on an eight-track inside a crypt (Ashley’s own basement), a fundamental choice for the album's catacomb-like rendering.
The two longest compositions, both around 8 minutes, indeed reek of cadaver, the opener Raygun and Best Regards; the first is an acoustic noise ballad that suddenly transfigures into a blasphemous voodoo stomp, reeking of sulfur; the second is characterized by an obsessive bass line and a sulfurous theremin, interspersed with wild feedback and Ashley's vocal chant.
Merit also goes to Me Queda Um Bejou, a true tribute to the local mixed-breed culture, where swamp rural guitars, noise cacophony, open melodies, and a warm, narcoleptic sax coexist. Even in the more formal episodes, such as Necessary Separation - a scorching R&B tribute to the aesthetic of "Back From The Grave" bands - and Mary # 38 - a mournful ballad for organ, guitar, and little else - Ashley shows how important it is to possess a good dose of talent and originality to draw from classic rock sources without becoming a pathetic imitation of them.

The two concluding acoustic tracks neither add nor subtract from the album's value, which nonetheless remains an intelligent and stimulating combination of old and new, as well as a tribute to the colors and music of a less sunny New Orleans that is certainly no less fascinating.