The Gun Club
Death Party

THE REVIEW

Death Party is an EP from '83, the third work after the incredible debut (one of the greatest masterpieces of rock music) and the half misstep of Miami. It marks a return to a rawer style and a more cursed atmosphere that had been somewhat lost and blah blah blah. . . . . Yes, but how does it sound?
Well, when you put it in the stereo. . . it catches fire. Literally.

"Death Party" is a clattering six-minute blues with incredible energy. It starts with a burst of feedback and launches headlong into the most psychotic repetitiveness; when the guitar solo comes, it's a blast that razes the room to the ground. Calling it a solo might be misleading, it has nothing to do with the banal refinements of Clapton; it's simply a machine-gunning, a frenzied flurry.
Just enough time to catch your breath and "The Lie" sets the wallpaper, the carpet, and the desk on fire until everything around you is nothing but rubble and smoking ashes. "The House On Highland Ave." is the only moment of respite, an old-fashioned song with a more than memorable motif that brands itself into your brain. Then it returns to more insistent blues territories, between psychobilly and roots-rock, with a vague post-punk flair indebted to Pere Ubu. But enough with the descriptions, Death Party is fantastic, everyone knows it!

J.L. Pierce had a cursed charisma, the allure of someone who sold his soul to the devil. And with such a magical voice and exceptional talent, I bet he really did. Probably in some sort of voodoo ritual.
He was a sorcerer, a shaman, and a cowboy. He ventured fearlessly into the dark side of the human soul, into the mysteries of the jungle, stared the devil straight in the eyes. There are others who have done it, but no one has ever translated that journey into music with such explosive passion. And Jeffrey Lee Pierce was out of his mind, oh yes he was. Yet he had an enviable mental clarity and a supernatural, mysterious clarity of purpose. Unfortunately, over the years he lost his vision and succumbed to excess, as if tormented by a curse. He fought against drugs, against alcohol, against the world; again and again, he took heavy blows, but eventually he fell. He passed away on December 31, 1996, from a cerebral hemorrhage.

My heart is broken so I'm going to hell, he sang in '81. Could it be true?