Volbeat
Rock The Rebel / Metal The Devil

For the theme: let's combine two completely different musical genres. A trend that has gradually gained more and more followers, no doubt about it, and not all with optimal results, if it is true that to cook elite dishes you need to know the ingredients well (sic... ut).

The emerging, Danish, no-longer-so-young Volbeat raise the stakes with courage. Just take a look at the leader, the singer and guitarist, and honest all-rounder Michael Poulsen - who shares with the mediocre midfielder (ex?) of Juventus, besides the surname, as you might have guessed, the nationality - has slicked-back hair with a parting, piano bar clothing, a splendid voice: on the other hand (just to stay on theme) he is covered in tattoos, with well-defined muscles. Tradition and strength, the old and the new, the shadow and the spotlight: to get to the point, rockabilly and metal. Strange, right? Yet in "Rock The Rebel / Metal The Devil," the second effort of a promising young (so far) career, the pragmatic characteristics of the two currents find their peak in an harmony of balance that barely reveals the profound difference in the two attitudes. In other words, this isn't the usual, sad shock tactic meant to amaze and, in essence, leaves nothing but a deep feeling of emptiness (a random name, that of the Mars Volta): the guys know what to do and, most of all, how to do it.

Already at the first listens, in fact, you clearly feel a relationship of complicity in the various combinations of the eleven songs that compose the package. There is, in fact, no distinct separation between the elements, but everything is fused together, alternates, blends, inserts itself. Pieces that are actually extremely simple from a strictly compositional point of view - one could talk about punk for the elemental riffing and the almost complete absence of solos or, rather, of their application: the Hormonauts have nothing to do with this - but that immediately captivate, often finding their ideal outlet not so much in the variability of the melodies or in the forced play of what horribly has been defined as "Cash metal" (but what is that?!?), as much as in Poulsen's voice, halfway between Frank Sinatra, Elvis, and the aforementioned Johnny Cash. Powerful, full of nuances, sometimes emphatic but mostly simply enchanting, it moves effortlessly from semi-acoustic phrasing to sudden electrifications, adapting naturally to the context. There you have "Mr. And Mrs. Ness", covered by a dry southern aroma, fanning riff after riff, only to open up into a Chuck Berry-like chorus: "Devil Or The Blue Cat's Song", with its hand clapping, is incredibly fast and uninterrupted; the opening with "The Human Instrument" mingles crooner pathos with blues slides and heavy metallic detonations, immersing the listener in a sort of rock'n'roll compendium. "Sad Man's Tongue", finally, is the most playful episode of the lot: a crooked country opening à la Cash, progressive electrical thrust, a back-and-forth full of western style, with smoking guns.

However, it should not be forgotten that, even though the novelty may dazzle for a moment, the tracks evolve on unpretentious tracks. That is, you can wave Volbeat as the innovating band of the decade, but don't be offended if they are used as the soundtrack for your next party. After all, like a domino effect, all cerebral elements crash immediately. "Radio Girl", overture like the bad cousins of the Hellacopters and pressing central segment, is the description of a Fifties infatuation played on the front seats of an "old Bett Betty Ford", while "The Garden's Tale", in a duet with Johan Olsen of Magtens Korridorer, is a wonderful pearl to blast at full volume along a solitary highway, with Poulsen's voice climbing the six strings and coming out the indisputable winner.

Only towards the end do the melodies begin to fade, to blur within the dimensions of an increasingly heavy song and less inclined to seek the peaceful chorus. Testosterone advances with great strides over the elegant civility of yesteryear (the splendid "Soulweeper #2", however introduced by a rather dissonant riff) and overflows from every pore, from the speakers, from the poses, from the fervor. "A Moment Forever" throttles Rage Against The Machine inside a rhythmic cocktail of continuous stop&go, but it's just the appetizer for the sweet conclusion, the furious thrash of "Boa (jdm)", unloaded with furious skill through a quaking mountain of guitars, in an all-out assault that sounds like an impossible concert of Metallica's "Master Of Puppets" (or, even better, "Ride The Lightning") in Tupelo. A declaration of love more venomous and exhausting than a thorn in the belly: those who still get excited hearing a simple distortion will surely appreciate.

At home, they have already become stars: is it time to start following them with attention in Italy too? The only background allowed while listening, the needle of the turntable scratching the grooves of a vinyl...