Witch
Paralyzed

<> replied that chubby J Mascis, leader of the legendary Dinosaur Jr. (what can I say?), when someone asked him in an interview what his greatest satisfaction in music was.

To return to his first instrument, he started this side project in 2005 with a childhood friend, Dave Sweetapple, here in the role of bassist. The line-up would be completed by two other guys from Massachusetts (Kyle Thomas, leader of Feathers, as guitarist and singer, and Antoine Guerlain as the second axeman). Before this "Paralyzed," they released another self-titled album and a split with Earthless.

You immediately notice the lack of seriousness with which these works are thrown out, that these don't take themselves too seriously. This album seems to have been conceived just like that: four friends who meet in a smelly garage in Massachusetts and play casually, solely and exclusively for fun. I can already imagine these four big guys in their rundown practice room during the making of this "Paralyzed," more intent  on sipping some cheap bourbon every now and then and getting into various brawls and boozy romps (and anyone with a band, like myself, knows that the most fun part of rehearsals is this). Indeed, as the premises suggest, the album in question isn't exactly a masterpiece, although it does have some really cool moments. Our four are the typical guys who, during adolescence, didn't go to bed without saying a little prayer to the God Iommi and checking if John Garcia was in the closet. They just repeat the lesson of the masters: pretty canonical stoner and tons of doom primarily, although J, to remind us he hasn't forgotten the '80s, throws in some hardcore outbursts. It's either the singer's voice (a sort of drunker Ozzy), or those two extremely saturated guitars highlighted by a "production" (I put it in quotation marks, otherwise I'll get the boot) that's rougher and more neglected than ever, and especially the comic effect I get from hearing that eternal slacker J Mascis pounding like a madman on the drums, that this album ultimately has its own reason and made me nod a little.

Over half an hour of smelly, uncompromising rock'n'roll. Too little? Then another bourbon at table 2: it's on me.