ZZ Top
Recycler

THE REVIEW

What a bore, what a drag. Speaking of facial hair, everyone knows that in this beloved and glorious band there's one bearded by (nick)name and two, golden and slicked, in fact. Texas brewmasters, desert steak broilers, southern gas station attendants, blues bums, the ZZ Top arrive at 1990 after a long pause with this "Recycler" that makes it clear why the last album was released in 1985. Ideas depleted, reek of recycling dirty music. Saved by their craft, they arrive in my favorite year of rock with a laboratory-chemical album that, despite having very few peaks of glory, and admittedly being very boring at times, still manages to sound like a branded album. For this, they don't get a failing grade. Tracks like "My Head’s In Mississippi", a perfect blend of sly and sleepy southern blues rhythms, justify the release of this album of ten tracks of which I personally pass five. The opener "Concrete & Steel" is an immediate manifesto of what's to come: hard southern blues intermittently spacey, chemically synthesized in a lab and as compact as a bison roast encrusted with coarse salt ready to go in the oven. A tangible custom hard rock that you can't really criticize because, although not new, it's definitely played by masters. On the highway, it could be the reason for a speeding ticket.

The acidic and scientific production gives the album an almost industrial feel: the result is that the human-played drums sound just like a drum machine. I don't mind the outcome too much. It creates an atmosphere reminiscent of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas that promises monsters and madness. But ultimately, the album is traversed from track to track by that strange sense of transgression, by that rigid southern masculinity which this time– and unfortunately not as in the past – makes us stop at a sleazy motel on a non-main route. And in the motel's basement, you can find these big guys with the golden blonde beards drenched in dripping beer sticking dollars into the thong of a stripper with sequined nipples to the rhythm of "Lovething", a fun track that fits right in and confirms the now thirty-year choice of a dominant and paved southern/mainly blues rhythmic base, on which cowboy solos intervene from a 100% born-in-the-USA guitar. Indeed, an interesting note might actually be a blues rebalance on the four tires, and thus a recovery of the traditional music that in the 70s presented ZZ Top as a superband to the whole world. But there's not much to cheer about when listening to tracks like "Penthouse Eyes", which break a bit from the usual routine even if excellently played. "Tell It" is another example of what's just been said. Shot at two hundred miles an hour there's "Decision Or Collision", not bad. "Give It Up" is a sleazy track that took a micro drop of LSD and works well, as does "Doubleback", an unforgettable classic.

The strange thing is that this album has given three tracks to the band's definitive Greatest Hits. In the end, they all fit, but the story that just doesn't work is the lack of originality well compensated by the usual verve. An album that you can skip; if you're a fan, listen to it. Otherwise, read the other reviews on ZZ Top. You'll find better ones.