HENRY'S FUNERAL SHOE - Sleazegrinder

Is Henry’s Funeral Shoe the Welsh answer to the White Stripes? Or to the Black Keys? How about both at once? The duo certainly plows the same guitar/drum blues duo earth as those acts, but is less pop-oriented than the former and less obsessed with Led Zeppelin than the latter. Aled Clifford is a manly but versatile vocalist whose hero seems to be Steve Marriott, rather than Robert Plant, and he’s a fine slide/boogie guitarist. His brother Brenning keeps the cans a-rockin’ and a-groovin’. With a pronounced bent towards the John Lee Hooker side of the blues fence, the Shoes have an entirely different feel than their more famous brethren, lighter of foot and heavier of tone, as heard in Second Hand Prayer and It’s a Long Way. Mary’s Tune ends the record on a folky and rather sweet note, just to show that the guys can pitch woo as well as make whoopy. - Michael Toland / Sleazegrinder

OUTRAGEOUS CHERRY - Blurt

Outrageous Cherry's music recalls simpler times. More than just evocative of the psychedelic rock's earliest years, the band's ninth album brings back the long-forgotten belief that a band could make a complete statement in 36 minutes - 10 songs no less. Universal Malcontents# remembers the days when lyrics make the title of the song obvious by their recurrence, which was a good thing because that repetition kept the song alive long after it was over.

"I Recognized Her" starts the album with a four-on-the-floor beat with some appropriately rigid tambourine playing that plays up the song's chunky riff and ooh-la-la backing vocals. The band bathes everything in natural reverb, which in an ideal fit for this music, especially the more pensive tracks like "Horizon," which has a Walls and Bridges-era John Lennon feel, due especially to the swirling piano and Matthew Smith's rich vocal track. And no modern psych album would be complete without a drone track, which comes in the form of "Outsider," which swirls on for eight hypnotic minutes.

The only things missing are bridges. As in middle eights, as in the interlude in the middle of the songs that offers a respite from lyrics that sometimes rely too heavily on the same lines. If Smith had fashioned a break in the middle of more than the last two songs, Universal Malcontents would be on the fast track towards teenage symphonies to you-know-who. But as it is, he's still come up strong set of material, nary a bit of filler among them. - Mike Shanley / Blurt

HENRY'S FUNERAL SHOE - Crawdaddy!

With their thick, gooey, swamp stomp sound, I would have guessed this guitar ‘n’ drum twosome was from some uncharted region of the Louisiana bayou. Turns out Henry’s Funeral Shoe are from Wales, which is about as far away from gumbo and gators as you can get. Kudos to the Clifford brothers—Aled (vocals, guitar) and Brennig (backing vocals, drums)—for achieving such an authentic racket. I guess this disproves my theory about the correlation between intense swamp gasses and dense Delta blues-type rock music.

Is it possible to review an earthy, bass-free garage band without referencing that famous boy/girl combo that was all the rage a few years ago? Of course, I speak of Nutrajet, the glam-rock duo that seemed to pop up at every musical event in the state of Florida around the turn of the millennium. They really seemed like they were about to break; then Suzy quit and whatever momentum they had totally stalled. Well, it’s irrelevant, anyway—Henry’s Funeral Shoe mops the muddy floor with Nutrajet and nearly every other raw, rudimentary twosome that comes to mind. The sound on Everything’s for Sale could be a little more gritty or in-your-face, but hey, not everybody has John Anthony Gillis at their disposal (you know, the guy who produced all those Gap ads featuring that fake band, “the Whitey Strips”).

Regardless of any production woes, you can still feel Aled’s craggy face contorting as he strains to deliver such lines as “Gonna inject my love into your bones!” and “Don’t let your heart get heavy.” Underneath all that, the guitar growls and jerks about like a crazed mutt tearing apart its first fresh ham hock, lest we forget the drums, which simmer delightfully and add a boisterous flavor to numerous tracks on Everything’s for Sale. If you’ll allow me to continue with the food metaphors, this record is a middle-o’-summer fat back barbeque freak-out that’ll leave you pickin’ your teeth and reaching for the nearest frosty beverage. The following statement may strike you as dubious, but I stand by it: Henry’s Funeral Shoe is quite possibly the best airboat cruisin’ music since Mountain’s “Mississippi Queen.”

Praise must also be doled out for the subtle Star Wars reference on the cover of Everything’s for Sale. I feel like it would be slightly easier to comprehend what I’m talking about with a vinyl copy of this album, but it’s not beyond imagination on the CD version. Of course, if you opt to get your HFS fix via iTunes or good ol’ fashioned torrent theft, then you will not experience the warm, fuzzy feeling that comes with staring at an intergalactic shoe while the gentle closing track “Mary’s Tune” nestles its way into your nerdy heart. “Mary’s” is extra sweet because it shows up just when you think you can’t handle anymore sweat-fueled slide guitar or shack-shakin’ sex rhythms. It’s a nice way to decompress after a sludgy trek through the UK’s muggiest sonic landscape.

Really, the only thing missing from Henry’s Funeral Shoe is a heapin’ helpin’ of banjo, but that can be excused. The banjo is a tricky instrument to correctly insert into any kind of rock. Really, only one band ever did it right (read: Without being shitty, obnoxious, or an obvious novelty)—Creedence Clearwater Revival. I’m sorry, but the banjo in rock begins and ends with John Fogerty. Well, and Led Zeppelin. You can’t argue with “Gallows Pole.” Oh, and Primus. They had a couple of nice numbers with banjo. Oh man, I almost forgot about Flogging Molly. They really aren’t as bad as I used to think they were. Jeez, I guess my banjophobia isn’t all that raging. I’m going to have to rethink this entire vicious and apparently baseless attack. At any rate, Everything’s for Sale except hot banjo licks. Keep that in mind if you seek this record. - James Greene, Jr / Crawdaddy!