Review Summary: After more than a quarter-century, maybe the best that could be expected from the Lizard
It seems that David Yow never stops being David Yow, and the Jesus Lizard are here again as nothing less or more than The Jesus Lizard. From three album's-worth of howling noise-rock to an ignominious wet-bucket ending in the form of '98's
Blue, it seemed the story of the Lizard had run its course. Only now, after smouldering in silence for 25 years, the ashes are rekindled; let the flames sputter as they may, but they are far from being out.
Dispense with the stale reheating of band-reunion-expectations hash:
Rack rocks, unequivocally. Those of us who spent the past few months of anticipation hedging our bets against the expected dental decay and middle-age flab are now duly rewarded. Only, now that we’ve landed on the right side of the success/failure binary, we have to measure their success in degrees. And it’s on that front that
Rack gets a tad shaky.
The Lizard were always a wonderfully complimentary unit, each member integral to a collective sound that roiled with blood and sleaze. Few bands are made up of individuals that are this interlocked in their trailer park monkey puzzle and age has done very little to diminish that fact. Sims’ bass still lurches like a shanghaied drunk, Yow yowling much as he always has, Duane’s spidery guitar lines cobwebbing their way around McNeilly’s pounding frame. Are they diminished with age and distance from the sweat-and-drug drenched atmosphere of the 90s? Alright, yes. And in the face of expectations tempered by a quarter of a century, that really doesn’t make that much difference. Yow’s a hair more mellow, Duane’s guitar is less raw, jagged, bloody, what-have-you, McNeilly’s toned things down, but it all still works, each member is still so inimitable and integral to their sound that for any real fan of the band, it’s just a joy that it all works so well again. Yow especially still brims with edgy charisma, his lyrical fables of perversion and mayhem as skin-crawling and humorous as ever, trailer trash psychosis embodied in quavers, howls and moans. But if you were hoping for the self-immolating energy of
Goat well, you may be slightly delusional. Handling production duty, Paul Allen's card seems to be emulating the classic raw bass and drum-boosted Albini sound as best he can, but the new production just doesn't have that toothsome depth to it.
It’s simple to say that everything about
Rack is meant to evoke everything about their heyday. Even the art is beautifully complimentary to that of
Liar or
Down, the music no less so, and if most of these tracks could function as B-sides of their heyday material, they’ve done it with consistency and vigor to spare. The essence is there, and it’s a force, to be sure. If it doesn’t feel as raw, as dangerous, or as alive as it did in the past, well, once a wildfire’s burned through a place, it’s going to be hard for it to relight itself. But those embers are still glowing with that evil heat, and
Rack still carries more than enough weight to rest among all but the best of the Lizard’s material.