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Kory Clarke has made it a habit of late to phone up virtually any reviewer of the altogether good, occasionally faulted "Drugs, God and the New Republic' album and argue it's relative strengths. Fine. Open communication has always been the good man's strong point; Warrior Soul as a musical platform to start conversations, the perfect antidote to everything that's inherently wrong in his supposed 'Rock Nation'. Is therefore stands to reason that Warrior Soul live should be as fierce as their polemics, a band that doesn't just cry out but rips right through you. A force of conviction in excelsis. A band so inherently undeniable that you can't help but agree with 'em on delivery alone. Their records carry that weight. Live, they occasionally strike a said chord. Tonight was average at best. Nothing to convert the uninitiated with, sad to say. Bassist Pete McClanahan is first to appear, stomping across the stage, bass hung low, scowling like a some too-smart-fro-his-own-good Ramones brother. Mark Evans sets 'Intro's urgent pace while John Ricco adds a noisy flourish for Kory to deliver a few verses of guerilla wordfare to. 'Interzone' kicks things into speedy overdrive, Clarke alchemized into rock's screaming angry prophet. |
| 'Jump For Joy' renders its album version relatively impotent. The energy is pumping, Warrior Soul on the cusp of energetic excellence when the rug is virtually ripped out from under 'em. They pause to lip-synch their way through 'The Wasteland' for a soon-to-be unveiled promo video and never quite recover the primal, howling rush that nitro'd the evening into shape.
By the surfy licks of 'Rocket 88', Clarke's voice seems shot and John's guitars are going out of tune like crazy. They're merely skidding across puddles of requisite anger when the muck should be flying in everyone's faces. Its does on 'Man Must Live As One', which Kory dedicates, "To all the critics that didn't get the point". Oh, really? What does he want: a Lester Bangs to his Lou Reed? |
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