I admit that I don’t listen to a fantastic amount of hard rock any more, but, for whatever it’s worth to you, I think The Fucking Wrath have the goods. This Montalvo power trio was destined to be a critic’s band, though. Three kindred spirits who all work in record stores and live on the same Californian street up and decided to jam one day by the sheer will of destiny, and – poof – the rest is rock ‘n’ roll history.
Opening with an obvious Metallica reference in “Ride The Lighter,” which slowly grinds its way to a lackadaisically fuzzy halt on a crowd-pleasing sample of Vigo the Carpathian from Ghostbusters 2, their debut album quickly hammers into head-shaking stoner riffs, thundering drums, and guttural growl vocals dense enough to choke a Jehovah’s Witness on their own sense of moral martyrdom. Thank you, sir! May I have another?
The indecipherable screams delivered by guitarist Craig Kasan and bone-rattling bassist Nick Minasian match the intensity of John Crerar’s manic drumming, while their stringed interplay follows suit, everyone on the exact same page. This adds up to a tag-team beat-down of the listeners between the twin assaults of old-school metal and swagger-laden, southern-flavored stoner rock. It’s as if someone finally lit a fire under the balls of Down or took Wolfmother off the psychedelic and onto whiskey and speed. Josh Homme crosses the street when he sees The Fucking Wrath coming down the sidewalk at him, ‘cause he can’t handle these guys.
Pretty fucking impressive for a band that’s only been together for a year and a half, I must say.
More about: The Fucking Wrath
