Death in Vegas
The Contino Sessions
[Time Bomb/Concrete]
Rating: 3.9
Death in Vegas want to be Primal Scream so bad it hurts. Of course, you can't bitch about
that. If your idol is that good, who's gonna stop you? The problem occurs when, despite your
best intentions, you don't really understand how Primal Scream tracks work. DJs Richard
Fearless and Tim Holmes (aka Death in Vegas) can, at times, come up with some interesting
arrangements-- their tracks are replete with distorted guitars, strident, sampled horns, and
vocals that float high above the fray. But they miss the vital component in the formula: the
bassline. Think about it. "Slip Inside This House," "Rocks," and "Kowalski," despite sporting
very disparate sounds, are all supported by the sturdy structural backbone of an excellent
underlying bassline. It's the lone constant in Primal Scream's best work.
Without the aid of gripping basslines as an anchor, the vast majority of these tunes drift
along aimlessly. Worse yet, Fearless and Holmes seem to think they can win you over with sheer
length and monotony-- most of these tracks exceed the five minute mark. Even admirable
production values can't disguise the fundamental weakness in these songs. They simply fail
to engage. They lack bite. If you really want to sound like Primal Scream, you've got to be
prepared to whip out your tool and slap listeners with it until they cry, not just fiddle with
it like the knobs on your mixer.
This is dangerous ground Death in Vegas are venturing into; they're on the verge of carving out
a bad niche for themselves as the world's first twatronica band. But as much as we'd like to
see such wonderful, entirely valid music be recognized as a genre unto itself, we'd rather not
have to see a lovable bunch like Death in Vegas at ground zero of that particular hydrogen bomb
of shite. Let the Indigo Girls go techno first.
But this isn't to say that the album doesn't have its moments. It actually does have one.
"Aisha" bursts through the speakers with such ferocity as to make you drop the saucepan of
bathtub crank you just brewed up all over your bisexual girlfriend's Cocker Spaniel. The song
encapsulates everything that's great about rock in one incessant riff, even if it does sound
ripped off from Ted "The Million Dollar Man" DiBiase's WWF entrance music. A guest appearance
from Iggy Pop has never been more welcome. Fearless and Holmes likely felt bad for him after
his hilarious Avenue B release.
But, alas, aside from "Aisha," there's precious little of interest to be dug up on The
Contino Sessions. Occasionally, such as on "Death Threat," a chunky slab of guitar raises
the tune above mediocrity. Yet more often than not, the listening experience ranges from bland
to painful. Ironically enough, Mr. Primal Scream himself, Bobby Gillespie, shows up on "Soul
Auctioneer," only to be lumped into the painful category. Coming off like Joe Strummer on angel
dust, he utters the lines, "You've broken your wings/ You've lost your demon," six times in the
span of thirty seconds. For our money, we're betting Dick Fearless clubbed him, dragged him
into the studio, put a gun to his head, and forced him to sing like a strangled cat.
Death in Vegas wants to be a scary rock band. As such, they've crafted a scary album with scary
guitars, scary beats, scary distortion, and scary Iggy Pop. But Death in Vegas isn't even a
rock band. It's two pasty English DJ-type guys and some session musicians. This fact doesn't
disqualify them from their God-given right to make scary music. They've got scattered pieces
of fright on this record, but they left the talent back in the terrifying netherworld of dance
clubs packed with undulating attractive people and brightly-lit studios. In the end, The
Contino Sessions adds up to a Primal Scream album without the menacing edge, which leaves
us with just a Scream.
-Beatty & Garrett