THE GRIS GRIS
The Gris Gris (Birdman)
Reviewed by Erick Mertz

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One wonders if a wayward dose of mescaline found its way into unholy stew with a psycho biology experiment, already dubiously labeled "risky science."

Songs by the Gris Gris are voodoo astronomy, south of the border Beatles influenced pop that can only be described as gargantuan in scope and accomplishment. On their self-titled album the Houston-turned-Oakland trio showcases a wide range of noisy rock that returns the fun to funky and dysfunctional. Its raw production values behoove a sound that isn't shy as it roams all over the board, at once jingling and jangling in spurs, then wildly leaping across into Pink Floyd art rock shoes.

The Gris Gris serve up their noxiously entertaining grog from everywhere. They bring Greg Ashley's ghostly drone in over fun loving, technocrat surf rock on "Everytime" and with a similar ease they contrast quiet and loud on "Raygun," an eight plus minute sonic experiment harkening back to PIL, an opening track that renders its listener's nerves immediately frayed.

This self-titled release is not only one of the most impressive basement recordings in recent memories, it holds more promise than a whole shelf of new releases.

© 2004 - Erick Mertz