Tales To Tell: Them Crooked Vultures - (Self Titled)

The playful masochistic blues of Josh Homme’s post-millenium productions are revealed as the guiding light and backbone of this record, but every backbone needs limbs before it can kick teeth in, and this bad mother has more limbs than a cephalopod. Enter Dave Grohl and John Paul Jones to add their assembly of talents to a volatile mix, forming a dangerous amalgamation of 13 vicious abusers they would have you call the tracks.

Obviously influenced to compete with his younger counterparts and prove he still kicks ass (which he does, by the way), JPJ adds a series of characteristic Zep rhythms to the mix pushed determinedly into an aggressive state of overdrive. But even with the fact that these tracks should have racing stripes, they manage to maintain the distinct lovable cockiness abundant in Zeppelin songs. For instance, when an arrogant keys riff reminiscent of ‘Trampled Underfoot’ makes itself known on ‘Scumbag Blues’, you just know it’s authentic Zeppelin and it’s here to put a cheeky smile on your face.

So far the lyrics I’ve taken note of have been sadistic, abusive, despondent and everything else we’ve come to love about Homme’s lyrics in the past, but I haven’t read all too far into what the songs say, because… they just rock. And lets be honest, even if I could get into Josh Homme’s head to figure out what’s going on in there, would I ever get out alive? So for now I’ll let sleeping dogs lie but for what it’s worth, what I actually decipher I enjoy immensely and sometimes get a snigger out of.

Although I'm not trying to say that this album is 100% consistent. It does at moments lose focus and fall short of its aims, but overall I think this is made up for by the quality of the rest. The album easily demonstrates a kick-ass sound that can stand proudly among the back-catalogue from Queens of the Stone Age and Foo Fighters, but has a while to go before it can stand beside the Led Zeppelin Masters.

In essence, what can I say about this album that the names can’t? The tracks are nothing less than I would expect from the trio and everyone is in their favourable element. Grohl is on drums where he belongs, beating up a storm, Jones is sculpting the work of modern monsters into the legacy of past giants and Homme’s is doing what he does best, disseminating obscene gestures with corresponding phrases. Just-fucking-awesome.