Album Review: Kid Congo & the Pink Monkey Birds – Gorilla Rose

By Möhammad Choudhery on May 25th, 2011 in Album Reviews

Over the course of his illustrious 30-plus-year career, Brian Tristan–who does business as Kid Congo Powers–has played with punk legends the Cramps, punk-blues luminaries the Gun Club, and, most famously, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds on two of their classic albums, Tender Prey and the Good Son. For the better part of the past decade, though, he’s been making sweet, sweet noise with the Pink Monkey Birds. Not unlike a punk-infused version of the Spiders from Mars, from whom they derive their name, the Pink Monkey Birds are in the business of sleazy rock music. And while Gorilla Rose isn’t exactly Ziggy Stardust (nor does it aim for that level of pomp and circumstance), it’s a brilliant rawk album, the likes of which hardly ever comes around these days.

The album opens with the wild “Bo Bo Boogaloo”, which rides a rowdy dance rhythm–complete with trumpeting guitars–from start to finish. The Pink Monkey Birds’ rhythm section, made up of Kiki “El Coyote” Solis on bass and Ron “The Cap’n” Miller on drums, holds the fort down mightily. Powers doesn’t seem to sing much, often preferring to speak through his overdriven guitar, only occasionally stepping in to let his sneer take center stage, as he does over the taut backbeat of “Goldin Browne”.

Powers’ tone is about as effective as his voice is in terms of mood-setting: “Bubble Trouble” nearly manages Rick James levels of bawdiness without a single spoken line, while you’ll have trouble hearing the distinctive lead on “Lord Bloodbathington” without thinking of The Munsters‘ iconic theme song. Even as the record leaps between genres and styles–the groovy Fear and Loathing-esque “Hills of Pills” is a far cry from “At the Ruin of Others’” tireless pounding–it’s all unified by the warm, fuzzy, lo-fi crackle that permeates the album. By the end of the closing title track, it’s hard not to leave Gorilla Rose refreshed with how at ease the record is with itself, content with just being what it is and nothing more: good, old-fashioned garage rock, delivered at its grittiest and gaudiest.

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