REVIEW: BLACK SABBATH - 13

So it took me almost 3 weeks to listen to Black Sabbath’s new album, and I’m ashamed. I decided to head into listening to this album a few ticks before midnight, fittingly unsober, and live-Tweet my experience. Below are my streaming thoughts.

1. Here we go. "End of the Beginning." Sounds like the title track on Black Sabbath's self-titled. Just needs bell tolls.
2. Ozzy should have asked himself all of these questions when he was making that dirty MTV money.
3. Nice groovy riff reminds me of "Under the Sun." Entombed did a pretty crunchy cover of that I 1st heard as a "Same Difference" bonus track.
4. Iommi can play that solo over and over while I do any shitty chore and make it look awesome. Heavy metal dish washing, here I come.
5. Go get those higher register notes, Oz. Atta boy. Reminds me of when Tom Petty hit those "Freefallin" notes at the Super Bowl.

6. "God Is Dead?" Only song I've already heard already, but this time it's about 400 times louder and I'm considerably less sober.
7. This is really heavy, folks. And this vocal pattern is ultra catchy, even if Ozzy's voice has been fixed by robots.
8. I like the idea of God and Satan on his shoulders. Those angels are like God's interns, no power. Go straight to the top.
9. Forgot about this riff in the 6th minute. Makes me want to set myself on fire and ride a motorcycle to Hell's drive-in theater.
10. Pretty sure there are too many voices in Ozzy's head for him to hear what one specifically is saying.

11. "Loner" sounds like "Sweet Leaf" a little, huh? Like if they milked it of its swagger and made the guitars sound like RATM.
12. Speaking of Rage, Brad Wilk was a great choice for this album in theory, but so far it's been really uptight.
13. My top choices for drummers on this album: 1)Joe LaCazze/Eyehategod. 2)Kyle Spence/Harvey Milk. 3) Brad Wilk. And, oh yeah, Bill Ward.

14. "Zeitgeist." So far sounds like if Rick Rubin was ruining a Pink Floyd song.
15. This song would be so much better if Brooklyn band NAAM recorded it.

16. "Age Of Reason." Did someone tell Wilk to sever all of the personality out of his drumming? That dude's good, what's going on here?
17. Can hear a little of Edgar Winters' heavier stuff in this song. Makes me wish I was listening to "Frankenstein."
18. Half-way through the third minute this gets interesting. Flashes of hardcore, at least it's an influence past 1974.

19. "Live Forever." Depending on how you pronounce "live" it could also mean and endless concert.
20. Vocals wayyyyy high in the mix. Too bad because this heavy bluesy momentum is formidable.
21. When Ozzy says "Waiting for the rising of the moon" it made me picture him as a werewolf with round purple sunglasses.
22. The doomy part of this song makes me think of "I Want You "She's So Heavy" from The Beatles. Way underrated heavy riff.

23. "Damaged Soul." You should always buy shipping insurance before mailing a fragile soul. Common sense, Geezer.
24. Sounds like an "End of the Beginning" remix meant as a soundtrack for tongue kissing in a dark smoky room.
25. Most of these songs aren't bad, but Iommi is the only performer who sounds immortal on these record.
26. 6+ minutes in, and the harmonica finally makes sense. I wanna wear fabric torn from a priest's robe as a bandana and rock out.

27. "Dear Father." Lyrics sound serious, was hoping it was a letter penned in college asking daddy for drug money.
28. Sounds like Geezer is doing some cool stuff in that mix, but Rubin hid the bass. SEEN AND NOT HEARD, BASS LINE.
29. 4 minutes in the song grows balls, and then the vocals are so loud that they shrivel immediately.
30. FINALLY, WILK SHOWS UP. These are the sort of loose, flashy, mostly unnecessary fills that made Sabbath a real rock band. Nice ending.

31. “Methademic.” The intensity vanished for a little bit now, and this music would fit on Ghost's debut album, before they adopted BC.
32. Not among Iommi's best solos on this album. Sort of sounds tired, like maybe blood sugar is low and he needs some yogurt or a banana.
33. Song was crazy uneven, but a few of these moments are the hardest Sabbath has rocked on this album.

34. "Peace of Mind." I'll take "obvious wordplay" for $100. And "uninspiring riffs" for $200.
35. Another good Wilk performance at least, even though musically they sound more like Mr. Big than Black Sabbath right now.
36. They need to either Jethro Tull it up with a flute or Focus it up with rock'n'roll yodeling. Oh wait, Focus had flute too. FOCUS IT UP.

37. "Pariah." How dare Ozzy ever utter the words "addicted to sobriety," even if it's about someone else.
38. These riffs would have fit in with Kansas before they tried turning into shitty arena rock and changed their name to Black Kansas.
39. Clean guitar is only there to make the distortion sound heavier. It's like Bud Abbott to Lou Costello.
40. Rhyming "pariah" with "desire" deserves a high five and a hug.
41. ALBUM OVER. Inconsistent, but I had a good time. 6/10, would have a 7 if Rubin kept his beard out of everything.
42. Also, I like the album cover just for reminding me of the Nicolas Cage/Neil LaBute "Wicker Man" shitshow of a remake. #BlackSabbath

So 6/10 isn’t bad, right? As expected, moments of inspired rock’n’roll and some of their heaviest riffs to date, but revisiting their best work (either unintentionally or on the sly) and the frustrating production from Rick Rubin knocked off a few points. I’m not too upset by the whole enterprise, and I’m not even mourning how I spent a Friday night. Adequate job, guys. Adequate job.

REVIEW: PUMPS BAR

Mister Growl doesn’t yelp, let’s get that straight. Yelping is a sound too sissified to come from my masculine vocal cords. I have been known to yawp, however. My personal “Yelp” ban left me with only one possible course of action after recently visiting Pumps in Brooklyn: Write about the city’s only rock’n’roll strip joint on my metal blog. It’s not like my friends and fellow headbangers would mind, I mean strip clubs have been an important element of rock excess for 30 years. Where would Mötley Crüe be without strip clubs? And where would we all be without Mötley Crüe, besides maybe just a smidge happier and a lot more sober? As a non-ironic fan of clubs, especially ones with character and rock attitude, I will even excuse Crüe’s entire discography if it means one more place like Pumps in the world.

Pumps is tucked away on a dreary stretch of road that Bushwick seemingly doesn’t want to claim, so people started calling it East Williamsburg. There’s broken glass on the sidewalks and foreboding factories leering down at pedestrians until the glow of a neighboring gas station lures patrons closer, like that famous dock light from The Great Gatsby that Baz Luhrmann will recreate using atrocious CGI. The locale is not hip, it’s not fabulous, but it’s the exact quiet walk you need before and after a trip to a strip club to think of The Greater Truths. The ten minute walk (if you have short legs) from the nearest subway is perfect for an internal monologue about how the stigma of these establishments is just a hypocritical view of “evil” capitalism. Truth be told: Strip clubs offer a service. If the service does not interest you, move on. No need to demonize the patrons, the owner, and especially the workers. Everyone’s gotta make a living. I’m lucky enough to make a few bucks writing about metal albums, and those are the cleanest dollars I make. My day job is no better than someone shedding a little clothing to a song off ...And Justice For All.

Which they do at Pumps. I walked in with Metallica’s “One” playing loudly and three topless dancers performing in front of a long mirror, creating the illusion that the venue is twice the size. After the initial M.C Escher mirror mind-trick I was able to take in the layout: A long bar with 2 female tenders sliding drinks to eager customers and one long aisle to walk behind the stool-perched patrons lining the counter with a narrow lap dance lounge separated from the main room by a curtain of beads. Two beautiful motorcycles hang from the ceiling with assorted rock/sports related posters and knick-knacks decorating the walls. The dancers take turns twisting around two poles, leaving one to freestyle against the mirror or on the floor of the platform. There’s a refreshingly blunt streaming neon sign over the bar reading “If you don’t have money take your broke ass home!”

Which takes me back to this being a service. Remember, most services cost money. I don’t know what your job is, dear reader, but I assume you would not do your job for free, unless you’re a lowly intern, which means that you have all my sympathy. Unless you wander into Pumps without the ability or desire to spend some money, then my sympathy dries up like a mummified vagina. There’s no cover, which is awesome and increasingly rare, unless you get some glossy postcard for a Times Square strip club and enter a place before 7PM, which I’m not against but will definitely limit your ability to accurately enjoy the full splendor of any establishment. Beers are $7, stronger drinks are $10 or so. The bartenders live off of tips, as do the dancers. After each song the dancers on stage will stroll around the bar, say hello, and ask for a sign of your appreciation, which is a dollar amount of your choosing, as long as it’s one or above. Some will gripe about this practice, as there’s usually more distance between seats and the stage, affording customers less anonymity and privacy. I personally love it, and it makes the experience more personal and closes that gap between performer and patron. This is a small place to begin with, so it’s not like you’re gonna find a dark corner and camouflage yourself to ogle without detection. Cough up some cash and treat everyone right, which includes polite tipping and staying respectful. Lap dances are available for the standard $20, but the dancers are not topless, which I admit is a bummer. Still, if you want some conversation and friction this is a promising opportunity. You’re also welcome to buy a dancer a drink if you’d prefer more conversation and less friction, and they will usually opt for a $20 glass of champagne. These prices are pretty standard for this industry, so if you’re rolling your eyes at them you have my permission to stay at home and peruse the internet for nudity, which should take an exhausting .6 second Google search.

The staff of dancers is eclectic but leans toward Suicide Girl territory, with body mods abound and Manic Panic hair moving brightly in the black light. Still, if you’re searching for a certain body type or ethnicity they are very likely represented on a weekend night. All of the dancers were very friendly, offering chit chat if it was sought, or vaster discussions about art if you pay for their time. I won’t mention any names (since aliases mutate regularly in this business anyway), but the staff in general were fun and laid-back, cracking jokes about their Catholic roots while Rage Against the Machine blasted in the background.

One extremely talented performer, a dark-haired beauty named Mia, invited me to a Pumps-hosted event later in the week featuring an art exhibit and a burlesque show. I used to frequent Dr. Sketchy’s Anti-Art School over at the Slipper Room, my favorite burlesque joint in the city, so the union of art and burlesque is totally my jam. I will cover Aubrey Roemer’s dynamic work soon as a featured artist on this blog, so stay tuned for that, because it features the Pumps Pin-Ups.

Anyway, I’m one of those annoying guys who is fifteen minutes early for everything, including the art exhibit. The Pumps owner (or manager, unsure which) was kind enough to not only open the doors to me, but give me a drink on the house for being the early bird eating the fuck out of the worm. He then said, “If you were wearing a Pumps shirt I’d have given you two beers.” I was wearing the Down “smoking Jesus” shirt. Frowny face. Still, little gestures like that are what make a business part of the community, and it did not go ignored. The burlesque show was sassy fun, showing off the singing/dancing/teasing talents of the Pumps Pin-Ups with smiles abound. Burlesque is one of my favorite forms of entertainment and they nailed the mischievous, playful tone that makes it so appealing.

I definitely recommend Pumps to anyone seeking a gentleman’s club experience more in line with my own blue collar working attitude. Scores may get all the Yankee players, and they can keep ‘em. Pumps get the rockers and metalheads who stop by Duff’s and Saint Vitus, though the clientele is diverse as well. I see Pumps as a positive life experience, one that discards the bells and whistles of polished, upscale clubs and succeeds with quality talent, personality, and a playlist that rocks harder than any other club in the city. It may not be glamorous and it may not be the Vegas strip, but I know Crüe would approve, and they’re pretty much the Roger Ebert of strip club opinions and insight.

Get more information on Pumps over on their site, including the address and happy hour times (with $4 beers, which is totally solid):  http://pumpsbar.com/