A new Death album in 2015 is an odd thing to comprehend. The trio of brothers—Bobby, Dannis, and David Hackney—formed in Detroit in the 1970s, offering loud, fast, and heavy rock'n'roll inspired by bands like the Who and Alice Cooper. Occasionally, they ebbed toward more introspective spiritual music, but their legacy lies in their status as a lost proto-punk band: They came close to breaking through—the famous story is that Clive Davis said he’d sign them if they changed their name. David refused and they quietly broke up in 1977.
Of course, that’s not the end of the story. When Drag City released their archival material, Bobby and Dannis, joined by Bobbie Duncan on guitar, started playing the old stuff to rapturous receptions. Their narrative in recent years, outlined well by the documentary A Band Called Death, goes roughly like this: "Whoa, who are this band Death? Wait, they're still around? Holy shit, they’re playing in front of me right now! This is awesome!" And it could’ve stayed that way, too. Thanks to the nature of their return, Death's very presence in this century is an exciting prospect.
N.E.W. is their first collection of new stuff since they split in the 1970s (aside from one 1990s one-off that appeared on III) and quietly moved on to play in other bands (reggae and Christian rock outfits among them). It's also their first recorded output without the band's spiritual center and creative mastermind David, who died in 2000. Sure enough, it sounds like Death. They move along at a beefy rock'n'roll chug; they rip through impressive guitar solos; their rhythms are unpredictable. They scream and they growl. At their best, Death 2015 deliver the chest-beating, all-power proto-punk that made people flip when they heard "Keep on Knocking" and "Politicians in My Eyes" for the first time. And structurally speaking, "Relief" is one of their best songs ever—a muscular earworm with a shout-along chorus, screaming breakdowns, and some well-done (and understated) guitar work from Duncan.
Unfortunately, that song also represents the biggest problem with N.E.W.: each theme and message is oversold. "Detroit rocks," they shout, but decide that's probably too specific. "East Coast rocks! West Coast rocks! The whole world rocks!" At times, their lyrics are cornball and completely devoid of nuance. If we’ve learned anything from Death’s fellow Michigander Andrew W.K. (or other maximal carpe diem screamers like Junior Senior and Icona Pop), aggressively positive music works best when it’s pitched right over the top. Death rarely hit full boil. Their performances are technically impressive but feel tepid.
Understandably, their journey is a central narrative on N.E.W. At this point, though, the band's biography has been well-documented. When they sing about existing in the underground, how they "feel the love" now that they've been brought to the light, and note that "the fun has just begun" on "Resurrection", the message feels superfluous. Watch Death perform in the closing scenes of A Band Called Death—every word of "Resurrection" is spelled out more eloquently and concisely in the Hackneys' earnest, smiling expressions. The themes of resurrection, return, and revival are implicit to the album's mere existence, and the Hackneys do a better job of navigating those concepts when they leave some room for subtext ("Who Am I").
Death were worthy of thinkpieces and a documentary because their very good, very heavy recordings predated and portended punk without actually influencing it. The rock'n'roll playing field is drastically different at this point in their careers—they're operating in a sprawling, endless landscape of heavy guitar music. Unlike ...For the Whole World to See, N.E.W. does not sound like a lost proto-punk classic; it's just a pretty good rock record made by guys who have been at it for a long time. They're much older men now, and if you can get past some of their more embarrassing phrases (most of "Playtime"), you'll find a band who are still very good at their bread and butter.
