Orlando’s Golden Pelicans have a fake origin story—one about working as the house band for a local, now-defunct gang of weed dealers—but that narrative isn’t required to understand their scummy universe. Their early singles and first two LPs on drummer Rich Evans’ unstoppable Total Punk imprint—2014’s Golden Pelicans and 2015’s Oldest Ride, Longest Line—are the works of a band who paired classic hard rock’s beefy earworms with hardcore’s abrasive screams. One of their signature songs is about pissin’ in a puddle of puke, and in another one, they’re chained to a dumpster.
Erik Grincewicz is their frontman—a bearded balding dude who doesn’t hesitate to soak a crowd in beer. He leads the charge with his abrasive, ultra-hoarse voice, which is both an unstable force and a riveting focal point. Guitarist Scott Barnes is the muscle, emboldening their overall attack with chugging heft and undeniable hooks. It’s Barnes’ sick guitar solos that push Golden Pelicans into that rare echelon of contemporary punk bands whose technical ability matches their guttural aggression.
Disciples of Blood is Golden Pelicans’ first long-player on a non-Total Punk label; this time they handed the reins to Goner Records. Once again, the balance between Grincewicz’s rough vocals and Barnes’ massive guitar sound is keyed in perfectly. “Smell the Lightning” is a prime example—the introductory guitar has this polished, seemingly expensive sound pulled from hard rock hits from the tail end of the ’70s. Then, Grincewicz’s near-gargled scream shoots through Barnes’ hook with a line about getting fried on his own supply. They balance precision and blunt force, and the results are extremely satisfying.
Narratively, it’s an album that oscillates between a violent present and a brutal mythological past. At one point, they’re frantically running from some compromising announcement by a Byzantine cleric, and Grincewicz sounds unhinged as he sings about “blood on the Bosphorus/Black sails on Aegean Sea.” When they’re not playing Russian roulette, they’re reflecting on what it’s like to get turned to stone by Medusa. Mythology in rock music is a tough needle to thread—most attempts come out bloated and corny. With a concise, heavy delivery, Golden Pelicans never run into that problem. Between the destruction-filled album covers Mac Blackout made for all three of their albums, Grincewicz’s unrivaled voice, and the guitar heroics, the band sells ancient war tactics as authoritatively as they sell contemporary vomit.
One of the defining statements of the album the black comedy of “It Ain’t Psychedelic (Till You Kill Someone).” After one of their most upbeat intros on record, Grincewicz enters as the devil on your shoulder, insisting that any floaty, pleasant psychedelic experience isn’t going to cut it. Then there’s the title track, and while “Disciples of Blood” sounds like another lofty mythological reference, it’s really a story about slobs sticking up for themselves. Of course, the disciples in question chug beers and are baptized in piss, because that’s Golden Pelicans’ aesthetic. It’s an endlessly replayable album at 22 minutes, and it’s one that demands to be heard loud. They’re rock songs that revel in scum and violence—catchy, heavy music that makes you want to shove your friends and scream along. Sometimes, evil can be fun.
