Forming in 1995 and performing locally around Providence, Rhode Island, Lightning Bolt started out a sloppy but determined art-school trio with a penchant for Skin Graft-style noise-rock and aggressive live shows. It took them two years to get a record out, and when they finally did, it was released in a limited run of 750 copies. Since then, they've tightened up-- even dropping a member to become a bass/drums duo-- and the live shows which were once simply tenacious have slowly developed into juggernauts, atomic blasts of crystalline fury that send shards of feedback and blistering distortion into anyone who dares witness such savagery in the flesh.
2001 saw things quickly heating up for Lightning Bolt. Their first nationally released full-length, Ride the Skies, set an impossibly high standard for the band, its tightly wound maelstrom of brutal aggression earning them instant acclaim as among the most punishing new art-rock bands. But, in an unusual parallel with the early bands of 1980s indie rock, the record served mainly as a flier for their brain-damaging stage show, the main attraction. The massive, chunky noise violence that emits from bassist Brian Gibson and drummer Brian Chippendale onstage makes for an intensely visceral experience. Chippendale's vocals transmit via a contact mic rigged to his mouth inside a weathered, striped ski mask-- which, incidentally, was reduced to a mere shred of its former self by the third time they'd made it to my city last year. Their amps alone are about the height and size of a large-scale yurt, and when they're turned up all the way, the sound is both hypnotic and physically exhausting. Ride the Skies conveyed that power, earning the band comparisons to Ruins, Boredoms, and even Slayer. The bass came in clumps of crackled abuse, the drums clanged and thwacked with colossal precision, and Chippendale's searing, scorched vocal delivery was enough to blow holes clean through the most durable speakers at high volumes.
Suffice to say, Lightning Bolt have got quite a myth to uphold with their second full-length, Wonderful Rainbow. One might expect this follow-up to either echo Ride the Skies, or diverge from that record's distinctive sound and collapse under the weight of its experimentation. I rank Lightning Bolt in my top ten live experiences of all time, and I wasn't quite convinced they weren't just a one-trick pony, all flash and magic. Fortunately, Wonderful Rainbow proves superior to its predecessor. Sure, there's less grating, scraping, and stabbing-- three traits that best defined their last LP-- and it may even disappoint those who love Lightning Bolt purely for the carnage. But Wonderful Rainbow delivers what Ride the Skies most lacked: musical diversity. Possibly taking cues from their psychic brethren and frequent tourmates Hella, Lightning Bolt have replaced much of their corrosive noise with throat-grappling melodies that are... actually kind of pretty, in a lacerating, destructive kind of way.
"Crown of Storms", a noodly, chugging prog anthem spattered with muffled hollering, and the quietly chirping title track, show Lightning Bolt dropping some of their incredible audacity to further embrace a clearly awesome sense of humor. The result is something like a more contemporary, less D&D-oriented; Blind Guardian; titanic, complex metal distorted by bass and kickdrum shrapnel. The levity and melody lighten things up considerably, adding more energy and sparkling static, and making the band's traditional fist-throwing freakouts-- like the appropriately titled "30,000 Monkies"-- resonate much more on the uptake. Though already known for naked aggression executed with highbrow overtones, Lightning Bolt have gone even artier on us with Wonderful Rainbow, and by balancing their strong-armed aesthetic with unexpected dynamics, they're now proving themselves as artists with actual range, a band that can deliver beyond the novelty that got people talking; perhaps for the first time on a broad scale, Lightning Bolt will have them listening instead.
