Threading together occasionally disparate bits of 60s rock, garage, early punk, roots/bluegrass, Stax soul, and Southern gospel, Toronto's Deadly Snakes have obviously spent the last few years scrounging around for more than just a ballsy album title. The band's classics-bin pinching has led to some magnificent ends: on Ode to Joy, the Snakes' third release, they've broken down and reassembled a century's worth of musical output, and miraculously, emerged with something that sounds entirely, heartbreakingly relevant.
With all its wailing horns, weed-tinged organs, slammed guitars and throwdown vocals, Ode to Joy is, in a lot of ways, exactly what makes the 21st century such a potentially great time for rock music. It's a record that confirms, without getting excessively contemplative or buzzkill-cerebral, that synthesizing all the tunes and styles contemporary artists have at their disposal can actually be an inspired endeavor-- especially when you incorporate a hearty shot of ingenuity and some kicky Canuck spunk. Still, influence/inspiration theories aside, it would be unfair not to acknowledge that there's a little bit of love buried in here, too.
Because ultimately, it's the Snakes' earnest (and somehow palpable) appreciation for the work of their forefathers that makes Ode to Joy's overstated lineage so tolerable. Just imagine six kids getting so sincerely riled up about their respective record collections that they were left with no choice but to join forces and actually follow through on the wild, heart-in-throat urges we've all had to just squish every record worth loving into one big, satisfying ball of sound. And then to run around as fast as possible, clutching that craggy conglomeration tightly to our chests, breathing hard. And then to name that thing Ode to Joy.
But before you get too misty-eyed, remember that Ode to Joy is also an explosive, knee-bending kick in the pants, and that the record comes with its fair share of fiendish snickering and behind-your-back finger-pointing. The Snakes' wide-ranging influences might make Ode to Joy stylistically unpredictable, but it's far from disjointed; rather, the record follows its own kind of in-joke logic, and, expectedly, the Snakes' private schematic includes a healthy dose of impish rollick. Happily, Ode to Joy has the sort of mischievous swagger that, unlike some of the band's "garage rock revival" peers, is a little bit off-balance, far more playful than patronizing. And it's that roguish spirit that unites these tracks into a glorious whole.
Appropriately, there's no awkward throat clearing-- Ode to Joy blows right open on "Closed Casket", a loud, freewheeling assault that sees vocalist Andre Ethier bravely slamming down words and grunts with a seething, bang-it-out syntax that captures, almost perfectly, Dylan's thick "Subterranean Homesick Blues" ramble. It's a curious choice for an opener, because Ethier sounds so stupidly similar to Dylan that, inevitably, some people are just gonna snicker, roll their eyes and walk away-- unless, of course, they've already been sold by the boisterous bluster of his five able bandmates, who crank out rowdy, foot-stomping drum beats (the impressive Andrew Gunn behind the kit), jangly piano lines, and rough, garage-punk guitar riffs.
Another highlight, "Oh My Bride" sees that same spirit applied to an otherwise traditional gospel cut, with only guitar, handclaps, and some soulful, listen-up hollering, while "Burn Down the Valley" uses the Snakes' fervor to harness the creepier side of an organ, mixing dark, rolling lines with back and forth vocals, spreading it all out over a bass-heavy, nightmarish stew. The Deadly Snakes are that rarest of bands whose approach to rock 'n' roll is not only fierce and dynamic, but also fueled by an insatiable passion, and yet Ode to Joy has been criminally overlooked for most of the spring and summer-- mostly for lack of a solid publicity team. But records like Ode to Joy can't be held back, and lately, there's been a rumble underground. Right now, it's seeming increasingly unlikely that it could go unnoticed any longer-- it's just that good.
