John Cobbett is one of modern metal’s premier guitarists, channeling an encyclopedic knowledge of the genre into virtuosic playing that bubbles with an energy folks from all levels of metal fandom can gravitate to. While he’s remained a cult figure, his work in VHÖL has given larger audiences a taste of his gifts for fusing contemporary and classic sounds. VHÖL almost overshadows Cobbett’s long-running main project, Hammers of Misfortune: In Hammers, he reinvigorates ’70s progressive rock and the hard rock of Deep Purple, Rainbow, and Uli Jon Roth-era Scorpions. Dead Revolution, Hammers’ sixth full-length, retains much of the dynamic lineup from 17**th Street and contains some of their most inspired material yet, but it’s also gloomier than much of their work.
It doesn’t begin that way, however. Cobbett and Leila Abdul-Rauf, another Bay Area veteran who’s also in perverse death metallers Vastum, kick off the album with “The Velvet Inquisition,” which begins on a familiar and addictive gallop before Joe Hutton’s vocals come in to dominate. Somehow, he makes triumph sound like despair, a feeling matched by the striding music: Melodically, it’s on point, but there is a pained smile behind the shredding, a sense of reckoning with an encroaching doomsday so ominous it might already be here.
If you’re going to call upon the spirit of Ritchie Blackmore-era Deep Purple, you’re going to have to bring in some organs. Sigrid Sheie, who also plays bass, keyboard, and piano (or rather, “Paino”) in VHÖL, is their John Lord here, but her work goes beyond retro texture. As in Purple, her organ playing acts as a complementary, and sometimes alternate, drive to the guitars, giving off a pollution that clouds Revolution in unease. She gives the Maidenesque “Flying Alone” a turbo boost, with an added dose of weltering confusion, as Cobbett and Abdul-Rauf descend into a tailspin of dueling solos towards the end. On the title track, her work adds to much urgency to the clanking of Will Carroll’s cowbell that it shrugs aside any schlock you might attach to it. One of the album’s most beautiful moments is when “The Precipice (Waiting for the Fall),” breaks into just Sheie’s organ and Hutton’s soaring voice, adding another twist to the duality that characterizes the record.
Hammers feel the sting of the Bay Area’s lightspeed gentrification like almost all of the regions’ artists, something they agonized over on “The Day the City Died” from 17**th Street. Revolution addresses this again by ending with a cover of “Days of ’49,” Joaquin Miller’s Gold Rush poem that was eventually covered by Bob Dylan on Self Portrait. It’s a personal take on the aftermath of a large influx of hucksters chasing fleeting economic gains—sound familiar? Hutton carries the song, combining power metal heft with Phil Lynott’s heart. He captures the longing of more optimistic times, while entirely aware of the damage its brought. Sheie brings her disorienting shimmer, as well as some piano, and Carroll’s thunder is the weight that lets Hutton thrive.
There’s an ongoing metal revival in the States, borne of an appreciation of the pre-thrash era, and perhaps a desire to hear some damn melodies, which rock radio nor the extreme underground will provide in abundance. Bands like Manilla Road and Cirith Ungol, who never got their due back in the day, are gaining a second life, and newer bands like Eternal Champion, High Spirits, Sumerlands, and Magic Circle prove traditionalism still can yield great results. Cobbett would like you to know with Revolution that not only was he ahead of the game, but that it can extend beyond hero worship.
