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It’s tempting to dismiss Black Cock as some sort of novelty or talk about the band – since it’s probably a safe bet that their moniker has nothing to do with obsidian feathered fowls – in purely euphemistic terms. Scratch that, it’s beyond tempting. In fact, this author wrote half a review filled with potentially offensive dick jokes that were potentially completely unfunny. While not quite as fun, it’s a bit more challenging to actually discuss the music on the Cock’s newest album Robot Child With A God Complex (Australian Cattle God Records). The short review is: Upon first listen, Black Cock sound almost exactly as one would expect a band named Black Cock to sound. They are relatively abrasive, edgy enough to be punk, and dark enough to appeal to goth and industrial listeners. But, since that’d be a cop out to just say, “Look at the damned band name. Be honest! You’re either going to love them or hate them…”
Here’s the longer review: Black Cock sound almost exactly as one would expect a band named Black Cock to sound.
No, seriously…
On Robot Child With A God Complex’s opener, “A Fast One”, Ben Kent’s drums pound out a frenetic tribal beat before the rest of the band kicks in. Whitney Lee caterwauls and chants about dodging war like Cassius Clay, before she sings with herself and a wall of synthesizers. And that’s just in first one minute and fifty three seconds of the album! This pattern is arbitrarily repeated throughout the album – pounding drums, walls of distorted throbbing keyboards, and Lee’s voice alternating between shrieks and some really great singing. On “Harvey’s Machine,” which follows the opening punk stomper, Whitney’s voice ethereally blows over what could be a stripped down late-era Nine Inch Nails tune. Black Cock is really that far all over the map, which is why they are deserving of more than the short review above.
Throughout their album, Chico Jones and Jordan Lee consistently add layers and layers of guitars, keys, and voices. Taking a cue from industrial rock bands, Black Cock produces a fuzzy wall of clanking sound and clearly is not afraid of the studio. Witness “45”: one of the longer tracks clocking in at just over four minutes, the band builds a dense forest of dissonant guitars, gurgling synths, and howling voices. Forget the A-Frames, this band has mastered the sound of the apocalypse. In fact, if whomever is in charge of the soundtrack for the adaptation of Cormac McCarthy’s The Road is reading this: use some of Black Cock’s music, perhaps “Beats” as the Father and Boy run away from those scary bastards who plan to rape and/or eat them (if this just ruined it for the five people out there who aren’t on Oprah’s Book Club list — oops).
Black Cock really is what one would expect from a band named Black Cock. But, they’re also a really interestingly perverse, dark, and confounding band. No two tracks sound alike, but the album somehow seems cohesive. While it’s doubtful, for those who don’t enjoy it, what’s the worst that can be said? Black Cock didn’t get me off? Black Cock left me unfulfilled and empty? Fortunately, the odds are that a lot of people are going to be satisfied and wanting more Black Cock.
Websites:
http://blackcockrock.com
Myspace
Go see them live. ASAP.