Finally a proper full-length outing from Long Island’s miscreant rock outfit, John Wilkes Booth sees the light of day. Last time we checked in on this oftentimes misguided reviewer, I had a poor track record with the band. I missed out on the live set in Pittsburgh and completely let a review of their demo fall by the wayside. Getting my ass in gear, I at least made sure to review their tunes on the Fumes from a Dead Scene compilation. Yeah, good job Jay. I gotta be hard on myself here because theirs is a sound I really want to keep up with. They’ve got a strange amalgamation of sounds going on. Not quite punk, not quite stoner rock, not quite noise-rock and not quite metal. Instead there’s a bit of all four on display. The result is akin to throwing The Stooges, COC, Unsane, Motorhead and Independent Worm Saloon era Butthole Surfers into a seedy, NY barroom brawl then watching the personalities clash. Hell, a few tracks even have some atmospheric wrangling that brought a glimpse of Kyuss into view. Ripping guitar noise plunders the dark alley riffs, casting them in a truly frightening light. Don’t think its all blackness as this shit knows its way around a rock n’ roll hook and keeps a keen eye on the big grooves; rounded out by phenomenal bass work that grounds the sound, and even brings the blues front n’ center on several important occasions. Despite the power of the music, everything could fall apart without the proper nut job flexing his vocal pipes. Luckily, vocalist Kerry is nutty enough to fill the roll. Never really singing and never really screaming, his battery is a volley of unpolished Cajun-smoked howling. If you’re expecting pretty, power crooning…you better get the fuck out of Dodge. Those who like their singers with whiskey bottle in hand, you’ll be smiling ear to ear. Full-throttle rock n’ roller “Eye Rack” kicks us off an unusual note; not your expected opener that’s for damn sure. The early going seems typical enough as ass-kicking stoner rock permeates the verses, turning into simple punk riffing during the chorus. Guitar licks maintain a high octane boogie, cemented down by an airtight rhythm rumpus. Around the 1:20 mark, things take a bleaker turn. Ebbing rhythms smolder beneath a stalk n’ slash melodic shuffle, allowing vocalist Kerry to half sing/half shout his vocals. It might not seem like a big change at first but repeated listening reveals stoner rock’s darker side of the moon. This subtle cascade of atmospherics eventually culminates with the return of rock n’ roll’s forked tongue visage, therefore completing the many changes of this serpentine roadburner. JWB’s atypical shrug continues to ring loud n’ clear on the staccato brain-crush riffs that initiate “Breathing for No Reason”. Is it just me or is there both Helmet and 16 in a few of the juggernaut grooves that pop up throughout this one? These grooves are ever so slightly twisted by a stoner-tinge and further deformed by noisy soloing that will explode the eyeballs right out of your skull. Memorable vocal patterns breathe a turret of fire straight up your ass as the ironclad boogie is rendered unsinkable. Forget that flimsy Titanic, the SS Booth is the strongest ship to ever sail the seven seas. Taking a brief moment to tug at the heartstrings with the “tender” (yeah right) instrumentalisms of “Smack for Larry”, the band bastes a mild layer of distortion over the hollerin’, smart aleck vocals and somber acoustic guitars. Guess they were hoping for their spot on MTV’s Unplugged. Too bad “Hey Girl” comes lumbering in like a highly boozed up, grungy version of Motorhead; assassinating their shot at the big time. Imagine Lemmy enlisting Cobain on second guitar and you’ve got an idea of the slightly alt-rock damaged psychosis you’re about to experience. Noised-out guitar squeals shake off the malaise of a bad amphetamine binge while shifty beats, steadfast bottom-end and a double barrel blast of sludge-y riffs make sure you stay hung-over. “The Inner Workings” returns from the band’s heralded portion of the Fumes from a Dead Scene comp. This is where the Kyussian drone I spoke of earlier, comes wafting into the room. Again JWB toys with a greyer palette of atmospherics. The opening riffs wander in tandem with Kerry’s drawn out yowls, painting us a perfect picture of the desert’s ominous nighttime skies. The sun shines again as the sunny side of stoner rock emerges, gloriously catching the groove of the elder gods. With eyes darting back and forth, JWB switches effortlessly between the song’s Jekyll and Hyde personas in more than one instance. I’ll bet it comes as a shock when the smooth flow of this tune is obliterated by the noise-punk, fuck you attitude of “Rats in my Room”. There are not just rats in this room as I’m sure there’s also a stack of GG Allin, Helmet and Unsane vinyls. The song is a fucking audio ruckus of grand proportions with enough dirt n’ grime under the fingernails to please all of the older punk rockers out there. While a far cry from the preceding tune, it is just as good. A red hot drum solo is the lone occupant of track #7, showcasing the bravado and balls of Christian’s tense skin-pounding, clearing the road for the slow motion slam of “Only the Facts”. Again the jagged dissonance of noise-rock creates a thick fog of distortion as it floats across a collapsing floor of broken nails and molasses thick sludge. Picking up the pace, JWB brings touches of boogie rock to the sandpaper grooves and dynamite fills. The final trifecta of “The Jesus Song”, “Albino Mechanic” and “Intro (The Harshest Return)” bring Southern rock, slightly sludged-out Kyuss flavored groove and instrumental, feedback battered doom respectively; rounding out the band’s new material. Probably three of the album’s best tracks to boot but that’s not all! You get JWB’s 4 track EP as an added bonus. The songwriting is a bit more rugged here but there’s definitely some high flying moments. “Haze” and “Unknown Waiting” have grooves and licks strong enough to stand toe to toe with any of the tracks intended for Sic Semper Tyrannis. Damn nice to have these tracks compiled onto the album to give newcomers a complete JWB listening experience. At heart, Sic Semper Tyrannis is a rock album. It doesn’t cater to any particular type of rock, opting to take several kinds and fuck ‘em all up on drugs and booze. The overall sound equates to something fresh and exciting. Stoners will love them for their adherence to a powerful groove motif but all the bad dudes into dirty punk and even noise-rock will have a definite shot at digging on this. All I know is that I’m goddamn glad I finally got with the program. My apologies to the whole of JWB, I had no idea what I was missing out on and I certainly won’t be missing out on the live show in March. Highly recommended for stoner rock fans looking for a uniquely noisy and altogether different take on the sound.

There’s something about this CD that’s got me intrigued. The production is raw and unfiltered sounding like it was thrown together in a garage recorded through tightly wound chicken wire. The guitars are crunchy and distorted with a basement metal sound flirting with untuned punk. The drums, eclectic and powerful, and the base lines are thick, deep and dank. Adding the cherry on top are the vocals, which are not highlighted within the songs despite the mid-level yelling s t y l e, but when presented in this song structure are a natural fit. Playing through the CD a few times, the more I listen the more I dig the rough and jagged sound. However my gut instinct says to add just a little more production, through the right creative ears, and these songs will be off to the next level. Something tells me band’s live show would be fairly intense.

As fans eagerly rip off its plastic seal and pop the cover open, they come across a compact disc that resembles a huge penny, with the credo, “IN ROCK WE TRUST”, engraved above President Lincoln’s head. Having just released their first full-length album, Sic Semper Tyrannis, Latin for “As Always to Tyrants”, the incredible unrestraint minds of John Wilkes Booth unleashed their dirt rock fury in this mind-blowing album. Rocking the socks off of Long Island locals ever since 2005, John Wilkes Booth has amplified their new unknown genre of music, a mixture containing punk rock, a hint of metal and a whole lot of garage rock genius. John Wilkes Booth has created their own innovative “sound” just like how bands such as Tool, System of a Down, and Rage Against the Machine obtained their own unique style of music. Songs such as “Eye Rack,” “Breathing for No Reason,” “Rats In My Room,” and “Albino Mechanic” showcase the band’s innovative sound and will instantly become one of the most played tracks on your playlist. With their somewhat unusual sound effects, spontaneous rhythms and lyrics that people actually want to keep up with, John Wilkes Booth has achieved the skill of having awesome, well-written songs, that only truly great bands are capable of reaching. While the majority of the album’s lyrical content contains challenges that occur in love-hate relationships, “Eye Rack” addresses the attempts of people trying to ignore the problems concerning our country: “And life screams out at us so loud. We just turn our backs and tell ourselves it’s fair, we tell ourselves it’s alright it’s alright until we’re numb.” Enforcing their “no-pay-to-play” policy, John Wilkes Booth freely establishes where they stand in the music industry, making them a 100% anti-scene band.Even though they do not receive the full amount of recognition they deserve, John Wilkes Booth continues to unleash their true artistic abilities as they rise above the music industry’s mainstream demands.

Veteran scuzz/fuzz rockers, John Wilkes Booth blow the fucking dust off your bong with this adrenalinized blast of what the boys affectionately call "dirt rock." In truth, there's no arguing that tag, this is dirty, ballsy, scuzzy and sleazy, hard biting, punked-up rock and roll. What the boys don't tell you however, are the masses of nasty little critters living in their dirt. "Eye Rack," the lead-off track and by far one of my favorite stoner metal songs of this short new year, jumps off the CD spincoat like a rattlesnake shooting right at your scrotum. Blessed with a freaking awesome, grove-infested riff, this rattlesnake's not content hanging onto your ball sack, but quickly starts taking poisonous stabs at your privates. Not a song you'll forget. The rest of the CD follows suit, just one explosive exploration through the dirt pits of JWB's music. "Breathing For No Reason," barks in gangrenous stoner metal territory, again riding a groove that can drag your ass all the way through the desert. "Smack for Larry," brims with a grungy/alt-rock moodiness with vocals as expressive as Violent Femmes. "Hey Girl," belches in waves of of putrid punk popping up in the dirt, along with huge swathes of metal stoner weeds. A dirty, nasty trip and one you'll thank your lucky stars you took.