Wednesday 24 October 2012

My Producer Harry Loves Holy Mountain

I've changed my mind about rock, mainly because I have been listening to Holy Mountain. It is not a moribund culture, stuck in the past, but a vital, playful force in a constant state of reinvention.

There's this wonderful short story by Borges, that explains how a man decided to rewrite Don Quixote. Although Pierre Menard's version ends up being exactly the same as the original - word for word -  Borges concludes that this Quixote, because of its context, has a completely different meaning. Holy Mountain are a bit like that, only in place of delusional old men and murderous windmills, they have Big Riffs and Heavy Metal Thunder.

It's a bit unfair to peg Holy Mountain as Black Sabbath imitators: what they understood about 1970s blues-inspired heavy rock is that all the fripperies - pretend Satanism, pompous stage shows, meaningful lyrics - only get in the way of the power and the glory. They do have a habit of turning up for gigs around Halloween, but they substitute all the nonsense for a vicious, tops-off ferocity.

So far, they've only released a mini-album on Chemikal Underground which captures something of their live excitement - they recorded it in under a day, so it has the rough, punky energy - but is missing the sight of three men rocking out, hair and sweat flying and the bludgeoning riffs. It's difficult to talk about Holy Mountain without getting into clichés: the joy of their gigs is how close they get to self-parody without ever losing the power. It's like enjoying two gigs at the same time: an unselfconscious metal marathon, and a clever post-modern deconstruction of macho absurdity.

Plus they do an incredibly sweet version of Starry Starry Night, but only if the crowd asks for it.

Live gigs for Holy Mountain...

25 October @ Nice'n'Sleazy (Free)
3 November @ Spaced in the City



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