John the Savage

Six-piece John the Savage ain’t afraid of no ghosts — the ghastly and sinister are this debut full-length’s bread and butter. From Mexican standoff (“Me & the Warden: Standoff”) to murder ballad (“Ballad of a Killman, pt. XI”), it’s thematically dark, and though the vocals are most often indecipherable wailing, the band’s ability to incarnate stories instrumentally and transport listeners to distinct settings is just genius.

In “Sinking Ship,” for example, a near-eight minute epic noisy with trumpet, violin pizzicato, accordion and then some, panic pools at the first sight of leakage, the crew yo-ho-hos like rum-filled pirates and the vessel plunges deeper and faster into oblivion. Similarly, piano-driven “Market Day” vividly recalls art squares of Paris and “Dope-Ass Fade from Jose” could have been just another dinner at Chi-Chi’s had the funk guitar and cowbell not keenly come into play. Their musicality isn’t a fluke — Kitchen Voodoo was largely recorded live to capture the spirit of a John the Savage performance.

But within that good idea is vulnerability: all opportunity for nuance is lost. Players are on the same plane, all equally determined to be heard. Under relentless uproar, the arrangements suffer. Why blanket over hard work? Had they explored musical dynamics beyond just “loud,” even more of the band’s competence could have shone through.

John the Savage may not be particularly restrained in subject matter or sound, but the year-old band has victoriously created its own genre-bending authenticity. Too many cooks or not, Kitchen Voodoo is still spellbinding. Disagree? A plague of locusts is probably already on the way.