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Helmet: Betty

29/10/08 || Kampfar

Don’t wear a helmet, crash headfirst into a tree and die already.

And so began yet another of my patented ramblings, though this time around I will do my utmost not to clutter up and ruin the flow of my review with bullshit. I fucking promise, asshat.

Helmet hails from somewhere in the U.S.A, the melting pot with A.I.D.S, and has been in action for quite some years now. Since the early 90’s, to be a bit precise. Only a bit, because I have no Internet connection at the moment, and, as always, I’m short on telepathic gifts. If I hadn’t been, I would have been able to connect to my neighbors wireless network. I think. Accompanied by the thundering sound of a promise violently exploding, I move onwards and inform ye’ all that this review should be taken as a general Helmet recommendation up till and including “Aftertaste”. That aside, now let me tell you why I love “Betty”.

Fat fucking riffs, a bass rumbling with the best of them, drums pounding as fuck, excellent songwriting and a producer very able, apart from a snare too sharp, to wrap it all into a power package, is some of the reasons all right. But there is more, Helmet, unlike many other so-called bands, actually sounding like one, and not just another collaboration of guys gathered for reasons hard to fathom. What I’m trying to say is that the magic known as band-chemistry is very present on “Betty”.

Oh, I have of course forgotten to inform that “Betty” isn’t exactly extreme metal, more like hard hitting rock – and I mean hard – fitted with big balls and sort of an arrogant and sedated attitude. Or sludge-rock, if you like. Anyhow, this arrogant and medicated attitude I’m going on about is ensured thanks to a shitty vocalist with a name. Not shitty for Helmet, or this album, of course, but technically speaking he damn sure is. There’s a fat chance of him standing in the way of your enjoyment of this album, is what I’m trying to broadcast here. I, however, think he is spot-on and in context about 90% of the time.

So, this softly named album is a hard hitter packed with fat, grinding riffs, though only first and foremost, because here are also some redheaded stepchildren I must tell you about. 4, in fact. And the first ginger out is “Biscuits for smut”, a song Red Hot Chilipeppers could have made hadn’t it been for the fact that they are totally useless and should straight away be drowned under a bridge. Phew, the next carrothead is “Beautiful love”, the very worst song of the album, one that sounds more like a “Horrible jazz orchestra in the midst dying” to me. For sure not a child I would have adopted, that fuck. But the next one is, namely the “The silver Hawaiian”, a tune making me think of The Rat Pack, or whatever in hell Sinatra and his shit friends named their ass orchestra, gone metal. And last but not least we have “Sam Hell”, which is a crocked country song done absolutely right. I fucking love it.

So if you fancy the idea of a band building the majority of their songs around 1 or 2 churning riffs – “Betty the cumglazed slut” their most experimental, and best, hence the elaboration above, and this review – you must pronto download and check it out.

9 out of 10.

Information
Released: 1995
Label: Atlantic Records
Website: www.helmetmusic.com
Band
Page Hamilton: vocals, guitar
Rob Echeverria: guitar
Henry Bogdan: bass
John Stanier: drums

Tracklist
01. Wilma’s rainbow
02. I know
03. Biscuits for smut
04. Milquetoast
05. Tic
06. Rollo
07. Street crab
08. Clean
09. Vaccination
10. Beautiful love
11. Speechless
12. The silver Hawaiian
13. Overrated
14. Sam Hell

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