Music reviews. CD reviews. Critically hip!

The band somehow passed me by the first time which was at a time when the Stoner Rock thing was sowing the seeds fast and furious and making even the discerning listener a bit of an eye roller. But the clever idea of a catchy name like "Drunk Horse," combined with the fact that yesterday's tokers have introduced an upped dosage of back page best sellers to their digestive tracts and exhumed some killer riffs and hellacious harmonies, they've effectively side stepped the stiffs and aimin' straight for the center. 

I listened to "Adult Situations" and didn't get bored; point number one. The band fucks a little with otherwise fixed playing positions; time signatures bend and nearly brake; free reigning pedal effects and plodding bass lines swing and sway off the beaten path showing both the confident swagger of sound musicianship and the eventual stupor of liquor soaked love affairs and centerfold scenes. The "Whoo Hoo" train leaves the station in fine form in the early going for "National Lust" and "Lube Job," two taut introductions into the world of lava lamps, low cut denim and Leslie West. 

"Legions" trails off a bit yet stands out among the lyrically supreme with its' suggestive step forward stance; "The Bitch Is Bach" pays homage to an unlikely hero, "the master Bach," a lifetime ago wunderkind who's brilliance is beyond doubt and whose music couldn't veer farther and away from the sun setting, spoke spinning, straight away to South D scene. Yet, it's about 80 proof positive of everything relative - the art of "fugue and counterpoint," in this case, and the instrumentally functional Drunk Horse, taking virtuosity to unheard of highs where the stones thus drop like a dead issue to sit idle and lifeless; "Adult Situations" sees the horse kickin' up a storm, wailing away on the amps and upturned ears of appreciators of heavy Rock guitar, serving up a sofa cushion ride through sound tracked scenes of the summer of '74. 

The tracking only reads nine, but the tunes are rigorously pumpin' the toxins for many an OD-length duration, some four, five, six minutes, or more, with a huge MC5-like curl and Stones'-worn choruses.