Music reviews. CD reviews. Critically hip!

The suggestive imagery that surrounds Bloodsimple and their sophomore album is one that would dictate progressive detachment away from our more humane pursuits, i.e. maintaining resistance to urges of cold-blooded slayings of our fellow men. However, Bloodsimple effectively traipse the bog of murderous expectancy with oddly placed notions of whim. The heavy hand of rock doesn’t slam such a deep indent in Red Harvest that it is not able to spread its fingers into more universal, meditative grooves.

Negative energy is still energy. It lies below an expected state. Weird things happen there, exotic and unusual consequences. Stripping the concept of “negative energy” from any textbook “science-ness” and applying it to the arts is, in my opinion, an appropriate lens through which to filter certain abhorrent aura. I do it here with Red Harvest and the feed of negative energy I get from it. It’s multi-dimensional, not black and white. It’s neither just hard rocking or just straight up “shoot your parents and burn down the school” depressing. Red Harvest has got some gray. Red Harvest has got some Alice in Chains gray. The kind of gray that can only occur during the ambiguity of feelings arising from being appraised harshly; where stifling pangs of self-importance meet in a dust storm of battle with pockets of deflating acceptance. It’s a purgatory of feeling where one doesn’t quite know whether it’s better to shut down or, rather, give audience to personally divisive concepts. Bloodsimple use murder as a metaphor and the pulpy serial killer as our vessel- well suited for our mode of transportation through objectionable scenarios. The metaphor I can’t so much glean if only for the fact that it is just a metaphor. Maybe vocalist Tim Williams had something concrete in mind, but otherwise I’d say it is up to personal interpretation. Oh the transcending element of music!

Red Harvest could be conveniently mirrored with artists like Mudvayne in one instance, or Metallica in another. I tend to favor the impulse that Bloodsimple was harking the spirit of grunge ala Alice in Chains. There is so much bellowing for the sake of expressing how truly weak one’s mental state is in when conflicting notions share the same space and time. I was too young when Alice in Chains was drenching alternative radio and I had enough awkwardness of thought process at the time that I didn’t care to be enamored with it being set to music. Now, with a more evolved contemplation skill set, I can visit that type of sound again without feeling the uncomfortable blanket of dead heat sweeping under my skin. Instead of stoning me, this music electrifies me with the illumination of dark passageways. It’s never the sound the music is making that feels ugly to you. It’s the internal sound of ugly that certain music reminds you is buzzing away on the inside.

The lyrics may not be Dylan Thomas, but their pale demeanor become bouyed by the voracious vocal moods Tim Williams throws his worth against. The energy that comes from visiting such negative pastiche is the kind that set teeth on edge and nostrils a flare. It’s the jolt accompanying a tour of a psychiatric ward and seeing an old man shitting his pants and crying. Your baser instincts tell you this is outrageous and far removed from your state of being, but your evolving humanity implores you to assess his muddled whimpers and hold them up to yourself. Red Harvest puts you there, so to speak.

Red Harvest hits hard, but the daze resulting lasts longer than the initial thump. Not recommended for those seeking quirky allegories or clever production.

On a side note: music is layman psychology or reflections of such, and therefore should be sometimes treated as much.