Probot
PROBOT
Southern Lord
OK, let's pretend for a second that you're not a die-hard rock fan, or even somebody who peruses the magazine rack at Borders every once in a while, and that you haven't known for the past two years that Nirvana drummer/ Foo Fighters smiley-guy Dave Grohl wasn't cooking up a big-time metal album. The album, featuring 11 different vocalists of varying pedigree/ renown, is finally out on cred-heavy Southern Lord Records, as if that would keep it off the cover of fucking Revolver. Yes, it's a novel idea. Yes, it's seething with ex-members of the bands that scared the shit out of you when they wafted like toxic gas out from under your older brother's locked bedroom door. Yes, it's got Grohl's name attached to it.
But is it any good?
Yes, it is.
Here's why.
First, we will itemize all of the Probot elements that may, fairly enough, be perceived as shortcomings.
1. The songs are woefully dated.
2. No matter who's singing, it sounds like the same band.
3. By and large, the songs don't go far out of their way to characterize, or fit the familiar style of, their singers.
4. It's not really as heavy as some of the bands whose singers appear.
5. Isn't he the pussy who did "Learn to Fly"?
These are all, at face value, valid arguments. But allow us to weave our insurance salesman-like magic, and make you feel like an idiot, as we explain how such ostensible liabilities are, in fact, assets. What follows are point-by-point rebuttals.
1. That's the point, killer. Even though the production is Pro-Tooled out to Pro-Tooled standards, then occasionally Pro-Tooled back to a rudimentary old-school mix as envisioned by Pro-Tools, Probot sounds like the time when really heavy metal first had sex with really well-arranged hardcore. While Grohl is unarguably a gifted songwriter, he's not the most technically proficient metalcore guitar player out there; he relies on riffs that are cutting edge for punk, but fairly rudimentary for serious thrash. The result is a repetitive, groove-heavy vibe that harks back to the edgy simplicity of early crossover.
2. Apart from the vocalists and a few guest musicians (most notably Soundgarden's Kim Thayil), Grohl played virtually every instrumental track. It's a bit like karaoke. Most tunes stick to a similar formula high on octane and low on nuance, often putting their singers in a light different for them, but in step with the album's overall vibe. It lends a listenable cohesion, but allows for the scattershot speed-punk of "Access Babylon" (spotlighting Corrosion of Conformity founder Mike Dean) and psychedelic, Blue Cheer-esque proto-metal of "The Emerald Law" (starring The Obsessed's Wino, who also contributes a perfect guitar lead).
3. There are several tracks that match the singer to the song almost preternaturally — among them "Shake Your Blood" (sung by Motorhead's Lemmy), "Ice Cold Man" (featuring Napalm Death/Cathedral vocalist Lee Dorrian), and the incredible "My Tortured Soul" (helmed by Trouble's Eric Wagner). Plus, album highlight "Dictatosaurus" places Snake, vocalist for enduring Canadian weirdoes Voivod, in a positively catchy melodic light.
4. Of course not. After all, it was made by the guy who did "Learn to Fly." It is, however, wonderfully crushing, an adept take on the genre-defying sounds still espoused by the likes of Clutch and a band for which Grohl recently more-than-capably supplied drum tracks, Queens of the Stone Age.
5. He is, indeed. Surprised? 
—Scott Harrell
Remember Me
CHARLES CALDWELL
Fat Possum
The Mississippi country-blues renaissance of the early '90s appears to be on its last gasp. Consider the case of Charles Caldwell: Discovered by Fat Possum in 2002, just a few miles from its offices in Water Valley, Miss., the singer/guitarist had never played for money, just for free drinks at parties; the following year he was dead at 60 of pancreatic cancer. Fortunately, he left behind the aptly titled Remember Me — bittersweet, 'cause it's his first and last recording. But at least it came to pass. The album fits into the rough-and-tumble "drone" style of the North Mississippi hill country, which eschews 12-bar chord structures and instead relies on hypnotically repeated electric guitar licks and black-cat-moan vocals. Caldwell is backed only by crude, clattering drums on most of the tracks; the others he performs solo. Fans of neo-Chicago blues, take note: This is not precise, technically accomplished music built around flashy guitar solos. The music is open-ended, rhythmically loose (but still driving) and raw as a scratched scab. Caldwell liberally recycles his riffs throughout the album; his vocals are rough, undisciplined and thoroughly captivating. Caldwell sings mostly about women trouble in plain country-speak. On "Same Man," he moans the key lines, "Why you wait … 'til I get old … for you decide … to put me down?" As the song progresses, the heartbreak and desperation of a man jilted way past his prime takes on increasing poignancy. Remember Me is emblematic of a dying art. The disc is the real undiluted deal. And Charles Caldwell is gone. (www.fatpossum.com) —Eric Snider
Bows and Arrows
THE WALKMEN
Record Collection
This Brooklyn quintet's 2002 debut, Everyone Who Pretended to Like Me Is Gone, was an excellent, ambitious slab of dramatic energy that garnered the band Next Big Thing status and car-commercial TV ubiquity for the song "We've Been Had." The follow-up also showcases their talent for luxurious, cabaret-esque rock, but at the same time endeavors to bring their danceable live aggression into the studio mix. The resulting album is a good one; however, it suffers a bit from frequent sonic similarity to fashionably shabby Manhattan stars The Strokes, albeit a Strokes more dynamic and adventurous than The Strokes actually are. "What's in It for Me?," "No Christmas When I'm Talking," "138th St.," the languid "Hang on Siobhan," the last-call croon of "New Year's Eve" and the anthemic "Thinking of a Dream I Had" best recapture the sound of their debut — a daring, raucous piano- and organ-assisted poetry topped off by Hamilton Leithauser wailing like a whiskey-throated Bono. Elsewhere (particularly "The Rat," "Little House of Savages" and "My Old Man"), repetitive, chiming guitars and clean, workmanlike (and somehow dated) drumming recall the aforementioned Lower East Side quartet a little too closely for comfort. Every track is solid, perfectly constructed and presents a quality listen. But The Walkmen created an extremely tough act to follow in their determinedly ahead-of-the-curve debut, and Bows and Arrows slips back a bit, but still keeps the band in the front ranks of the NYC pack. (www.thewalkmen.com) 1/2 —Scott Harrell
This article appears in Mar 18-24, 2004.