If you meet anyone who tells you that Bone Zeno is NOT inspired by the likes of Tom Waits and Nick Cave respectively (especially in his early Birthday Party years), and goes to the trouble of accusing anyone who makes the comparison of “lazy journalism“, give them a swift kick in the knackers from me, will you? It is blatantly obvious where the German born former Parkinsons man is coming from on Black Milk; Hell, often he even sounds like both of them at once!
‘2 The Bone‘, which jumpstarts the engine, is Waits at his bluesiest, while ‘Äshn Skin‘, premiered a couple of weeks back on these very pages, harks back to the twisted bassline of something like ‘Diamonds On My Windshield‘ with dark, Cave-like lyrics that are “a devastated meditation on the death of a close friend – musician and film librarian, Cameron Bain.”
Many other references could be levelled at Bone Zeno, however, with tracks like ‘Ride On‘ calling to mind the commercial appeal of artists like The Doors or Iggy Pop, and perhaps even the vastly underappreciated 60s garage jewels The Creation. ‘Get Me Down‘ is like a deep down and dirty glam rock tune with a rhythm which recalls ‘Spirit In The Sky‘, but muddied beyond recognition on the back of a misunderstood rebel’s motorcycle. Maybe the closest thing we had to this kind of thing in recent years was London post-grunge outfit The Zico Chain, although Zeno is altogether more theatrical. In a good way.
‘Drink‘ sounds like Waits sitting in his shed, paranoidly pontificating ‘What’s He Building‘ before having a huge argument with Cave which results in the pair of them furiously throwing garden shears and lawnmowers at each other, and effectively trashing the place. Perfect chaos, and if ever there was a phrase to consummately describe what Bone Zeno sounds like, that must be it.
As intense as Black Milk undeniably is, however, there is still room for an emotional uplift in places. Look no further than ‘Black Bones‘ for evidence, whose piano fuelled second half brings a lovely and much needed levity to proceedings. True, the Waitsian rasp is a constant, at times almost deranged focal point of these aural paintings, but it never grates. Quite the opposite, in fact, as we are drawn into this murky sounding underworld and somehow find ourselves starting to inexplicably enjoy the torment, much like Walter White in Breaking Bad.
Black Milk is the musical equivalent of a near-death experience, perhaps tapping into that period between cardiac and defibrillatory recovery. Just beware, you may well find yourself in a daze by the time it’s finished!
Black Milk is out now on Impression Recordings.
