In a just published New York Magazine story on Pete Yorn and Scarlett Johanssen’s new Break Up album, the following sentence appears in the second paragraph:

In the early weeks of January 2007, the pair met at an unassuming studio in Los Angeles and recorded Break Up, a collection of boy-meets-girl-girl-ruins-boy duets in the tradition of Serge Gainsbourg and Brigitte Bardot, Lee Hazlewood and Nancy Sinatra, and Lou Reed and Nico.

And what tradition would that be? According to Yorn, the tradition of being cool. “Serge Gainsbourg, Brigitte Bardot—they’re cool, I love them … Brigitte Bardot … Scarlett Johansson! Just a total chain reaction,” he says in the interview. We would have gone with, “Serge Gainsbourg, Brigitte Bardot—their album was nuts and they boned … Brigitte Bardot … Scarlett Johansson! I had to at least try,” because that would’ve made more sense. But we don’t have ScarJo’s number either, so maybe we should shut up.

To read further on Gainsbourg’s sonic sexual exploits, check The FADER’s recent Reheater of his and Jane Birkin’s classic and just reissued Histoire de Melody Nelson.

The first mental images to come to the brain of the average Joe or Jane when mentioning Omaha, Nebraska, would likely be cornfields as far as the eye can see, Johnny Carson, steaks, a world zoo, Mutual of Omaha Insurance or tortured songsmith Conor Oberst. Now, if you happen upon a fan of the whacked out sub-genre of rock that I like to call surf Billy garage rock, Omaha conjures one prominent spector: the band that is Brimstone Howl.

With one of the many severe thunderstorms to shit on Missouri in the last few weeks raging outside my office window, I felt it was the opportune time to stay up into the wee hours of the morning, risk electrocution at my computer and review Brimstone Howl’s latest We Came In Peace. Actually, the conditions are perfect for a critique of this record; the weather is violent and unrelenting, reminiscent of those old Hammer Studios horror flicks from the 1950s and 1960s, add to that the creepy Jim Diamond of Detroit garage gods The Dirt Bombs production (Peace sounds a bit like it was recorded at the bottom of a metal trash can in a well at the very back of an immense cavern) and Peace, though ironically named, could easily be its soundtrack.

There are many moments of eerie greatness to be found here. The songwriting, delivery, setup and all around raw slickness of the songs are not unlike the gems on the classic Nuggets compilation. Every track has flashes of this, all made nearly perfect by the manically fantastic lead guitar savagery of Nick Waggoner. His wicked slide and effects drenched flamethrower is especially prominent on the track “Child Of Perdition”, a roadhouse jam that bows to Chuck Berry as much as it does X’s Billy Zoom. In fact, it could quite possibly be some of the best playing in rock and “They Call Me Hopeless Destroyer” is open nerve blues like Jack White used to play before he spread himself thin jamming in 47 different bands. Complimenting the guitar chops is vocalist/ guitarist John Ziegler. What stands out most for me about Zeigler on this record is not his playing, though it is topnotch, is his vocals. He is a strange alien creature mix of the late Lux Interior, John Doe and the swagger of a juvenile delinquent from The Blackboard Jungle if said delinquent would have had access to LSD and William S. Burroughs novels.

Perhaps the best thing about Peace is that, with it, Brimstone Howl are at the very least attempting to bring rock back to its blues, rebellious and bare boots, raw roots. Just like The Ramones did in the 1970’s, Howl borrowing from 1960’s groups like The Shirelles, The Shangri-Las and The Ronettes to hone a sound that is as much a tribute as it is original. Goddamn, there’s even a song on the disc named “Shangri La”. If that isn’t a apparent case of fandom I don’t know what is.

The only crystal clear ape of any bands on this disc is the track “Easy to Dream”. If they could have gotten Sweet Lou Reed to do (I won’t say sing) the lines, it could have been sold as a companion piece to “Venus In Furs” and The Doors exorcism that is “The World Will Never Know.” But is that a crime? Borrowing from your heroes? Burying you enemies in flattery? Brimstone Howl are one of the best of the new crop of garage punks that loot and pillage music history like so many guitar wielding Vikings. It’s clear that they walk in the footsteps of their forefathers but luckily they don’t seem content to merely be a cover band like some others that shall remain nameless here.

The drumming of Calvin Retzlaff is pounding, stick splintering playing at it’s finest. He is Dick Dale with a drum set instead of a Strat. The first sound the listener hears on Peace is the steady, lightning fast, flaw free time and it only gets more aggressive with every progressive track thereafter. The bass of Chauncey Patton is as dense as a trucker’s midnight cup of coffee. In short, the band is in top form, showing an improved confidence since 2007 Guts of Steel. They mix the different elements within the band expertly. There’s slower tracks (“Easy To Dream”), speedy blues numbers (“Catamite Blues”, “They Call Me Hopeless Destroyer”) and the just plan weird random tune (“The World Will Never Know”).

Brimstone Howl are like the strange friend that lives in his mom’s basement and talks at length about UFOs, The Twilight Zone, going to Buenos Aires and government conspiracies. As you sit there listening you think to yourself, “this cat is totally fucked in the head. I should split.” But you don’t. You sit there, you listen, you get sucked in because, after awhile, it starts making sense. That’s what it’s like listening to We Came in Peace. This Omaha band is the crop circles, Bigfoot, ghosts and alien abductions of rock; a far out phenomenon that gathers steam and a flock of new believers the more their name is whispered. Brimstone Howl… Brimstone Howl…… Brimstone Howl……..

Elvis Costello is returning to the acoustic country-roots sound of 1986’s King of America, on his newest upcoming album Secret, Profane & Sugarcane, which will be released in early June. 

Costello went back to work with T Bone Burnett, whom he collaborated with on both Spike and King of America, to produce Sugarcane, which will be released on June 2, again on Hear Music (better known as Starbucks’ record label). The two worked together, recording the new album at Nashville’s Sound Emporium Studio over a three-day session, and according to Billboard the band for the project includes the likes of Bluegrass and country musicians Stuart Duncan on fiddle, Mike Compton on mandolin, and guest vocals from Emmylou Harris as well. 

Secret, Profane & Sugarcane will also be available on vinyl and will have two more songs, including a cover of Lou Reed’s “Femme Fatale”. Costello and “The Sugarcanes” band will be playing tour dates in support of the new album come the summer. 

Secret, Profane & Sugarcane track listing
01. Down Among the Wine and Spirits
02. Complicated Shadows
03. I Felt the Chill
04. My All Time Doll
05. Hidden Shame
06. She Handed Me a Mirror
07. I Dreamed of My Old Lover
08. How Deep is the Red
09. She Was No Good
10. Sulfur to Sugarcane
11. Red Cottom
12. The Crooked Line
13. Changing Partners

It’s a bit like running through razor blades then diving into a swimming pool full of rubbing alcohol when a band takes on groups like The Cure, Bloc Party, Jane’s Addiction, New Order and Franz Ferdinand: the chances of catastrophe and painful death are magnified by 47 million.

Many acts have tried to ape their heroes and have failed miserably (see Bauhaus doppelgangers She Wants Revenge). The Killers have attempted to mug U2, Springsteen and Joy Division for their sound and the results have, for the most part, been more lukewarm than killer. The one-time touted second coming of rock, The Strokes, attempted to borrow from the Television and Lou Reed songbooks and quicker than you can say “Marquee Moon” the band went the way of the dodo bird.

But sometimes, when the clouds part, the seas grow calm and beasts large and small live together in harmony, a band that covets their influences and shapes said influences into something all their own comes along. That band in this case is Kansas City, Missouri’s, Queens Club.

QC first began gathering attention through their expansive live shows and a strong push from Kansas City alternative rock radio station 96.5 The Buzz, specifically the Sunday evening local music showcase Homegrown Buzz. Early last year the newly formed band (Tyler Bottles – bass, Jake Ryan – drums/ programming, Daniel Eaton – vocals/guitars and Andrew Nichols – guitars/vocals/programming) became a local sensation with their debut single “Nightmarer” and word of mouth was so strong that late last year they did a showcase for the record label Tooth and Nail.

Though no deal is set as of yet, Tyler Bottles told me that they are optimistic. “We’re really hoping to get signed, every band that makes music wants to have their music heard. But if we don’t, we’ll release it ourselves and see what happens.”

The album, so far untitled, is a perfect storm of Euro dance rock, indie sophistication and a sprinkling of punk rock’s filth and fury snottiness (see the pummeling track “I’m American”); all aspects of the Queens Club dynamic fit together smoothly like cogs in a well oiled machine. It’s almost frightening to me that a band that’s only been together a little over a year can kick out a debut this tight, well written and infectious. Yes, the clouds have parted, dogs are living peacefully with their feline friends and the rock Gods have smiled on this Midwestern band. Take my advice: When they come to your town, go and see them in the club because soon enough, they’ll be selling out stadiums.

Listen to Queen’s Club here.