In a genre of rudimentary self-abuse, filled with strange tales of destruction and mis-adventure, there are heavyweights that surpass the tedium of an old image and its following scene. They have the effect of making it look edgy, like Jeremy Clarkson and Richard Hammond “Bantering”, to those who try to live outside the stagnant cocoon of their own coagulated arsehole. One band in particular stands on a pedestal for us to revere in a holy reverence of their professional bog eyed carnage. A cluster fuck of Whiskey/cough medicine chasers, shotgun mishaps and absolutely fearsome live shows, that band is of course Weedeater. Emerging from the ash of Buzzove*n, the bands own brilliance has raised their name to a level few have achieved, or sustained in the same style.
Goliathon looks to fall comfortably into what we might expect in terms of their “weed metal,” despite a line-up change with long standing drummer “Keko”, who left under circumstances undisclosed, to be replaced by Travis Owen of Whores.
There’s some heavy pun usage that’s become a staple element along with that savage low end dirt that is Weedeater on face value….no drastic change afoot. Goliathon’s opening track is an indulgement of the bands prominent sense of humour. What sounds like a collaboration of Dixie and Napoleon Dynamite’s basement jams have some pleasingly hateful lyrics rasped over them in Dixie’s un-mistakable tones, but it isn’t more than a commodity. Then we’re through into gristly core with some slightly darker grooves than we’ve heard since the euphoric filth of God luck… It’s a sly crawling opener, lumbering to a slightly paranoid beat before twisting into Cain Enabler, which is the apex of the album. It holds the vicious catchiness and memorability that goes something like “Riff…whiskey…fist-middle finger..SHOUT”, that will work so well live along with other favourites.
The album has a core of solid tracks with some hefty groove thrown about. Joseph, in particular, fucking swings, which I didn’t notice at first after being honestly underwhelmed with my first run through. It felt to drop the momentum it gained too quickly or not evolve as it should. This, in hindsight, was probably over comparison of previous albums, so as my expectations relaxed there was far more to enjoy. Battered And Fried, is the bands standard deliverance style Southern offering which works well as a swampy change of pace, and adds some texture to the album. The last two tracks are guilty of dropping the ball, with a rehash of the Goliathon riff and some fairly background bass twanging to close that doesn’t have the same ambient eeriness of comparable efforts.
With the relentless touring of the band and losing a key member, no matter how strong the replacement, it’s not surprising that Goliathon doesn’t come across as easy in its flow. Those blasted slabs of premium Weedeater that are present however, will fit nicely into their extensively powerful live arsenal, even if they don’t stand amongst the proud muck of their best releases.
Scribed by: Michael Collins