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Wasted Theory, Defenders of the Riff: Whiskey on the Breath

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It’s a mission so up-front it’s almost blinding. No less so with Wasted Theory‘s second record, Defenders of the Riff, than it was with Judas Priest‘s Defenders of the Faith some 32 years ago, and in no small part because as regards Wasted Theory, the riff and the faith are one and the same. Burl has been a defining feature of the Delaware four-piece’s approach since their inception, and was certainly front and center on Death and Taxes (review here), their self-released 2014 full-length debut.

The crisp 10-track/46-minute run of Defenders of the Riff, which sees vinyl issue through NoSlip Records, might leave one to wonder just exactly from whom “the Riff” is under attack and how an apparent dudeliness-for-dudes defense strategy might play into working against that attack, but the record nonetheless presents a marked forward step in sound from where Wasted Theory were two years ago, bringing a sense of spaciousness to the roll and nod and thrust brought to bear by guitarist/vocalist Larry Jackson, Jr., drummer/lyricist Brendan Burns, bassist Dave McMahon, and guitarist Rob Michael.

With a vibrant, heavy tonal largesse captured over a period of months by Paul Janocha at Ken-Del Studios and Nick Rotundo (who also mixed) at Clay Creek Studio — both of whom also worked on the first LP — a mastering job by Mos Generator‘s Tony Reed and cover art by Alexander von Wieding, there isn’t an angle from which Defenders of the Riff doesn’t demonstrate a more professional, coherent vision of Wasted Theory‘s intent, and, simply put, it brings them to a new level in style and substance alike.

There are a few lyrical themes that emerge as the album plays out. Women and cry-for-help levels of whiskey consumption are two big ones. Seven of the 10 tracks contain some reference to drinking, and at least five to whiskey specifically — notable in that regard is “Belly Fulla Whiskey” — while we hear corresponding tales of devil women, gypsy women, a fire woman in second cut “Black Witch Blues,” a black-hearted woman in “Gospel of Infinity” and, in “…And the Devil Makes Three” alone, a hard-luck woman, a hard-headed woman and a smokestack woman.

Add to those references to fast cars — a GTO makes an appearance in West Hollywood in “AmpliFIRE!” — and nods to heavy rock/metal new and old in “Atomic Bikiniwax” (The Atomic Bitchwax, also Jimi Hendrix‘s Electric Ladyland), “Belly Fulla Whiskey” (mention of a gallows pole and a live wire, à la Led Zeppelin and Mötley Crüe, respectively), “Under the Hoof” (a fever of 103 is exactly what Foreigner had), “…And the Devil Makes Three” (Scissorfight were too drunk to fuck when they covered the Dead Kennedys song of the same name), the penultimate “Throttlecock” (Slayer also showed no mercy) and closer “Odyssey of the Electric Warlock” (more Zeppelin with Avalon and Evermore, some Tool with an undertow and even Mos Generator‘s cosmic ark makes an appearance), and elsewhere, and Wasted Theory seem to be shooting for a very specific notion of consistency, and from the catchy swing at work behind leave-it-all-out-there opener “Get Loud or Get Fucked” and the “Shake Like You” C.O.C.-style boogie of “Belly Fulla Whiskey” to the crunching repetitions of the start-stop riff in “Throttlecock,” they know what they want to represent.

wasted-theory-photo-by-shy-kennedy

One could push back against the politics of some of it for sure, but what’s inarguable is the development in Wasted Theory‘s general level of craft. Songs range from four to five minutes — the full thrust of “…And the Devil Makes Three” is the longest at 5:29 and uses its extra time wisely in a relatively extended instrumental groove and solo in its second half — and are noteworthy for their straightforward, on-the-one attack.

A “nuthin’ too fancy” approach is basically what the band heralded on Death and Taxes, but Defenders of the Riff builds on that fluidly across its span and brings new depth of production that, since it’s essentially the same team working on it, can only be said to have been purposeful on Wasted Theory‘s part. That development is crucial to understanding their sophomore album, and what it ultimately accomplishes in moments like the solo of “Atomic Bikiniwax” and the slowdown of “…And the Devil Makes Three” is a broadening of Wasted Theory‘s dynamic that stays within the growing range of their songwriting. Near-virulent hooks populate Defenders of the RiffJackson‘s vocals indeed snarl up from under a barrage of top quality heavy riffing, and their presentation is thick, full and professional across the board.

I know I’ve said on multiple occasions there are times when listening to Wasted Theory when I don’t feel dudely enough to really appreciate the kind of tire-screeching testosterone-soaked rock and roll they’re metering out, and that holds true at moments on Defenders of the Riff as well — “Belly Fulla Whiskey” with lines like “C’mon little darlin’/C’mon little tease/C’mon and get down on your knees,” or “Atomic Bikiniwax”‘s one-two punch of “And she knows when it’s on/Shake that ass and I’m gone” — but I wouldn’t attempt to deny that for what they’re doing, they’re doing it well and clearly moving forward in their creative processes.

The momentum they build and the structures they inhabit throughout Defenders of the Riff will no doubt feel familiar to experienced listeners, but more than they have to this point, Wasted Theory make those spaces their own and begin establishing their identity in and from them. They don’t sound like they’re finished growing, but they don’t sound like they want to be either, and that might be the most encouraging aspect of Defenders of the Riff overall. Again, I don’t know who’s attacking the Riff, but it should ultimately be glad it’s got Wasted Theory on its side.

Wasted Theory, Defenders of the Riff (2016)

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