Sun Gods in Exile, Black Light, White Lines: Mason Dixon Never Looked Blurrier
It’s a good thing the High Council of Stoner Rock hasn’t yet instituted mandatory tests for performance enhancers, because I’m pretty sure that if they did, Portland, Maine‘s Sun Gods in Exile would come up with O.D.-levels of testosterone in their blood. Their Small Stone debut, Black Light, White Lines is dick swingin’ brawl and roll dudelier than all those extreme fisherman they show on the Discovery Channel off the New England coast. Think AC/DC, Skynyrd and a toxic amount of liquor, and you’re off and running.
It took me a while to get into Black Light, White Lines. At first the album hit me as a throwaway that didn’t offer much original or exciting for me to sink my teeth into, but after a few listens, and particularly after warming up to the lead vocals of guitarist Adam Hitchcock, it proved to be an unpretentious jaunt through classic guitar rock that Sun Gods in Exile passionately — and probably drunkenly — set to tape with the arrogant gusto necessary to really pull it off. Snarling, biting and wiseassed, tunes like “The Gripper” and “Mexico” exemplify the barroom belligerence carrying Black Light, White Lines across like the kind of album that claims “manifest destiny” as the reason it infects your brain.
A slower riff pervades the title track, but the Southern take of “Hellwell” offsets any shift in mood, bringing the spotlight back to the band’s rocking side with a catchy chorus enhanced by bassist JL‘s backing vocals. Guitarist Anthony D’Agostino (ex-Cortez) sets a quicker pace for “Black Magic,” while drummer/vocalist Johnny Kennedy keeps ready time with the snare and ride. One of several especially wailing solos appears in later track “Turbo Fire,” and Black Light, White Lines wraps with “495,” the longest and most Skynyrd cut of all. Even at 7:32, it doesn’t overstay its welcome, as several changes in pace and tone serve to keep the song interesting for the duration.
It’s a Northern highway song delivered in the Southern tradition, exemplifying at last a contrast playing out over the course of the album as a whole. A big part of what initially disturbed me about Sun Gods in Exile, I now see it as what makes the band unique. There’s a bit of their region seeping into their songs without their even knowing it — doubtless recording at Mad Oak Studios with Benny Grotto helped bring it out — and like a younger Roadsaw, they infuse their sound with an inexplicable Northern intensity even as the riffs drawl and spit tobacco on the floor of the bar. I’m still not sure if I’d call myself a 100 percent convert, but what these Sun Gods are preaching is starting to make a whole lot of sense.
Tags: Maine, Small Stone, Sun Gods in Exile
