Album Review: Ruby the Hatchet, Fear is a Cruel Master
Posted in Reviews on November 7th, 2022 by JJ Koczan
The fade-in at the start is a fake out, and not by any means the last time New Jersey’s Ruby the Hatchet pull the rug out from under listener expectation on their fourth full-length, Fear is a Cruel Master. The five-piece’s first studio work in five years since 2017’s Planetary Space Child (review here) begins with “The Change,” and fair enough as they flourish with headphone-ready nuance and sonic details like the layer of backing vocals that cut out in the middle of a “chaaa” at 2:04 (actually, that one might be an error in the promo, but it doesn’t make the clicking noise like the definitely-an-error in “Deceiver,” which follows), the rich guitar tone of Johnny Scarps (né Scarperia) and the organ and other keyboard lines of Sean Khan Hur intertwining to classic effect all the while under vocalist Jillian Taylor‘s rock-pop urgency and on top of the groove laid forth by drummer Owen Stewart — who joins Taylor for a duet on doomy closer “Amor Gravis” — and bassist Lake Muir.
With production by Paul Ritchie (also The Parlor Mob) at New Future in NJ, the five-piece offer a heavy rock blending influences from different eras, sourcing individualism from ’60s psych, guitar heroism from late ’70s and ’80s AOR — there are moments on the record that genuinely remind of Kenny Loggins, and I promise you I mean that as a compliment; anyone who can make people care about “Danger Zone” can write a song — the ’10s revivalist heavy of Ruby the Hatchet‘s own early work in the 2015 Valley of the Snake (review here) and 2012’s Ouroboros debut, now a decade old. Oh, and I’m sure there’s ’90s and ’00s there too; just take the last 55 years or so of rock and roll and mash it together and see what comes out.
Rife with hooks and righteous individual performances, Fear is a Cruel Master resounds with a desire to engage its audience. It does not sound live — and that’s not a dig; there’s a breadth to the band’s sound that feels very intentional and studio-born that can be heard in “The Change” and “Deceiver” at the outset as well as side B counterparts “Soothsayer” and “Thruster,” the latter extra stormy in its classic vibe. Of course Deep Purple are a reference point there, and Black Sabbath, but some of the depth of mix that emerges here more generally also calls to mind first-record Ghost in its overarching melody, and Ruby the Hatchet‘s dynamic, whether it’s the dirty-jeans biker riff of “Primitive Man” or the layered sense of culmination in “1,000 Years,” which begins with mournful lead guitar and is the longest of the eight tracks at 6:18.
No, it does not sound live, but it does sound like it was meant to be played live. The underlying structures of the songs are crisp and plotted — they’ve never wanted for knowing where they’re headed in terms of songwriting — and each piece of the 43-minute entirety has a purpose serving the greater whole. From the mournful sway and command of “1,000 Years” to the cavernous echoing guitar leads and organ lines of “Last Saga,” there is no single piece of Fear is a Cruel Master that does not feel like it would work in a stage setting, and that does not at all mean they’re all loud or over-the-top or simply based around hooks or whatever. The truth is Ruby the Hatchet show more range on Fear is a Cruel Master than they ever have, and still do it in a way that is accessible at its core.
There are any number of ways to listen to Fear is a Cruel Master. Johnny Scarps offers graduate-level class on riffs and solos, whether it’s the shuffle and takeoff of “Soothsayer,” the shoving chug of “Primitive Man,” the grandiose lead work of “Last Saga” or the shifting to a thicker fuzz in “Amor Gravis” and the harnessing of slow-Slayer for doomed purposes in that closer’s midsection. Jillian Taylor is like undeniable as a charismatic presence up front and as a singer of marked range and ability to convey emotion, whether it’s the initial movement of “The Change” or standing astride the shifting tempo of “Amor Gravis,” a further highlight for what Muir (do not miss the bassline as well in “Thruster”) and Stewart bring on bass and drums, never mind the vocals the latter adds to the mix on the prior “Last Saga.”
And Sean Khan Hur is the not-a-secret weapon in the band’s arsenal, consistently building off the guitar and vocal melodies with creative sounds and a just-right vibe, be it the melancholy stretch of “1,000 Years” or the horror-rock sweep in “Thruster.” This is probably the part where I’m supposed to tell you all of these elements play together to create the entire sphere of Ruby the Hatchet‘s sound. Sure. That seems like something somebody reviewing an album positively would say, and it’s not untrue. What’s also happening though is there’s almost a feeling of competing aspects of the band’s sound, whether it’s the guitar, the keys, the vocals, the rhythm, the melody, all vying for attention at once.
From less capable songwriters, Fear is a Cruel Master would be a mess. It would simply come apart. The platter would melt on your turntable, the files would delete themselves from your phone, Spotify would explode (which could only be an improvement), etc. A decade on from their debut and five years after their last record, including two decisively wretched pandemic years that definitely play into some of the spirit of this material if not the actual subject matter, Ruby the Hatchet turn that sensibility into a source of excitement, and it becomes a defining feature of the LP as one piece or another comes forward at a given moment, soon to be one-upped by the next thing, whatever it might be.
By the time they’ve made their way down to “Last Saga” and “Amor Gravis,” it is clear who the actual masters are. Fear is a Cruel Master is not a common record, whatever genre tag one might want to saddle it with. Ruby the Hatchet‘s craft is vital and based around a traditionalist core, but they’ve grown out of whatever rawness was left following Planetary Space Child and wherever they go next, they go as an outfit whose hard-earned maturity is just one on a long list of sonic assets. With Fear is a Cruel Master, they demonstrate aesthetic reach that’s both newly found and organically grown, and surpass their influences with the confidence of a band who’ve always known they were on the right track. And so they were.
