Loudmouth

Loudmouth

Loudmouth

Hollywood

After a cursory glance at Loudmouth’s self-titled major label debut, you might think the band is Hollywood’s bid for the next Kyuss or Monstermagnet, both bands responsible for ushering detuned, post-Sabbath riff theories into the ’90s. But upon closer inspection, Loudmouth reveals a sufficiently stoned brand of groove-metal ripe for inhalation. Guitars wah-wah-ing into the stratosphere like exhaled toke smoke, long hair flailing madly but deliberately, loud-ass drums bashing ‘n’ bailing like so many previous, well-worn dins, Loudmouth has its shit straight, and that takes guts and expertise when so many lesser lights inconspicuously pass by like ragweed joints at a high school party. Sit (read: sit) through the near hour-long album, however, and you might feel a bit woozy, inarticulation setting in if the proper aesthetic concerns are ignored (come on — you know what that means…). Like space cowboys riding steel horses, Loudmouth should be able to hold many a lighter high in the night sky if marketed to the proper groovaholics.

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