Published on Sep 10, 2001
The last time I had heard from Britain’s Masters Of Reality, the
late Ginger Baker was playing drums for the group, and their disc
Sunrise On The Sufferbus had been met in my dorm room with a
yawn. The disc, featuring group leader Chris Goss, had a few
moments of enjoyment on it, but I don’t remember being terribly
impressed with the offering. Wham – into the depths of the Pierce
Memorial Archive it went – and has remained there to date.
Flash ahead to 2001. Goss has come out from behind the mixing
board (where he enjoyed success with groups like Kyuss) and has put
Masters Of Reality back together.
Welcome To The Western Lodge was first released in Britain
back in 1999, but it took two years before anyone on this side of
the drink would take another chance on Goss’s one-man project.
(Actually, the band is Goss plus whomever he happens to be playing
with at the moment – not unlike Matt Johnson of The The. This time
around, John Leahy fills the gaps with drums, some keyboards, and
some bass.)
If Goss refuses to be anything, it’s predictable.
Welcome To The Western Lodge jumps from style to style,
eschewing categorization and, to a point, pop success with this
disc. But there are many moments on this album which suggest
there’s more than a little method – as well as substance – to
Goss’s madness.
The 13 tracks on this disc pass quickly, clocking in at under 39
minutes. But Goss seems like he gets across in that short time span
exactly what he wanted to say – and more often than not, the
message is one worth hearing. Whether it’s the hard rock-based
groove that is laid down on “Moriah” or it’s the Beatles-esque spin
he puts on “Baby Mae” (sounding a lot like “You’ve Got To Hide Your
Love Away” at times), whether it’s the brief but potent statement
about the potential duality of Goss’s views on God (“Ember Day” –
which clocks in at a whopping 54 seconds) or the hauntingly
beautiful word portraits on “Lover’s Sky,” Goss seems to know
exactly what he’s doing with
Welcome To The Western Lodge.
In fact, there’s only one moment on the whole disc which I found
unlistenable – namely, the annoying squawk passing for a lead vocal
on the chorus of “Calling Dr. Carrion”. The effects-laden
nasal-drip style of this delivery is so shrill that you might
actually see wallpaper curling up around your house – my God, who
let Fran Drescher by a microphone? Yes, only one so-so track out of
13 isn’t a bad average, but ths is one where you should dive for
the “fast forward” button on the CD player. (Interestingly enough,
if it weren’t for the chorus, the track would be listenable.)
Even the fuzz-laced bass drivings of the opening track “It’s
Shit” don’t distract from the power of the music that Goss and
Leahy have created on this disc. While
Welcome To The Western Lodge is the kind of disc that will
confuse at first, subsequent listenings prove that this disc
purposely kicks down any attempt at categorization and challenges
the listener to just sit back and let the music take control of the
ride. In the end, it’s the best way to experience the disc – and
should definitely put Goss back on the musical map as a performer
and songwriter.