Log Borders on Childish; Friday Lost in Clone Army

Bob Log III
Log Bomb

Log Bomb, the latest album release from Arizona alternative musician Bob Log III, is either the most blasphemous or the most sadly humorous collection of music ever to be called "the blues."

Log, a one-man band, is primarily a novelty act. He takes the stage in a customized motorcycle helmet outfitted with a telephone through which he screams hopelessly distorted vocals.

Some sound vaguely like the blues. Some are whoops and screams. Most are unintelligible.

He plays slide guitar tuned down to depth-charge levels and keeps time with a crude drum set operated with foot pedals.

Log's creative guitar style on Log Bomb is the record's most enjoyable feature, even though the level of distortion in his tone would make Robert Johnson roll over in his grave -- Log plays with the ferocity of a punk axeman.

Yet his licks retain a certain authenticity and sincerity that seem to be missing in much of the overproduced blues being released today.

The lightning-quick picking and slide work on "Slide Guitar Ride Junior" prove that Log has put in his practice time.

Lyrically, however, the album fails to satisfy. With song titles like "Drunk Stripper," "F-Hole Parade," and "Boob Scotch," Log gives the impression that his rampant vulgarity is more the result of a desire to be novel than to show any kind of real artistic integrity.

That last tune, if you weren't sure, is actually about drinking scotch mixed with a breast. The words go "Come on, pass my drink 'round the room/ Everybody stick in a boob/ Hold it in as long as you can/ Then put it back in Bob Log's hand/ I'm drinkin' boob scotch!"

It's difficult not to give Log some respect for making music on his own terms. Released on the independent Fat Possum label, the record seems to lack any production whatsoever and is adamantly lo-fi. Log's horny rants are refreshingly far away from modern pop music.

But in the end, Log Bomb is difficult to listen to. Log's music seems much better suited for live performance than for documentation on record.

The whole effect would be more convincing coming live from an animated, helmeted loon than from a pair of speakers.

Go check out Bob Log III in a grungy bar after a few rounds of "boob scotch," but don't waste your money on the album.

By Grey Huddleston

Five Way Friday
Wrecked

Five Way Friday's release Wrecked is exactly what you would expect to find from lo-fi rock.

Elementary guitars, mournful vocals, non-confrontational beats. Quite simply, Five Way Friday makes comfortable indie rock.

But that is also where Five Way Friday falters.

Though all 11 songs found on Wrecked are easy to listen to, fun to sing along with and completely predictable, nothing new ever is uncovered. It's the kind of music that you expect to find on the satellite TV radio stations. Good, but not exactly revolutionary.

And in a musical genre that is awash with more imitators and clones than pioneering artists, something has to be different for a band to stand out. Five Way Friday would have been amazing five years ago, before bands like The Wallflowers, but as it stands they are simply lost in the mess -- another name in an endless lists of interchangeable artists.

But Five Way Friday does stand out from many of its contemporaries because it actually is a very talented band. Mac Leaphart and Rivers Pearce provide solid -- if somewhat overly simplified -- rhythms on the guitars. Bassist Gibbs Leaphart adds stripped-down bass lines that never overpower the rest of the instruments but that also never really define a true presence.

And Randy Helmly has a great voice. He is versatile and energetic and has a raw, unpolished rasp that lends an element of reality and live presence. But we have heard it all before.

Cuts like "Lapsed Catholic" and the country-tinged "Western Folk" will have you drawing countless comparisons to other clones, while the chorus of "Good Girls Don't Lie" sounds like some mid-'90s alternative rock -- any mid-'90s alternative rock.

It just doesn't stick.

Sitting in class or driving down the road, you may find yourself humming the catchy instrumentals of "American Dream." But when you stop and try to remember what song you were humming or where you have heard that before, you're left spitting out Five Way Friday in one long flow of band names. Goo Goo Dolls, Matchbox 20, Train, Lifehouse. It doesn't really matter.

As a result, Five Way Friday is lost in a homogenous soup of groaning guitars and moaning vocals that, despite sometimes creating good music, has become stale and stagnant with age. Genre mixing (outside of the predictable folk and country), electronic manipulation, the addition of experimental instrumentation -- Five Way Friday needs to do something to break away from its cookie-cutter classification. At this point, it's not even a matter of sink or swim; they just need to get out of the pool.

What makes Five Way Friday good is that its members have the talent to do something original. What makes it bad is that its members haven't.

As of now, just don't bother, 'cause chances are you already own Five Way Friday's album; what was its name?

By Nick Parker