Raucous roadhouse band makes 'Creepy'
sound OK
SCOTT D. LEWIS
Somewhere, well beyond the tracks that
signal the wrong side of town, there is a ramshackle roadhouse bar.
Some might even call it a honky-tonk. The windows are all boarded up
and it's in dire need of paint. Inside, you can barely see the worn
wooden floor through the carpet of peanut shells and cigarette butts.
The bartender is the sheriff's cousin. For everyone's protection, beer
is served only in plastic cups. This is the kind of place that I Can
Lick Any SOB in the House would play every night, and the crowd of
crusty cousins would whoop it up right along with the band.
I Can Lick, as the economic and the
in-the-know call this Portland quintet, has been causing a stir around
town for its incendiary, tear-the-house-down live shows. With the
release of "Creepy Little Noises," the boys in the band can tear down
your house, as well.
Some bands have detectable influences,
while others try to hide their musical history. I Can Lick has clear
influences and relishes shoving them in your face. The Gun Club can be
heard here, Mojo Nixon on expired cough medicine can be heard there, a
guitar section gets stolen shamelessly from Led Zeppelin, and
throughout the CD's 11 tracks can be heard a whole lot of "Let It
Bleed"-era Rolling Stones.
Ringleader Mike D. introduces the set
with an insane a cappella hog-holler before the music proper kicks in,
though nothing's proper about the racket he makes with his partners in
slime, Jon Burbank (guitar, keyboards), Dewey Revelle (bass), David
Lipkind (harmonica) and one Flapjack Texas (drums).
These "Creepy Little Noises" run the
range from the chugging desert swagger of "Graveyard Song" through the
downbeat and boozy '70s pop vibe of "Swing Man Swing." While Mike D.'s
raucous rasp clearly is at the center of every song, several of
Lipkind's wailing harmonica solos step up to nearly steal the show, and
the rest of the band forms the ideal bridge between the two primal
forces.
From the sound of things, I Can Lick Any
SOB in the House can do just that. But at least the pummeling is
delightfully demented, fueled as it is by furious fun.