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Endless Boogie - Full House Head (2010)





Pojawiła się wreszcie druga płyta mojego, ostatnio ulubionego zespołu - Endless Boogie. O ile najnowsze dokonania takich grup jak Radio Moscow czy Wooden Shjips mnie bardzo zawiodły to muzyka prezentowana przez tych panów napawa nadzieją, że rock jeszcze nie umarł. Muzyka Endless Boogie to kawał mięsistego bluesa z domieszką psychedelii osadzonej w heavy rockowych ramach. Gorąco polecam !

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Nothing if not consistent, Endless Boogie provides more examples of its casual approach to rock music. Full House Head is a good hour-plus demonstration of its craft. Proficient at its instruments, its membership keens toward a unified front, this self-aware everyman presence that eschews virtuosity in favor of togetherness, as these four men squeeze their way through a swamp-assed tromp in the wilds of nasty blues and Southern rock.

Most of their songs hover past the 8-minute mark, so that anyone just walking into the bar they’re playing gets more of a chance to grab a lick. It’s incredible background music, and when/where/why you decide to pay attention depends solely on you. And when you do, GREAT! Dip in your friendly conversation with Boz Scaggs? Zen moment in the mens’ room, honkin’ on bobo? They’re your boys.

Endless Boogie is not high-concept, and as such, their music is easily deconstructed. There’s pop songwriting — then there’s these guys. There’s very little build-up to get to their songs. You’re there. But wait! Time travel is for suckers. You want to extend your time on Earth because it’s all you got. The triple-length jams that roll out of this forge give the illusion that everything’s the same, while robbing you of your time. Robbie Robertson wrote “you put the load right on me.” Hard rock, blues rock, psych rock … these are obsessions, the weight of the obsessed. I’m one of them. You might be, too. I’m aware that huge chunks of the world slip right past my view, choosing instead to go deaf in search of the righteous vibe. Its poison is the allure. It’s not for everyone, but it is for some. People with lots to do wouldn’t dig this too much.

There’s no Krautrock in their approach, no attempts at minimalism or pop jockin’ or rebranding of the form. It’s nothing more than riffin’ and blue-collar soloin’. And you better love those riffs, because it’s gonna take ‘em a while to resolve. Their music comes from confinement, in the garage, revvin’ in neutral, trying to get a base high. Class and personality is not on display. The public-facing organ of Endless Boogie, Paul Major, croaks like Fred Cole doing Chris Griffin from Family Guy. He barks about grabbin’ some “Mighty Fine Pie” and the sensible throngs drift off, as a pack of wolves up front leer like escaped cons from the foot of the stage. It’s dirty.

This is a band that has four full-length albums to its credit. Never has it bent or changed. Humans take a break from everyday life to do something they love, and in the case of these gents, they attempt to give back. We made ourselves this way. I’m far from a generation that told me it was a good idea to listen to Free. I had to travel backward to get there. It took a long time. That search, that struggle is represented in the 9-minute asphalt melters and the fumes they generate. You’re either impressed with their single-mindedness, or you’ve stopped reading this review.

Endless Boogie uses the infinity symbol as its logo. The problem with Endless Boogie is its solution. (Doug Mosurock, dustedmagazine.com)



Lamenting the death of rock and celebrating the constant exultations of its rebirth has become exhausting. As one entity is bringing hammer to nail, another is prying the coffin lid to exhume the body before the maggots take to it. Do we really need an effigy of Jimi Hendrix to keep rock alive? By claiming its death, are we really setting it free?

None of that existential shit matters when listening to Endless Boogie. Fronted by enigmatically grizzled vocalist and guitarist Paul Major and built on an unshakable blue-collar foundation comprising Jesper Eklow, Mark Ohe, and Harry Druzd, Endless Boogie was formed on the blood and sweat of classic rock workmen. Guzzled by hard livin’ acolytes and shunned by those fearing provocation of the dusty party gods of yore, Endless Boogie cling to rock ’n’ roll life as if it were life itself. As mourners cast themselves onto caskets and undertakers carry them off to eternal rest, Endless Boogie go about their days without the somber pall of death or the flickering torch of sustainability. Whether rock ’n’ roll dies is not of their concern; it’s whether those who still give a damn about the swagger of Elvis hips and Les Paul riffs still care enough to just give in to their primal urges.

Like ambrosia from the gods, 2008’s Focus Level rattled the moldy bones of the past. Equally monolithic to its predecessor, Full House Head forges itself on the idea that rock is not an outdated sound but an internal attitude. Music is not a concept or a mantra; it's a state of mind. It’s about throwing all your chips into the pot, laying your cards on the table, and letting chance overtake reason. Who knows why we love rock ’n’ roll and who gives a damn — there doesn’t need to be an answer, just an outlet. Full House Head is such a beast.



Once Endless Boogie get going, there’s no stopping their momentum. Full House Head is one stacked jam after the next, each with a unique take on the history of rock without the messiness of tribute. “Pack Your Bags” is Hendrix bravado fed through an insatiable wah, always feeding on the same lick. “Slow Creep” lives its title, carefully wringing a melody from a lazy slide. Southern rock blisters “Mighty Fine Pie,” as the boys extend a three-minute jingle into a seven-minute display of Stones attitude that even Mick and Keith can no longer manage. Album bookends “Empty Eye” and “A Life Worth Leaving” prove to be Full House Head’s magnificent monstrosities. Leaning heavy on the seductive swing of swamp rock, both display Endless Boogie’s affection for all things southern rock. “Empty Eye” is the aggressor, hitting on the listener with the bravado of a Connecticut Yankee in Strom Thurmond’s court, an infusion of northern strut into southern charm. “A Life Worth Leaving” finds the boys teasing psychedelic tendencies, trampling on the muddy ground of quintessential jam bands such as Gov’t Mule. Unlike their long-winded brethren, Endless Boogie don’t hover on a simple stanza for too long, almost taking this dirty brand of blues into progressive territory. Twenty-two minutes is a lot to ask of an audience, but Endless Boogie command attention with constant evolution.

Pessimistic attitude about the state of rock be damned. Endless Boogie have no use for it. Stand on the sidelines if you must, but Full House Head won’t allow for mopes. This isn’t about a tired notion or some resurrection; it’s about digging into the muck and pulling out the blues in each of us — those feelings of regret and remorse that are always hiding in our blind spots. Endless Boogie shove ’em in our face and do it with the sort of unrivaled glee that leaves our heads banging. Rock may be dead, but don’t tell it to the Boogie. (tinymixtapes.com)

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