Glitter Glamour Atrocity Reviews
London Sunday Times, November 2007
"Glitter Glamour Atrocity appears to be this American trioŐs third album, but www.whitehillsmusic.com is down. The buzzsaw thrum of American punk is now so coopted by the Man that White Hills chose to get angry via pounding 1970s space-rock and dense, deadened 1969 psychedelia. Relentless Hawkwind grooves underpin splurges of Stooges wah-wah and samples of George W Bush lying. Booming bass lines suggest a lobotomised Peter Hook deboning Joy Division riffs. The title track is a 14-minute jet-engine thrust. File this alongside Texan fellow travellers the Black Angels and call it the start of something."-Stewart Lee
PitchFork Media, May 2007
"Ah, the great meditative bait-and-switch. The sampled instructor's voice on "Air Waves (Intro)" promises "pure consciousness," but after the ensuing track full of simmering bass drone, all you get from "Under Skin or By Name" is a hammer to the face with "HAWKWIND" scratched somewhere on the wooden handle. White Hills have a few tricks up their sleeves, but even if they didn't, they manage to take the judicious wah-wah and space noises from Lemmy's old, infamous, severely underappreciated band without forgetting the role rhythm played in it.
Note how long it takes to get to the rock, though, and how quickly it recedes. By "Under Skin or By Name", it's apparent what the band wants to do, but it's only at the record's end where it puts together everything it can do. Glitter Glamour Atrocity is far more carefully and deliberately paced than any listener would assume from its scuzz-rock title and cover, and the moments of ambience and calm might just outnumber the stretches of full-on freak-out.
"Air Waves" isn't exactly spitting in your mouth, featuring a stiff, tasteful rhythm and an almost jangly guitar line; the tribal groove of "Spirit of Exile"-- the album's most accessible moment-- simmers gorgeously without ever bubbling over. And, after four minutes of palette-cleansing hum with "Distance", comes an acoustic-led instrumental. It's almost an entirely different band that comes in with the brick-heavy psychedelia of "Love Serve Remember", but the transitions feel natural. It's during that track's politically dour death march ("never question these words I say", they chant) where the band really begins to stretch out, as the guitars recede for a woman singing ghostly lullaby and a recorded-- and heavily edited-- speech from George W. Bush, devilishly rearranged to have him label himself a terrorist and a threat, showing more culpability in this re-constituted address than in his entire presidency. Then, a guitar solo.
In fact, White Hills don't really let it all out until the near 14-minute closer and title track, when they finally throw everything they have at the wall-- the riffs, the solos, the pedals, the pre-recorded proselytizing-- and it sticks like projectile puke. GGA doesn't tease, necessarily, it's just overwhelmingly patient. It's a tribute to heroes, it's a modern twist, it has a current of political unrest, but above all that it knows when to hold back. This is an honest-to-god-album, with peaks and valleys, crests and chill-out sections-- hell, "Glitter Glamour Atrocity" alone has all that. You might take only one or two songs away at first blush (probably "Spirit of Exile" or the title track), but it's a consistently engaging listen from end to end."
-Jason Crock
Incendiary Magazine, March 2007
"I tell you, White Hills have to be the best band in the US at present. This is a fabulous release brimful of anger and perdition at the war in Iraq and all things Dubya. That this anger is set over a cosmic soundtrack to rival that genre's greatest exponents does little to decrease its charms. Oh no. From the beautiful opening partnership of Air and Waves and Under Skin or by Name right through to the last (the title) track, this is a very focused piece of work and frankly needs to be heard.
Waves begins like a track off Joy Division's Closer, before morphing into Under Skin or by Name Spirit of Exile which kicks all the gloom into touch with a bruising guitar and drum assault. A west coast guitar solo battles in vain with rolling drums; there is a feeling that High Psychic energy levels are at play here. Spirit of Exile Distance takes the reflective side of Neu! and runs with it for all the song is worth, adding plaintive vocals and a brooding sense of menace far removed from Dinger and Rother's attempts at Zen-like meditation. The track morphs (with the aid of a synth that sounds like a desert wind) into the beautiful Distance Somewhere Along the Way, beautiful until the weird buzzing fly noise comes along and gloriously fucks it up.
Still, Somewhere Along the Way keeps the meditational feel going with a mainly acoustic track supplemented by atonal synths that hint at Cluster's early LPs. By total contrast, Love Serves Remember is a crushing behemoth, blowing away all the previous tracks' reflections as soon as the drums, industrial guitar and the marching sounds appear. Welcome to the atrocity exhibition indeed. Mid-song there's a hiatus and a prayerful song as a plane takes off and bombs drop. Then we have a doctored tape of Dubya which is frankly brilliant in its execution and must be heard. Back comes the industrial noise and the feeling of chaos to wrap things up. Passage is a morose interlude, sounding very much like a groggy take on the double bass sample from the Bunnymen's Broke My Neck.
Finally we have Glitter Glamour Atrocity; a fabulous guitar laden stomp, a true sonic slalom (if you can momentarily suspend disbelief at my alliterationÉ) Frankly, the squalling guitars and fabulously empathic drumming never lets up for nigh on 13 minutes, not once. A sampled voice urging us all to pay more attention to the world we live on only adds to the tension. It's absolutely brilliant way to end a truly epic LP.
Think big and bold, and check White Hills out. They are worth it."-Richard Foster
Heads on Fire Reviews
Drowned in Sound, November 2007
"Ah, Space Rock. As one of the tracks on this very fine album suggests, don't be afraid, and don't panic either! If you think this much-maligned genre reeks of stale patchouli, un-washed hair and trips to free festivals to see Ozric Tentacles whilst gorging on mushroom sarnies and cider then you're missing the point. Early Lemmy-era Hawkwind was radical street fighting punk rock! The heads-down motorik fuzzed-out elements of Amon Duul II and Can were a huge kosmiche fuck you to the safe early 70s singer-songwriter status quo. Marry all of this to a righteous fist in the air stoner-punk spirit and you have the essence of what we're dealing with here.
New York trio White Hills are Dave W on guitar and vocals, Bob Bellomo on drums and the fantastically monikered Ego Sensation on bass. The last few years have seen the band release some now impossible to find CDRs and hook up both with Arch Drude and contender for greatest living Englishman, Julian Cope. He re-released their debut recording They've Got Blood Like We've Got Blood on his Fuck Off And Di imprint. This, though, is their debut album proper on rather fantastic London-based label Rocket Recordings. Heads On Fire throws down grungy distorted layers of sludge that relentlessly churn along. It's neither subtle nor pretty, but god damn it rocks. They take the space rock template and inject it with a battered fucked-up New York punk spirit.
A bubblegum bass riff and colossal thundering drums announce album opener Radiate, which then bursts open with some wah-wah-drenched guitar. The aforementioned DonŐt Be Afraid clocks in at an impressively sprawling 26 minutes: flowing with peaks and troughs, it settles into a languid hypnotic trance-like groove then builds and builds until it erupts with an arse-quaking explosion of soaring Hendrix-like guitar 17 minutes in, only to drift off into the ether again.
Oceans of Sound hangs on a tight Nebula-like riff and displays a pedal to the metal rolling groove. Its too easy just to lock into a proto-krautrock groove and thrash away with no substance, but White Hills ably manage to add some meat to the bones and actually take you somewhere on their trip.
More please!
White Hills have fashioned an album that pulses and throbs with heads-down astral power that takes one quite literally far out. Set those controls, then, and see you on the other side."-HimTall
NineHertz, October 2007
"White Hills are a New York based space rock band. They're no strangers to British shores, having recently completed a successful UK tour. Julian Cope has been an avid fan since their inception and was also responsible for re-releasing the band's 2005 album 'They've Got Blood Like We've Got Blood'.
'Heads on Fire' is their latest release and will likely serve to further their reputation as purveyors of high calibre psychedelic space rock. The album kicks off in fine form with the high octane opener 'Radiate', a dense rocked out number awash with thick fuzzed out guitars and delayed clean vocals. White Hills boast a dense sound, adeptly heaping layer upon layer of effects drenched guitars, vocals and synths on a rock solid foundation of mammoth grooves.
There's definitely a hint of classic 70's rock to the proceedings but with a highly psychedelic bent. At times, White Hills remind me of their label mates The Heads, a comparison I make not just to illustrate stylistic parallels but also to emphasize the sheer propulsive power of the music. In spite of the jammed out nature of their music, White Hills also boast the rare ability to kick out some wonderfully structured locked down riffs. I'm talking the kind of riffs that Nebula wouldn't kick out of bed in a hurry.
I'd initially expected White Hills to plough through the entire album in much the same fashion as these opening tracks. Had this been the case, 'Heads on Fire' would have been a very good, no thrills psych rock album. However, White Hills have chosen to elevate their music by exploring more far flung territories. Just when you think you've got them pinned down, they throw a 26 minute curve ball in the form of 'Don't Be Afraid'.
Not only does this track break with convention, it also showcases a darker more brooding side to the band. The song grows from a dark hypnotic looping bass line into a monolithic sprawling jam that ebbs and flows with serpentine like grace. 'Don't Be Afraid' draws on post rock's dramatic melodicism but keeps one foot squarely in the past, incorporating 70s kraut rock and space rock influences. It's a truly majestic and absorbing listening experience, one that ranks along side the very best of today's so called 'post metal' genre.
As the final notes of this 26 minute epic fall away, White Hills reprise their love of speed and whacked out lead guitar. The closing track 'Eternity' crashes forth as a final triumphant wake up call, the band adeptly storming their way through one last blown out psych rock attack. A brave and refreshing move when most would have opted to close the album on a mellow note.
As it stands, 'Heads on Fire' left me completely satiated, having taken me places I'd never expected to go. It's wonderful to discover a band who so wholeheartedly embrace the past without ever letting it constrain their vision for the future.
I look forward to hearing more."-Matt D.
BoomKat, November 2007
"New York psych-noise loons White Hills unleash a follow up to their Glitter Glamour Atrocity album with this release for the UK's own Rocket Recordings. Regulars on the CD-R circuit, the band have already received a weighty endorsement from Julian Cope, but are bound to find themselves on the receiving end of far wider reaching endorsements from here on. Heads On Fire mixes the acid-trip propulsions of Hawkwind with the fuzzy aggro of The Stooges, resulting in some of the heaviest old-school rock manoeuvres around. These guys have one foot in the garage and the other on the moon, laying down krautish, tautly wound rock grooves in conjunction with some major Big Muff presence. Clearly White Hills are a cut above your standard issue psychedelic jam band, at times condensing their sound into sub-five minute, high tempo fuzz structures, while at others stretching out effects pedal experimentation over twenty-six minute vistas of swirling atmosphere and dust bowl textures. Ace."
SonicFrontiers.net, October 2007
"If Woodstock 1969 were to happen today, White Hills would probably be the brown acid. This isn't the sixties though and this kind of dark, looming psych-rock is as much a reaction to growing up on grunge and death metal as Woodstock was to the polished rock n' roll of the fifties.
Brooklyn combo White Hills' latest opus, Heads on Fire, is a 50 minute sonic-slap-in-the-face, sounding something like the psychedelic equivalent to being lost in space. The trademark sound is a sort of Hawkwind gone satanic via buddhism, complete with brain-bashing drums, hypnotic chants, wha-fuzz delirium and an assault of psychedelic effects that sound like dolphins mating with monkeys. The album jumps straight into the deep end, kick-starting with three fiery tracks chugging away like a possessed steam train, bold and relentless. The second track's title, 'Oceans of Sound,' says it all. The fifth track, 'Present and Future' comes like a sudden gasp for air; a drowny (and drony) down-tempo number which takes a long spacey departure about halfway through, only to pick up again 3 minutes later with the fuel of a hard night's drinking. Heads on Fire finally culminates with 'Eternity', a heady almost punkish attack with a texture so thick you could wrap yourself in it.
Space rock can sometimes prove tricky, too often sounding like a greasy teenager spending way too much time smoking shwag and tweaking the pitch/speed knob on his 'my first digital delay'. White Hills possess a strength in that they never seem to completely lose sight of their direction and drive --be it the behemoth percussion or the soaring riffage. The patchworked layers of psychedelic haze are merely the icing on the cake. Preferably one baked with pot."-Mark Wagner
Swan Fungus, October 2007
"This past February I found myself driving into Manhattan on what was easily the coldest night of the year. The National Weather Service had issued a winter weather advisory that afternoon, and by nightfall the temperature had dropped to several degrees below zero. As I navigated my way from the Holland Tunnel to Lit, I was shocked at the indelibly empty streets downtown. It was under these frigid conditions that I was first exposed to White Hills. Awash in fuzzed-out bliss, swelling and roaring and filling every inch of space, the Brooklyn-based trio more than thawed the patrons who had ventured indoors from the frozen city streets. They warmed us, they dosed us, took our hands and led us on a fantastic trip, disorienting in both space and time.
Now, eight months later, the band is poised to release their second full-length album of the year. Their first, Glitter Glamour Atrocity (self-released), I've already hailed as the best album of 2007. Their latest offering, Heads On Fire, is equally intoxicating.
From the distant swirls and ominous distorted bass that introduce the heady opener "Radiate," to the fiercely up-tempo closer "Eternity," listeners are treated to fifty minutes of hypnotic, heavy rock. Heads On Fire is an exhibition in rich tones, swirling effects, and powerful rhythms. Thanks to guitarist/vocalist Dave Weinberg, the guitar solo -- which in recent years seems to have been relegated to alterna-rock dustbin -- has returned.
"Ocean Sound" begins not with a whimper, but a bang. An overdriven riff repeats for several bars, followed by a brief, searing wah solo. Bob Bellomo thrashes away at his drums, injecting sporadic fills but generally keeping things thunderous and tribal. Once the band sinks into a steady groove, the sound expands and copious psychedelic effects catapult the tune into the cosmos. The track would feel entirely at home on Hawkwind's In Search Of Space.
The nine-minute long "Visions Of The Past, Present, And Future," briefly decreases the amplification, allowing some warped ambient flutters to lull the listener before an extended, deliriant solo soars above a rolling fog of drums and bass. As stunning as the song is, the record still hasn't reached its apex. The centerpiece of Heads On Fire is unquestionably "Don't Be Afraid"; twenty-six minutes of mind-bending sonic freakout guaranteed to leave after image-like trails. A foreboding dial tone, gloomy whispered vocals, distant chants and fluctuating waves creep along for six minutes before Weinberg asserts, "Don't be afraid. It's all in your mind," and produces a wickedly lysergic solo sure to distract from whatever paranoid delusions you may be harboring. Another squall, muffled guitar squeals and sundry effects cushion the fall back to Earth from some distant galaxy. Ah, but the jam isn't even half over yet. Settle in, close your eyes, and enjoy the remainder of your trip.
Heads On Fire serves as both a perfect primer to the band's milieu and a strong followup to Glitter Glamour Atrocity. There is no shortage of memorable sounds on either album. If it is volcanic rhythms and cosmic melodies you seek, or harmony between ambience and chaos, or maybe just a record you can spin a few times while out of your head, White Hills has you covered. Go into the light."-Evan