Pitchfork

Reveling in their attempt to reanimate the lost soul of rock-n-roll, the colorfully named and elaborately dressed scamps in Denver's Friends Forever collaborate fitfully on the splattered Fluxus games of chance they've disguised as deconstructed western sludge. Already the subject of feature-length documentary bearing the band's name, the trio's substantial conceptual baggage could be a plus or a minus, depending on how many guffaws you enjoy with your guitar solos.

To be fair, some of their exercises are interesting. For one, Rudy Bloody, Wizard 333, and Cunt avoid playing shows in clubs; instead, they break down the touring system and kick-it sweaty and suffocated through multi-hued stoner rock in parking lots, crammed into a smokey Volkswagen van. And in 2001-- cribbing from the Oulipo Compendium-- they attempted to record 300 non-repetitive LPs of at least 30-minutes over one year; they shot themselves in the foot when deciding to disallow jamming and only managed to spit out 137 full-lengths, one of which includes the twelve-tone-friendly "Schoenberg Study in Metal".

Following this trajectory, Killball-- the band's first full-length for Load-- is another concept piece and quite lovingly dedicated to the Denver Broncos: "Killball details an ultra-violent future where games are played to the death. Killball is similar to American football circa 1920-2016, except the players wear no pads and are given PCP to ensure a grizzly game. Each player is equipped with a switchblade and a machete. To be tackled is to be destroyed." More Beavis than Baldessari, more Butthead than Beuys, the twelve screeching tidbits on Killball act out just such a game, and the resultant 27 minutes and 55 seconds sound akin to American Gladiators cast members caressing the asses of the very confused Melvins, who find themselves acting as beguiling heavy-metal cheerleaders.

Dealing in husky noise similar to that of Harry Pussy or Crank Sturgeon, but with the ha-ha gag reflex of Happy Flowers and GodWeenSatan-era Ween, the tone's set from the opener, "Carnisaur Vs. Unicorn". In its 1 minute and 11 seconds the Carnisaur is hyped-up as being like steel, while the Unicorn receive props through brassy shouts of "unicorn power." The track itself is basically a low fidelity take on the obnoxious "Are You Ready For Some Football?" warm-up you half-watch prior to televised NFL games. And then the games begin:

The second track, "Win" has repetitious bass, synth, drums, and lots of cymbals: The Fucking Champs playing along to Dire Straits' "Walk of Life" video with swirls of Devo chucked throughout. "Linebacker Blitz" opens with shouts of "go go go go" and is less like a blitz, more like a drum circle of zombies referees whistle and loud spectators popping and locking with an "ooh" and an "ah." Perhaps they're doing squat thrusts? Regardless, it reminded me of the flying monkeys in the Wizard of Oz. There's a shift at the end, too, which brings about more shouting and something that sounds like a group of people tackling a microphone. A stronger track, "3 Peat (March to the Locker Room)" has lots of fast drums that stop quickly like, *wince*, Anal Cunt, until guitars feedback and take themselves apart. Here, bass and drums creep along like robots while guitars act as descending fireworks or adrenaline leakage. The big tonal switch on Killball comes with "Halftime Band"; here the crowd goes crazy for the wacky band's out-of-tune horns and whistle. It's glue-sniffing goodness, a sodden march reminiscent of off-kilter appropriation of popular songs by King Frog and Weird Al.

That's just a portion of the first half. The second brings us what sounds like King Diamond leading a wave, a song for John Elway, crippled Monster Magnet, people shouting about yardage, a Clinic-like two minute warning complete with vocal feedback and missile launchers, and the approximation of sonic PCP. The last track, "Winners" features fans pealing-out "yeah, yeah, woo, woo, yeah" between speakers, making the stereo peak-out. So, yeah, the narrative's not much; though it for real made me want to go check out a young and suave Burt Reynolds in The Longest Yard.

Adept at twisting interesting layers of sound and choking out some fervid polyrhythms, Friends Forever could perhaps one day exist nicely outside of the silliness, but for now the band seems pretty unrepentant about affixing a punch line to just about every saturated moment. Unfortunately this particular theme got a bit grating before the work turned into anything substantial.