Kelly Kirwan
The latest cassette from Bless plays, and ripples in time start to tear through the atmosphere. You’re transported, one foot in experimental funk-punk, and the other in a reincarnation of heyday rock singers. From the first vocals on the album’s opening track, "Drop Out," I immediately imagined a montage of infectiously unpredictable UK-imported rockers from the mid- to late-20th century. Bless has garnered vocal comparisons to Jim Morrison and the ever-eccentric David Byrne, but at least on the album's opener I heard heavy shades of The Clash (specifically Joe Strummer) with that warped, almost waterlogged timbre coming across the airwaves.
"Drop Out" is funk that’s been given a bit of grit, groovy guitar interludes punctuated by a few guttural exclamations, and that deep, throaty voice is backed by a sweeter, lazy, choir-like repetition, "Drop out / Sit in / It’s too late / To win / I want / To sleep / All day." These pauses let the metallic ting of the cymbals and light reverb of the guitars fill the air, and this rallying call to simmer in apathetic anarchy starts to sound pretty enticing. The track builds to a howl as it closes, adding an animalistic quality as the cracks in the foundation of our responsibilities begin to show. As Bandcamp noted in a write-up, this latest piece of work is “MC5-influenced without being a tired rehash.” We want those notes of nostalgia, but without sense that we’ve been dealt a rip-off copy. Luckily, Bless doesn’t let us down. They take elements of the throwback genre we yearn for, and gave it a new (fuzzed out) mint.
"Tru Bless House" begins with a vaguely bluesy guitar riff, followed by an addictively funky beat as a question repeatedly haunts the lyrics: "Why did you stay in my house?" The melody thumps forward, underpinned by percussion with various bodily accents—claps, quick exhales. It’s a song to dip your shoulders and sway to, as Bless’ vocals once again waft over the speakers with characteristic idiosyncrasy.
Then there’s "Where Ya Been," the album’s final number, and also its longest at nearly five minutes. It’s marked by screaming pitches and howls, quick barks that create an air of magnetic volatility. The guitars come together in a wallop, a thrash that could ignite a frenzy in any crowd (and hell, even in those of us listening at home). The sense of urgency periodically dips into more controlled moments, and Bless appears as that person we all know—inevitably cool if not slightly unhinged. Bless is inviting us to let it all go, drop out, and it’s hard to refuse the offer.