It takes seven seconds for Skinwalker to completely upend the status quo of Buzzard Buzzard Buzzard. That’s all in the intro track, too, where a deadpan utterance of “Walk” preludes a single gargantuan pulse of guitar distortion, really unlike anything this band have laid down before. Prior to this, they were on a wavelength of ebullient classic pop, or early glam-rock frothiness à la T.Rex. As for Skinwalker, the uncanny analog horror of its artwork is actually is fairly solid mood-setter.
There’s also the notion of that title, taken from a creature from Navajo folklore that apparently, outside of the culture, is incredibly poorly misused and misunderstood in how it’s depicted in various works. Perhaps there’s a certain appropriativeness in Buzzard Buzzard Buzzard’s usage of it as a catch-all for evil spirits and crumbling sanity, but when the alternative has this culturally-significant entity effectively turned into a creepypasta, you’re willing to show some grace. At least there’s been effort put into Skinwalker, in Buzzard Buzzard Buzzard’s ground-up reconstitution via feral, distorted garage-rock and even shreds of metal.
Perhaps you can compare it to a band like The Lemon Twigs and their not-dissimilar taste for revivalism. In both, there’s absolutely a root in classic rock, then parlayed into something more scuffed and DIY befitting of their contemporary circles. The difference is how Buzzard Buzzard Buzzard appear less caught in the weeds with regards to blatant, rigid revivalism now. It’s a benefit of going heavier and meaner, and bringing prominent edges into much sharper focus. National Rust, for example, places itself at the intersection between post-punk, new wave and straight-up funk, but the post-chorus squonks of guitar and better balance between the lithe and the muscular.
Dish that out across an entire album and keep the accessibility going, and you’ve basically got Skinwalker. That’s also while keeping its own thesis intact, of succumbing to the dark forces in frontman Tom Rees’ mind looking to drag him into the abyss. Night Of The Skinwalker really zeroes in on that sentiment, the bellydragging closer designed to invoke the uncanny terror of being stalked by ominous, nocturnal creatures. Buzzard Buzzard Buzzard are actually quite excellent at pulling that mood off, especially now that certain riffs and solos are pushed to their natural extremes in distortion, resting against the fourth wall just to stop their discordant, monolithic forms from toppling. Among that is the fat, swollen lurch of Leatherbound or the wonkiness of In My Egg exacerbated by blown-out guitars spilling out over the rim, as well as other examples that find Buzzard Buzzard Buzzard carrying out their transformation in no uncertain terms.
But remember the claim of accessibility earlier? Well, it’s where Skinwalker has the edge over most of its field, for whom bashed-out raucousness without a semblence of tighter binding is more than enough. For Buzzard Buzzard Buzzard, though, who, up to now, have had light, typically classic melody as their tipple of choice, they aren’t just throwing that away. Quite the contrary; the tight layering and pop effervescence is just as prominent. Especially in the vocals, there’s a wealth of hooks to indulge in, as Therapy alone carries about four of them moulded into a six-minute run that never drifts in focus. Elsewhere, there’s a terrific effusiveness to My Star Sign Is A Basset Hound and Sugar Sandwich, the sweetness making them all the more sumptuous to dig into.
Naturally, it’s the one song where Buzzard Buzzard Buzzard don’t do any of that which falls apart, namely The Drowning Bell with its slow, ticking pace and Pink Floyd-esque eloquence. It eventually finds normalcy when another spurt of crunched-up garage-rock discord rips through as if it were paper, but it still stands as a not-very-effective use of Buzzard Buzzard Buzzard’s abilities. The rest of Skinwalker makes that abundantly clear, unblocking a skillset pipeline with so much new life and energy at the other end. It comes together way more attractively than blitzed, ‘nostalgic’ garage-rock often does, for one. For another, new instincts have been grown and cultivated, in what turns this journey through the abyss into one of pure rock’s most electrifying odysseys of the year so far. Turns out that building themselves back up has left Buzzard Buzzard Buzzard stronger than ever before.
For fans of: The Lemon Twigs, Courting, King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard’s metal-ish stuff
‘Skinwalker’ by Buzzard Buzzard Buzzard is out now on Communion Group Ltd.
Words by Luke Nuttall
