Graveyard, Graveyard

Tee Pee
    It’s finally happened—the day I knew would come. I’ve tried to think of ways to escape the inevitable, but that’s the irony of it: even when you can see something coming a mile off, you can’t ever really escape it if it’s got your name on it. Here’s the gist of it: I’ve always known that one day I would just stop caring. So, philosophically speaking, everything that’s ever happened in the world up until right this very moment has been a causal prelude to me not caring.
    Also this: Graveyard. These Swedish fellows sound like the psych- and blues-inspired heavy-riffing of about A MILLION OTHER BANDS, and as such they’re part of this colossal problem of talent-pool dilution. Think about it this way: If everybody does the exact same thing, how could you possibly care if one more person joins in? It’s just so hard to care about this because the glut of bands feeding off the corpses of Sabbath and Blue Cheer has pushed this nostalgia worship past all reasonable boundaries of acceptability. But what’s worse is that there’s really nothing wrong with this album. It’s just that there’s nothing right about it either.—Andreas Trolf