ronic that the general acceptance of metal’s creative demise comes just as the mainstream seems to be on the part of the musical Mobius strip where guitars appear to be cool once again. Unfortunately, the rise of nü-metal with its limited and easily assimilated vocabulary, the fake futurism of its guest MCs and compulsory DJ scratches presupposed the death and/or redundancy of the myriad subgenres of existing metal. It doesn’t help that the nü-vocalists are drawn from a period of history where heavy guitar music that didn’t deal with politics or dysfunction was terminally uncool and fodder for derision (the fans being the most obvious and readily available targets). Lyrical content that ranges from everything to Satan’s very real presence amongst us to war to rockin’ to lone Dungeons and Dragons warrior songs doesn’t seem to be accepted by a Western hemisphere that won’t be emerging from its Hobbit fever till the four disc Return of the King comes out on DVD. Luckily, Dave Grohl, pop rock press darling (and soon to be star of Courtney’s diaries), doesn’t give a shit what you think about metal. He’s bringing his thrash/death Metal vocalist heroes out into the daylight because all you big girl’s blouses need to hear them.

Probot opens Omen-style with a 45 second intro of a droning monk choir (Church of Satan branch), quickly breaking properly into “Centuries of Sin”’s jackbooted run with Cronos’ ice cold urine gargling vocals riding scratchy, thick thrash guitars and drums punctuated by cymbal hammering. It’s a testament to the playing, the vocals and the riff that the song’s opening line ‘Survivor…Warrior Prince! Psychopath…Making difference!’ doesn’t cause my face to scrunch up like I’d just smelt a dog’s fart. An opener like this means instant forgiveness for his careless revivalist solo works, and puts one trick donkeys like James Hetfield (metal’s own Mark E. Smith impersonator) to shame. Considering the majority of vocalists here were already considered irrelevant dinosaurs by the early nineties (and are nearly forgotten altogether now) there is a clear passion and enthusiasm in Grohl’s instrumentals and a potency and power in the performance of every singer. Mike Dean and Wino’s turns on “Access Babylon” and “The Emerald Law” are the strongest here, sounding half their age and twice their size, although Wino’s solo is pointless and unexciting. The heads-down heavy pace only really slows up with the eternal winter themed grind of “Ice Cold Man” (the sixth track), but even slower tracks are dipped in a black leaded sound. Eric Wagner’s squalling “My Tortured Soul” is about as close as we get to the Foo Fighters sound, being the least heavy and most melodic song. On paper, “Secret Track” guest Jack Black is a peculiar addition to the cast list of old school stars, but his genuinely strong voice negates his comedy scented contributory lyrics and delivery. Anyway, there’s a riff that kicks in about two thirds of the way through Tenacious D’s “Double Team” that has already secured his place in my rock pantheon.

The accented guttural roars of Max Cavalera have been massively neglected in the last few years with two very average Soulfly releases. “Red War” is a very good impression of the bellowing righteousness of Arise-era Sepultura, the only problem with the song being Grohl’s drumming. Lacking the fluid force and space of Igor Cavalera’s percussion heavy playing, Cavalera’s voice doesn’t sit as well as it should and its very obvious that something is missing. Apart from this one lapse, Grohl’s playing is the brute force pummelling the drums, switching from measured and portentous slams to punkish sprints. The sharp production here is a blessing, as many older metal albums suffer today because of the unintentionally lo-fi production—Probot balances the grit with the sonic polish without lapsing into Metallica’s Metallica. This is metal that demands banging, shaking and stamping; none of this casual Nickelback nod which you can do without spilling your pint of diesel (cider and blackcurrant, or ‘dog’s bum’ as we call it due to the foamy flesh coloured puckering arsehole-like head created by the blackcurrant mixer).

If his shifts on the stool with Killing Joke and QOTSA put the focus back on his abilities as a drummer, then Probot begs the question: why has his expertise and passion in replicating harsher, heavier guitar music haven’t better informed his Foo Fighters day job? Grohl has been very direct about the motives and the origins of the Probot project: an initial basement demo experiment which was transformed into a chance to work with his heroes, and to draw the spotlight onto talents forgotten and pushed down through another layer of sediment into the archaeological past of rock. It’s satisfying to hear a punchy and diverse (within its own genre grouping; there’s no G-Unit/Stockhausen mash-ups) metal LP born from a fans love of the music, and to see a fellow fanboy realise his fantasy line-up (mine’s Staley, Patton, Cavalera, Anselmo, Buzzo, Araya, Brujo, Newport, Moreno, Jourgensen and Keenan, if you’re asking). It’s this sort of attitude of conceptualisation, devotion and enthusiasm that gets fanzines photocopied, organises long distance car journeys to gigs and gets collaborations organised (but realistically I’m sure it helps being an internationally recognised nice guy rock star).

It’s as common as a Janet Jackson tit search for bands to knock out a few covers of their favorite band’s songs or to give out a helping hand tour support slot, but very few go as far as Grohl and actually create something vital and new in their mid-thirties from their teenage obsessions. Choosing the tiny Southern Lord label because they ‘get’ Celtic Frost’s music instead of other more powerful and high profile labels, especially when he could’ve easily put it out on his Roswell imprint, means a literal investment back into the music. A cause more worthy of the spotlight of an ex-Nirvana member than Shonen Knife, Eugenius and the Meat Puppets? Probot is an inspirational record in every sense.

STYLUSMAGAZINE.COM'S ALBUM OF THE WEEK: FEBRUARY 8 - FEBRUARY 14, 2004