feature photo: Ebru Yildiz
Just two short years after the ironically-titled Hope, Marc Ribot and his rabble-rouser super trio Ceramic Dog are back leading the hell raising contingent of loud, improvised music. The guitar great Ribot along with bassist Shahzad Ismaily and drummer/percussionist Ches Smith not only do not slow down for their latest dish Connection, they mash down on the accelerator even harder.
Helped along by special guests (more about them in a minute) a bit more than usual, Ribot, Ismaily and Smith do on Connection what they always do, which is to raise a ruckus in all kinds of ways. It’s a band marked by confrontational music, not the pedigree of its elite musicians. Ceramic Dog is — and has always been — what happens when there’s a lot to say and no fucks to give.
The classic hard rock riff of the title tune with the Jimmy Page-isms of Marc Ribot’s slashing guitar wouldn’t been all out of place on Led Zeppelin II, one of many reminders that Ribot has far from forsaking his garage/punk band roots. Indeed, he positively lathers himself up in it, informed with the knowledge he’s since gained about nearly every other music form along the way. It’s a 3/4 song, but Smith plows a 4/4 beat right through it.
Ribot unleashes a profanity-laced tirade for the careening “Heart Attack” but manages to find a fitting role for saxophone ace James Brandon Lewis, who balances things out with a thoughtful jazz element. Hell, even when Ceramic Dog is representing the mambo (“Ecstasy”), there’s a punk attitude — provided this time by vocalist Syd Straw — that goes along with that Latin sway.
“Soldiers In The Army of Love” is galvanizing but just as rebellious as anything else on here, and Smith’s relentless beat does as much to underscore the strident pushback against the far right than Ribot’s sneering vocal or gonzo guitar. And since Ceramic Dog is thumbing their nose at anything establishment, what better way to do that than a post-punk treatment of “That’s Entertainment” where the lyrics are sneered not sung?
Even for songs without lyrics, there’s still a message. “Swan” is a long, free-flowing, continuous release, with Lewis putting his impassioned licks alongside Ribot’s. Ismaily’s apprehensive bass pulse anchors “No Name,” which grooves along with the service of guitar, electric piano and, unexpectedly, Peter Sachon’s cello. Marc Ribot’s blues bonafides comes into focus for “Order of Protection,” tackled straight up with increasing altitude and soul-kissed by Greg Lewis’ Hammond B3 organ.
Even the presence of Oscar Noriega’s clarinet doesn’t keep “Crumbia” from sounding like Klezmer music from another planet. That’s always been the beauty of Ceramic Dog: nothing is off limits, and genres don’t mean anything. It’s music that makes no concessions and whether Connection makes you angry, amused or inspired, it won’t ever leave you passive.
Connection is now out and about, courtesy of Knockwurst Records. Get it from Bandcamp.
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