Review
Once upon a time, I stumbled across a garden gnome wearing a Slayer T-shirt and thought, “Well, that’s *Houdini* in decorative form.” The Melvins’ sixth album is a beautifully unkempt beast—equal parts menace and mirth. “Hooch” lumbers forth with the grace of a particularly vindictive rhinoceros, while “Honey Bucket” hurls its riffs like bricks through stained glass. Buzz Osborne rasps with that familiar mix of glee and doom, held together by production that somehow makes chaos sound deliberate. It’s the fine art of making noise feel cultured, like tea served in a cracked skull.
Kurt Cobain’s fingerprints are smudged all over several tracks, adding a strange warmth to the grind and grit. The Kiss cover, “Going Blind,” slides in cheekily, just when one starts to suspect the band takes itself too seriously—which, thankfully, it doesn’t. “Hag Me” drones on gloriously, and “Spread Eagle Beagle” bats cleanup as an endurance test for those who claim to love “experimental” music. It’s unpolished brilliance straining at the leash, both savage and sly. I give *Houdini* 8 out of 10 molten lawn ornaments—scorched, but shining in their own deranged way. - Rupert
