Just a quick thought before bed: A Seattle trio called The Blakes (as in William, I suppose, since no one in the band hearkens to that name) might be the most exciting, loud, viscerally satisfying rock and roll band I’ve heard all year. They sort of self-released a few impossible-to-find albums themselves, but apparently struck paydirt with a self-release late last year…but you either had to see ‘em live, or live in the Pacific Northwest to get a copy. For the rest of us, they’ve just signed to Seattle indie label Light In The Attic, and that last disc will be reissued this summer with a few bonus tracks.
Do they sound like a garage band? At first blush, of course. I know, I know, how 2001 of them. But push past that idea and listen to the songs–the raw power coming out of there isn’t a marketing pose. These guys have some serious damn chops, and they play with a fervor and reckless soulfulness few bands in any genre can match. You know what really jumps to mind when I hear The Blakes? You know that movie from about ten years ago about the Beatles playing in Hamburg, and how raw and reckless they sounded back then? The Blakes have that sound down, right to the impassioned, Lennon-on-the-final-verse-of-”Twist-And-Shout” thing. I’m babbling. The Blakes are wonderful beyond anything I can put to page here. They might end up being absolutely huge. Don’t miss getting on this train early.
The entire album is stuffed full of songs at least as good as these three: