Nebula
Peel Sessions
Rating: 2.5
Label: Sweet Nothing Records
I first listened Nebula’s latest offering, the “live in the studio” affair Peel Sessions while commuting home from work. Myself and hundreds of other Seattlites sat bumper to bumper on state route 520, a four-lane highway, planned and executed well before the Pacific Northwest’s population boom in the ’90s. It’s the bottleneck to end all bottlenecks, so you’d best have yourself a fully charged iPod at your disposal. Moving west a few feet at a time, Peel Sessions thundered on inside my car, my tiny glass and steel box shielding me from the damp and chill outside; normally there might be a decent sunset to take in on the Evergreen Point bridge but that day served up only fog. Nebula, who’d previously released a song called “Sun Creature,” made me ache for the summer sun.
Nebula do suffer from RATM-itis; that is to say, most of their songs are hampered by all sounding alike. Guitarist Eddie Glass and original drummer Reuben Romano wisely jettisoned themselves from California riffsters and doomed RATM-itis patients Fu Manchu in 1997 and embarked on lives as road warriors, building up a fanbase seemingly everywhere. Nebula inhabit a world where Leslie West is The King and Blue Cheer were bigger than Jesus. Like current touring partners Monster Magnet, Brant Bjork, Vic du Monte’s Persona Non Grata, or really any other untold number of guitar fiends lumped under the facile “stoner rock” umbrella, Nebula have found most of their success in the welcoming arms of the young, male and European. It may be odd that Nebula is “deserving” of a Peel Session release but one must realize that Nebula are probably regarded as pretty badass over there (in addition to being called Nebular most of the time).
Lame music critic putdowns aside, there is something to be said for the unholy trifecta of Orange amplifier cabinets, Tubescreamers and Big Muffs; something’s inherently satisfying about that level of frenzied overdrive at that level of volume. Peel Sessions is full of this kind of gear worship, with plenty of sweaty, workmanlike musicianship plugged in through a patch cord. If you were to listen to just one of these tunes, make it “All the Way,” where Glass’ distortion and sustain attempt to induce a time and space-bending atmosphere before everything gets pulled into the gravity well when he touches off on his obligatory wah. Also interesting is a run-through of Sonny Boy Williamson’s “Good Morning Little Schoolgirl,” which sees the guys working with a different and therefore interesting rhythm. Weird to hear it sung through Glass’ surfer-dude drawl, though.
Weirder still is to get all nostalgic for the mythic Endless Summer while listening to Nebula, of all artists. What about that wild wah sends me thinking about hot rods I never drove, fast women I never met, and starts me craving warm, sandy climes I’ve hardly ever visited? There’s just some kind of vicarious thrill to be found there, only I imagine that thrill must have been sharper and more exhilarating for some ’60s head hearing the sheer volume of Blue Cheer for the first time. All the overdrive and all the volume is commonplace now; Blue Cheer’s gonzo-ness and Mountain’s wince-inducing instrumental work is the DNA of today’s FM “active rock” playlists. Still, I do not blame Europe in craving it; it was, after all, the continent responsible for American Idol.
by Chris Middleman
