It's the sludgy, metallic riffage that opens the album on Bride of Crankenstein, a hazy stomper that leaves no doubt as to who's providing the soundtrack. However, there are a couple of new players here; this incarnation of the Melvins (there have been plenty) features Paul Leary and Jeff Pinkus of Butthole Surfers joining pre-existing Melvins King Buzzo and Dale Crover. What they bring, as if this band needed it, was extra weirdness; it courses throughout the album, in stabs of synth, odd production shifts and other assorted experiments.
Leary also gets full credit on three songs, which certainly stand out from the others, far removed from the Melvins sound, whatever that is. You Can Make Me Wait is a simple, jangly tune that would have sounded out of place even without the use of a vocoder. Eyes On You is a warped, synthed up take on garage rock, while I Get Along is basically Butthole Surfers doing rockabilly, and the vocals get heavily processed accordingly.
That's not to say these are the only weird songs present; this is Melvins we're talking about, after all. Barcelonian Horseshoe Pit is a four minute psychedelic journey through backmasking and distortion that is a little unnerving if not unnecessary. Nine Yards comes off as a shockingly convincing post-hardcore track, while The Bunk Up's melodic midsection, laced with accordion and xylophone, lull you in with the album's prettiest moment, only to snatch it away in a hail of pummeling riffs and feedback.
In my opinion, Melvins are at their best when they split the difference between what they're good at (incorporating new influences into their sound) and what they're best at (kicking ass), and there are a few really solid tracks on Hold It In that do that. Brass Cupcake is almost a Foo Fighters song, but in King Buzzo and Leary's hands it becomes a twisted vision of a rock radio smash, remolded in their image and as undeniably weird as it is undeniably catchy. Sesame Street Meat, like Bride of Crankenstein, leaves no doubt about who made it, with its ten ton riff and gurgling low end. And what Melvins album would be complete without a twelve minute closing track that encapsulates everything you love about Melvins? House of Gasoline is exactly that, for the first half at least. It eventually breaks down into an orgy of odd noises and droning synths; think Frances The Mute era Mars Volta, but just the parts between the songs, if you're struggling for a reference point.
When it's all said and done, all the experimentation and weirdness should add up to a more thrilling Melvins album than it does. The problem is, by this point they've played the experimental guest players card so many times over that the results aren't going to catch anyone off guard. The only thing that really stuck out to me during my initial listens was the loudness of the mastering; it's oppressively compressed, even compared to last year's Tres Cabrones. Their albums were trending in this direction over recent years, but this is a headlong dive into the pool of shitty sound quality.
Fans of Melvins have been conditioned to expect the unexpected, so as to say Hold It In is exactly what we expected, an album that stays true to the band's core while stretching that core out just a little more. It's special, just like all the rest, which makes it feel painfully ordinary.
October 14, 2014 • Ipecac
Highlights Bride of Crankenstein • Brass Cupcake • Sesame Street Meat
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