REVIEW: Walt Mink, Colussus (Deep Elm)
- Scott A. Miller
Walt Mink is back with a collection of completely mind altering, mood enhancing, space-age arena-rock cum power pop confections to make your head swim and your jaw go slack.
After all the band has been through - two albums on Caroline and one on Atlantic before jumping to the stridently independent Deep Elm - just regrouping to put out Colossus (Deep Elm) is a triumph of the spirit. One listen, though, and you understand why they did it. These are great songs expertly played.
With a sound so diverse, it's hard to put this newest offering in a category except to say that it's mostly like the previous three Walt Mink albums.
As a songwriter, singer-guitarist John Kimbrough has a gift for putting his imagination to music. In "John's Dream" he takes "the red-eye to the moon" and sees a man who looks just like him "bathing on the shores of Tranquility." I don't know what it means, but with bassist Candice Belanoff laying down the bottom and drummer Orestes Morphin wailing away in a slow-rock groove, it's a song big enough to fill a stadium - as could most of the songs on this album. The mid-song break on "Lost in the World," a song about space invaders that manages to be both touching and incredible at the same time, is probably the only exception.
Lyrics aside, where the wow-factor of Colossus shifts into hyper drive is with Kimbrough's guitar playing. Equally capable of acoustic beauty and metal crunch, Kimbrough's ax is the reason reviews of past Mink albums have appeared in such highbrow publications as Guitar Player and Stereo Review. It's this technical skill that allows Walt Mink to successfully straddle the huge chasm between art-rock '70s and pop-rock '90s. What would be an Evel Knievel Snake River jump for most bands is like popping a wheelie for Walt Mink.
While other songwriters with diverse repertoires sometimes stamp their influences on top of everything they do (think Karl Wallinger/World Party), Kimbrough buries influences deep in his songs, mostly in the guitar lines. You only catch a glimpse of Jimi Hendrix in the chorus riff of "She Can Smile" or a peek of George Harrison's sitar phase on "Lovely Arrhythmia" or a slice of David Gilmore (Pink Floyd) in the way the closing riff trails out to its logical extreme on "John's Dream." Kimbrough makes a strong case for being the equal of all of them.
The music, the lyrics, the staunchly independent vibe: It's heady stuff. The college psychology professor for whom the band is named should be proud. Modern rock fans ought to light a match and hold it over their head in appreciation. Walt Mink fans are probably doing spontaneous back flips over this one.
