With May 21 rapidly approaching, you are no doubt crafting your soundtrack to the apocalypse before the woe and terror arrive. But for the busy pre-apocalyptee with little time to customize such a playlist while stockpiling .223 rounds, dried pinto beans, and potassium iodide, might I suggest the Z flat sludge-fest of Harvey Milk?
The band's 'tude is as crusty as Creston Spiers' vocals are wrenching. On "I Just Want To Go Home," Spiers' painful holler delivers the same grating style of ear-torture as a predator call set on rabbit distress. Nobody said the apocalypse was for everyone.
Obviously these oldsters ain't bucking for the "Jam of the Summer" award. Songs gurgle along at 52 beats per minute. Titles like "I Know This Is No Place For You" and "I Am Sick of All This Too" aren't giving off good vibrations. Harvey Milk seeks to blot out the sun with doom. During the album's final twelve minutes, the band unleashes emotional turmoil and roiling musical turbidity, featuring quiet, croaking vocals, de-tuned pianos, and bluesy guitar leads. Think Dark Side of the Moon minus the nonsensical keyboards. Seriously. A Small Turn is a brutal unveiling.