Colin Johnson - Vocals, Bass & Guitar
Joe Berns - Saxophone
Adam Patterson - Drums
Nathan Nelson - Farfisa
Flexing its inexorable huh, The American Cream Band's new album RIDE HARD FOR MYTH taunts the overly muscular syntax of trad-rock chronologies. Here, the past is a mirror poked with an index finger: the glass dimples, warps your shitty visage, but refuses to budge much beyond this. Equally vexing is the record's blasé refusal of contemporary predictions about post-apocalyptic music: instruments were plugged into walls; computers used that both did and did not fit conveniently on one's lap. The record is pure surface folding helplessly inward, and with serious regret — just like anxiously fingering the receipt for a lunch you can't afford, bought for the boss you really want to impress.
Good news: every boss will be dead someday, but RIDE HARD FOR MYTH was never really alive. If the inflatable coffin has room for only one vampire, who gets it — Dracula or Bryan Ferry? Certainly the latter. He and his old band's bat drone around the record's claustrophobic arrangements like an Aus-Rotten ass-flap. Does this make it crust-glam, posthumous punk, or post-pomp? Doesn't matter. These options are just The American Cream Band's way of asking how best to get inside the unutterable space beneath whatever it is currently sprouting out of the Now™.
Entangled the fecund-rot of the eternally profitable Then™, songs like 'Astral Weakness' and 'wild.gif' sound parodic, titles tonguing the cheek of works that are — depending on whose blog you read — semi-canonical. The hallmark of every failed escape act is an out-of-reach key, and this one’s no exception. Harsh in its gauziness, cottony in its scree, RIDE HARD FOR MYTH isn’t really looking for a way out or a what’s left behind, so much as it’s imagining a what’s underneath.
released February 14, 2015
Recorded at Blue Bell Knoll in Minneapolis by Neil Weir.
Mastered at Abbey Road Studios in London by Alex Wharton.