Evil Evie with smoked rough vocals and clenching electric bass guitar fronts a drummer, and that’s it, that’s the bass and bash band that is Evil Beaver. Make it ten years of spitting pissed-off juicy licks of metal, which include six albums and a recorded live performance in Switzerland, and in addition to this list of recordings is the newly compiled round-up of “Beaver fan favz from the 2000 thru 2007” entitled: “7 Yearz of Rock.” And there’s still more blowing out speakers on cakes to come as EB is set to release a new album in 2009.
And if you feel that you’re behind on their spirit of ill-tempered enlightenment, you can currently download all their music for Free! Check out their site at evilbeaver.us. Download and crank deaf the tunes into your ear canals and while you’re at it, get out to their live show!
As for me, there’s a soundtrack of my Evil Beaver favorites that unravels like a scattered thread of lingering thoughts. It started out as a chronological “greatest hits” of Evil Beaver, but then when placed in dramatic order, the music told instead a rather interesting yet abstract story. A sort of rock opera of mixed media imagery. Of course I took artistic liberties on my behalf in the interpretation of their music. My flow of consciousness floating within the frameworks of Evil Beaver yielded a strange output in which the final piece is a trip through the mad funhouse of reality. The sanity ends here.
The gauntlet drops. Scene opens. No hesitation. The raspy wrath of Evie screams, “Are you ready?!” No matter, she’s gonna consume your senses, now! “Whoz Who???” titles this first track. It’s a blaring warning sign to enter at your own risk. If you can’t handle the anarchy praise of questioning your identity gathered around burning shock voltage heart attack bass chords and auditory threshold drums that together composes Evil Beaver, then this intro is your chance to shut it off. Get out! Don’t precede any further. It just might be too much for a weak-minded person to handle. This is your last chance to scurry and run back to your mother’s cold nurturing arms. But if you’re angry enough, dirty filth attitude enough, and the world is badly trashed through your eyes, then this track is a radiating red neon sign of welcome.
Now you’re in. But who’re you? The second track, “Cracked,” attempts to reveal truth with an itch of sewn scars and permanent tattoos of pain. Damage never completely disappears. You could walk away, but the feelings can’t be swiped clean from the present. Reality behind you grows dimmer. Plug two silver spoons into sockets and give yourself electro shock therapy to the temples. This song does the same. Convulsions are necessary, the blackout occurs, and after awaking, the relationship is over. That is, until one decides to stick themselves back into that socket of life again. This kind of pain hurts, but somehow it feels good to see that the black painted walls closing-in sparkle at times like the night sky.
Track three comforts after the pain in a cynical sort of way, “Sonny Side Up.” It’s as tender as Evil Beaver is going to get, as it rains submissive with bass chords splashing snares around the repeating phrase: “If you don’t like the weather, you may wear a sweater.” But don’t be too quick to slip into that sweater of safety, unless you’re willing to reveal your desire to be in the comfort of “numb.” Protecting yourself from the elements, the insecurities, afraid of a little cold, afraid of exposing yourself, afraid of a little unexpected feeling is what that sweater will shield. Sweaters are for those that can’t handle the nippy, a slight frigid breeze, or any other freak climate change of emotion. Don’t give-in to this comfort. Let shivers sprout goose bumps. Enjoy the convoluted life-style of laughing in the rain and crying in the sun. Push forward with openness.
Then the serenity calms with an insomnia lullaby, “The Ballad of Sandy D Martino I.” A waking dream of a “blind man looking out the window.” What does he see? Is it real? What does it mean? The answer is obvious, or so it seems. Twisted reflections. A bad mix of medication, worries, coffee, and prescribed advertised reality erase the wall of what is seen and the delusion beyond. A body without energy to be free is still alive, but in what sense is it sane? The mind has a chance to come alive, regardless of whether the eyes are open or not. How awake are you?
But no time to pause and think when “Chokin’ the Pearl” injects adrenaline into the mind stream, jolting consciousness back into alertness. Tremble chords leak uneasy, then erupt like a busted damn conquering the stillness. Body recovers with a gushing onslaught of energy. The second wave has begun. The second act. Right when one thinks it is winding towards a direction, the sleepwalk life, the path gets spun and knotted with revived momentum. Breaking free. The mountain peak is reached. Making it through. Crawling on bleeding hands and scathed knees, but looking up to see the horizon makes all pain vanish into the vastness of the revitalizing view. You suddenly have found yourself anchored, yet leaning over the edge of the world, contemplating the thought below. You have reached enlightenment.
Yet, it becomes a frustrated insanity that won’t let you free, leaving yourself now “Under the Gun.” The peak has turned plateau. Song six. One reaches realization. Now what? The loudest yell without a sound. Communication breakdown. Continuous attempts to get others to see through their commercialized clouded minds. No use. “I’ve grown so tired of waiting.” The message repeats itself into a near redundancy. It lingers, impatient. Ravenous vocals and instruments emphasize the slip into insanity to pull the trigger. What’s with these people? They act so simple as they wear their luxury status symbols on their bodies, their baggage, sitting in their heated seats and touch screen environment. They shift with the trend. Think with the flow. They are nothing but a commercial dependent consumer wearing society’s costumes. The Evil Beaver sign protests, but there is nobody reading. The flag is burning, but nobody is feeling the conscious flame. They are the living undead, mummified by the single fabric of conformity that connects them all. This music attempts to unravel their thoughts to release their mind, but for many of those that follow in stride with others, Evil Beaver is just a muffled annoyance. Or possibly a joyride pill of temporary escape. No real change for others.
As these day people sleep, the awakened people rise in the dusk of “Night Dreamer.” Day and night collide. The “Darling” sleeper immerses himself in the dark shadows of dreamland while the awakened damsel looks upon her love. They are both human just the same, but live in different worlds. They lay in the same bed, but are of different minds. “We both feel the same, but at the same time we don’t feel the same.” Love is the universal connection, but until the sleeper awakes and shares his dreams with her, there is little chance of disturbing him, to express to him that his reality is just a dream, somebody else’s dream that she wants him to awaken from. This song rumbles like pent-up emotions that release under the sheets that only serve to pass the time. Nothing more. An explicit grotesque, yet tragic scene. It’s no use. You can’t save them.
SO, Fuck it! Break free from everything, entering into third act. Starting now. “Handz O’ Fate” deals. Normal has chosen to stay on the crumbling path of wealth ambitions that lead to the man-made false light. The American Dream. Happy pilled kids, the big house full of rush, the fancy cars, the corporate job, the endless debt, and a waiting casket as a reward for society’s successful duty performed. Fuck that! Bash societies senselessness with terrorizing bass attacks, bludgeoning drums, and poison slither fanged lyrics. No mercy. No antidote. Release the Evil Beaver epidemic. Seduction in appearances leading to a slit of infection. Diagnosis: fatal. A savior chance given earlier now burns like a scorned daemon. Acid digest those that wonder why you can’t be more subdued like them. They scorn you with envy for breaking accepted habits. They attempt to label you. Though they don’t know that insanity is just imagination without gravity. No restraint. “A day in the life of a suicidal whore.”
Pills and elevators attempt to restrain, though flowers without shit are nothing but dead petals. Life is a maze of mirrors for those that don’t question the self and society. And turning away only causes the seeing and revealing of the self-evident multiplied. Not accepting to find an independent path to follow confuses you more. Those that want to look away in bliss with mind malnourishment can take a tip from track nine, “Happy All the Time.” Think of truth as just a trap and become forever lost. “I wish I didn’t understand a single word that came from you and I’d be happy all the time . . . for a while” Knowing, yet having decided to close the mind with a bright-eyed smile while staring into the sun. Hear birds chirp a serenade. See the pattern in the clouds though there are none. Detach from what is real. Vacant behind eyes of sorrow in order to make your parent proud. Don’t understand. Don’t believe in yourself. Live among open blue skies of angels and dolphins. Tune truth out. Stay in line. Turn the self off. Your reflection disappears in the darkness. That’s where you are left when not accepting the knowledge. Alone with the others scratching up at the dirt, or so they think.
Then the end. The exit sign is ahead. This mind bender is coming to a close. A few last distraught lyrics of advice before departing. It’s time to head back down the mountain, back into society. Back to that little city of angels below that looks so peaceful from afar, though will quickly become erratic on closer approach. A kindly arm wraps with slight pressure around my shoulder leading me back into the streetlight smog. A mist of rain in the light as the rumbling bass of the distant night train is in sync tune with “Year of the Cookie.” New knowledge, new discoveries, what am I going to do with it? She tells me, “They’re different people, they’re not the same as you and I.” Do I forget or act upon it. I look up and ahead with a grinning smirk, then break a brief smile to the amber city. I know what I’ll do. The comforting arm slips to a push on the back and I’m gone.
Rock Opera Track Order:
Song (Album)
1.) Whoz Who??? (Enlightening Without Dazzling)
2.) Cracked (In The Spirit of Resilient Optimism)
3.) Sonny Side Up (Pleased 2 Eat You)
4.) The Ballad of Sandy D. Martino I (Lick It)
5.) Chokin’ The Pearl (Lick It)
6.) Under The Gun (Modelz of Virtue)
7.) Night Dreamer (In The Spirit of Resilient Optimism)
8.) Handz O’ Fate (In The Spirit of Resilient Optimism)
9.) Happy All The Time (In The Spirit of Resilient Optimism)
10.) Year of the Cookie (Lick It)
