Eagle Claw

Photo by John Anderson

Eagle Claw

Watching Eagle Claw is only half the experience. Visually, it's pretty much what you'd expect: long hair, a mustache or two, some pointy guitars (an SG and an Explorer if you need full visuals). The other half is a physical experience. You get to feel it. Or maybe "survive" is a better word. From the first note, the local fourpiece was intent on testing the structural integrity of your internal organs as well as letting you know if you might have any early onset osteoporosis worries to tend to. Think of it as a bone-crushing musical favor. And if there's any twist, it's that Eagle Claw's instru-metal isn't face-melting. Face-pulverizing maybe, but there are no bitching solos, no fretboard-shredding leads (in fact, leads are kept to a tasteful minimum). It's just relentless, minor key riffage. Think 1970s UK not 1980s hair, and you're in the neighborhood (or more accurately neighbourhood). Those neighbors are probably wielding an axe to threaten decapitation if you complain about the volume. They closed with the highlight of last year's debut LP, Poacher, "Elephant," which is really a polite title as the force with which it punishes probably could've used the plural.