Wesley Coleman
Cash Flow (Cadc)
Like John Frusciante’s solo insanity, Wes Coleman’s third excursion outside of Canyon Lake trio the Golden Boys is a chip off the old block. Now if only someone can separate him from his axe. The Boys’ trebly bash, 2005’s Scorpion Stomp #2, found the guitarist’s rusty sting deeply embedded in Lone Star dust and grit, and with Cash Flow, also recorded by Mike Vasquez in Austin at Sweatbox, Coleman lets it all hang out. Course, once entrails see daylight it’s tough stuffing ’em back in. Trashy and disheveled, like the dissolute Southern glam bam of “Peter Sellers, Uh Oh, Husker Dü,” whose titular midphrase yowls like Cedric Bixler-Zavala against Coleman’s guitar mash, 11 tracks in 25 minutes pass like an anxiety attack in the bug house. Screams, spastic la-la-las, and generally rabid blathering go with basement Strum und Clang, most under two minutes, save for almost double that on the burst-eardrum scrap heap “Magic Garden/Emal Lame.” Snuff film “10 People Own Everything” is equally scary at one-quarter that clock-in. The whacked-out lunacy of “Capitol Music of the World” can’t squelch the soprano and basso profundo dialogue rising from the instrumental depths of “Mama Roma,” nor the oddly endearing whale/elephant trumpet of closer “Where Is Bing Selfish?” Coleman’s lost his mind, all right. Money. (The Golden Boys, Wednesday, March 15, 11pm @ Jackalope)
This article appears in March 10 • 2006.
