Era Vulgaris in Bloomington, MN

Josh Homme
is a man of many talents, but he's not quite a man of his time. He floats outside of it, sniping and sneering at it, but he's not part of it -- he's too in love with
rock & roll
to belong to a decade that's seeing the music's slow decline. You could say that
Queens of the Stone Age
keep
rock
's flame burning, but unlike other new-millennium true believers -- like
Jack White
, for instance --
Homme
lacks
pop
skills or even the interest in crossing over (which isn't the same thing as lacking hooks, mind you), and unlike the stoner
metal
underground that provided his training ground, he's not insular; he thrives on grand visions and grander sound. He's an anomaly, a keeper of the flame that will never be played on Little Steven's Rock & Roll Underground because
are too heavy, too muso, too tasteless in all the wrong ways to be commonly accepted or embraced as among the next generation of
heroes -- which only makes them more
, of course. And if
is indeed in decline in the 2000s,
and his
prove that
can nevertheless be just as potent as it ever was with each of their remarkable albums. All are instantly identifiable as
QOTSA
but all are quite different from each other, from the sleazoid freak-out of
R
to the dark, gothic undertow of
Lullabies to Paralyze
, a record so willfully murky that it alienated a good portion of an audience ready to bolt in the wake of the departure of
's longtime partner,
Nick Oliveri
. Its 2007 successor,
Era Vulgaris
, is as different from
Lullabies
as that was to their dramatic widescreen breakthrough,
Songs for the Deaf
: it's mercilessly tight and precise, relentless in its momentum and cheerful in its maliciousness. Like other
albums, guest musicians are paraded in and out, but here it's impossible to tell if
Mark Lanegan
contributed anything or if that indeed is
the Strokes
'
Julian Casablancas
singing lead on the lethal
"Sick, Sick, Sick,"
because
has honed
so scrupulously that it's impossible to hear anybody else's imprint on the overall sound.
retain some of the spookiness of
-- there's a ghostly hue on
"Into the Hollow"
-- but this is as balls-out
as
, only minus the mythic momentum
Dave Grohl
lent that record. But
isn't designed as a monolith like
Songs
; its appeal is in its lean precision, how the riffs grind as if they were stripping screws of their threads, how the rhythms relentlessly pulse, and, of course, how it's all dressed up in all kinds of scalding guitars, all different sounds and tones, giving this menace and muscle. If the songs aren't
crossovers -- not even the soulful seductive groove of
"Make It Wit Chu"
(revived from one of
's
Desert Sessions
) qualifies it as a potential
hit -- they still have hard hooks that make these manifestos even if they aren't anthems:
"Misfit Love"
digs in like a nasty
Urge Overkill
,
"Battery Acid"
is metallic and mean, blind-sided only by the gargantuan, gnarly
"3's & 7's."
It's hard to call
stripped-down -- there's too much color in the guitar, too much willful weirdness to be that -- but this is
at their most elemental and efficient, never spending longer than necessary at each song, yet managing to make each of these three-minute blasts of fury sound like epics. It's exhilarating, the best
record yet released in 2007 -- and the year sure needed the dose of thunder that this album provides. ~ Stephen Thomas Erlewine