by Patrick Pilch (@pratprilch)
There’s no official rock n’ roll handbook, but through history and community, along with layers of nuance, knowledge and respect (not to mention basic social etiquette) there’s sort of this unspoken canon. By now, everyone knows hopping onstage, throwing their fist in the air and yelling, “Hello we’re [NAME OF BAND]” is just high risk/high reward. Only two types of bands do this: less-than-good bands and the best bands. Godcaster is one of the latter.
After listening to Long Haired Locusts several times, I watched Godcaster’s live sets. Godcaster are a really good band and it looks like they have a lot of fun being one. Their stage presence is distinct and their spirit is possessing, “an ecstatic thirst” to quench all ye satiated non-believers. On Long Haired Locusts, Godcaster debut new chops, new locks (umm...hair!) and two new orchestral recruits; Von Lee on flute and Lindsay Dobbs on trombone. The songs hit weird and deep, reveling in celestial highs and surrendering to hellish lows. Godcaster’s panflute rock and psychedelic comic-punk hits like Of Montreal and Thin Lizzy, Pom Poko and Kid Creole.
If Judson Kolk were to redraw the Simpsons intro, the instrumental chorus of “Apparition of the Virgin Mary in My Neighborhood” would be the theme song. It’s one of the record’s brightest moments - a stretch of melodic clarity sandwiched between a jitter-paced intro and explosive breakdown that bring Deerhoof’s compositional strengths to mind. Like Deerhoof, Godcaster wield noise and disjointedness to buffer and compliment a song’s catchier passages, using anticipation, varied song structures and some good ass riffs to make them hit even harder. The grooves cut deep on “Dirtbike Bike (Vaccine Girl),” whip into a shapely noise-funk on “Don’t Make Stevie Wonder” and bring it all home with “Bingo Bodies,” perhaps the finest track on the record and certainly one of my favorite penultimate tracks in recent memory.
These hooks are punchy and the psych is funky, so stop what you’re doing, put on Godcaster and light some fireworks in the basement. Long Haired Locusts rules and I don’t give a fuck. Like, I collectively give less fucks after listening to this record. Listening to a song called “Serpentine Carcass Crux Birth” feels pretty good right now. This album is whimsical and eccentric and most definitely “shreds.” On Long Haired Locusts, Godcaster make peace with corporeality, convulse in hope, fear, translucence and obscurity, and bind to eternal shapelessness and fluidity in existential pursuit of ethereal growth.