Shibboleth
Rock
For just a moment, you are stranded in an elevator with the least-popular members of T-Rex, The Carpenters and The Kinks, along with George Jones’ hairpiece. The elevator shudders somewhere between the mezzanine and rooftop grotto, and suddenly you are rocketed skyward by the excruciatingly serene tones of Shibboleth. Forty-five minutes later the bell dings and you’re on your way back to the lobby.
The debut album from Shibboleth is a fond voyage through the murky histories of American and British rock. No musical stone was left unturned, except for those that seemed to be rather heavy or slippery. In those rare instances, raucous guitar or organ solos were recorded to distract the listener and regain their trust. Lustful rocking numbers and winsome country laments debate with carnival lunacy as avant-noise dawdles in the kitchen.
