To comment on Six-Gun Rhythms’ self-titled EP, one could easily rail against the over-produced, sterility of modern music, hailing Six-Gun Rhythm as a glorious return to gutsy, trashy, power pop/folk rock. There are easy comparisons to The Strokes and The Fratellis, or any other band beginning with “The.” What is most telling, however, about this band’s ethos lies in their self-ascribed iTunes genre: “Yeah, Rock.”
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Their effortless garage-swagger, tinged with a humorous, Wisconsin affect, permeates the record; one can almost hear their songwriting machinations as the record progresses.
PALMER: “So play this riff for a while…then we’ll just hold that chord for a couple more bars…then…I dunno…guitar solo?
ALEX: “Yea, that works.”
PALMER: Then…shit…the seventh is flat on “Winter.”
This, in no way, demeans the nuance of their harmonic pallet, ingeniously demonstrated in “Early Riser,” transforming what could be a simple, swung Descendents riff, into a vaudevillian circus-punk catharsis. (For the amateur music theorists, I -> VIb^+7 -> V).
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The pinnacle interest of the album, however, is Palmer’s wailing drunken slur; equal parts Gerard Way, Julian Casablancas, and Dolly Parton. Such authentic timbre demands spectral analysis from the Columbia Music-Composition Department.
Good rock is hard to write about; its meaning transcends other mediums. Excuse this sorry attempt and buy their record.