Call Of The Wild
Trying to explain the sound of a band like Brooklyn trio Call of the Wild seems the proverbial fool’s errand. What do you want to know about rock & roll that rock & roll can’t teach you, or hasn’t already? That it’s loud? That there are jackhammering guitars, death-defying bass, hollering vocals and drumming so hard and fast it could induce a heart attack? Should we go on? Sure, why not. Call of the Wild got together in 2011, not long after the dissolution of Allison Busch’s previous band Awesome Color. One look at these three – Busch, one of the most maniacal drummers on the East Coast, if not the whole continent; guitarist Johnny Coolati, with hair down to his ass and a wide-eyed stare that could carve pockmarks into your face; bassist Max Peebles, coming off all cool and calm until the moment the band hits the stage. They’ve been pounding it hard ever since. Some doofus came to this party at Allison’s house when Call Of The Wild was playing her birthday party, leaned against a light switch and flipped ‘em on. Coolati raised a finger to the offending geek and gave him the sort of gesture not seen since Donald Sutherland at the end of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. You can damn well bet that light got turned back off.