Royal Thunder - CVI (2012)

The heavy Atlanta rock'n'roll band's debut LP mixes the powerful, bluesy vocals of Mlny Parson-- equal parts riot grrl and gospel diva-- with vintage riffs and a big, retro vibe.

It's damn near impossible to escape the endless hackneyed tropes about moonshine and Dixie for any Southern band that dares to so much as hint at the blues or that lapses into fuzzy, bow-legged rock'n'roll. Writers love to romanticize Mississippi mud and Georgia moonlight almost as much as they dig name-dropping whitewashed rednecks like Skynyrd and Duane Allman: If your singer's got a twang, or the bassist grew up South of the Mason-Dixon, your fate's been sealed. You can't blame us, though; there is something mystical about the South, something wild and eerie and alluring that outsiders can only hope to taste. When it comes to Dixie's music makers, that old Southern Gothic darkness seeps into the subconscious, and stealthily weaves its silky fingers through guitar strings and around throats. While there is surely no lack of pretenders and charlatans, bands that are both savvy and visceral enough to pull it off are rare. Royal Thunder, Atlanta's freshest sacrifice upon the twin altars of the riff and the roar, have made an admirable attempt to do just that on their first full-length.

Upon a cursory listen and armed with a metalhead's perspective, this fresh-faced quartet comes across like a dialed-down version of Jucifer, with none of their brutality but a far greater emphasis on clear, bewitching feminine vocals. Repeated listens, however, yield far more satisfying fruit. As with so many of the newer female-fronted doomy, rocking, bluesy bands that keep popping up, Royal Thunder's biggest asset is their vocalist. Mlny Parsonz is a nontraditional blues-rock banshee of a woman, equal parts riot grrl and gospel diva. There's a rough-hewn, unpolished charm to her delivery and phrasing, and while her arsenal of sugary whispers, angelic coos, and fiery wail serve her well, it's really her willingness to let go, dig deep, and belt it the hell on out that is her greatest strength. She's fortunate to be backed by a solid instrumental section, most notably Josh Weaver's vintage riff-wrangling, Zeppelin-esque turns, and big, retro vibes. Drummer Lee Smith and bassist Josh Coleman mesh well to provide a rock-solid base for the band's two big musical personalities without fading into the background; Smith especially goes above and beyond, infusing what could be simple rock'n'roll songs with a nice dose of understated technicality.

Each song follows a similar formula-- start slow and low, ease into the buildup, then unchain Parsonz's pipes and let the good times roll. "Whispering World" sounds like a Live Through This-era Courtney Love howling along to "Kashmir". "No Good" boasts a backbone of urgent, boogie woogie bar rock under a rough-edged done-me-wrong croon, while "Blue" is an emphatic nod to old-time Southern rock, with Parsonz's vocals smoked out and layered into a sweet-voiced choir of knowing innocents. "South of Somewhere" is an ominous glance backward at an oncoming storm, with Parsonz summoning the rain and Weaver's muted thrumming battening down the hatches. "Minus" is a sad, quiet affair, more pop than anything else, while album closer "Black Water Vision" turns its amps up to 11 for a bombastic finale.