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Omar and The Howlers
The Screamin' Cat
Back in the early '70s, when the Britblues idiom was ascending to an early peak, the legendary Howlin' Wolf was cajoled into one of those infamous jam-out super-sessions. Actually, what is was was a bunch of ordinary funk flopsters, flailing away on a bunch of Burnette's greatest hits, cursing Chester's lifes work to wah-wah pedal hell. The Wolf so despised the finished vinyl, that his label was forced to concede on the front cover, "This is Howlin' Wolf's new album. He doesn't like it very much." Neither did the public, who sided with Wolf and avoided the album's chintzy, exploitational psycho-slop. Tragically, the Wolf died before the second wind of bluesrock dominated the next decade. I mention all of this because the initial thought that struck me about the sound of Omar and The Howlers' latest is how much ol' Wolf would've loved its gritty integrity. Kent "Omar" Dykes may be shameless in his vocal devotion to Wolf, with an ulcerated bellow that sounds inhuman. But the kickass whomp of drummer B.E. "Frosty" Smith and the flame-throwing leadwork of guitarist Papa Mali are unmistakably turbo-charged and Texas twangin', in the finest ZZ Top/bar boogie tradition. While the Howlers ramble on with their Lone Star riffology, Omar chews his way through these tunes as if tearing off a huge hunk of rubbery, peppered jerky. Determined, growling as if his anguish were still locked deep inside, Omar introduces us to his cast of shadowy figures (including songs about "Party Girl," "Bad Ol' Man," "Snake Oil Doctor," and the heartbreakin' bitch that weighs in at "Hundred Pounds of Pain") who are introduced during the disc. Gifted with an incredible imagination, Omar's Screamin' Cat is a heavy, blues rock communion that never ceases in intensity or its dedication to Howlin' Wolf's dark temperament. Somewhere in the parted clouds, the Wolf is smiling down. It's not his new album, but I imagine he must like it anyway. -virginia reed (Provogue)
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