Guitar-free noise freaks barely dodge prog-rock tag for the third time
As if our own arena-conquering Muse weren’t proof enough, anyone doubting the widespread and undiminished appeal of prog-rock should bend an ear to Washington DC’s Apes. Pinning down their sound isn’t that simple, however. In fact, nailing buttered fog to the floor would be easier. Brutally blurring the boundaries between punk, metal and stoner rock, ’70s psychedelia and prog, their third album rampages about in the same darkly disturbed ballpark as Liars, Oneida and Trans Am.
A perverted church organ is the melodic lynchpin, but it’s the lurching, lead-lined bass grooves that provide the thrills. Iron Butterfly fans should definitely investigate.