Rolling Stone Review of Meantime
Last updated on January 19, 2010
Meantime (1992)
4.5/5
A marvel of precisely channeled aggression, Meantime could be the soundtrack to the mind of an NFL linebacker. Leader and rantwriter Page Hamilton sounds like he mainlines vitriol before stepping up to the mike; Hamilton’s and Peter Mengede’s guitars bark and pummel, coming in nasty, compact bursts, while bassist Henry Bogdan and drummer John Stanier do a convincing impression of a methodical beating. Strict, ingenious arrangements suggest a rock band as close-order drill team.
The next step after noise architects such as Fugazi and Sonic Youth, Helmet’s exultantly ferocious sound boasts the brontosaurian backbeat of metal and the vehemence of hardcore. And industrial ideas about song structure prevail – exhilarating textures and rhythms propel the music, melody having been dumped out of the band’s speeding car and left for dead by the roadside. Despite the homicidal fury of Hamilton’s vocals, his lyrics are enigmatic telegrams, refreshingly far from the sadistic threats one might expect.
This New York band’s controversial big-budget signing followed a full-scale bidding war, probably because Helmet makes Metallica sound like the Archies. Meantime, the band’s major-label debut, was co-produced by indie mainstay Wharton Tiers (Sonic Youth) and mixed by Andy Wallace (Nirvana, Slayer) for maximum wallop.
For all its racket, Helmet has a savvy appreciation of silence. On tracks such as “Unsung” and “FBLA II,” the iron curtain of guitars parts for an instant to reveal a pregnant pause or a single, merciless blow to the snare drum; then the guitars roar out of the speakers, a staggering effect that harks to metallic riff rock à la Led Zeppelin’s “Wanton Song” or Black Sabbath’s “Sweet Leaf.”
The ravaged textures of Meantime are almost tactile; at its best, as in “Ironhead” or “In the Meantime,” its brute minimalism is reminiscent of a monumental steel sculpture. On occasion, the music tentatively gets tuneful – it’s both a welcome aberration and a hint of what this deceptively cerebral band has yet to offer.
by Michael Azerrad