Whitcomb’s got it all. Spawned from the tortured souls of Portland veteran musicians and riding on the super-creepy back story of a children’s poet unraveling to madness, the group’s debut, “Crown Park,” is deliciously dark. With a practiced precision, Whitcomb’s sound is actually pretty versatile; an acoustic blues sound poem can give way to full-scale tombstone-rattling rock on a dime.
Take the semi-ballad “Voices,” where an Incubus-style verse devolves to a half-time, double-bass-drum rumbling chorus and vocalist Brant Dadaleares, with a feel for the epic, emphatically snarling “burial grounds” over and over. The effect is genuine heavy-rock goose bumps, and a nervous need to glance over your shoulder for ghosts.
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Sometimes, Whitcomb just grinds. “The Bat” churns out vampire electricity with chugging monster guitars, crackling drums and demonic harmonies. It’s awesome. Makes you want to jump around a room screaming “whooooo!” way more than you should on a Tuesday afternoon. The bubbling-cauldron finish makes a cobwebby vacancy where there just was raging noise.
This is a great start for a new concept band in a town full of them. On “Crown Park,” Whitcomb’s songs are better suited for plowing ahead at a blistering pace than dragging their feet in molasses grunge. But the group will only get better with time, riding the wave that this record will surely create. Despite its evil-ridden music, Whitcomb’s future burns bright.
Mike Olcott is a freelance writer who lives in Portland and Boston.
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