Devil Gods / Press Quotes

The Art of the Guitar

If it's true, as the Australian rock combo the Hoodoo Gurus once proclaimed, that "Mars needs guitars!," then Boston's own Devil Gods are just the band to deliver them. On its self-released debut album, "Sick Little Monkey" (triPup), the group blasts off with a rocket roar of electric guitars.

No wonder, then, that these hopelessly addicted devotees of rock's most enduring phallic symbol have named their Web site www.guitartemple.com. Expect to hear a lot of guitars and the solos that go with them at the Lizard Lounge Friday when the band celebrates the national release of its CD through Redeye USA (which means that, in addition to the group's Web site, the disc will be available in major record stores).

The idea for the Devil Gods was simple. "I decided that this would be the band with which I could do anything I wanted and play all the music I liked, whether it's elements of jazz or rock, blues, R & B, psychedelia, textural music, or improvisation," says singer-songwriter-guitarist Ted Drozdowski, whose triPup label has also released works by poet-activist John Sinclair, with whom the Devil Gods frequently perform.

"I wanted to not feel the obligation to cover up the fact that I grew up in the '70s, when people would just get out there with a guitar and rock." Indeed, except for the metal scene, which has always appreciated a proficiently played ax, the tradition of the rock guitar solo has come to be an occasional object of scorn in the wake of punk's celebration of instrumental primitivism and indie-rock's slacker aesthetic.

But the Devil Gods - which includes guitarist Mark Sullivan, drummer Rob Hulsman, and bassist Bob Thayer - revel in an earlier age that prized technical prowess, imagination, and showmanship. Drozdowski points to Pink Floyd's David Gilmour, avant-garde guitarist Sonny Sharrock, and Jimi Hendrix as masters of this approach. "I just really like the idea of being able to put on a show, like play a slide [guitar] in somebody's face or put the guitar behind my neck if I suddenly feel called to do so," Drozdowski says, adding that guitar solos are "no more pretentious than lyrics. It's just another mode of expression. I always felt a solo could really take my imagination to other places."

The Devil Gods' imagination runs wild on "Monkey." The disc is spiked with dollops of black humor ("Los Alamos" is a funny, modern update of Judgment Day) that give way to tender pathos ("Now, Immortal" is an instrumental memorial to deceased Morphine leader Mark Sandman), and ominous dread (the wicked betrayal at the heart of "Long Distance Runner" is made even creepier by Drozdowski's reedy vocal leer).

Drozdowski is also a music writer. "Being a journalist has encouraged me to devour so much music," he says. "And if I hear music I'm inspired about, I start getting inspired to go write songs myself."

Blues and blasphemy

In keeping with the duality implied by its name, Devil Gods represents both the dark spirit of the blues and an almost evangelical mission to spread it to the masses. The Boston-based band creates a weird, spaced-out realm that's equal parts free-form music and good old rock 'n' roll.

The last time I saw the group was at the Free Street Taverna in Portland last October. The Gods played its own set, then backed counterculture hero John Sinclair during his spoken-word performance.

That gig was more about evoking far-flung psychedelic madness than delivering a polite reading. Guitarist Ted Drozdowski played while rolling around on the floor, as if possessed. The band emitted raunchy waves of over-amped noise that filled the small club to the rafters. Onlookers walking by on their way to the Old Port's dance clubs stood outside the window and gaped, confused, as if saying to themselves, "So this is live music?"

Devil Gods are trying to make Portland a home-away-from-home by nailing down a residency at the Free Street. On Feb. 2, the group will present its twisted vision of the blues to Portland fans once again.

Explaining his penchant for raw showmanship, Drozdowski said, "When I just started hitting rock clubs as a kid, I was really into seeing guitar players who would do things like play guitar behind their heads or jump off the stage and play in the crowd, and who weren't afraid of just letting it fly.

"Later on, when I started investigating blues, I started seeing Buddy Guy, who hung off the balcony railing by his knees while he wailed," Drozdowski continued. "I found that kind of performing - the desire to entertain the hell out of people - came out of the blues tradition, with guys like Guitar Slim dying their hair pink and wearing fireplug red suits."

Devil Gods are apt to pull such shenanigans, as well. On the sleeve of its only album, 1999's "Sick Little Monkey," band members are pictured in demon masks digging into a meaty skull with plastic cutlery. Drozdowski compared this comical approach with the dour days he spent playing with Boston alt-rock favorites Vision Thing. "In the alt-rock world, it wasn't cool to be too flamboyant on stage," he said. "Remember, shoe-gazing was part of the trip. And everybody had to wear black and dress and act the same on stage. I realized after living through that that none of that stuff has anything to do with rock 'n' roll."

Drozdowski formed Devil Gods in 1998 to uphold his vision of raunchy abandon. Like any venerable blues institution, the band has gone through several personnel realignments, but the current lineup consists of Drozdowski and Mark Sullivan on guitars, Rob Hulsman on drums and Bob Thayer on bass.

"I see us as defenders of the faith," Drozdowski said. "There's something beautiful about spending your own sweat to put on a show for people, and to getting out on the stage and knowing that there will be stuff happening at various points of the night that will be completely unplanned - solos, mistakes, improvisations. Even though we play songs, I think Mark and I see ourselves as rock-based guitar improvisers at heart. And as you can tell from the sprawl of the music, we don't care about fitting into a neat little marketing box. [We] claim the right to take the music any damn place we please."

Spoken like a true bluesman. Drozdowski's blues and rock roots go deeper than most due to his long-standing stint as a music critic. He's been writing for the Phoenix newspaper chain for several years, in addition to contributing to a variety of prestigious publications too numerous to mention.

"It took about 75 gigs before I could squeeze the rock critic out of my brain," Drozdowski said. "I'd be playing on stage and critiquing my performance as I went. It was terrible and undermined everything about playing rock."

Drozdowski seems to have overcome that hang-up. After all, it's hard to wax scholarly when you're rolling around on the floor.