Wolfmother is hot but not that heavy

June 03, 2006|James Parker, Globe Correspondent

Spraying cheeky pellets of cosmic rock, Wolfmother more or less charmed the pants off a sold-out audience at the Paradise Wednesday night.

The band has got the moves, no question: Frontman Andrew Stockdale windmilled his arm like Pete Townshend, debauched his mike stand with the neck of his guitar a la Hendrix, and the vintage Marshall amplification howled with pleasure.

In the leagues of heaviness, however, questions remain as to whether this Australian trio might be punching above its weight. Often lumped in with the new wave of retro metal bands like the Sword and Early Man, Wolfmother is actually closer to Lenny Kravitz than its fans might like to admit, peddling a crafty blend of bar-band psychedelia and generic rock stomp that seems -- but only seems -- to hit the heavy spot. The Sword, in particular, would eat Wolfmother for breakfast.

Vocalist -guitarist Stockdale, roughly haloed by his MC5-style Afro, is a study in late period rock 'n' roll self-awareness. He sings in the androgynous snarl recently perfected by Jack White of the White Stripes, except he sings about unicorns and being free.

His chords are mighty, but his solos are banal to the point of cliche; a more interesting musician is his bandmate Chris Ross, who now and again puts down the bass to paddle openhandedly at an electric piano and twist its dials, thereby producing the obligatory ``freakout" noises. Myles Heskett sits high over his white five-piece drum kit, playing with his elbows in and his head pertly bobbing in the classic hippie- mod manner.

At the raising of Stockdale's hand, effortless gales of hysteria are summoned. By the end of the night there was a flung bra dangling from one of Heskett's cymbals -- a touch so kitsch it seemed to offend even Stockdale, who flicked it fastidiously back into the crowd.

While the White Stripes are an obvious contemporary influence -- the yapping shuffle-punk of ``Apple Tree," in particular, is slavish -- Wolfmother hews closer to the stoner rock canon of Sabbath, Purple, etc. What the band is missing is the willed, grim-jawed ignorance necessary to re energize those vintage riffs.

But who cares, when its self-titled album is flying off the shelves? Jaundiced metalheads will desert Wolfmother. The rest of the world appears to be opening its arms.