Zeke
Fri Dec 31
Sabala’s
4811 SE Hawthorne
I don’t give a fuck what the detractors say, I love Zeke. I love them not as individuals, but rather as Zeke; tireless, foul-mouthed, drug addled foot soldiers in the ongoing struggle to satiate the riff-hungry drunks who inhabit the abundantly fouled punk shitholes littering the globe.
Zeke’s personal history isn’t dissimilar from that of similar bands. It consists of a decade long buildup with alternating periods of hyped opportunity, label jumping, and addiction. Yawn. I’m positive it is not Zeke’s wish or intention to have you give a shit what’s going on with them personally as long as you come to their shows, buy the albums & merch, and help maintain their profile as battering, prolific riff rockers who, like the autoworkers of Detroit’s heyday, churn out one hell of a product fully worthy of your consumer dedication.
Without disseminating the gory details, it’s abundantly apparent that Zeke have paid their bloody dues. Their albums have progressed logically (and in fervor) from all out rawk brawlers like Super Sound Racing to the Über-breakneck skullduggery of Death Alley, widely considered to be the band’s piece de resistance. Raised from the ashes of a go-nowhere breakup/member resignation/label change, Zeke have signed to Relapse, home of rock luminaries High on Fire and Mastodon.
Once again returning to their road soldiering, Zeke have been touring to support “Til the Livin’ End–a release that finds the band neck-deep in their roots. Easing back on the thrash throttle just a tad, tracks like “Dragonfly” virtually channel On Parole-era Motörhead. With scary, scarifying Lemmy lungs, Blind Marky Felchtone revisits themes of the open road, big block engines, and the stuff of wakeful overnight drives. Classic.
Twelve years after their formation, Zeke approach their craft with as much fuck-all as they did in’93. Tempering their onslaught with a ton of years-hardened experience, it’s clear that Zeke will continue to drive home emphatic riffage and I, for one, am okay with the prospect of riding bitch for the next long stretch of road.