Luckily, Fu Manchu is an exception. While it wouldn't be a surprise to learn that they've inhaled, the band doesn't require you to be in an altered state to appreciate them. It helps, yeah, but it's not mandatory. Plus, there's absolutely nothing lazy or wispy about them; this is seriously chunky stuff. Sure, it's fairly formulaic -- lay the foundation with Black Sabbath, add some Blue Cheer and Deep Purple, and throw in a little Steppenwolf, some Thin Lizzy, and some soundtrack rock from '60s biker films. And what's so wrong with that? If the kids really wanted experimental music, they'd all be listening to old Stockhausen albums. But they're not, and as much as the elitist intellectual in all of us likes to think that great art must be unique, in practice, it's a bogus concept. Sometimes it's enough to do something that's been done before and do it really well.
Fu Manchu's latest CD from Mammoth, King of the Road, is a great rock-and-roll album, full of guitar thunder, crashing cymbals, and some amazingly deep grooves. The song titles and lyrics are often silly ("Boogie Van," "Hotdoggin'"), and some just make you scratch your head ("Blue Tile Fever," "Weird Beard"), but at least they pose no real distractions. After all, the words are just here to help direct you to the action. Because really, it's all about getting inside these songs, until you feel the riffs and notice your head and shoulders swaying back and forth without your volition. Anything that can do that is beautiful. The only real danger posed by attending a Fu Manchu show is having to contend with all the snot-nosed skate-rat poseurs in Fuct T-shirts. Just ignore them. 
Sabrina Kaleta
