The first four albums for Crowbar reveal a minor, odd trend at work - every other even-numbered album seems to be more interesting than every other odd-numbered album, for some reason. This time around, Jimmy Bower from EyeHateGod and Down stepped into the drummer's seat, and guess what? Now the achy, creaky, Zeppelin-aping Down sound is in full effect, which, as it turns out, isn't that much of a change in direction from the original Crowbar sound. In many respects, it is a slightly disappointing development - though not unexpected - as Windstein and Bower had performed with Down the year before, so naturally, why not do a Crowbar record with all the same tricks they picked up from the other band? Parts of this are great to hear - the cinematic atmosphere of "Nothing", by itself, is pretty notable - but a lot of it feels very playbook-ish, especially with the Phil Anselmo vocal overdubs in the background.

Well, I guess they answered my question from the previous review, huh? Time Heals Nothing splits the difference between the Melvins-inspired sludge of the debut record and the shifting, Southern-shaded, punishing brutality of the self-titled follow-up. There are some professional touches this time around, mainly in the cleaner production and in Windstein's higher vocal tone on a few tracks, but as you dig further into the album, it gets back to basics ("A Perpetual Need", "Numb Sensitive"). It's a competent record, which lacks the thrills and curveballs of the self-titled second album.

Crowbar wisely bucks the Melvins' shadow - perhaps spurred on by the appearance of Windstein's buddy Phil Anselmo in the production chair - and comes up with a classic record of the New Orleans metal scene. It's all about the guitar tone - heavy, thick, and with the noticeable deep-fried Southern Rock shades which attracted fans to Pantera and Down albums. Sonically, they are at their peak on the cover of Zeppelin's "No Quarter", bringing in a totally different perspective to the former psychedelic-in-nature tune, and turning it into a massive, noise-filling cauldron that builds upon itself. If nothing else, Crowbar should go down in history for this trick alone. But elsewhere, they are in fairly good form. "Existence Is Punishment" leads in with a really dark bass riff, setting the stage for Kirk's life of misery played out in song for us all, and maybe the flipside of the misery is - he gets a kick rubbing our faces in it? Who knows? That's not for me to decide or judge. I just think that here, the main thing was Crowbar had definitely found a unique voice and staked their claim as a force to be reckoned with. The question going forward was - could they follow up and consolidate it?

Not to be confused with the band of the same name from Canada who authored the early 70's hit "Oh, What a Feeling", this Crowbar was/is from Louisiana and known for three things - they got airplay on Headbanger's Ball, Beavis and Butt-Head, and two of the guys in the band played with Phil Anselmo in first Down lineup. Basically, what we have here is a very depressed take on the Melvins. Kirk Windstein's lyrics and squatty-potty delivery of them speak to someone who has been suppressing a lot of inner anger and/or maybe is used to being victimized - which is sad - but combine this with the overall presentation, and horror of horrors, the main effect of this is, the listener becomes aurally numb. Or maybe just this listener?

With the recent passing of Pete Rose, baseball's all-time hit king and most notorious pariah, I thought it would be a good idea to revisit the ESPN TV movie Hustle from 2004, which essentially serialized the events compiled by the Dowd Report. Overall, despite some of the names attached to the project, it's not anything particularly special, and doesn't aim to be. Maybe I need to read the report for an actual honest-to-goodness comparison, but other than a few blowups here and there, it really holds true to that wholly overused saying - it is what it is.