Forty-one years into their career, King Buzzo and his relentlessly creative heavy-music outsiders are more sure than ever that there are no rules for success.
On the Melvins’ new record, Tarantula Heart, the first track alone is longer than most hardcore punk records. “Pain Equals Funny” builds, collapses, and rebuilds over nearly 20 minutes. It’s grungy and bizarre and confrontational, swerving across prog-metal, industrial, noise, and grease-smeared stoner rock. Buzz Osborne’s trademark foghorn voice, sounding out from between his mad-scientist hair and high-priest robes, blasts in and out of the track with contextless proclamations and anecdotes, his behemoth guitar thrashing across an ocean of distortion. Steven Shane McDonald’s bass drones, flooding the room; Dale Crover’s drums, often doubled and bolstered by Ministry drummer Roy Mayorga’s, are punishing, bare-knuckled and relentless. Feedback interrupts in squeals, then in squalls, until it’s all you can hear—then, it’s instruments that disrupt the feedback, rather than the other way around. The track stews and clangs and hulks along without any indication of where it’s heading next. It’s the sound of chaos distilled and reined in, just barely. It sounds a bit like life.
Melvins "Working The Ditch"
Tarantula Heart is the veteran avant sludge-metal band’s 27th full-length record since their debut LP in 1987, and their 18th with label Ipecac Recordings. They obviously practice a sort of creation that is at odds with the traditional contemporary studio and band business model. Some people might just call it flat-out weird. It’s not uncommon for bands to go three to five years without new material and milk each album cycle for a couple more. So, why produce and release so much music if you don’t have to? Maybe the more interesting question to answer is: If you care about making music, why wouldn’t you?
“It’s a really weird record,” says Osborne. “I wasn’t sure what Ipecac would think. We turned it in, and they were like, ‘This might be our favorite one you’ve ever done.’
“We’ve done almost 30 albums, depending on what you count as an album, and at this point, the idea of doing things like I’ve always done, it doesn’t really excite me too much. I’m always looking for something new, some new idea: see if we can do this, see if we can pull that off. There’s enough bands out there doing traditional music. People shouldn’t expect us to.”
McDonald—who’s been with the band since 2015 and is also a member of punk icons Redd Kross—puts it simply: “It was the Melvins yet again finding a different way to skin a cat.”
“We’ve done almost 30 albums, depending on what you count as an album, and at this point, the idea of doing things like I’ve always done, it doesn’t really excite me too much.” —Buzz Osborne
By the band’s count, Tarantula Heart is their 27th LP of original material in their long and storied career.
If Tarantula Heart sounds at times like listening to a group of musicians simply bashing out ginormous riffs and exploring how far they can push things in a jam space, well, that’s pretty spot-on. The record was created primarily over two days of jamming with both Crover and Mayorga on their own kits at Melvins’ rehearsal space in an industrial area in the San Fernando Valley, which they share with long-time producer Toshi Kasai. Melvins have a history of playing with two drummers at the same time. For nearly a decade starting in 2006, Crover and Coady Willis both thundered along behind the band. “It’s like you’re riding this gigantic beast,” says McDonald of playing with two drummers. “It’s like an earthquake.”
The jams were unstructured and random, but afterward, Osborne took the audio files home and combed them for ideas. He’d find five- to seven-minute sections that stuck out, then isolate the drums and write new riffs, solos, and melodies overtop of them. Good friend and WE Are the Asteroid guitarist Gary Chester swung by to help fill out the chaos, and Osborne and Kasai traded off roles as either string-strummer or pedal and amp knob-turner to create “white noise insanity.” “I know I’m onto something in the studio when you’re not playing the guitar but there’s so much amp noise that it sounds like a vacuum cleaner,” says Osborne. Later, he stitched the ideas together to create the Frankenstein monsters on Tarantula Heart. By the time Mayorga and Crover heard them, they were entirely different songs.
“It’s like you’re riding this gigantic beast. It’s like an earthquake.” —Steven Shane McDonald
That process would be off-putting for many musicians, but Melvins aren’t terribly serious in the studio, says Osborne. He dislikes the self-importance that the environment can promote in musicians. “I feel privileged to be in a situation where I can do this for my living,” he says. “I don’t lose that perspective on it but like, I want to have fun, and I’m really happy I’m here.”
Part of the method behind Osborne’s madness is that he believes musicians will perform more purely, more excitingly, if they don’t have to adhere to any framework. “If you let people own the songs in some way, you’ll get a better performance out of them,” says Osborne. That’s a philosophy he picked up from David Bowie. Osborne claims that when Bowie handed guitarist Adrian Belew a tape of songs to learn, he told him, “Play them like this or better.”
Most of the material on Tarantula Heart came from open-ended jams at the Melvins’ rehearsal studio, with Ministry drummer Roy Mayorga doubling Dale Crover’s thunder.
Photo by Tim Bugbee
And for Melvins, that ethos doesn’t end when the song is finished. Osborne believes that songs aren’t just allowed to change after they’re recorded, but that it’s necessary for them to do so. When Osborne was a kid, his favorite band was the Who, and when he heard their 1970 live record, Live at Leeds, he was thrilled by how different the songs sounded. Bowie’s adventurous live recordings, too, were instructive. “I learned that lesson really early on, even before I played guitar,” he says. “The live experience is something different. If you go by the record, we’re playing [our songs] all wrong. Things grow. I’m not married to any kind of conventional thing when it comes to how we play live or anything like that.
“The idea that we would want to translate perfectly and exactly how we do it on a record is completely absurd to me. I’ve heard bands say, ‘Well, how are we going to pull that off live?’ Don’t worry about it. Change it. Who cares?”
“I know I’m onto something in the studio when you’re not playing the guitar but there’s so much amp noise that it sounds like a vacuum cleaner.” —Buzz Osborne
Osborne’s unshakeable approach feels like a threat to a modern music industry that, under the boot of a ruthless market, balks at risk and favors a sure thing. And while the Melvins have built a successful, long-lasting career doing their thing, they’ve also watched their peers rocket past them into the mainstream. Crover played drums with Nirvana while they were recording the songs that turned into their debut LP, Bleach, and Osborne was friends with Kurt Cobain, introducing him and bassist Krist Novoselic to Dave Grohl. Like Nirvana, Melvins signed to a major—Atlantic Records—and seemed poised to join their grunge and punk pals atop the charts. But after four years and three records (plus one farther afield release, Prick, which the band released under the name ƧИIV⅃ƎM, allegedly to avoid breaking their contract with Atlantic) the label dropped the band.
The fact of their trajectory versus Soundgarden’s or Nirvana’s is more a curiosity to Osborne than anything else. “We were much weirder than those bands that commercialized it in a way that we never did or never could have,” he says. “You just carve out a spot with all that in mind. The funny thing about all that was that I was making a living playing music before those bands ever got big. It was already working on a smaller scale.”
Buzz Osborne's Gear
The Melvins came up in the same scene as grunge legends Nirvana and Soundgarden, bands that Osborne says were “smarter” in figuring out how to commercialize gnarly sounds.
Photo by Joshua Jennings
Guitars
- Electrical Guitar Company King Buzzo Standard
- Electrical Guitar Company King Buzzo Signature
- Electrical Guitar Company Wedge
- Gibson Firebird
- Gibson Flying V
- Gibson 50th Anniversary Pete Townshend SG
Amps
- Hilbish Design Preamplifier
- Tyrant Tone 2x15
- Tyrant Tone 2x12
Effects
- Hilbish Design Pessimiser
- Hilbish Design Compressimiser
- Hilbish Design Deathimizer
- Dunlop Cry Baby
- MXR Blue Box
Strings and Picks
- Ernie Ball Skinny Top Heavy Bottom
- Tortex Triangle Pick .50mm
Over their years on the road, Osborne has converted McDonald to his strategy of only carrying gear that can be replaced at a moment’s notice from any generic music store. It’s largely the result of brutal mishaps—McDonald guesses that around four of Osborne’s vintage Les Pauls have had their headstocks broken by various airport authorities and baggage handlers. Any TSA agent can open your guitar case upside down, McDonald notes, but he also appreciates the reality check of the approach. “If you get hooked on something that seems like it has that invisible secret mojo, then it’s hard when that object lets you down and you feel like you can’t replace it easily,” he says. Now, McDonald tours with an Epiphone Thunderbird 60s bass that he bought off of Amazon. “If worse came to worst and I needed another one of those on the road, I could have one shipped to the next Holiday Inn Express,” he says.
“I’ve heard bands say, ‘Well, how are we going to pull that off live?’ Don’t worry about it. Change it. Who cares?” —Buzz Osborne
Osborne will still bring new Electrical Guitar Company instruments on the road, probably because they’re virtually indestructible. Built in Irondale, Alabama, they borrow from (and in some cases replicate) the Travis Bean-style aluminum builds which have long been favored by offbeat noise-makers. Osborne counts a couple signature models with EGC—a fitting collaboration for one of guitar music’s freest spirits.
Osborne says people still approach him to praise what they believe to be a tone summoned by a Les Paul ripping through a Marshall, a combination that these days prompts Osborne to recoil: “God, wake me up later,” he groans. These days, he’s pretty sure of what he doesn’t want in his sound. But what he does want can be trickier. That can change from night to night, hour to hour.
“I’m one of the weirdos that likes brand new stuff,” says Osborne. “I don’t know. It’s fun to keep moving forward.”
Steven Shane McDonald's Gear
On the road, Osborne and McDonald stick to either new, easy-to-replace gear, or bomb-proof kit like the aluminum and plexiglass guitars from Electrical Guitar Company.
Photo by Chris Casella
Guitars
- Epiphone Thunderbird 60s bass
Amps
- Darkglass Electronics Microtubes X 900
- 8x10 cabinet
Effects
- Boss PH-3 Phase Shifter
- Electro-Harmonix Pitch Fork
- EarthQuaker Devices Hizumitas
Strings and Picks
- Ernie Ball Regular Slinky Bass (.050-.105)
- Tortex Sharp Pick .88mm
YouTube It
Melvins are just as weird and heavy as they were 40 years ago, as this 2023 live set at Germany’s Freak Valley Festival demonstrates.
A fuzz-forward take on late-'60s octave-fuzz flavor opens up unique—and menacing—tone territories.
Octave fuzz with a little more fuzz presence. Responsive to guitar volume attenuation. Killer handcrafted vibe. Nice build quality.
Some players might find the tone palette limited for the price.
$180
Hilbish T-Fuzz
hilbishdesign.com
It's always impressive to hear buttery smooth, full-spectrum fuzz—the kind that sustains and sings eternally, that captures and magnifies every overtone, and makes '90s-era David Gilmour fans rapturous. But a true distortion maniac cannot live by fuzz foie gras alone. Sometimes you need a little more scuzz in your fuzz, and a filthier fuzz than the Hilbish T-Fuzz would indeed be hard to find.
Much of what makes the T-Fuzz sound so dirty is its ample but not overbearing octave content. There's a clear sonic relation to classic late-'60s octave fuzzes like the Octavia, Ampeg Scrambler, and Dan Armstrong Green Ringer. But the Hilbish tucks the octave content just a bit further back in the fuzz/octave blend than any of those pedals, making it a touch more practical for power riffing and lending most settings a little extra sustain—especially when you dial your amplifier up to saturated extremes.
Red mode can turn any bonehead garage-psych lick into a thrill ride.
The T-Fuzz is not trashy to the point of absurd. Its "red" mode, which is activated via the low-profile push button, lends force and focus to power chords and coaxes cool, buzzy biker-fuzz textures that can turn any bonehead garage-psych lick into a thrill ride. The green mode is even more focused and piercing in the mid- and high-mid range but turns splattier in the low and high-frequency ranges. Neither mode is going to flatter a barred minor 7th chord played around the middle of the neck, but they can make the simplest lead positively menacing, and both modes can produce complex, less-aggressive textures with a little guitar volume attenuation. At $180, the T-Fuzz can feel a bit specialized for the money. But it's a beautifully made little monster, and for many players, its distinct scream—and the unique tone spaces you can carve out with it—could make it worth every penny.
Test Gear: Fender Telecaster, black-panel Fender Tremolux, Universal Audio OX with Vox 2x12-, Marshall 4x12-, and Fender tweed Deluxe-style speaker/cabinet simulations
Buzzo’s signature squish machine is surprisingly subtle. The PG Hilbish Compressimiser review.
Recorded via Shure SM57 and Apogee Duet to Garage Band with Rickenbacker 370-12, Fender Jazzmaster, and Fender Vibro Champ.
Electric 12 string track features a arpeggiated loop and lead through the Compressimiser at 70-80% squish and 30% level.
The lead track is run through a Strymon Flint ’60s reverb and then through the Compressimiser at 70-80% squish and 30% level.
RatingsPros:Transparent, sensitive, subtle compression. Rangey controls. Awesome enclosure. Cons: Can be noisy. Street: $225 Hilbish Compressimiser hilbishdesigns.com | Tones: Ease of Use: Build/Design: Value: |
I don’t know about the rest of you Melvins fans, but when I consider the guitar sound of the mighty Buzz Osborne, compression isn’t the first thing that comes to mind. Travis Beans? Sunn amps? For sure. But even if you did know Buzz used MXR Dyna Comps, there is little in the Melvin’s recorded output that would compel you to run straight to Big Al’s Guitar Hut to score one. As it turns out, though, King Buzzo considers pedal compression essential—so much so that he now has a compressor designed and built in his honor: the Hilbish Compressimiser.
Apart from the image of a cartoon fawn mischievously weaponizing its flatulence, the Hilbish looks as classic and utilitarian as an old Craftsman tool chest. It feels sturdy and substantial like one, too. In further affirmation of Buzzo’s absurdist sense of humor, perhaps, the circuit board takes up a small fraction of the enclosure’s space. The Compressimiser may be unnecessarily huge, but it looks incredible. And if you don’t like it, you can go talk to Buzzo about it.
As the diminutive board suggests, the Compressimiser circuit isn’t complicated. Like a vintage Ross compressor or its close relative, the MXR Dyna Comp, it utilizes a simple control array—just output volume and compression. A control layout isn’t all the Compressimiser shares with Ross-derived compressors. There’s an audible resemblance, too. The Hilbish, however, relies on a Voltage Controlled Amplifier to generate compression, like some outboard studio comps. The Hilbish also feels more direct and less complicated than a Ross—if that’s possible. Consider a car analogy: If a Ross is a ’64 Ford Falcon, fresh off the lot with with all the extras, the Compressimiser is a Falcon stripped-down for drag racing, where the only concern is translating piston spark to horsepower in the straightest possible line.
Pillow of Winds
Though streamlined and uncluttered, the Compressimiser is not barbaric or lacking cultivation. On the contrary, the Hillbish’s VCA compression feels smooth, warm, and quite transparent. Compared to the pretty decent sounding old Dyna Comp I have, the Compressimiser is much more open and oxygenated at aggressive compression levels. It’s often felt rather than heard. This might confound a few expectations, given the Melvins associations, but sometimes the best word to describe the Compressimiser is “gentle.”
The fact that the Hilbish doesn’t beat you over the head with dynamic-flattening squish doesn’t mean it lacks potency. The extra sustain is considerable and silky, and applying it liberally never seems to suck the air from your signal. The output volume control, meanwhile, puts a lot of extra kick and headroom at your toe tips. At the lowest compression levels, it’s a fantastic boost, lending body and thickness to clean tones and exciting high-mid harmonics. The Compressimiser can be a bit noisy—a trade-off for the unconstricted, straight-line circuitry, perhaps. And if you play in mostly mellow settings, the Compressimiser’s occasionally high noise floor may preclude using high compression or output levels.
Built to Bolster Buzz
The Compressimiser sounds fantastic with fuzz and distortion. And, just as with clean tones, it doesn’t excessively or negatively color the output of a fuzz. Paired with a silicon Fuzz Face, it highlighted the pedal’s most exciting tones while corralling the saggier aspects of its output. Alongside a Civil War Big Muff clone, it added welcome and perceptible focus—stripping back strident, sizzling overtones, and adding punch in the pedal’s midrange without inducing tone claustrophobia.
The Compressimiser’s high output and capacity for transparency also means you can boost fuzz tones without dulling their livelier side. Adding clean boost to fuzz usually generates extra amplifier compression, which can rob you of dynamics anyway. But if you tend to use a high-headroom amp like a Fender Twin or Hiwatt (or a solid-state unit, like Buzzo), boosted settings give you acres of extra room to roam.
The Verdict
You may not equate subtlety with the world of the Melvins. But the Compressimiser has it in spades. It’s classy sounding, fairly linear, and does the things most folks want a good vintage Ross or Dyna Comp to do: enliven buried harmonics, generate smooth sustain, and lend focus to fuzz and distortion without blunting color or excitement. It probably won’t be the quietest compressor you meet. But in exchange the Hillbish delivers compression that sounds and feels unfettered, transparent and, at times, even thrilling.