The desert is rich with musical folklore. From the bizarre last days of (the body of) Gram Parsons to the sinister commune of Charles Manson, it has exerted a dark pull on American music. No surprise then that professional 21st century rock icon Josh Homme should choose to find his inspiration in this most inhospitable of settings.
The snarling flame-haired Elvis of Queens of the Stone Age knows that great rock music only becomes greater when draped in the signifiers from which it draws its powers. So to the desert with a seemingly-ramshackle, yet hugely talented selection of musicians from Polly Harvey to Marilyn Manson escapee Twiggy Ramirez and Dean Ween. Add QOTSA's thunderous drummer Joey Castillo and Troy Van Leeuwen, as well as 'Desert Sessions' staples Chris Goss, Dave Catching and Alain Johannes, and you have the makings of something very serious indeed.
Cast aside any idea of 'Desert Sessions 9 & 10' as a mere placebo for fans slavishly awaiting the return of The Greatest Rock'n'Roll Band on the Planet. It's not just the absence of screaming maniac Nick Oliveri that confirms this as no QOTSA side project, though it does highlight the dynamic that makes that band so very special. Homme's urge to experiment, to find new structures for taught rock within forms as unlikely as flamenco and polka and his meticulous attention to detail, even on a record as roughly produced as this, are all clearly visible as the dust settles.
Collaboration is Homme's muse and it shouldn't be a surprise that he and Oliveri occasionally need some time off from each other. (What Oliveri gets up to in this time - Mondo Generator aside - we can only begin to imagine.) And Homme's muse has a habit of sharing its powers. Witness Dave Grohl's last outing with the Foo Fighters, which followed in the wake of his thrilling return to a drum kit with QOTSA, and await his forthcoming 'metal' project, Probot.
So, no one involved in the latest instalment of the Desert Sessions disappoints but Polly Harvey proves the most thrilling new texture in the mix, bringing a mesmerising carnality to Homme's frequently rigid posturing. On 'Crawl Home' she squalls like Karen O's slightly-intimidating older sister and then turns on the drawl of a drugged femme fatale for the B-movie tremors of 'A Girl Like Me'. 'Dead In Love', 'I Wanna Make It Wit Chu' and 'In My Head... Or Something' find the closest approximation of QOTSA and even the inevitable jams deliver loose-limbed chaos ('Creosote') and a fantastically perfect soaring widescreen groove ('Subcultaneous Phat').
Which just leaves 'Shepherd's Pie' unaccounted for. This final, hysterical anomaly should be skipped by anyone not sharing the mind state of its creators at time of recording. It's the one point that Homme's militaristic control of collective madness slips for an instant, giving way to, well, madness. As Sun Ra, another musical visionary that - arguably - stayed just the right side of bonkers, might have said if he'd ever recorded at the Rancho De La Luna studio: The Desert Is The Place.
