Josh Homme and Jesse Hughes pull into an anonymous suburb, the riffs of Mountain’s “Mississippi Queen” blasting over their radio. They’re driving a black Pontiac Firebird, the 1978 model with a glossy phoenix decaled across the hood. From behind a pair of shades, Homme stares down the pasty yellow siding of a house, stopping the car. He nods to Hughes.
Hughes and Homme both adjust their leather jackets with a snap. Homme checks his hair in the rear-view, and Hughes whips out a switchblade comb that he drags through the thick mustache draped over his face.
“You ready to nab these guys for good?” Homme asks, looking at Hughes from over his shades.
“You know it, brother,” Hughes says, reaching across the detective badge around his neck and pulling a .38 revolver from the leather should holster hidden beneath his jacket.
As they step out of the car, Mountain continues to roar down on the neighborhood. Detectives Homme and Hughes match their steps to the swagger of the song and approach the house for their final showdown.
* * *
At this point in their career, Eagles of Death Metal could easily be the buddy cops of a 1970s detective film. The duo’s latest album, Zipper Down, stars Homme and Hughes as the camp-minded rock-‘n’-rollers reliving those crime-ridden streets from decades ago. With a wink and a nudge, they throw down 11 tracks of classic-rock strut and record what could only be the grinning lovechild of Dirty Harry and This is Spinal Tap.
I’m not sure what else to really say. Four records in and EoDM have their Rolling Stones swagger down to a T. There’s a cunning eye placed on the groove, where Homme flexes a little bit of the “Smooth Sailing” swagger from his day job as Queens of the Stone Age’s leader. Meanwhile, Hughes rips out a smutty set of guitar riffs, swinging through the Thin Lizzy riffs of “The Deuce” and the ginger slide of obligatory love song “I Love You All the Time” (a track made all the more charming by the broken French scattered throughout).
Zipper Down’s charm is entirely wrapped up in that light-hearted, blues rock-copping playfulness. While Homme may focus on something a little more dramatic when he’s writing for his other projects, his time with Hughes is a reminder that rock music isn’t always dark thoughts and emotional cracks at love, politics, etc. Instead, Zipper Down sounds more like a grin and a wink, an album more interested in telling the world, “Rock music doesn’t need to be pompous, guys,” while mocking that notion at the same time (every wink Hughes might give to women half his age seem more intended for the audience than any late-night lust).
So, Homme and Hughes put out another EoDM album. It’s a fun half-hour that would be right at home between a greatest hits radio station and an adults-only VHS store, lost in a world of “Skin-Tight Boogies” and bar fight rockers. The riffs are cocky, the rhythms are smooth and Homme and Hughes infect everything with enough self-righteous camp to make it a hilarious blast from the past. There’s no great philosophy, dramatic one-liners or hearts tattooed onto a sleeve here, just two guys laughing their asses off behind the cheekiest riffs this side of Watergate.
* * *
“That was some good shooting, brother!” Hughes laughs as he high-fives his partner. Hommes grins back, tossing some mob-looking fellow with a black eye and handcuffs into the backseat of their Firebird. He dangles a cigarette in the man’s mouth and slams the door.
The radio is now halfway through the climatic solo of “Free Bird,” twin guitars trading leads like the banjos in Deliverance. Homme and Hughes hop into the car. Hughes fixes his mustache and Homme brushes something out of his hair. With Lynyrd Skynyrd roaring, they swing the car toward the sunset and gun it.
Homme stares into the rear-view mirror at the house they just left. Forensics should be there in a few minutes to—
The house explodes. Homme just stares, an unlit cigarette falls from his lips into his lap.
“What?” Hughes asks.
“Oh, nothing.”