Independent
14/11/25
Full disclosure from the outset here. Until this point in time I have not yet become acquainted with Lonnie Silva through his music, which includes time with rock/metal outfit Blacklist 9 as well as this outfit, Silva. But I’m glad I read through the press releases sent to me along with this record because to know the circumstances surrounding this next body of work, simply titled Silva, is to gain a deeper insight into the meaning behind these songs. If you aren’t familiar with Lonnie or his music and his recent personal loss, then I shall leave it up to you to dig deeper yourself, but already I have a feeling there is going to be something pretty special about the noise that is about to invade my ears.
Then, when you factor in the quality of musicians supporting Lonnie in this sonic journey, things really start to get interesting. But, again, you are going to have to do your own dirty work because I have already wasted too much time on pleasantries and want to hit play and listen rather than dribble on here.
And as soon as I do, Try hits me with a dirty wall of guitar that lingers in the air like a sonic blanket before the vocals kick in with a warm embrace. The vocal delivery here is a bit confronting to begin with, blending with the density of guitars and finding its place amongst the murkiness. Not that it’s a bad thing, as Silva settle into a solid groove and the fuziness that spread from the outset seems to have been absorbed into the atmosphere as a flurry of guitar takes us on our first solo journey of the album.
It’s sort of industrial tinged but filled with an angst of melancholic suffering that adds even more to the complexities layered over each passing note. Interesting start.
The first of the listed guest appearances is set for the next track, Man Of No Fear, with LA Guns guitarist Stacey David Blades there to work his fingers over. The song starts with a rush, a splash of bass and drums laying down another layer of density before the vocals kick in and lift spirits ever so slightly. There’s a hell of a lot going on here, with subtle tempo changes and stop/start passages of music that give an almost shuffling sense of urgency to the song.
At its core, this is a rock song, but don’t expect anything by the numbers. As if on cue, Blades interrupts my train of thought with a quick run up and down his fret board before fading into the background to once more allow the vocals to take centre stage. And then it trails off before snapping to a close and moves onto the next track, Listen I’m Falling. It looks like Blades is hanging around to play some more on this one, and I find myself internally debating whether Listen I’m Falling is going to start with a tasty guitar riff or in a more conventional fashion.
But not to be outdone, the drums ignite proceedings with a menacing roll that allows the vocals to ease into the song instead of having to reach for supremacy from the start. This is a measured and more deliberate-sounding piece of music, although I did think I had spoken prematurely for a moment when a rumbling guitar lick hinted at a nasty breakdown into darker waters.
But to their credit, the band brush this off as a minor distraction and restores the balance, forcing Blades into a change of approach with the next solo, which is far more befitting the sonic landscape. Reverting to a stuttering chugg across his strings, Blades falls back in line, and away we ride into restrained regret once more as Listen I’m Falling remains on the same steady trajectory as it fades into the ether, preparing us for Hero.
Judging by the song title and knowing the history of this album, I’m guessing Hero is going to be the album ballad of sorts, and I’m not mistaken as it eases to life with a withdrawn, almost repressed sense of calm, led by a beautiful vocal delivery that is drenched in pain. I’m not generally a fan of ballads – to put it mildly – but there’s something about Hero that elevates the song from the usual quagmire created by a ballad, instead drawing you in with a steady, rhythmic underbelly that perfectly brings the moments of colour and clarity to the fore despite the obvious emotion with which Hero is delivered.
Enemy In My Mind picks up the tempo with a noticeable swagger, offering up a toe-tapping number complete with a tougher skeleton courtesy of Blades, who has rejoined the fold for the immediate future at least. So far, every song on Silva has found a different sonic avenue from which to tell their story, and Enemy In My Mind is no different. Especially when a lengthier display of power from Blades provides a ripping solo that continually climbs until being reigned in as the track snaps to a close just as quickly as it arrived.
If there was any doubt that Blades would be hanging around for the next song, that is thrown headfirst through a plate glass window as House Of Pain arrives full of intent and indigence with a menacing opening riff that flows through as the vocals kick in with an almost snarling arrogance that gives House Of Pain a definite punk edginess.
The track screams and snarls and spits in the face of normality, showcasing yet another – and this time unexpected – side of Silva‘s musical psyche. Another well-placed and tough as fuck guitar run reignites hostilities before House of Pain draws to a close in just a touch over two minutes. So I think I might just have another listen just for shits and giggles…
Kyle Silva is listed as providing guitar on the next track Fade, but he is going to have to wait another minute and a bit to show his wares because I am nothing if not a man of my word and have double-pumped a song during a review for the first time ever!
Fade drifts to life with some acoustic guitars and a rush of wind that, in turn, ushers in a tempered and insular vocal-led number that surely serves as ballad number two for the album. But, again, and contrary to the normal run of proceedings, I find myself kicking back and enjoying the serenity rather than falling over myself in search of the skip button.
I’m not sure why, but if I had to pinpoint a reason, it would be that the softer moments on this album actually feel like they belong. There is no hint of them being thrown in as an afterthought or to pacify the traditionalists. Each subdued note and cry of anguish is given life for a specific purpose, which takes away the feeling of contrived sorrow that generally accompanies such songs.
Maybe it’s just me, but either way I managed to dribble shit long enough for Fade to do just that, and I have come out of this passage of writing still standing in the neutral corner…
That and the fact that I Am Silence heralds the arrival of a gentleman by the name of C.J. Pierce from a band you may have heard of called Drowning Pool. Off on a bit of a tangent here, but I had the pleasure of spending about a week on the road with Drowning Pool earlier this year when a band I was managing did a support run for them and Alien Ant Farm in Australia. I went into that tour already a massive fan of Drowning Pool, but after getting to hang out with them at times throughout the tour, I left as also a massive fan of the band as human beings as well. And C.J can shred like a motherfucker, so let’s get stuck into I Am Silence and hope he doesn’t throw a complete curveball and deliver up a country love ballad.
Which of course he wouldn’t, and from the moment a screamed vocal introductory passage kicks things into gear, I know this is going to overtake House Of Pain as my pick of the album thus far. This has a Rob Zombie-type flow about it, while still being its own sonic blast of depravity. As the words ring out, ‘talk shit, get hit,’ it becomes even more obvious where this renewed hostility is coming from, and I’m liking where it’s taking me.
Of course, there is no way C.J is waiting this long to play and not showing his hand on numerous occasions, and as he starts winding into a tasty bout of solo theatrics, you can almost feel the tension mount, which finally snaps as the vocals smash their way back into the picture amid a constant wave of musical violence that stings without causing pain. Absolute fucken banger.
The next song, Another Day, has a guest drummer called Erik Gloege hitting the skins, and although I have no idea who he is, the mere fact that he was asked to play in and with the standard of musicians who have already appeared shows the guy won’t be anything short of sensational.
But if the opening strains of acoustic ambience are any indication, he will be more gently stroking the congas rather than wearing a hole in some drum skins on this one. Again, although this is a song very much of the slower mould, it’s not a whiney addition by any means. A steady rock underbelly keeps Another Day at a consistent shuffle, with Gloege being lucky to have worked up a sweat for this performance.
But if anything, Another Day is sonic proof that music does not have to be intrusive and in your face to hit the mark. As long as the passion, the feel and the attitude are there, a song doesn’t have to be tough to be tough – if that makes sense. Definitely more of a slow-burning song, but one which I have made a mental note to revisit because you get the feeling there are a few more layers to unravel yet.
Speaking of tough, the next track could knock you on your ass by virtue of the title alone. And My Fist Your Face (this actually just reminded me of a song from an Australian band called Brothel with the title My Fist Your Ass, but that’s a story for another day. Check it out after you finish this album, but. Brothel fucken rock).
After a bit of muffled crowd noise, which gives it a live feel, My Fist Your Face speeds up quickly into a swinging rockabilly punk swagger that is instantly irresistible. The guitar riff is catchy as fuck, and if I were a betting man, I would assume that there might be a double bass doing the rounds in this one. Probably not, but it would be even cooler if there were.
Blades has stepped back in on guitar for My Fist Your Face and announces his return with an electrifying solo that adds even more spice to an already seething body of work. I’m actually starting to get sick of changing my favourite song after every couple of songs, so I will just say I like this one. I like it a lot.
And you get the feeling the intensity won’t be dropping in the slightest for the next track No More, as Blades and C.J tag team each other in what can only be a solo-off of sorts if there is any justice in this world.
But instead the audible tone of a camcorder introduces a brief monologue that must have been only added while C.J tuned up because before long he stamps his authority on No More with a fast as fuck display of guitar prowess that swirls and bounces from the rafters in an emphatic statement of intent. The vocals arrive with just a hint of Henry Rollins-type petulance, but I only make the comparison for effect because Silva are 100% a sound of their own, bless their cotton socks.
It appears C.J isn’t finished yet as he goes off on another sonic tangent, pulling back only as the first strains of smoke start to weep from his fingers. Did someone say new favourite song? Must have been me…
And just to prove once and for all that Silva beat to the sound of no one’s drum but their own – or whichever talented guest drummer is around at the time, they elect to close the album out with a repeat of the earlier song Hero, but this time from a much different viewpoint. This version is a piano-led slice of sonic beauty, haunting, brooding and chilling in every way.
Besides being a powerful statement to leave as the lingering memory of the twelve songs that make up Silva, it is also a refreshingly different take on the usual smash you between the eyes closing mentality developing in the modern age of music. Don’t get me wrong, being smashed between the eyes as such is usually the perfect way to bow out, but I know that I will remember the final track on Silva after just one listen much easier and readier than anything else that has come across my desk in recent memory.
Put this one on your to-do list, kids.
