Some albums need to be played at full volume; Thomas Raggi’s Masquerade is one such project. “Keep the Pack” recalls the vibrancy of the Darkness during their One Way Ticket era: thunderous drums, helium-induced vocals, carnage rising from the guitars. Judged by that song alone, Raggi has a promising career ahead of him, whether it’s part of the Eurovision-winning combo Måneskin or by himself. “Keep the Pack” is the bar by which the rest of the record is judged, so it’s pleasant to report that there are at least five other songs that hit that mark.
The provocatively titled “Cat Got Your Tongue” combines rap with barrelling riffs, swampy drums keeping a beat as giddy harmonies jump and down over the instrumentation. Where the earlier guitars aped Justin Hawkins, the instrumental passages on “Cat Got Your Tongue” are a cocktail of Jonny Greenwood’s wild antics and Lenny Kravitz’s passion for funk.
The record momentarily slips when Thomas Raggi sings “For Nothing”, singing the type of sickly power ballad that populated radios during the 1990s. “Don’t look back,” he shouts, missing out on the chance to reference the Bob Dylan tune as he does so. Mercifully, the solo ripples with creative energy, battling against the backdrop as if energised by a central emotion emanating from the fingers.
Masquerade picks up when the familiar dulcet tones that belong to Alex Kapranos enter the proceedings on rock-disco standard “You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)”, gifting the record a sultriness as he does so. Kapranos isn’t the only celebrity guest: Guns N’ Roses mainstay Matt Sorum adds percussion, just as Kasabian’s Sergio Pizzorno contributes lyrics. The finished record is unashamedly proud of its rock roots, peering at the history with an impish smile.
At a time when Arctic Monkeys and Radiohead peer at the genre through a subversive lens, Thomas Raggi‘s contributions feel refreshingly bright to sit through. “Getcha” may give ESL teachers a headache for bad spellings, yet that’s a throwback to the days of Slade (“We’re All Crazee Now” et al). There’s a rubbery quality to the song, perhaps Tom Morello’s addition to the piece. Behind the wailing hooks, Chickenfoot’s Chad Smith performs a variety of tom-toms, cymbals, and back pedals to create a walloping backdrop.
“Lucy”, a jingle-jangle number, boasts an excitable vocal interpolation from Upsahl; Hama Okamoto provides the hypnotic bass parts. The tempo lurges during the middle eighth section, pivoting to thrash metal. It’s unclear at this time of writing who does the brusque interlude; a powerful marriage of pedals, passion, and perseverance. Closing numbers “The Ritz” and “Fallaway” dip somewhat, but by this time, Raggi has proven his point. Masquerade is born to be played at a hard rock festival of some kind, considering the density of the guitars and bass patterns.
It would be interesting to see if Raggi strips it down for his next project, curating a pastoral, unplugged variant to the tracklisting showcased here. Like Nirvana and Eric Clapton before him, Raggi could easily slow the fusion down to showcase a lyrical side to the anthems. By that same token, he could avoid the trappings of formula and provide an instrumental record with the hooks fat and central.
Either way, Thomas Raggi should be saluted for fronting a record that could easily have been a cheap throwback but comes across as vivid and muscular, profoundly contemporary-sounding, too. Guitars chime loudly, cutting into the eardrums, as the drums clatter and groove according to the aggressive undertones. Rebellion, the fuel that raises any artist from amateur to professional, is on full display for all the world to witness.