Let’s start at the very beginning. I’d never really come across Queens of the Stone Age before. When lead singer Josh Homme ran through Wellington with Them Crooked Vultures I had no idea who he was or why there was such a zeitgeist about them. Music (and video games actually) for me has mostly been a solo experience and I’m often quietly surprised to discover that others are loving similar sounds. A great example is the recent Queens of the Stone Age album; which was №1 on iTunes; which means I’m not alone in loving it, I guess.

I’m loving it because in 2014, on the way to an engagement holiday to Rarotonga, I was in one of my favourite shops in the world, Real Groovy on Queen Street where my ears rang to a bombastic, tight fucken fight of a song. It was fresh, urgent, and king hit me as I browsed the strange things. I’d just picked up John Dies at The End by David Wong with its cool cut off hand cover so now there is this convergent moment in my life with the book, an impending engagement to my amazing wife, and My God Is The Sun by Queens of the Stone Age. The music is the glue that connects these moments and it’s a strong stickum.

The album delivered on the promise of the song, and The Vampyre of Time and Memory remains one my favourite songs.

Ever.

The intro beautifully recalls the fat 70s sci-fi synth of something like Jeff Wayne’s War of the Worlds and the guitar remains the voice of the Martians, except this time it sings with empathy. Vampyre mixes perfectly a nostalgic record playing pull of 3 decades ago with the muted isolation i’ve often recognised. Mostly though, the way it cuts through emotionally is what makes it resonate. If you’ve ever felt lonely, if you’ve ever had questions about the point of existing in those moments, this song is with you. It’s a master work and it affects me.

So that awesome musical discovery led me, 4 years later to a measure of something positive toward the impending new album from Queens. When you get a little older your natural inclination is to not let anticipation nurture excitement; it’s a protection measure against potential disappointment, so with purposefully muted expectations I got it, day of release on iTunes -so old fashioned I know but actually if I’d been in dirty old Auckland that day I would’ve been hunting out the long player where it all began at the Salvation Army on Queen Street, recently consecrated as the new Real Groovy.

As much as I’m drawn to The Evil Has Landed, it’s song 1 that keeps wriggling through the dense dirt of my brain and it’s the reason for this article. Feet Don’t Fail Me is a great song with a great opening build. But it’s also where this idea of the rock and the funk crystallises because they’ve brought in Mark Ronson, he of Uptown Funk. So I’m curious to know what sort of song it would have been without him funking with it.

If you listen attentively you can follow the rowdy fun of the fight between the funk and the rock, like two friends having a play wrestle.

That opening build leaves you revelling in the feeling that this is gonna be a cool new QOTSA sounding album, even bringing back Vampyre’s fat synth mixed with the big bass beat of Queen’s Flash, until it rubbernecks your expectations at 1’47” as the baseline swoops in front of the (you’re sure) impending rock out. You’re sweet though, you’re in the car and you’re getting close to 88 when at 85 suddenly you see a chicken on the side of the road and you think ‘that’s weird…’.

That’s that bass line.

You’re sooo close to the rock though, that you focus forward and put your foot flat but someone starts firing chickens from a fucking cannon and instead of rocking back to the future you’re joining the Jungle Boogie.

This song is David Bowie singing Fame on Soul Train in that nothing in that situation seems right but somehow, somehow it works beautifully.

Technically the funk is emanating (as it always does) from the rhythm section, thumping bass notes controlling the song alongside a rigid beat but the way it plays tennis with your headphones is what really makes you bob your head.

The rock on the other hand comes initially from your expectation, backed up by that great intro then the roving synth in at 2’35” acting as a poultice to ease the funk until it flares again into verse 2 but the synth has gone to get an axe; the electric guitar which has hidden so well in the choruses, adhering to the beat so as not to be noticed until the funk runs out of things to say and it makes a running shoulder charge at 3’12”, victory lapping around the song for a full minute before retreating as the rock and the funk circle each other at a distance, building the will for a final battle heralded this time by the guitar playing the base line from the top at 5’07”. It’s not a battle though, it’s a joining; a sum of all parts and a glorious sound which lasts all of 30 seconds before the album funks off to The Way You Used to Do’s hasty handclapper with nary a breath betwixt.

For me, it really doesn’t get better than this as a great example of the rock & the funk and with every listen my intrigue for this song grows, which in the end makes me enjoy it more.

End note: Please don’t attempt a comparison with Walk this Way.