They were supposed to be the "leather jacket" band. You remember the vibe in 2003. The Strokes were the cool kids, The White Stripes were the art-school blues duo, and Black Rebel Motorcycle Club were the dark, brooding psych-rockers who sounded like they lived in a basement with Jesus and Mary Chain records. Then 2005 happened. Peter Hayes, Robert Levon Been, and Nick Jago basically threw the script in the trash. They got dropped by Virgin Records. They were broke. Instead of trying to write another "Whatever Happened to My Rock 'n' Roll," they went acoustic.
The Black Rebel Motorcycle Club Howl album wasn't just a pivot; it was a survival tactic.
It’s a dusty, stomp-heavy, gospel-inflected record that feels like it was recorded in a haunted barn in 1920. But it wasn't. It was recorded in Los Angeles when the band was at their lowest point. If you listen to "Shuffle Your Feet," you aren't just hearing a catchy rhythm. You’re hearing a band trying to find their soul after the industry tried to kill them.
The Sound of Getting Dropped and Starting Over
Most bands, when they lose a major label deal, try to recreate their biggest hit to get back on top. BRMC did the opposite. They went backward. They dug into the roots of American music—Delta blues, country, folk, and old-school spirituals. Honestly, it was a massive risk. At the time, if you were a "cool" indie band, you weren't supposed to sound like a revival tent meeting.
Hayes and Been shared songwriting duties in a way that felt more collaborative than their previous work. Hayes, specifically, brought this weathered, gravelly delivery to tracks like "Fault Line." It’s raw. You can hear the fingers sliding on the strings. It’s not polished. It’s not perfect. That’s why it works.
The title itself is a nod to Allen Ginsberg’s poem, which makes sense. There’s a poetic desperation across these thirteen tracks. It’s the sound of three guys realizing that the leather-and-feedback schtick had a shelf life, but the blues? The blues is forever.
Why the Black Rebel Motorcycle Club Howl Album Confused Everyone
Critics didn't know what to do with it at first. Pitchfork gave it a 6.9, which is basically the "we don't get it but we don't hate it" score. They called it a "calculated" move. But if you talk to any long-term fan, they'll tell you the exact opposite. There is nothing calculated about a song like "The Line." It’s seven minutes of slow-burn atmosphere that builds into a harmonica-drenched crescendo.
The Influence of the Delta
The record is obsessed with the idea of the "crossroads." Not in a cheesy, Eric Clapton way, but in a real, "I have no money and I'm losing my mind" way. "Ain't No Easy Way" became the breakout hit, and for good reason. It’s got that infectious, foot-stomping beat that feels like it’s being played on a porch in Mississippi.
A Departure from the Wall of Sound
Before this, the band was known for a literal wall of noise. Bassist Robert Levon Been used so many pedals his board looked like a spaceship. On Howl, he traded the fuzz for an upright bass and a piano. "Howl" (the title track) is a masterpiece of restraint. It’s just a few chords and a haunting vocal melody that stays with you long after the song ends.
The Gear and the Grime
Let’s talk about the technical side for a second, because that's where the "human" element of the Black Rebel Motorcycle Club Howl album really shines. They didn't go to a high-end studio with a big-name producer to make it sound "clean." They worked with T-Bone Burnett? No, they did it themselves with some help from Michael Bina and others, keeping the edges frayed.
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They used harmonicas. A lot of them. They used autoharps. They used whatever was lying around.
The drums on this record are interesting, too. Nick Jago’s relationship with the band was famously volatile around this time. He’s only on a handful of tracks. For the rest, the band used various percussion—tambourines, floor stamps, handclaps. It gives the album a communal, "sit around the campfire" energy that their self-titled debut or Take Them On, On Your Own completely lacked.
Misconceptions About the "Acoustic" Label
People often call Howl an acoustic album. That’s a bit of a lie. It’s a "stripped-back" album, sure, but listen to "Promise." There are layers of electric guitar in there, they’re just tucked away in the mix. There’s plenty of electric fuzz on "Sympathetic Noose" if you look for it.
The difference is the intent.
On the first two albums, the noise was the point. On the Black Rebel Motorcycle Club Howl album, the song is the point. The noise is just decoration. This shift allowed Peter Hayes to emerge as one of the best songwriters of his generation. He stopped hiding behind the feedback and started singing about his fears, his faith (or lack thereof), and the general feeling of being lost in America.
Track-by-Track Reality Check
You can’t talk about this record without mentioning "Devil's Waitin'." It’s the opening track and it sets the tone perfectly. It’s lonely. It’s a guy and a guitar, singing about death.
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Then you get "Done Any Wrong." It’s almost a lullaby.
But then, "Weight of the World" kicks in with this massive, gospel choir-style backing vocal. It’s triumphant. It’s the moment the album moves from "I’m sad" to "I’m going to overcome this." It’s the centerpiece of the record and probably the best thing they’ve ever recorded.
The Legacy of a "Career Suicide" Move
At the time, going "folk" was seen as career suicide for a rock band. Today, we see it differently. We see it as the moment BRMC became a "real" band. They proved they didn't need the leather jackets or the cool lighting to be relevant.
They paved the way for a lot of the "stomp and holler" bands that came later, though BRMC did it with a lot more grit and a lot less pretension. You don't get the mid-2010s folk revival in the same way without Howl proving that indie kids would actually buy a record featuring a harmonica solo.
The album also saved the band. It gave them a new identity. It allowed them to tour for decades because they could now play a high-energy rock show and then pivot to an intimate acoustic set without it feeling weird.
Actionable Steps for the Modern Listener
If you’re just discovering the Black Rebel Motorcycle Club Howl album, or if you haven't listened to it since you bought the CD in 2005, here is how to actually experience it.
- Skip the "Best Of" playlists. This is a front-to-back experience. The sequencing matters. The way "Shuffle Your Feet" bleeds into the rest of the record is intentional.
- Listen on decent speakers or open-back headphones. There is a lot of "room noise" on this record—creaks, breaths, and the sound of the space they were in. You lose that on cheap earbuds.
- Check out the "Howl Sessions" EP. If you finish the album and want more, there’s a companion EP with tracks like "The Show's About To Begin" that are just as good as the stuff that made the final cut.
- Watch the live performances from 2005-2006. Seeing them perform these songs live, often with just two of them on stage huddled around a single mic, is the only way to truly understand the chemistry that kept this band together when they should have fallen apart.
- Read the lyrics to "The Line." It’s some of the best songwriting of the 2000s. Period.
Howl wasn't just a record. It was a declaration of independence. It remains a masterclass in how to reinvent yourself without losing your integrity. Whether you're a fan of blues, rock, or just good stories, it's an essential piece of the puzzle.
To truly appreciate the evolution of the band, compare the raw, unpolished demo versions found on their rarities collections with the final studio masters of Howl. You'll see exactly how they stripped away the "cool" to find the "real." Once you've mastered the album, explore the band's later work like Specter at the Feast to see how they eventually blended the acoustic soul of Howl back into their signature wall-of-sound rock.