Music
The best kept secret in music
Press
You could very well find yourself enjoying Amplified Heat -- against your better judgment. Their greasy blend of blues, cock rock and garage and lyrics about fast women and fast cars is anything but sophisticated and too heavy-handed to pass for good satire, but damned if they don't make for a fist pumpin' good time. You can't fight these grooves, no matter how hard you try. Over-the-top co-option of classic rock worked for Jon Spencer, and it could very well end up working for these guys as well. - Splendid Magazine
Break out the Jim Beam, and put away the crystal – the Ortiz brothers are gonna destroy everything. Toting the savviest name change Red River's ever seen, Amplified Heat is dying to blow your speakers. With their debut on local imprint Arclight, In for Sin, Jim, Chris, and Gian are out of the Honky and Dixie Witch shadows. Jim and Gian more than likely tossed their volume knobs years ago, and Chris beats the hell out of the kit just to garner their attention and yours. Despite a bit of wank streaming from Jim's SG, In for Sin simulates the Red River live experience on disc: hair whipping around like a tornado, Converses on stained carpet, "Can we get more Lone Stars up here?" The opening title track forays into classic Southern stomp, chauvinism included ("She gonna cook me some dinner, when my workday is done, and when I'm in the mood for some love, she gonna give me some"). Aside from the "perfect woman," IfS focuses on the important things in life: cars, drugs, drink, and money. This is rock & roll, after all. "Roadrunner" screams past at 120 mph, with "Wagon Wheel" rolling in right behind toting Motörhead and Nashville Pussy. With their blues roots showing ("Just a Junkie," "The Gunny"), mixed in with a devotion to classic rock ("Fever," "Reflections"), Amplified Heat is a swirling vortex of blood, spit, and history. Those volume knobs are hardly missed. - Austin Chronicle
Take away the errant pair of fastballs Roger Clemens express-mailed to Albert Pujols and Scott Rolen, and it might well be the hometown Houston Astros up on the big screen here at Rudyard's. Sadly, the baseball fates elected to extend the Bayou City's futility streak yet another year, so Fox beams us the St. Louis Cardinals and suddenly blessed Boston Red Sox in Game 1 of the fall classic. Upstairs at this cozy pub in Montrose, one of the few hipster enclaves in Houston, Amplified Heat unpacks their gear. Or what's left of it.
"We just have a van full of shit," grumbles bassist Gian Ortiz, at 25 the youngest of Austin's three Amplified Heat brothers. "It's just so full of junk. We're hauling around a bunch of broken equipment."
The eldest Ortiz, Jim, cracked the headstock of his Stratocaster in Pittsburgh, but found some superglue and now chuckles that it sounds better than before he broke it. A similar fate has befallen every last one of drummer Chris Ortiz's cymbals.
"I'd say everyone's equipment has taken some form of abuse," the timekeeper allows.
Luckily, Amplified Heat is supporting Dixie Witch on the Texas Trios Takeover Tour, making the final stop of its first leg in Houston this Saturday evening. The Denton transplants (see sidebar) have been more than willing to loan the Ortizes whatever they need to get through another 50-minute stampede of snarling blues-metal. Dixie Witch are also inveterate road dogs, something Amplified Heat can't cop to quite yet – these past three weeks barnstorming the Midwest, Northeast, and South have been their first-ever on tour. Thanks to their tour mates, the experience has been more pleasant than they expected.
"We're definitely blessed with all the people Dixie Witch know," says Gian. "Anywhere we went, we had a place to stay. Some people fed us. They let us shower and shit. It wasn't two or three weeks without showering, not eating for a day and a half."
Amplified Heat may be newcomers to touring, but the Ortizes are already well into their second decade of playing together. Jim, now 32, first picked up a guitar around age 13. Chris followed not long after, and even though the elder two wouldn't let him play with them at first, Gian strapped on a guitar and plugged away in the other room until his brothers came around. Playing garages and parties, to crowds that usually topped out around 30 people, they forged a sound that combined the plodding heaviness of the death metal popular in their native northwest Houston with the blues-based classic-rock licks of Jimi Hendrix, Led Zeppelin, and Cream. They bicker and squabble like any other siblings, but musically, the Ortizes have always been on the same page.
"Anytime Chris got into Black Sabbath, I would get into Black Sabbath," confirms Gian. "Sharing that created a tightness. Don't get me wrong, we've been very sloppy, but there's still some kind of nice chemistry about it."
Chris was the first Ortiz to move to Austin, in late 1997. He did some gigs as a sideman, and was kicked out of one band for being "too loud." Jim came to town about a year later, and the duo began hitting various open-mic blues nights, christening themselves Blues Condition after the similarly titled Cream song. (At their first official local show, they were mislabeled Blues Connection.) Gian finally came aboard for good after sitting in with his brothers one night at the 311 Club, narrowly averting a move to College Station. The trio eventually scored a residency at Babe's, where they tightened their chops, but came to realize their name might be giving people the wrong idea. Sixth Streeters would wander in expecting something along the lines of Stevie Ray Vaughan or B.B. King, only to discover something else entirely.
"We were never a traditional band, and I guess the name gave people that impression," says Jim. "When they'd come in, they'd see three longhaired guys onstage with big amps playing loud. It's not what they expected."
"We had a lot of this," nods Chris, putting his hands over his ears.
The trio knocked around as Blues Condition for a few more years, never quite connecting with crowds until they landed on Red River, where long hair and big amps are practically the industry standard. Influenced by the full-tilt bands they shared bills with, their sound grew even heavier and less straight blues than before. In May of last year, they decided to ditch their original name and start fresh as Amplified Heat. Once again, they cribbed the name from a Cream song, this time Wheels of Fire's "Pressed Rat and Warthog."
"It was more like a natural evolution, I guess," figures Jim. "The music started getting heavier and heavier without us thinking about it. You can only play shuffles for so long."
After the name change, the Ortizes' datebook began to fill up almost of its own accord. It's not unusual to see Amplified Heat on the marquee at Room 710 one night, Headhunters the next, and Beerland or Emo's a n - Austin Chronicle
Discography
Amplified Heat EP (self released) 2004
In For Sin (Arclight Records) 2004
Photos
Feeling a bit camera shy
Bio
The Ortiz brothersa.k.a. Amplified Heatare passing the phone around, making sure everybody gets their two cents in this official biography that announces the band and their Arclight Records debut, In for Sin. Its bassist Gians turn, and as his guitar-spanking bro Jim hands him the phone, he says, Youre up, bitch. Go for it!
Its brotherly banter, common sibling shit-talkand the essence of Amplified Heat. The Colombian-American brothers have been playing music together as long as they can remember. Like brothers do, they bicker, and as much as theyre bound together; their relationship and music are intense, combustibleAmplified Heat. We have a chemistry, says drummer Chris, that only the three of us can understand. It is, however, something everyone can enjoy.
AMPHs roots are in Houston, and reach back to the brothers school days (1988, when thrash metals popularity was cresting) and originally involved only Chris, Jim and an unrelated OrtizThomas (Gian was 11 years old and forbidden to join/unable to gig). They played a single unamplified electric guitar and sundry pound-able objects (typically buckets) passed for drums. They called themselves Mass Abomination, and held among their influences Black Sabbath, Megadeth, The Who, Hendrix, Cream, Deep Purple and Blue Cheer. One rule governed their endeavors: no covers; originality ruled.
We wanted to form our own style, Chris explains. So we worked on coming up with our own stuff right off the bat.
Mass Abomination would record an EP using Jims studio resources at the Art Institute of Houston, and promptly lost it and the vibe in 1995. Jim and Chris formed Blues Condition (the name taken from Creams Disraeli Gears album) in honor of the newly-acquired influence of Lightnin Hopkins, Hound Dog Taylor and John Mayalls Bluesbreakers (the 68 Bare Wires lineup) and continued under the same ethos, only amped-up in light of the surplus of blues bands on the scene.
We thought wed supercharge the blues, says Jim, make it heavier and louder and faster [Ed: Chris would add,
with more balls to it!] than everyone else in order to set ourselves apart.
It worked, for better and worse. Older musiciansblues puristscomplained that Blues Condition was too loud, and lacked respect for the music. Keener ears heard the reverence above the din, and urged them to continue. But in 1997, the vibe had again slipped away and the band became a casualty of the bland and boring Houston music scene. Chris followed his future wife to Austin, where he played with blues rocker Jamie Krueger (who complained Chris drumming was too loud), and Jim kept up his chops as a member of The Toxic Hillbillies. That is, until 1999 when Jim and an of-age Gian joined Chris in Austin and resuscitated Blues Condition.
But in Austin, the home of Stevie Ray Vaughan, people wanted to hear blues bands doing their best Cold Shot or Pride and Joy. Blues Condition held fast, one of the few bands with the sense and respect not to touch the classics, but their name and their policy caused confusion and a dearth of gigs. This notwithstanding, they remained bent on scorching their own path with their loud-and-proud blues. The only change would be their name, as they adopted another Cream reference: Amplified Heat.
This is the best move weve ever made! Chris would enthuse as the band found its niche on Austins roiling Red River scene among Dixie Witch, Honky and Super Heavy Goat Ass. AMPHs crowds began to swell, and fans scarfed up copies of a self-produced EP. And after red-hot performances at the 2004 South-by-Southwest convention, serendipity struck: while tweaking some recordings at Austins Republic Studiosthe sister company of Arclight RecordsAMPH caught the attention of Arclights Dave Elizondo, who offered the band a deal three days later. The tweak session became a full-fledged recording session for In for Sin.
A ten-tiered dose of Amplified Heats combustible, intense, blues-based rock n roll, In for Sin was recorded in as many days last April. As the band tells it, Elizondo helped set up, which Chris included micing of the drums then let AMPH just
go for it. Dave gave us a no-tension environment, says Chris. He let us break loose and jam and get freshened up before an actual take. That technique of recording suited us very nicely.
This is brutally obvious from the first explosive moments of the kickoff track In for Sin, which sets a furious tone that lasts the duration of the album. Throughout the breakneck 3-minute boogie-woogie shuffle, Chris drumming is frantic and focused, unhinged and at maximum torque, locked vapor tight with Gians rollicking bass, and Jims guitar sings the blues while he shout-growls about an ideal woman (big-breasted, cooks dinner, keeps ya warm at night).
Henceforth, In for Sin becomes a balls-out endurance run toward a finish in flames. The loud and nasty hotrod-love anthem Roadrunner (which
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