How I Learned To Hate The Makers

Do any of you people remember these assholes? They were a medium-big deal during the mid-90's garage-punk heyday, and I was actually a pretty big fan. Sure, they lacked the velocity and panache of the New Bomb Turks or the soul of a Billy Childish, but... well, they were assholes. And in a scene as based on sullen, inchoate rage as garage-punk was, there's definitely something to be said for a band who were legitimate pill-popping, fist-fighting, club-trashing ASSHOLES. Such were The Makers.

While perhaps not the greatest songwriters in the world (The Makers basically mined the standard 60's Count Five vein, but with super-snotty vocals on top), they did produce one bona fide masterpiece: the Hunger LP. Sleek, snarling, spiteful, Hunger delivered everything good about The Makers coiled up in a tight, violent, dexedrine-powered fury.

And then, somewhat predictably, everything went to shit. Their next album, Glam Rock Sex Turd (no, not really) showcased a bunch of half-assed attempts at "mature" songwriting, relaxed tempos (speed REALLY helped carry this band), and the debut of singer Mike Maker's dreaded "sexy" persona.

A digression on the alleged "sexiness" of Mike Maker: He Has None. Dude is like four-foot-three. He dresses like a hippie pimp (one of my friends once saw him walking around Capitol Hill in Seattle in a hat with a three-foot brim. In a WINDSTORM. Hilarious.). And you wanna talk about grease? Motherfucker EXUDES it. So if an oily dwarf pimp crooning about how much he wants to touch your parts gets you ladies stoked, then by all means pick up any late period Makers album. And get your ass a shot of penicillin, 'cos you nasty.

So, yeah. A string of bullshit albums followed (Rock Star God was probably the worst, and no, I'm not kidding about the title this time), the critics started swooning (I'd say this was inexplicable, but rock critics are a bunch of tin-eared wimps) and I became content to ignore The Makers as long as they didn't do anything egregiously stupid.

Well.

Here's this thing. It's Stripped (ew.) by The Makers, and this is EXACTLY what happens when you've had rock critics blowing smoke (and cocaine) up your ass for the better part of a decade. Stripped is The Makers rerecording all of their classic jams, 'cos, you know, those SONGS were great (they were okay), but The Makers have just grown SO MUCH since then (they fucking suck), and now they can really Do The Songs Justice (they're gonna sleepwalk through this because they're old and they haven't been able to score quality speed since they left Spokane).

Not to put too fine a point on this, but Stripped is an abomination. Every song is a good twenty seconds longer than the original version because The Makers are Tired Old Men. All the recordings are slicked-up studio hack crap, with all the raw edges sanded off the originals. And Mike Maker's vocals are at. their. worst. The rabid whine of their early work has been replaced by his smooth-smoothie act (still whiny, but now he's super gross) and he seems incapable of delivering a line correctly.

Check out the new version of "Tear Apart" (included alongside the original version and dueling versions of "Leopard Print Sissy", my pick for Best Makers Song Evar). What the fuck is up with the part where he says, "All my friends... smoke cigarette"?! And he really punches the "ette" super hard, so you know he did it on purpose? What, are all his pals passing around one communal cigarette? Back in the '90's there were enough smokes for everybody! What happened?

Ah, screw this. I'm tired (not as tired as The Makers, but still...). I'll leave you to it. You're smart people. You can tell how much better the originals are. You don't need ME to tell you how the break in "Tear Apart" is ruined by all the guitar scree cluttering it up, when all the original had was bass, drums, and MENACE. You don't need ME to tell you that the new version of "Leopard Print Sissy" drips irony like Mike Maker drips hair oil because now he IS the same sissy he was threatening with spinal damage back in the day. You don't need me, period. But you damn sure don't need Stripped by The Makers.

But check out Hunger, willya? It's swell.