Everybody knows what this is, right? It's one of those goddamn Now That's What I Call Music compilations. The very first, in fact. These things originated over in the UK, and they're collections of all the really ultra-ubiquitous megahits that were clogging up the airwaves during a particular era. On October 27, 1998, the NOW people realized they could make a huge pile of (then valuable) American Dollars by starting a NOW series that plundered the US charts... and so they did.
Since then, the NOW comps have become part of our pop landscape. They arrive with almost seasonal regularity (three a year, in general) and we now find ourselves staring down the barrel of Now That's What I Call Music 40, which "drops" in November. It is a given that these things will gather up the current batch of chartbusters. It is a given that the comp will sell like gangbusters (no it's not, their sales have dropped precipitously now that even your Mee-Maw is stealing Foster The People MP3s off teh interwebs). And it is a given that I will NOT LISTEN TO IT.
Until now. Friends, it is time for me to gaze into the abyss. I have decided to challenge myself, so I might learn the truth about the rock candy heart that beats in the chest of American Pop. I have decided to listen to EVERY US NOW THAT'S WHAT I CALL MUSIC COMPILATION EVER RELEASED. IN ORDER. It is possible that I am making a terrible mistake.
Here we go. Now the First, released (as I mentioned) in October of 1998.
The first track is "Together Again" by Janet Jackson. It sounds like the kind of music that plays when you are shopping for weapons in Final Fantasy 7. Considering the kind of audio torture I was expecting, this is really Not So Bad, but a quick glance at the run time makes me realise that I am in for a rough four minutes. After two minutes thirty I am ready to bail on this trifle, but I will hang in there because I AM A GODDAMN TROUPER. Sure enough, my grit is rewarded. There is a totally innocuous break and we are swiftly at the end of the song and on to...
"As Long As You Love Me" by The Backstreet Boys. Jesus Christ. This limp little number makes that Janet Jackson tune seem like Atari Teenage Riot. Hearing this makes me get why people swooned so hard over Justin Timberlake's "reinvention" of himself as a White Stevie Wonder (only not blind)/White Michael Jackson (only not a pedophile)/Tall Sex Dwarf (only... no, that one's pretty on the money). The acoustic guitar figure in the intro is particularly reprehensible, but by the end I'm begging to have it back, if only because it provided a break from the Wall Of Schmaltz.
When I saw that the next track ("The Way" by Fastball) was on this, I groaned. I remember this song boring my ass off while I watched 120 Minutes and prayed for Rocket From The Crypt videos (it was the fucking 90's, alright?). Now, I'm positively giddy because at least there will be actual guitars and actual drums on this jam. Fuck yeah! Hit me with the ROCK, Fastball! Or not. Man, this song is annoying. The fake flamenco vibe? Annoying. The "eternal summer slacking" lyric? Annoying. And the fact that they're using some weird bassless compression effect for the first forty-five seconds so that they can just turn it OFF and act like it's some kick-ass dynamic shift? FUCKING ANNOYING. Also I am watching the video right now and the drummer needs to shave his fucking neck. One hit wonders? One hit too many, if you ask me. Screw these creeps.
I am REALLY in the mood to like something, which is probably why I'm not ready to shit all over Harvey Danger. "Flagpole Sitta" is up next, and it's sort of like punk made by creeps who think they're too smart for punk... which is like thinking yr too smart for Pro Wrestling, i.e. FUCK YOU. But at least the guitars are nice and high in the mix and the dude's voice is less awful than that fartsniffer from the Decemberists and at least this guy had the decency to get miserable and bitter once his fifteen minutes were up. Come back Harvey Danger, all is forgiven.
Just kidding, fuck off again. Again, context is everything. Thus, I am DELIGHTED to be listening to "Say You'll Be There" by The Spice Girls right now. Fake Dr. Dre synth noises? Check! Lyrics about having "Far too Much Emotions"? Check! And a harmonica solo? Checkeroo! I am laughing and doing a sassy little dance in my chair that is pissing off the cat. As an added bonus, I am reminded that my pal Kell did a cover of this where he sang it like Lou Reed, so I have that going for me as well.
My bonhomie does not last, as K-Ci and JoJo (I know, right) are up next with "All My Life" and FUCK I AM ONLY A THIRD OF THE WAY THROUGH THIS. Boilerplate R&B ballad with predictably risible lyrics. I am so pissed that this is not R. Kelly.
I must be getting desperate, or drunk, or both. I can TELL that "Never Ever" by All Saints is shit, but I'm kinda feeling it. The lyrics are ludicrous ("I'll take a shower/I will scour"), but it's well executed quasi-soul, and the spoken intro is so awkward it could almost be The Shaggs. Which is a big help, obvs.
Tonic and "If You Could Only See" next. I will admit that when the guitars kick in I almost give this a pass. I'm a sucker like that. But then the fake-metal part starts, and the contrast between the ultra-sappy chorus and the "intense" verse makes me think these dudes probably love 'em some domestic violence. The song is also a full minute too long. I don't understand AT ALL why this was a hit. Must have been an "alternative" hangover from earlier in the decade.
Oh, man, really? I gotta listen to "MmmBop" by Hanson? I couldn't smash myself in the face with a brick or maybe listen to the Spin Doctors instead? Fuck. Did the record scratches on this jam presage the entire second act of Sugar Ray's career (the band, not the boxer)? Discuss. Also, how weird is it that one of these kids is now in a band with Bun E. Carlos from Cheap Trick?
"Zoot Suit Riot"? OH FUCKING COME ON. Okay, this is The Cherry Poppin' Daddies, and whenever I hear this I think about the drummer for the glam-punk band I was in back in Tacoma. Dude was heavy into the swing scene and we used to give him a grip of shit about it. I think his smooth-smoothie act got him laid a couple of times, but liking the Cherry Poppin' Daddies is only like one step above Roofies on the "Shameful Shit You Do To Get Laid" scale. Other than that he was a great guy, and I'm sure he never raped anybody.
I have never heard "Shorty (You Keep Playin' With My Mind)" before, nor have I ever heard of Imajin, but that's who I'm listening to now. Not awful. Yes, it's R&B, but the beat is kinda hard and... FUCKING KEITH MURRAY! YES! Actual rap by an actual rapper! And he's quoting Prince? This is totally acceptable. Thank god for rap cameos.
"Anytime" by Brian McKnight is next and it's an R&B slow jam. As a white middle-class punk rocker I am totally unequipped to discuss this. All I can do is try to pay attention and wait for...
"Barbie Girl". Aqua. Fuck. Yes. Remember what I said about thinking yr too smart for punk and wrestling? Well, don't go thinking yr too smart for AQUA, because you are NOT. Hyper-moronic techno bubblegum. The only way this could be better is if it were Shampoo, but they didn't have any hits in the States cos Americans are BORING.
Boof. "Karma Police" by Radiohead provides one of the most abrupt and savage comedowns in history. What fucking sadist put these two songs back to back? I can't really hang with this level of pretension anymore (the piano fills, the strings) which is why Radiohead and I parted company shortly after this album. Still, this is some high-grade misery from back when these dudes actually wrote songs.
Everclear next, with "I Will Buy You A New Life". It's pretty much the same song they always play... mid-tempo post-grunge schmaltz that resolutely refuses to rock and guitars that go "nur-nur-nur-nurnur-NUR-NUR". It's pretty crazy how dull this band (and this song) are/were.
God, I'm in the home stretch but things ain't getting any easier. Lenny Kravitz is doing "Fly Away" and I would literally rather listen to ANYTHING ELSE on this compilation than this. Yes, even the Zoot Suit one. This jam has it all... most boring music, most inane lyrics... pure tedium. It's "Rock and Roll" for first-year sociology students who just realized that the Rolling Stones are kind of sexist.
And, the last jam... "Sex And Candy" by Marcy Playground. Creepy creep alt-rock from a dude with "So much time to think about [him]self". Thank Jahweh these jerks never got another hit.
Well, that was painful. Clearly All Saints, The Spice Girls, and the sainted Aqua were the most talented artists of 1998. And now, to wash away the nightmares... Australia's Useless Children with their best song ever! It's "People Come, People Go" off their 2009 EP and it sounds like if the Birthday Party added a girl singer and were signed to AmRep. In other words, it's fucking PERFECT.
Smart guys like Jon Spencer know about a thing called semiotics. Without paddling out past my intellectual depth, it is the system of "signifiers" that exist within almost every aspect of culture. If, for example, a man in a Western is wearing a white hat, we understand that he is Our Hero, not because it is explicitly stated, but because the white hat is a signifier conveying purity (among other things).Pop Music is of course no exception, and the semiotics of Pop function as an invisible language that separates a fluent speaker like Lady Gaga from the awkward pidgin of someone like Rebecca Black.
When I found the album pictured above on the shelves of the Public Library, my hands started to shake.
"Jesus Christ," I muttered. "What, semiotically speaking, the fuck?" (My spell-check program is trying to tell me that "semiotically" is not a word. Silly bastard must not have gone to a good college.)
The album in question is by Tiffany. Lest one forget her pedigree, the album cover helpfully explains "I think we're alone now '80s Hits and more" (capitalization and punctuation unchanged). It features a mildly unflattering picture of 1980's era Tiffany in front of what appear to be a series of arcing pastel foam swim toys. The back cover features more swim toys and three balloons. It also, predictably, lists what songs are on the album, as well as the logo of the record label responsible for this semiotic Dagwood.
I think we're alone now - 80's Hits and more was released by Cleopatra Records. Cleopatra, for those of you who are not compelled to know such things, was originally a goth-industrial label, putting out releases by the likes of Psychic TV and Leaether Strip (yes, that's how it was spelled). The latter had a song called "Go Fuck Your Ass Off", if that gives you an idea of what we're dealing with here.
The semiotic plot thickened.
The album was released in 2007, and features re-recorded versions of three of Tiffany's big chart hits (one of which was itself a cover of a Beatles song) as well as nine other covers, most of which are temporally centered in the '80's. Most. Not all.
The re-recordings range from the faithfully pedestrian ("Voices Carry", "Forever Young", "Call Me") to the more outlandish (and satisfying, if you've got a mind like mine). The new version of "I Think We're Alone Now" bears strong tonal similarities to the first Nine Inch Nails album (no shit, the beat is a fairly beefy synth throb and the guitars are much more intense than anything on a Tiffany album has a right to be) and perhaps goes some way to explaining what the ass this thing is doing on Cleopatra (the massive turf-out of the world economy explains the rest... Cleopatra seems to have abandoned its roots and become an all-purpose reissue factory, which probably pays much better than putting out Leaether Strip albums ever did). "The Beat Goes On" turns the Sonny & Cher chestnut into a Big Audio Dynamite-esque slice of chirpily awkward sample madness. Oh, and then there's a Smiths cover.
"Panic (Hang The DJ)", aside from getting the title wrong (the original version did not add a parenthetical) is reworked as a sensuous, sinewy techno dancefloor behemoth. This, given that the lyrics were intended as a venomous condemnation of England's then-burgeoning Rave Culture, is perhaps more than just a bit ironic.
To sum up: 1980's diva joins forces with a former goth-industrial label to release an album of covers (in some cases COVERS OF COVERS) remade to sound like music from the 1990's (or, occasionally, like music from LATER in the '80's). Said Diva, an American, manages to completely invert the message of an iconic song by a likewise iconic English band. Her cover of Sonny and Cher's ode to the eternal qualities of Pop (itself NOT from the '80's) is rendered in a style that is (amazingly) both futurist and anachronistically retro. The cover art features a picture of her from the past that is LESS FLATTERING than what she currently looks like, and seems to have been made either with an early generation of photoshop or particularly inexpensive mall photo booth.
I hope it doesn't seem like I'm making fun of this album, because I'm not. I love it. The insane variety of semiotic signals it sends out give it a depth and richness that most artists are purely incapable of creating. If Tiffany had made a concept album about the vagaries of fame, it would not be able to convey these same ideas with one half the freshness, charm, and fun of I think we're alone now - '80s Hits and more. Tiffany's distance from the Pop Zeitgeist gives her covers the quality of translations... by approaching them with a semiotic gloss that differs not just from the original conceptions but from the current set of acceptable pop signifiers, she manages to reveal hidden depths in the material and in herself.
More noisy garage punk amazingness, this time from Australian's own The UV Race. We're talking a COMPLETE mess here, as in glorious. Atonal, shuddering squalls of bratty, sneering pop disgust. Huggy Bear on quaaludes. Art rock that sounds like it's being made with (or by) Actual Rocks. This is pop music that makes a point of Not Giving A Fuck about pop music... or Punk Rock so giddy and youthful it simply cannot manage to look/act cool for even a second (except for smirking dude on the right side of the photo, but, y'know... guitar players. What can you do?).
Still not sold (what's WRONG with you)? Okay, here's a fast one and a slow one off the Knife Fight EP. "Frustration" (the slow one) does the same trick as "Boredom" by the Buzzcocks, both embodying and transcending its subject matter, albeit in a much more fuzzed-out, detuned Baby Sonic Youth way. "I Hate You" (the fast one, duh) clatters along on pantomime contempt, until all the noise drops away at the one minute mark to reveal the sax bleats that have been subliminally giving the song its hook. FUCK, I wish I'd thought of doing that.
Knife Fight has two more amazing songs on it, and is still probably available at yr local Punk Rock Emporium. The real news, however, is that th' Race have just put out a full-length called Homo which is SUBSTANTIALLY BETTER than the EP. Which you'd better believe took some goddamn doing. Go grab it so's it can dominate any top ten lists you plan on making this year.
Here are Tyvek. They represent that elusive "Hope For The Future" thing that us Jaded Rock Creeps are all the time chasing. They are that rarest of all creatures, a Garage Punk band that actually has two ideas to rub together (did I seriously just write that? Christ, what a prick. We're in a goddamn Garage Golden Age, there's so much rad shit going on! There's amazing stuff coming out by Black Time and The UV Race and Human Eye and Hygiene and TV Ghost and).
So what's the deal? Well, Tyvek have done two albums so far, both great. The first (self-titled) one is "shambolic" in that it sounds like the Velvets and Swell Maps but tougher, and catchier, and very noisy and wasted. There's lots of meandering atonal interludes between songs, which would be kind of a pain in the ass if the catchy "proper song" parts weren't SUPER compelling. Which they are, obvs. The second album is called Nothing Fits and it's on In The Red Records, who seem determined to sign at least seventy-five percent of the Bands That I Like, so that's an early Christmas Tip for you goofs. Nothing Fits is a goddamn BEAST of an album. It's like the first album, but boiled down into a thick paste. All the noisy bits have been stuffed INTO the songs, and all the tunes and energy and wit are ultra-concentrated. Are Tyvek still "experimental"? Yes, but only if said experiment can be completed within the confines of a minute-and-a-half punk barnstormer. Fucking amazing.
This is how you do it, kids. Smart, but not pretentious. Tough, but not neanderthal. And changing styles from album to album without losing yr identity is one HELL of a good look. I'm super excited for the next album.
Here's four Tyvek songs for you: "Burning Building" (the hands down best song on the first album), "Frustration Rock" (one of a gang of contenders for second place on the debut, beating out its pals because of some sharp lyrics and some mid-song counting, which I am a sucker for), "Underwater 1" (my favorite off Nothing Fits), and "Potato" (also off Nothing, and yes it really is about cooking potatoes. Mostly.). All four are total rockers. What kind of joint do you think I'm running here?
It seems like only yesterday (it WAS yesterday, is why) that I was walking around "the office" bitching about how much I hate it when hip-hop acts perform with live bands. Well. Clearly, an exception must be made.
These guys are Death Grips. The drummer is the dude from Hella. They're probably my favorite thing as of Right Now (1:38 PST, July 17 2011) and they can Do No Wrong. You should probs hurry over to their website, which hosts a ton of amazing videos and a free download of their mixtape, Exmilitary.
What will you be getting? Oh, I'm so glad you asked.
You'll be getting scorched earth lyricism ("Secret order, elitist horde of creeping fire, seizing power, riders of the lupus hour") that still manages to be uplifting and energizing (in a bleak, desperately fucked way). You'll be getting totally dusted beats and giant walls of avant-noise. And you'll be getting some SERIOUSLY intense performances... like Wu-Tang Clan turned up five notches or M.O.P. turned down two. Some lesser scribe said Exmilitary was like getting yelled at by a hobo for forty-five minutes, and I think that was supposed to be some kind of insult. Whatever, square.
This is a rich, deep album. Despite the overall theme of tooth-grinding intensity, there's a surprising amount of tonal variation in the songs. Sure, it's mostly neck-snapping Break Shit Music, but Death Grips also tackle moments of existential contemplation, wild joy, and even bravery and dignity. Also, these dudes (and lady) are exactly the kind of Pop Music Obsessives I want making beats. Sampling Black Flag and The Doors and The Crazy World of Arthur Brown? Building a whole song out of Link Wray's "Rumble"? Fuck yes please and thank you.
If you think you can live without an album that references both EPMD and The Minutemen, you are clearly the Greatest Fool In The World, and I can do nothing for you. The only sane response to Exmilitary is to send Death Grips all yr money and begin holding yr breath for the proper album release. I want a West Coast tour ASAP.
Full disclosure: it is entirely possible that the back of my head features fairly prominently in the above video. While I understand that giving a glowing write-up to my pals in Rib Cages could be seen by some as a shameless fame-grab, I assure you that it is nothing of the sort. Yes, the back of my head BADLY wants to be famous. No, that is not my motivation for writing this piece.
Instead, I write to address an imbalance that has been giving me the fits lately. To wit: if the media is to be believed, my city's (Portland, Oregon) music scene is full of fucking WIMPS. The Decemberists. The Shins. Stephen "Pencil Neck" Malkmus. Modest FUCKING Mouse. This is to say nothing of the legions of soundalikes (And And And, my Pavement records and I are looking at YOU), folk-rock candyasses (Shaky Hands, you PUSSIES) and out-and-out ABOMINATIONS (Sallie Ford And The Sound Outside).
But! This perception is FALSE, I tell you! Rock and/or Roll live and breathe in Portland, despite what those demented scribblers of the Music Press would have you believe. Rock (and/or) Roll of the sort embodied by RIB CAGES.
What we're dealing with here is yr basic garage-rock with a few crucial innovations. One! The guitar (played by "Nation") is an electric twelve-string, so every chord is turned into a blizzard of noise and chaos. Two! The rhythm section ("K-SE" and the more reasonably-named "Josh") play like they are fucking POSSESSED, with the end result that Three! the tempos never dip below "blistering". Which, for those of you who remember this earlier lesson, goes a hell of a long way to making your band "awesome."
My gift to you today is the only Rib Cages 7-inch that made it out before the band's (temporary?) dissolution (if any of my readers are in the Chicago Metro area, please tell K-SE to get his ass back here so his band can start demolishing clubs again). Four songs. Seven minutes (not even). Flawless victory. You should buy a copy from 'em so yr not a total deadbeat.
In related news, The Best Show on WFMU recently played "Lock Horns" from this very 7-inch. I think this is the best thing that has ever happened to anyone I know, ever, and YES that includes your stupid marriage/kid/promotion/Nobel Prize. This is the goddamn Best Show we're talking about.Congrats, boys. I'm super jealous.
Picture it: Olympia, 1998. The Make-Up are in town to do their post-situationist Fake Soul puppet show and I am the kind of guy who WILL NOT MISS THAT PUPPET SHOW. There is an opening act, because that is how These Things Go. The opening act is (somewhat unfortunately) called The Starlite Desperation. They are a shamelessly recidivist blues-inflected rock band. They have a singer named Dante who has really high cheekbones and wears his silk shirt with the top three buttons unbuttoned. They rock effortlessly and don't give a fart about politics. While Ian from the Make-Up disguises his sexual come-ons with a massive dose of Critical Theory, The Starlite Desperation opt for sped-up Gun Club riffs and a whole lot of strutting and pouting. It is not a very good disguise. Olympia Washington realizes that The Starlite Desperation are trying to fuck her. Olympia Washington is displeased. In the extreme.
I, fool that I am, love the shit out of The Starlite Desperation. I dance Right Up Front By The Stage. I Give It Up. And then I wonder why none of the vagina-having population of Olympia will talk to me. Perhaps I have an incomplete understanding of Critical Theory.
So, here we are in 2011, and is anybody still listening to their Make-Up albums anymore? I think not. Instead, please give this highlight reel from The Starlite Desperation a try. Included are two jams each from their first two albums (Show You What A Baby Won't and Go Kill Mice) and the Hot For Preacher seven inch. While it's totally inspiring and politically awesome that most punk bands just formed yesterday and can barely hold their instruments AS A MATTER OF PRINCIPLE, th' Desperation sure make a valid case for Knowing How To Fucking Play. Witness the effortless drum/guitar dialogue on "What I Want" and the EPIC (eight minutes plus) "Go Kill Mice". Dig how quickly "New Year's Bathroom Magic" goes from pretentious amateurism to manic perfection (hint: 52 seconds). Consider that "Messed Up Head" was released by the same label that dumped The Locust on an unsuspecting public, and marvel at how much better The Starlite Desperation have aged than their wimp-violence candy-ass sci-fi meth head contemporaries.
And. Then. Bask in the utter perfection that is the Hot For Preacher seven inch. Produced by the legendary (ex-Gun Club, Ex-Bad Seed) Kid Congo Powers, this is one of the finest Rock Singles Of. All. Time. Subliminal screams. Echo and swagger. Vocal hysteria. Feedback. And, at two minutes twelve, some of the BIGGEST GODDAMN GUITARS it will ever be your pleasure to meet.
And the b-side ain't too shabby, either.
So. Blues-rock. Without irony. Overt sexuality. Again, without irony. We used to call this rock n' roll, and we used to not think so goddamn much.
Above, find the video for "Stoned Stripper" by Vancouver punk super group (ugh) Heavy Chains. You'll be getting Andrea from Nu Sensae, Anne-Marie from White Lung, and Brodie McKnight from Sex Negative. They've got this EP thing called A Very Real Hell and it's pretty goddamn fantastic.
Basically, Heavy Chains take the classic "Grunge" formula and deconstruct it into punishing, warped, incoherent minimalism. And as long-time readers of this fine publication can tell you (hi, mom!), I like punishing, warped, incoherent minimalism QUITE A BIT.
The video track is the closest that Hell gets to standard songwriting, in that it actually has lyrics. The vocals on most of the other songs are just bloodcurdling shrieks, usually slathered with a heavy coat of crazy outer-space effects. The guitars and bass are ostensibly rooted in classic grunge tropes (mid-to-late seventies metal, psychedelic blues/punk) but the riffs are approached with such brutal repetition that they cease to offer the listener any reference points, so the only guides to where the songs are going are the drums and those awful, awful screams. Oh, and the guitars have crazy outer-space effects on them, too. Taken as a whole, it's like listening to old Nirvana albums while caught in a particularly violent hurricane.
So, here's "Shit Burning Piss Tubing" and "Commo Wire" off A Very Real Hell. No, you don't get the whole album. It just came out! Go buy it from Nu Sensae and White Lung, they're ALWAYS on tour, and god knows they can use the money.
There is a question that every practitioner of the rockwrite has learned to fear: "So, who's your FAVORITE BAND?"
On its surface, this query is innocence itself. All I do around this joint is opine about musics. Surely there must be one I like the best... the toppermost of the poppermost, as the Limeys like to say. It should pose no trouble at all to name that Blessed One... hell, one might even expect such action to give me PLEASURE. But. Such things are not simple. Such things are not Clean Cut. After a few decades of immersion in The Rock Game, most scribes find their tastes becoming... mercurial, I suppose. Rather than One True Love, we find a series of dalliances, changing our affections to fit a certain mood or fancy.
All of which is a lot of poncey bullshit cooked up to keep from answering a question that you, in all honesty, did not ask: Who is my favorite band? Well, this is where things get awkward (it is?). Because I must now admit (in mixed company) that my favorite band (at least twenty percent of the time) is a bunch of racist, misogynist, homophobic cowboy art-punks. From Scotland. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you... The Country Teasers.
Calm down. Be still. Cease your sputtering, "What... do you mean to say... how can you... are YOU... if... but then... ARE THEY REALLY?!" Yes. They are. And no. Or, at least, not entirely.
Perhaps singer/guitarist/mastermind Ben Wallers puts it best when he says "There is no bias on my hates... I will pick you all off, one by one, as you walk through the gates." Or perhaps he puts it best when he says "We are the Hitler of comedy, and everybody else is the Jew." Or perhaps "Personally I think, and this is just my point of view, ALL HUMAN LIFE SHOULD BE DESTROYED."
The Country Teasers exist in that magical place where one is so exhausted by the horrors of the world that a sob turns into a hysterical laugh. Where, upon viewing the grand agonies and tiny tortures that humans visit upon each other daily in the guise of "civilization", one sneers, takes a sip of whiskey, and says, "Aw, fuck it, what the hell." And then begins to laugh, long and loud and clear.
So, can one fault an artist for holding up a mirror to society if the reflection is TOO ACCURATE? TOO UGLY? Not when the artist is HILARIOUS. For such are The Country Teasers. All this misanthropy and gloom would be indescribably tedious if handled with po-faced seriousness (Michael Gira, I'm looking at you) or fake-macho aggression (Whitehouse, I'm looking at you), but the Country Teasers remember the cardinal rule of Being Offensive: You can get away with anything as long as you're funny. So, what have we got here? Why, it's my own primitive stab at a Teasers Career Retrospective... a "Best Of," if you will. No, it cannot hope to capture the full glory of their vision. No, it cannot give a proper accounting of the subtle nuances (yes I said it shut up) that allow their songs to transcend shock comedy for the realm of the absurd, the triumphant, and (yes, even) the tender.
To business. First album, The Pastoral Not Rustic World Of Their Greatest Hits gives us a cover ("Stand By Your Man", which is always a chortle when a bloke sings it), a pseudo-cover ("Black Cloud Wandering"), and a stone-cold fucking classic ("Anytime, Cowboy") which serves as fine advice for any young couple hoping to manufacture a happy relationship in These Modern Times. The lads are in basic art-garage-country mode on this one. A fine effort, but it pales in comparison to...
Satan Is Real Again or Feeling Good About Bad Thoughts is what we in the trade call "A Fucking Masterpiece". Choosing which songs to share on this behemoth is a challenge for which my drinks-addled brain is not well prepared. You are receiving "Panty Shots", "It Is My Duty" (which has the above bit about Hitler in it, along with loads of other chuckles), and "Thank You God For Making Me An Angel" (which blatantly rips off Joy Division and is probs my favorite Teasers song of all time). I could have given you anything else off the album and you'd thank me for it. Find yrself a copy posthaste, and get me another bottle of rye while yr at it. Something seems to have happened to mine.
Destroy All Human Life is next, and it marks the point at which the few critics who bothered to show up started shitting on Our Boys. No, it's not a career-defining pinnacle like Satan, but it DOES feature a sort of thoughtful melancholy that would help the band to escape the horror/shock corner they were in danger of painting themselves into. I have, of course, chosen to showcase exactly NONE of the gorgeous heartbreak jams ("David, I Hope You Don't Mind" and "Golden Apples" are both weepy stunners that I can perhaps play you if you want to come over some night with a bottle of something medicinal). INSTEAD: "Hairy Wine" (about the dangers of being a stupid junkie), "Destroy All Human Life" (which showcases a burgeoning experimental vibe that would, along with the moodier numbers, keep this shit fresh for Ages Yet To Come [it is also possibly The Teasers' most offensive song yet, if yr keeping score]) and "Song Of The White Feather Club" (mainly for the bit where Wallers announces his intention to play the "KKK Klassic, 'Even My Shites Is Whites Whites Whites'".)
Science Hat Artistic Cube Moral Nosebleed Empire (nice album titles, fellas) is a singles comp that I bought on double vinyl after watching The Country Teasers share the stage with Wesley Willis and a Burlesque Troupe from Seattle. While the heathen tough-guy assholes in Seattle chose to heckle the ladies, The Teasers proved to be perfect gentlemen, eventually coercing several of the scantily-clad lovelies onto the stage during The Teasers' set. "Let's Have A Shambles" is a pretty standard Country Teasers jam about having sex in a public lavatory, "I'm A New Person Ma'am" is a personal favorite but won't play on my computer... maybe you'll have better luck? Oh, and here's a cover of "No Limits" by techno-jock-jam favorites 2 Unlimited. Giggles.
Recorded entirely on 4-track, Secret Weapon Revealed At Last received a whopping 3.1 rating from the stupid cunts over at Pitchfork. While easily the least cohesive (and coherent) record in The Country Teasers discography (a good portion of it is so fucked and experimental as to be almost unlistenable), it does feature some BRILLIANT material. "Deaths" is perhaps the most touching song Ben Wallers has ever written (about the deaths of early Teasers guitarist Alan Crichton and Wallers' Aunt Pen), while "Please Stop Fucking Each Other" and "Man V. Cock" are both hilarious and expertly recorded. And "The penis mocks the soul for not fucking around more," is an amazing lyric.
So, here we are, almost caught up (there's a newish split 12-inch out that I've been too poor to import). The Empire Strikes Back finds The Country Teasers back in prime form... it's easily their best record since Satan. "Spiderman In The Flesh" cops from Pink Floyd while painting a masterful portrait of postmodern alienation and ennui (perhaps I WILL have a bit more whiskey, thank you!). "Points of View" ties together Zyklon B, English Football, and toast to scorchingly incisive effect. Finally (whew!) "Please Ban Music/Gegen Alles" praises "The woman-loving Taliban" for their progressive stance against noise pollution while urging the listener, "Do not conform to type, and don't mock the avant-garde. You only mock the avant-garde... because it's a bit too hard."
And with that, I take my leave of you. Thanks for yr patience. A terrific interview with Wallers is HERE. Good night.
That's Marion Barry up there, and he's dancing to DC Go-Go Legends Trouble Funk, and HOLY CRAP the Drop The Bomb LP is OUT OF PRINT?! That's fucking STUPID. Here you go, gang!
So, for those of you who are perhaps unclear as to what you're getting... the DC Go-Go scene is mainly remembered as that thing Black Folks liked that helps Minor Threat fans feel less conflicted about "Guilty of Being White" being their fourth-favorite Minor Threat jam. But WAIT! The Go-Go scene actually had MUSIC in it, and it was fucking amazing. We're talking about HARD early 80's Funk chock full of Latin Percussion, call-and-response vocal lines, crazy synthesizer noises, and some sweet proto-rapping.
This party crusher came out in '82, and it's a goddamn BEAST. Six tracks, not a one under four minutes (it was damn near impossible to pry these guys off a groove once they locked into it). Only one slow jam, and it's the last track so you can just pull the album off early if you aren't ready to ditch the dance party for a make-out session. TONS of (fake?) crowd chatter in the background, so the listening experience is sort of like: YOU: THIS IS A GREAT PARTY!
DROP THE BOMB: Chatter mutter party yeah! Chatter DRUMS! SHOUTING! SPACE NOISES! YOU: WHAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU! THE BAND STARTED PLAYING!
DROP THE BOMB: BUBBADABUBBADABUBBADABUBBADAWHEEEEW!
YOU: AWESOME.
So get the party started, already. And my apologies for the skippy-poppy nature of these files, but this LP is MUCH LOVED. I play it way more often than I play my Minor Threat records, and I view that as a sign of profound maturity.
A strange and intricate saga sees one of its earliest steps here. This little gem, a tour-only single from Stiffs, Inc. and Jonathan Fire*Eater, offers a glimpse into the tangled web of mid-nineties New York indie/punk.
Released around 1995 (if the accounts of the drug addicts and liars involved in its creation can be believed) to coincide with a joint Stiffs/JFE road trip, today's exhibit finds both bands engaged in fairly important breakthroughs. Th' Stiffs had just been snatched up in the clutches of a dreaded Major Label Deal (with American Recordings, who were signing barely-viable indie bands like it was going out of style... which, to be honest, it WAS) and Jonathan Fire*Eater were transitioning from the awkward Birthday Party-isms of their first album (which I can post if you guys are really gluttons for punishment) into the swaggering goth-glam stomp that made them such a (temporarily) hot commodity (if a two-and-a-half star review in Rolling Stone and ZERO SALES equal "heat"). Both bands had Stunning Masterpieces in their future, but that's a Story For Another Day. Anyway. Stiffs, Inc. turn in a scorching cover of "One Chord Wonders" by The Adverts, as well as "Engineering 2," a drone-y and mutated version of a song off the Major Label Debut Album, Nix Nought Nothing. The "original" version is more of the pop(eqsue) punk that dominates the album, but is s'posed to be more in line with their initial vision for the song. It also provides a very useful indication of the MASSIVE shift they would go through on Album 2, Electric Chair Theatre, which saw them ditching the Pop-punk sound for a deeply bizarre art-punk-prog sort of... something. Something pretty goddamn great, frankly. Did I mentioned that they dressed like Edward Gorey Chimney Sweeps and would stage Goth/Victorian Performance Art Pieces when they played live? Amazing.
Jonathan Fire*Eater give us a cover of "The City That Never Sleeps" by Nancy Sinatra with new lyrics about making "A date with New York City" and how they are "gonna take her pants off". The 60's garage guitars keep this thing from getting too circus-y (the organ having not exactly found "the pocket" yet), and the youthful exuberance of the whole thing made this my "getting ready to go out theme" for a couple of years. It never really helped me with pants removal, but I did end up happily married, so... thanks, maybe? Anyway, these guys had a little bit of a hike ahead before hitting their stride (the Tremble Under Boomlights EP being the peak, and yes, I'll hook you guys up with a single or three from that era... soon) and then label pressure (thanks, Dreamworks) and "Creative Differences" (thanks, Heroin) strangled the band in the crib, if I may mix metaphors for a bit. They then sacked their singer and reformed as The Walkmen, recorded one decent album, and turned to Dylan-inflected horseshit.
More on these fine combos will be forthcoming, as well as a post about a THIRD band with odd links to both them. I hope that's what you people want, 'cos it's damn sure what yr getting.
Okay, that's enough mind control youth-cult Pop Music(k) for now. Time to get back to records that I actually believe in. So go ahead and hit "play" on the video clip, and then check back in with me when these cats are done taking you to school.
So, Lake Of Dracula. GodDAMN what a fabulous band. This was one of a million short-lived projects that popped out of the No-Wave scene in late 90's Chicago. LOD were unique in their scene because they actually did regular band stuff like play shows and put out an album, and also because they were (and this is relative, y'understand) a Straight-Up Punk Band while all their pals (and, to be honest, their side projects) were all free-jazzing and post-punk-noise-progging themselves to the absolute limits of endurance.
And this is the best thing they ever put out. This is not to slight their excellent self-titled album (which, Portland Pals, is available for SEVEN BUCKS AT GREEN NOISE RECORDS RIGHT THIS SECOND GO GO GO), but this little number is FLAWLESS. This is the LOD contribution to the "Kill Rock Stars Singles Club", and it features the same line-up from the full-length (former Couch member and future techno fop Marlon Magas on vocals, Heather from Scissor Girls on Drums, Weasel Walter from Flying Luttenbachers and a million other things on Guitar, and U.S. Maple's Al Johnson as THE MANHATTANITE), plus former JAKS member Jessica Ruffins on bass.
Now, maybe I'm prejudiced toward my own instrument, but I think there's a lesson here for all these new-fangled bands that think they're too cool to have bass players. The lesson is: YOU AREN'T. Check the Lake of Dracula math: no bass player equals great (if slightly monotonous) album, bass player equals BEST RECORD OF YR CAREER. And she's not even playing particularly noticeable parts (except for on "Violators" when the bass sounds like an airplane). All Jessica Ruffin is doing is holding the rhythm down like a pillow on the face of a comatose child (where the hell did that come from?). A simple and unappreciated act (cos she's not on ANYTHING else these dudes did) that allows...
Well, shit, go download the thing. Bask in the glory that is "Four Teachers," with its ludicrous and overblown intro suddenly clenching into the tightest Balled Fist of a Riff I've ever heard. With its insane repetition and noise-wash bridge. With Magas snarling that "Darby Crash is Afrika Islam in Beast 661" before that fucking monster riff comes back in. I don't know what it means either, but it's fucking rad.
And then "Violators"! With an Even More Preposterous Intro! And another basic riff getting beaten into abstraction through a process of repetition repetition repetition. And airplane bass. Not as epic (and therefore not as essential) as "Teachers" it's still the sort of thing that lesser bands could (and should) build their careers on.
So. One single, one album, and out. There's a bootleg live 7-inch floating around (I can put it up, if yr interested), and that's about it... oh, except they did a rarities album a few years ago that has some extra live stuff and alternate album takes (basically the same songs but with no Al Johnson, if that makes any sense to you). It's all great. But not as great as this 7-inch.
The Ark Music Factory "Truth" video did NOT come out on Friday. Due to "technical issues," it was impossible to view until around midday on Saturday, March 26th. Which was pretty much perfect, if you go ahead and ask me.
I had been worried, to be perfectly honest, that Ark Music Factory would turn out to be a colossal joke. If Patrice Wilson had peeled off his face like a James Bond Villain to reveal a smugly grinning Eric Wareheim, I would have been gravely disappointed. Not exactly surprised, mind, but disappointed.
Thank all the dread powers that spawned me, then, that Ark Music Factory's version of "the truth" is... well, on a scale of "absolutely true" to "utter bullshit", it's not "THE TRUTH" that Phil Hartman cautioned Marge Simpson about just before she sold the Murder House to Ned Flanders. It's more like "TEH TR000000ttth!!!!!11111!!!!!LOLZZZZZ!!!" So, while not a scam designed to yank the collective chains of the interwebs cognoscenti, Ark is also not quite on the up-and-up.
In the above clip, Ark "CEO" and bad rap cameo expert Patrice Wilson sits down with a nice young lady who either IS Cynthia Garcia (from the Ark Launch Party Video) or was simply grown in an adjacent cloning vat. She proceeds to lob a series of softballs to Patrice with such tenderness and care that one might almost suspect that she's been paid to pretend that she's an actual reporter with, y'know. Objectivity. And stuff.
Despite his interviewer having the velvet touch of a dandy fop, Patrice seems ever so slightly evasive. The vague quality of his responses leads me to speculate as to what EXACTLY it is he's not telling us.
Folks, I've been lied to by a pretty large cross-section of society: teachers, landlords, cops, club promoters, thugs, criminals, hobos, drug people, musicians, politicians, bosses, girlfriends, and even little old ladies who want a refund for beef knuckles that they left on their kitchen counters overnight. I have also dished out my fair share of half-truths, evasions, and flat-out fictions. So I know from bullshit. What follows is a transcript of the Patrice Wilson interview, along with my de-bullshitted translation.
Everyone wants to know: Who are you? That’s a very good question. My name is Patrice Wilson. I’m actually the CEO and the founder of Ark Music Factory. I’m an artist myself. I am from Europe, my dad’s from Africa, and I moved here a couple of years ago. I used to sing back in Eastern Europe and I used to be pretty big but I said, “Hey, I have to go to the United States and start making music, to let people know what clean, good music is”, and ever since coming here I started Ark Music Factory and Productions. The whole goal is to bring people together and show young people that, hey we can make great music and keep it clean; keep it clean and safe and have fun. You know? And that’s who I am, I’m the guy behind Ark. I’m the face of Ark Music Factory, Patrice Wilson.
Translation: That's the question I paid you to ask. I'm a two-bit hustler and con man who learned how to use Protools. The Russian Mafia got one of my songs on the charts, but when I didn't pay them they threatened to cut my feet off, so I came here and started Ark Music Factory. The goal is to rake in fat piles of cash from gullible stage moms while binding my clients in byzantine contracts that will get me ninety percent of any royalties they should be lucky enough to earn. And have fun. That's who I am. The (fat) face of Ark Music Factory, Patrice Wilson.
What is Ark Music Factory? Well, AMF is a platform to reach out to every known artist out there, to musicians who have a passion for music, who want to reach out to the world and show, hey, I ‘m doing what I’m doing…it just brings all the artists together, it gives them that hope, that future; be yourself and you’re welcomed to AMF.
Trans: It's a scam. And also a cult. Sort of a scam/cult. With autotune. An autotune scam/cult with just the tiniest hint of pedophilia. It’s been posted online that you charge for your services. Could you elaborate for us where you stand on these comments and posts that say what you’re doing is wrong and that you’re exploiting kids? Yes, you know, in fact, hey, I read a couple of articles about Patrice/Ark Music exploiting parents, you know? Large amounts of money: 20k, 30k for a project… You know, I’ll put it this way, what we do and the amount of work put into all these artists that you guys watch on television … is very amazing. Because we provide that platform, we give that music video, we give that song, we give that photo shoot, that image consultant, everything. How much do we charge? Number one, we don’t charge our artists. If we are to charge an artist, it could range from $2,000 to $4,000. Is that a bad deal? 2k or 4k and you get everything? Hey, you even get lunch! Look at Rebecca Black, she’s basically a viral star, and she’s appearing on different TV shows. That’s a success right there.
Trans: I'll put it this way, we charge for our services. We green-screen in just enough glittery crap to convince the marks that they're getting their money's worth, when really we're just hiring some non-union child actors to fart around in front of some CGI cars and butterflies. Number one, we don't charge our artists. We charge and EXPLOIT our artists. And their parents. Is it a bad deal? Not for me! For my gullible clients, yes, it's a savage and brutal scam. Look at Rebecca Black... she's RIGHT OVER THERE, BEHIND YOU. I'll just be shredding these receipts while you take a look. What would you say to those that think that what you’re doing is detrimental to pop music and music in general? Listen to a song on the radio, okay? Listen to any artist out there on the radio and try to compare it with the song “Friday”? A pop song is supposed to be really really catchy. Now, regardless of the lyrics or how easy the lyrics might be, a part can stick in your head and you get out of the shower, and you’re singing “Friday, Friday!” It’s stuck in your head and thats the whole purpose, that’s the goal of creating tunes and songs like that. Because we want it to be catchy, we want people to keep on singing along and they say, I cannot get this out of my head!” That’s the whole goal. But there’s no difference whatsoever to the songs you hear on the radio today and the song that we make. In fact, people say, “Autotune, autotune is so much on the artist!” You know what? I guarantee you – or I actually dare you guys to try to compare a song that has so much autotune….versus one of the artists that we work with. It’s actually less autotune we use. But to get that radio sound, we have to go ahead and create that autotune to balance it out.
Trans: Who cares? Autotune, shmautotune. These bitches can't sing. Plus, it sounds expensive. The rubes probably think it's some kind of R&B Transformer or something. What’s in the future for Ark Music Factory? Very exciting, lots of work, and I’ll just say taking it day by day as well. Ark Music Factory, number one, and why we got here in the
first place is finding talent, going out there, auditioning people. Back in the day, we were not privileged to go to other cities and states because we had to stay in California. Today, we are privileged. We are going to be going out to different places, finding talent and just bringing them to the Ark community. We’re going to keep working with people, we’re going to be holding massive auditions. We’re going to be looking for the next viral star. So lots of great things to come. It’s actually a surprise. If you guys stay tuned, then you’re gonna see, hey, wow, Ark just sprung out from a box. I guarantee you there’s going to be something next week and the week after and the week after. And my promise to the people of America and the world, we’re not gonna let you guys down. You’re going to be intrigued and surprised. Happy! Anybody – young, old, it doesn’t matter – anyone basically who has a dream out there. I want you to go ahead and
don’t let anyone tell you you can’t accomplish your dream and that’s a fact, that’s why we’re here today. We’ve had a bunch of “no's” it’s not gonna work, you can’t do it.” But the fact about it is if you are dedicated and you hold on and you don’t listen to what people tell you, your dreams will be accomplished. And this goes for any singer, any actor, modeling, whatever you want to do. You gotta put your heart to it, and that’s why I’m here today. You’re gonna have a lot of negative comments and people saying you can’t do it and you’re bad and this and that, but you know what? Put your feet down keep your head up and I guarantee you, you will accomplish your dream. This is a message from Ark Music Factory, founder, CEO Patrice.
Trans: I will be taking a duffel bag of money and fleeing to Peru. The Mafia wants to cut my feet off.
And it did come to pass that we, as a nation, gathered around poor Rebecca Black and tore at her flesh like a pack of wolves...
And for what, exactly? For grasping furtively at the brass ring? For not Knowing Her Place? Because, let's be honest... her face, it is not a Pop Star's Face. Her voice? Not a Pop Star's Voice. One of the main functions of Pop Music is to cement the identity of the listener. Declaring oneself a Katy Perry fan (f'r instance) indicates an endorsement not just of an aesthetic but of a particular set of signifiers. Beauty. Youth. The barest hint of rebellion. A wanton and yet curiously virginal sexuality. Taken together, these things constitute a mask that slides invisibly over the face of the Pop Fan. It is a mask that resembles the presented image of the Pop Star, and this is where Rebecca Black fails, earning the enmity of her would-be fans. Her mask is flawed because it too closely resembles her True Face, and thus the True Face of her vicious, mocking audience.
The "Friday" video was made by a company called Ark Music Factory. It would seem that their business model closely resembles the "Song Poem" producers of the 60's and 70's. Ark accepts a substantial fee (rumored to be $2000) in exchange for writing a pop song (although Ark Artists such as the amazing 11-year-old CJ Fam claim to have written their own songs) and creating a semi-slick video for said song. They also feature the artist in Ark Showcases (there's been at least one, with footage to prove it) that seem to promote their stars to the other stars' parents and siblings. All of their artists and videos are SPECTACULAR. All of their artists and videos are... wrong.
The Ark aesthetic involves TONS of autotune, which comes in handy when crowbarring a less-than-stellar singer into a vocally demanding role (witness the differences between Alana Lee's live clip in the Ark Showcase with this pristine video version). The backing music is a dense mush of dance beats, electronic noise, and overblown guitars (Alana Lee's "Butterflies" is a great example of the "Massive Guitars mixed so low as to be almost subliminal" quality that these cats seem to go in for) that allows no space for contemplation... and yet, unfortunately for the featured artists, the lyrics shine through with a brilliant and shocking clarity.
This is unfortunate because Your Ark Team write some of the most epically insipid lyrics in the history of human expression. "You keep on tryin', texting me texting me with those smiley faces." "You had your chance, and you blew it blew it blew it, I gave you one more time to take me take me take me take me." This is perhaps the main tragedy of the Ark Music Factory. While the clients are perhaps not the flawless beauties (and there ARE a couple of male Ark Music clients, if you were wondering) and vocal titans pop fans are expecting, the vapid lyrics are the most glaring difference between Ark Music and mainstream Pop. Not that mainstream Pop music is not vapid... it is vapid in a DIFFERENT WAY. Much like the Russian Exchange Student who is mocked for asking if "anyone wants to make party", Ark's clients are derided not for their actual meaning (the only significant difference between Ke$ha's "Tik Tok" and Rebecca Black's "Friday" is a bad girl/good girl dichotomy) but their inherent awkwardness. Again, the Pop Rejection of these artists is not due to their actual aesthetic qualitities, but instead the subtle flaws that brand them as outsiders.
For listeners with a particular sort of brain, this stuff is much more compelling than its platinum-selling counterparts. I find myself fascinated by the very vulnerability that signals the Media Legions to savage these poor artists. If we are to have vapid Pop Music, is it not preferable to have it actually speak to the awkward and inchoate nature of the teenage experience than a glossy, scripted version of the same? And yet, it is this very awkwardness that alienates the mainstream Pop fan. Ark's roster of artists ATTEMPT to convey the signifiers of Pop, but they GET THEM WRONG. Thus, they are attacked, picked apart for their own flaws (less than perfect bodies and faces, strained or tuneless vocal performances) and the flaws of their would-be mentors (overly trite lyrics, dated production techniques). Taken as a whole, the Ark Music Artists are clearly OTHER, and are bullied and shamed as such.
At the top of the page are the men in charge of Ark. Their names are Patrice Wilson and Clarence Jey. Patrice is the (fucking AWFUL) rapper who shows up in 90% of the Ark videos. Clarence has "completed exams" at the Trinity College of Music. He wrote these songs. They claim that they will roll out a video this Friday that will reveal "The Truth About Ark". I'm fairly confident that it won't include the "Five Days With Ark" video that they have pulled from all file-sharing sites. I'm also sure it won't feature the "You Make Me Crazy" video by Darla Beaux in which teenage Darla is strapped into a straitjacket. It seems Ark has (slowly) become aware of its ominous, cultish image and is making painful strides toward "hip" self-awareness. Hopefully their own limitations help to keep them... if not "honest", then at least as honest as possible.
The Ark Music Factory story promises to be a deep and resonant episode in the history of American Pop. Rather than succumbing to our love for schadenfreude, I hope we can learn and internalize the harsh truths that make up Ark's subtext.
These guys were super important. I'm not the sort who usually goes in for "scenes" and all the in-crowd snobby bullshit that usually goes with them, but mid-to-late-nineties Seattle? When you got to see these guys just ANNIHILATING on a regular basis? When the entire crowd at the Velvet Elvis (or wherever) would end up ON TOP OF THE BAND, and Josh Plague would just grab yr nuts and Quitty would smack you with his bass and then you'd all eat vegan hors d'oeuvres and then the Murder City Devils would play and they didn't even suck yet? That was pretty great.
Behead The Prophet No Lord Shall Live (that's who we're talking about, BTW, and that's of course them knocking over Las Vegas hipsters in the clip up top) grew out of the demise of the Mukilteo Fairies (about whom more later, probably). Jon "Quitty" Quittner and Josh Plague from th' Fairies started Behead The Prophet with Dave Harvey (guitar), Jordan Rain (drums), and Michael Griffen (violin, R.I.P.). They were, um... chaotic? Noisy? The sweetest bunch of guys you'd ever want to meet? Sure.
As is par for the course with these Promethean God-Killing Anarchist types, there was a strong undercurrent of romantic mysticism to Behead's lyrics, and all the noise and ferocity was meant less as a negation than a catharsis. Yes, Behead The Prophet tore shit down (with enthusiasm and efficiency), but with the clear intent to build anew on the ashes of the old order. Yes, the punk imperative to Fuck Shit Up was definitely in full effect, but the final goal was to create a better (animal-friendly, queer-positive, pro-pleasure) world, and all the audience-tackling and Immediate Physical Danger stuff always ended up as hugs and ear-to-ear grins... 'cos, goddamn, we all BELIEVED in this stuff for a while. Some of us still do.
Anyway. Here's their final EP, which I consider their finest work. Here, the free jazz grind-hardcore meltdown of their previous (and excellent) recordings begins to shade into the over-the-top AC/DC worship that would define Quitty and Dave's work in the Tight Bros. From Way Back When (who were fucking EXCELLENT for about twenty-five minutes). So instead of total feedback punk noise terror, you get total feedback punk noise terror with HUGE RIFFS. Flawless victory. Members of Botch and Blatz contribute guest vocals, if that's what floats yr boat.
Josh Plague is now a "touring vegan chef" and sings for Warm Streams. Quitty and Dave are in a heavy psych band called Nudity. Jordan Rain was DJing some sorta regrettable reggae as Yogoman, but I dunno if he's still doing it. Micheal Griffen passed away in 2008. Thanks for the laughs, guys.
Okay, so... Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All, right? How fucking good are these guys? I realize that what with the Spin article and the Billboard Cover and the SXSW showcases (they're playing, I think, seven shows over four days) and the life-changing Jimmy Fallon performance, they're not really on the ultra-underground tip anymore, but... fuck, you guys need to get right with this. Like, yesterday.
If yr fingers aren't cramping up from googling these dudes, let me explain... no, is too much. Let me sum up: Emotionally disturbed honor student from single-parent household fucks shit up so successfully that he gets sent to the most "last chance ever" alternative school around. Learns to use garageband to make beats. Gets his little brother and the rest of his skateboard crew to spit mind-bogglingly intricate raps about rape, satan, murder, and other classic topics over his totally fucked horrorcore beats (to be fair, a bunch of other dudes in the crew start making equally fucked beats, so it's not a total dictatorship). And then they GIVE TEN FULL ALBUMS WORTH OF MATERIAL AWAY FOR FREE.
So now, here we are. A media feeding frenzy is kicking off, MTV sent Sway and the Inexplicable Headwrap to do a solid eight minutes on OFWGKTA, and it's time to start giving a bunch of antisocial satanic skate rats ALL YOUR MONEY. Are they negative? Yes. Are they hateful? Yes. Are they, as the piece above suggests, a bit... rape-y? Um, yes. All of that said, I would ask you, gentle reader, to remember yr own adolescence. It was fucked the fuck up, right? You hated the whole world and everything in it, right? I myself would have cheerfully bombed my whole school if it meant me and my friends didn't have to suffer any more, and I was pretty well-adjusted and privileged by most standards. So imagine how it feels to be PAINFULLY smart, epically depressed, crammed full of hormones and adrenaline, and stuck in a single-parent, broke-ass environment where the only people who understand you are yr skate buddies. Kill people, burn shit, fuck school, right? That's what I THOUGHT you said. Oh, and also, don't forget that these kids are hilarious, a'ight? Sick jokes are still jokes, and don't pretend you didn't laugh at that "The body-bag is a book, and you're Fantasia" line. Oh, you haven't heard that one? You better get downloading, bitch. And send 'em some money on the iTunes, or else Kanye West is better than you.
In closing, it is my sad duty to report that the aforementioned little brother, Earl Sweatshirt (who may be, at the tender age of 16, the best overall lyricist in the crew) has been sent to "wilderness camp" by his mom. Apparently this is some kind of Mormon Jail for restless youth (these dudes are Mormons? I don't know if I belive you, internets). This is what happens when you let yr moms listens to yr rap album (my demos will never see the light of day, and I'm old as fuck, so I should be safe). FREE EARL.
While I was at work the other day, I noticed a CD sitting around with the word "Rangda" on the cover, spelled out by the roots of a particularly spooky tree. Enticed by the spooky, I gave it th' old once-over.
"Harrumph. Rangda is the NAME OF THE BAND? That's terrible. It's a nonsense word. They're probably hippies. What a waste of a spooky tree."
With that, I turned the thing over. I found myself confronted by a photograph of the band in mid "rock-out". "Feh. They look like an all-dad blues band. Who the hell are these jokers OH SHIT THAT'S SIR RICHARD BISHOP." For indeed it was the guy from legendary avant-noise-arabic-art-weirdos Sun City Girls on guitar. And the other guitar? Ben Chasny, from likewise big-deal art-weirdos Six Organs of Admittance. Oh, and the drummer's some dude named Chris Corsano, who plays with meaningless nobodies like Thurston Moore and Nels Cline and Sunburned Hand of The Man and... look, if yr MOM was in a free-improv noise band in New York in the last ten years, he probs played with her, too.
So, yeah, I grabbed it. And it's great. Pretty much what you'd expect (if you were expecting three dudes just TACKLING their instruments for about forty-five minutes). Epic, shrieking walls of noise and drum abuse alternate with quiet, contemplative pools of gentle plucking and brushed snares. Sometimes it's sweeping waves of high-end scree, sometimes it's the vague desert motif of "Bull Lore" which sounds like a free-noise version of "Hotel California". Except, y'know... GOOD.
And "Rangda" isn't a nonsense word after all. It's the name of a Balinese Demon Queen (above left) who eats children and leads an army of witches against the forces of good. Which means I should probably take a seminar on Balinese Cultural Literacy, but my stupid job doesn't offer one. God, they're so backward. I mean, what century IS this?
For yr consumption: th' aforementioned "Bull Lore" and "Serrated Edges," the most... um, NUANCED of the batshit noise assault tracks.
There's something of a cottage industry in the world of publishing that churns out Complete Histories Of Punk Rock at a rate that would be alarming if Complete Histories Of Punk Rock were anything to get alarmed about. They're not, but that doesn't stop people like me from getting worked up anyway. I KNOW these things are just a way for dudes who sold heroin to Dee Dee Ramone to make a semi-honest living. I don't have a problem with that. Hell, if it keeps these guys off the streets, I'm all for it. It could even be pointed out that nobody's forcing me to read the stupid things, but here I am, and there they are, and what does that mean for you, the reader?
It means I wanna talk about The Dictators. See, all these Complete Histories of yadda yadda are alla time talking up The Dictators and how they're (ugh) SEMINAL. And they're pretty much right on, but you kind of wouldn't know that from listening to any, y'know, actual Dictators albums. The first one (Go Girl Crazy) is pretty decent, but it's hampered by the fact that Punk Rock sort of didn't exist yet, so it's basically a loud, dumb, awkward version of The Beach Boys (I know, right?) and Handsome Dick Manitoba (he's the one not getting felt up in the picture above) hardly even sings on it, which is too bad 'cos despite an admittedly limited range, he's one of rock's great blah blah blah. Oh, and the guitars sound sorta wimpy. The second one (Manifest Destiny) has even wimpier production, which sinks a handful of great songs and a bunch more shitty ones. I haven't listened to Blood Brothers yet. If you wanna send me a copy, that would be great. Then they broke up for twenty years, and made two more albums, which sound like they're made by a bad cartoon version of the actual band.
So why all the fuss? Because of this. It's called (deep breath) Dictators Live New York New York, but it was originally released as Fuck 'Em If They Can't Take A Joke, which was a much better thing to call a Dictators album. The ROIR label guys put it out, so it was only on cassette. You can order it from 'em on proper technology now, but I'mma keep giving it away until those dudes restock their Dictators shirts in non-fat sizes. We're not all Handsome Dick-size, guys.
This is what the first two albums shoulda sounded like. The songs are a notch or three faster than the album versions, the guitars are surprisingly awesome sounding for a live tape (recorded on two track? Ye gods!), and Handsome Dick sings THE WHOLE THING. He also contributes some hilarious stage banter (especially during the intro to "Two-Tub Man"). Geez, even the song titles are better than on the albums (the awkward "Young, Fast, Scientific" is rechristened "Rock 'n' Roll Made A Man Out Of Me", a title that kinda tells you everything you need to know about The Dictators and their Many Moods). The songs selection is excellent, covering pretty much all the classic Dictators anthems, plus a charmingly graceless cover of a Velvet Underground tune (or not so charming. My wife got pretty pissed when she heard it, but she takes The Velvets kinda seriously. The Dictators don't take ANYTHING seriously. Hence the problem).
So get it. And put my copy of Blood Brothers in the mail. And stick some White Castle in there too, while yr at it. All this beer is making me hungry.
Or not. Man, this song is annoying. The fake flamenco vibe? Annoying. The "eternal summer slacking" lyric? Annoying. And the fact that they're using some weird bassless compression effect for the first forty-five seconds so that they can just turn it OFF and act like it's some kick-ass dynamic shift? FUCKING ANNOYING. Also I am watching the video right now and the drummer needs to shave his fucking neck. One hit wonders? One hit too many, if you ask me. Screw these creeps.
Well, that was painful. Clearly All Saints, The Spice Girls, and the sainted Aqua were the most talented artists of 1998. And now, to wash away the nightmares... Australia's Useless Children with their best song ever! It's "People Come, People Go" off their 2009 EP and it sounds like if the Birthday Party added a girl singer and were signed to AmRep. In other words, it's fucking PERFECT.
