Will Beg 4 Money

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.

It'll End In Tears

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.