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.