Safeway Bag Now Sticking To My Shoe

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?

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.

Look Out! Grunge is Back!

HEAVY CHAINS /// STONED STRIPPER from Patrick Cruz on Vimeo.

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.
 

I Seem To Be Uninjured

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.

Good Morning, World!

There won't be a ton of depth in today's deal, kids.  I'm just tossing up a handful of things that got me out of bed on this miserable and soggy morning.

First up is the number one download on Itunes Japan (for what that's worth), "A Winter Fairy Is Melting A Snowman" by Kaela Kimura.  This slice of manic J-Pop seems to be "going viral" (ugh), and the part where the excessively huge guitars kick in makes me grin like a goddamn fiend.

The next two songs are by Wymyns Prysyn from Atlanta.  That's pretty much all I know about these dudes, but they remind me of Hammerhead and The New Bomb Turks and Nation of Ulysses.  So basically they remind me of the mid 90's, which is pretty much my entire steez in a nutshell.  Come to Portland, you guys!

 We then find ourselves on a "hilarious" tip.  Dude to our left is "Liberace Morris," the lead singer for Black Fag.  You heard me.  Dudes are doing Black Flag covers with vocals that are supposed to ape our pal Rob Schneider, but end up sounding a little closer to Jello from Dead Kennedys.  Which may mean something, but I don't know what.  We can sit around and argue about stereotypes and political correctness all day, but the upshot is that the part in "T.V. Party" that goes "Extreme Makeover/Extreme Makeover Home Edition" cracks me the fuck up, and a Mojito sounds damn good right about now.

Ultra-moronic synth damage from Roger Roger is up next!  I grabbed this from the peerless Egg City Radio site, which is where you want to go if yr sick of music sounding like humans made it.

I go there at least twice a day, because seriously, humans?  Shut the fuck up already.

Speaking of humans and my general distaste for them, this mix finishes with "Kill Them All" by The Brainbombs.  Genius and Brutality.  Taste and Power.  Possibly the most important rock band of the last decade.  We'll talk more about them soon.

Sugar In My Hog

I hope you all are ready for some fun.

1996.  The B52's are on an indefinite hiatus.  I'm in Andy Yuhas's basement with, I think, Tyler and Kell.  We're watching 120 Minutes (this was a show on MTV that showed music videos by "edgy, alternative" bands.  I know, amazing, right?).  The "Video Jockey" (ugh) announces that they're about to play the new one from Fred Schneider.

And then Rick Sims from The Didjits is on TV.

"Well," thinks twenty-year-old me, "This is weird for two reasons.  One, someone at MTV has clearly been drinking, as they have just announced Fred Schneider before playing a new Didjits video.  Two, MTV is for some goddamn reason playing a Didjits video. Oh, and I guess this is weird for three reasons, because The Didjits have been broken up for two years.  Anyway, AWESOME."


Cue Fred Schneider.  It turns out that MTV were right all along, but somehow Rick Didjit is playing in the same surreal trailer park (it was 1996, alright?) as him from the B52's.  And there's the drummer from the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion!  And the bass player from Tar (full disclosure:  I could not identify anyone from Tar in 1996, and I cannot do so today.  Neither can you, so shut up.)!  Anyway, AWESOME.


I'd post the video, but it seems like only MTV has it, and that's... more attention than I'd like to have at the moment, if you see what I'm getting at.  Anyway, here's a fistful of tracks from Fred Schneider's critically-despised solo album Just Fred.  This is the kind of thing that really reinforces my dim view of the critical establishment, 'cos this record is PURE FIRE.  Backing musicians include not just the luminaries mentioned above (under the dismal moniker "Deadly Cupcake") but also surf legends Shadowy Men On A Shadowy Planet (meh) as well as SIX FINGER SATELLITE.  Damn right, that got yr attention.
 
The rap on this record is that dude's voice was too... I dunno, SOMEthing to carry a bunch of fierce rockers of the sort on offer here, but I say BOO TO THAT.  Sure, Just Fred isn't an instant classic or anything, but any album that's one part Tom of Finland, one part drag racer, and one part killer cyborg has got MY vote.  Plus, Fred gets a decent enough snarl out of his admittedly limited pipes.  Shit, he sounds about a thousand times better than him from the Dead Kennedys, and the lyrics are better, too!

Contained within: three Rick Sims-led rockers (including a hee-larious cover of Harry Nilsson's "Coconut") and one from th' Satellite.  Do yrself a favor and google the "Bulldozer" video, so you can check out Fred's ill-advised facial hair and the coked-up antics of one Rick Sims (seriously, between him and the Six Finger Satellite boys, I'd wager that most of the advance on this record got inhaled.  I bet Schneider ain't no slouch, either.).  And swing by iTunes (feh) and drop 8 bucks on the whole album.  It's worth yr while (I purposefully left "Sugar In My Hog" and "Helicopter" out of the download so you'd be motivated) and Fred donates a lot of time and money to Atlanta-based animal charities, so... y'know... good cause.  Good guy.  Good album.

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.