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.
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.
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.
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.
