Familiar Music For The Future

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.

Lewd Lewd Lewd

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.

Child Eating Demon Queen

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.