“Burn it Clean” Mudhoney
A couple weeks ago, I saw Mudhoney perform Superfuzz Bigmuff plus Early Singles in its entirety. It was an experience to put in the books on a rainy Sunday night off the Bowery. “Burn it clean,” howled front-man Mark Arm as his eyes penetrated my skull. “Burn it clean.”
The six songs on the Superfuzz EP was released by Sub Pop in 1988, and the singles comp came out in ‘90. During the fall of ‘90, or maybe it was ‘91, Mudhoney came to town to headline St. Andrew’s Hall. I quickly snatched up a ticket and made plans to hit the show with my good pal, B.J. Three or four weeks later, I was on my bed staring up at my Misfits poster blasting “In ‘n Out of Grace” through my crappy Kenwood speakers. It was the evening of the show, and I was readying myself for the experience. “Jesus take me to a higher place!!!”
“What’s going on in here?” squealed my Mom, who hadn’t yet quite come to terms with my undying love for the rock.
“Oh, hi, Ma. I’m going to Detroit tonight to hit a show with B.J.” She always felt more comfortable when I hung out with B.J. because he was Jewish too. “Don’t worry, I won’t be out too late.”
“You’re not going to another one of those shows. It’s Yom Kippur tomorrow, and we’re going to your Aunt Mae’s for dinner. So change out of those black jeans and throw on something presentable.”
It was worse then a pistol whip to the head. I put up a fight, tried explaining to her the impact Mudhoney had made on my mind in the past months. “There is so much I need,” I said, quoting from the greatness. “You can’t keep me from what I want to do.” And it went on and on back and fourth. But in the end I made the call to B.J., tears streaming down my face.
“Dude, my Mom says I can’t go because it’s Yom Kippur.”
“Bummer, man. Yeah, I got lucky — we ate early.”
“Click you,” said my phone.
Some 17-years later, and I honestly think I never ever got over missing that show. Superfuzz impacted my nerves in all the right places, and poked holes in the discrepancies I saw, but never knew how to articulate, except through the occasional broken bottle and angst-ridden curse. Hats off to whoever decided it was time to bring back the raw grunge for the masses to absorb one last time; clearly this was a unique album that burnt itself into the consciousness of the underground. Now, I can finally bury the hatchet with my Mom, and move forward knowing I finally got a chance to soak up the all the fuzzy splendor put fourth by four dudes from a band called Mudhoney.
“Stump” Cringer
Lance Hahn died last week of kidney diseaase. I never met Lance and unfortunately never saw him perform live with Cringer, his first band, or J Church his other band/project that he continued working with up until his death. I never saw Lance rock, and never had a chance to talk to him about the zines I was reading or the turds I was shitting; but I feel like I still lost a friend. Cringer helped me through my adolescence with finely crafted pop punk tunes about not giving in to the desire to push one’s fist through a brick wall or jump into a bed filled with stakes. I know that statement sounds a bit off kilter to the ear, but then again, if you’ve ever listened to a solid Cringer song like “Stump” or “Two Friends” or “Cocktail Molotov” you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.
You’ll know that it’s okay to be 34, and still not have a clue how to define words like media, and why old guys begging for change on 33rd street make your guts feel clammy. When I lived at Redwood in Kalamazoo, circa ‘94, Tony Party would come over and throw on “Stump”, and that always made me smile. Tony loved that song so much, to the point that I would question him, and say, “Hey Tony — how about throwing on something new, like some Chino Horde or Pinhead Gunpowder. And he would say, “fuck that — this song is too good — everything else can wait.” I couldn’t argue. To this day, the song still evokes sharp bursts of energy in my drawers.
“I don’t know why”… “It’s something I won’t try again”.
Fast guitar. Fast singing. Fast life. Damn, Lance I sure am sorry you’re not around. We lost a good one.
“So Far Gone” The Early Years
Posted in MP3, alternative, indy, psych rock at 8:39 pm
The first time I heard The Early Years I was walking home from the train. It was late August, one of those sticky humid days, and my headphones were blasting away on shuffle. I was thinking about stopping at the Dunkin’ Donuts on Coney Island Ave., so I could buy a tasty tropical smoothie. It had been a long day, and I deserved a treat to cool down my blood. Is it really a smoothie if they fill the cup with canned fruit and heavy syrup? Yeah, but sugary artificial flavors taste good. Then, I thought, “Damn, this song is kicking my ass. I don’t know who this is, but if I ever put together another band I want it to sound exactly like this.” After the song finished, I told the counter guy to make my smoothie extra thick.
I want to say that the Early Years are a cross between Hum and Ride, circa ‘95, two bands that understood how to push the rock to new levels, all the while capturing hot slices of ethereal, atmospheric melody.
The song “So Far Gone” opens up with a blast of psychedelic fuzz that penetrates the brain like a strong cleaning solution. The rest of the tune is a colorfully distorted ride through a park made of candy canes and lollipops. Trippy man. But don’t forget the solid drum track that moves the tune fast along the Autobahn. It’s clear this 3-piece from London enjoy playing with their pedals, and maybe they also enjoy drinking the occasional overpriced smoothie.
“Automatic Man” — Bad Religion
Posted in MP3, old school punk at 5:28 pm
When the bombs start dropping I wonder if I’ll have what it takes to survive? The other night my neighbor cornered me in the hallway and started talking about preemptive cautions. “I think we should invest in stretchers,” he said. That scared me, so I walked back inside the house and immediately turned on the television. Christina Applegate was on the screen eating a Clown Dog, and my panic quickly subsided.
The exchange with my neighbor got me thinking about a few things. The kind of things a guy thinks about after reading some Huxley. Huxley talks about control and power. He talks about how most people are too distracted by all their distractions to really give a shit. It’s funny, I can read Huxley and sort of understand what the guy is talking about, and in the next breath watch an enjoyable half-hour of the “Singing Bee” hosted by Joey Fatone on Saturday night at 9:30pm.
The song, “Automatic Man” featured on the classic ‘89 Bad Religion rocker, No Control, makes sense out of the ideas I just flubbed my way through. I once listened to it on repeat during a 10-hour drive to Bloomington. Well, that’s a lie, but the example still clarifies an important point: this song equals greatness.
I know you must have seen him in books and magazines.
He’s the quintessential mindless modern epicine. (My friends and I always joked about how Bad Religion were the band you listened to with a dictionary by your side.)A true creature of habit, he smokes three packs a day.
When he has an original thought, he forgets it right away. (This is the kind of line that exemplifies why Greg Graffin’s lyrics purr to the tune of true precision.)
“Year of the Clap” — Blood City Shack Up
Posted in MP3, post hardcore, rock at 12:27 pm
How about something new? How about something that will provoke your ears to piss rancor, malevolence and ire? It’s time to get mean, and Blood City Shackup are providing a heavy dose of thunder on their self-released demo, Williamsburg Massacre.
Remember those mid-90s basement shows? Remember standing next to a kid named Henry in a Hoover T-shirt? Emo was new and hardcore was an unrequited love that nobody cared about. To the left was a pair of lovers slamming a bottle of Robo while a manic alter boy danced across the cement floor like a chicken with its head sliced into chunks of tiny cubes.
This track, “Year of the Clap“, will force you into that basement with a violent thrust down the stairs. Everything in this tune thumps. The drums drive us through a succession of dangerous dead man curves. While the bass sets us off on a pulp adventure of ass kicking proportions. The vocals and guitar screech out a story of Circus Lupus b-sides and post modern hip shaking. Enjoy this hot shot of coffee to the face.
Blood City Shackup will be performing live in the basement of Lit Lounge this Saturday. The show is $6 and the band goes on at 11pm. Tell ‘em d. sent ya’.
“Incomplete” Fuel
Do you remember Fuel? How about the time you and Jackson were driving down 696 and he popped in their tape. Remember how the windows vibrated when the vocals kicked in, and chills swept through your body — sensory overload times 10. You were only 16, but you knew the difference between shit and gold. You knew when something sounded right. And so what if Jackson said they sounded like a hardcore Fugazi rip-off; most bands only dream about emulating that kind of greatness.
Now you’re older. But these songs still make sense. They still help the bag on your shoulders feel a little lighter. They still take you away from the pressure that continues to cook dinner in your head. And when the lyrics ask if you are
“secure in your cynical world?” You nod and say, “Yeah, pretty much.”
“15 Minutes” The Circle Jerks
Posted in MP3, old school punk at 1:53 pm
Daily living is a tightrope. One second I’m walking the dog with my head in the clouds, and the next I’m watching Ms. Johnson smack her kid on the mouth for dripping his drawers. The Circle Jerks captured sordid moments in time. Here was a group of derlicts making sharp observations about the muck flooding the streets. Here was a band weaving together tightly wound punk tunes about urban blight, as an attempt to make sense of this mess known as the human experience .
The 1985 LP, Wonderful, is one of the great punk albums of all time. Standout tracks include every song on this album. Quick fixes that work better than a shot of Red Bull include: “The Crowd,” followed by “American Heavy Metal Weekend,” “Wonderful,” and “I and I”. But this tune, “15 Minutes”, is timeless — good stories always are, especially ones that take the listener on a walk across the tightrope.
Listen and hear the song of a boy making a decision. How 15 minutes is all it takes to change the direction of one’s life. The buildups are intense — especially when the drums push the tempo to another level (right about 2 min/30 seconds), a level where madness is the only clarity worth drinking.
Have a good walk.
“Steve’s Boy” — The Lemonheads
Posted in MP3, alternative, indy at 9:19 pm
Evan Dando released a Lemonheads album in 2006; he called it The Lemonheads as well. I found the reunion a little strange, especially because Dando is the only original member standing. Then again, the band pretty much sported a revolving cast of characters, besides Dando, since day one.
The album isn’t remarkable, but I love the fact that Bill Stevenson and Karl Alvarez joined forces to back Dando. Alvarez is a solid bass player (Descendents/ALL), while Stevenson is one of the great punk drummers of all time (Black Flag/Descendents/ALL,etc.). I also admire the spirit of the Lemonheads: low key roots rock meets post punk, ala Husker Du, Replacements, etc.
My mind expected greatness. But reality said, “This beast is a little boring.” Don’t get me wrong — it’s a hell of a lot better than the radio crap infiltrating the airwaves, or that hip stuff trolling down Avenue A. But I wanted more. I wanted Lick meets Milo Goes to College. Some days it’s best to be okay with third place.
Let’s play a track. “Steve’s Boy is the grabber on this album. It was written by Stevenson, and features rock demigod, J. Mascis, on guitar. This song belongs on the mix tape for cleaning out the mess in the bedroom closet. This song belongs magnetized on the fridge for a couple of weeks.
Listen well.
“No Satisfaction” — Black Mountain
Posted in MP3, alternative, indy, rock at 11:23 am
So many songs — so little time to pay my bills.
Black Mountain’s “No Satisfaction” reminds me a hell of a lot of the Velvet Underground’s “We”re Gonna’ Have A Real Good Time Together”. Both songs help me feel cool inside. I wonder though, is Black Mountain a group of contrived hipsters, or are they simply solid musicians that write sharp witted tunes? Does it matter?
Here’s a few words from the lead vocals:
“Everybody likes to claim things/And everybody likes to shame things/And everybody likes to clang bells around.”
At the point when those lyrics enter — the song hits a majestic climax that rivals a perfectly executed Chasey Lain moment. Suddenly, I’m thinking warm and fuzzy thoughts, like how the curry chicken my wife made for dinner last Tuesday tasted damn good. I’m also thinking that sometimes it’s best to remember we’re all sputtering around in the mud together.
Following that bridge, a voice appears and starts chanting “Da Du Na — Na Na” over and over. This voice sounds a hell of lot like Lou Reed, and I want to tuck it away in my drawer to help me through the Monday morning grind.
Enjoy the song.
“Sons of Cain” — Ted Leo & the Pharmacists
Ted Leo used to be the front man for a band called, Chisel. I was a big fan of Chisel, in fact, I might go so far as to say — I loved their infectious blend of mod and pop punk. I used to play their 1996 Gern Blandstein release, 8 A.M. All Day until I could stand it no more. These days, Ted Leo has reached new heights with his rock outfit, Ted Leo and the Pharmacists, moving well beyond the comfort zone of the underground.
The tune “Sons of Caine” off the new Ted Leo release Living with the Living is a hum-jammer. I run fast with the help of this tune’s driving bass line; I move freely, without pain, as the drumline helps me push forward — one step in front of the other. It sure feels nice to come across a tune that offers up that extra boost one needs to make it through the day. Ted Leo and the Pharmacists — that’s a band to feel good about.
