The Potential Johns “Can I Really Not Go with You” b/w “Past Due” 7” Dirtnap
I’ve heard that one or more of the Marked Menresent the suggestion that they sound like the Ramones. Fair enough. I get it. The landfills are choked with Ramones clones so devoid of imagination as to make a reasonable mind cast doubt on the godfathers from Queens. Still, the Marked Men have always reminded me of the Ramones (though they’re like the Godzillas of the bunch, looming large over the landscape, swatting aside challengers like gnats). To be specific the “California Sun” side of the Ramones, Johnny in check, Joey’s heart and harmonies in the spotlight. When the Marked Men are firing on all cylinders there’s a beautiful coexistence among the chiming guitars, the aching hearts, the candy-coated vocals and the furious eighth note action. Plus, the Marked Men always mix their records so that you could hear everything as a massive, nearly overwhelming whole or as distinct parts. I thought their last LP, Ghosts, sounded like they were running out gas but both sides of this single are stellar—mid-tempo up top, up tempo on the b-side. As good as any of the tunes on On the Outside. Now I have no choice but to revisit Ghosts. They’ve forced my hand!
We know what it sounded like when Phil Spector worked with the Ramones. I love End of the Century (and I’m intrigued by the “wanna see my gun?” lore). But what would have happened if notorious British producer and madman Joe Meek produced the Ramones? Musically, I mean. Imagine the Ramones roar in the hands of Meek, known for his other worldly approach to sonics. (The interpersonal angle would certainly have yielded multiple homicides.) I bring this up to put some variables in play. I don’t want to reduce the Mind Spidersto a nostalgia act. Worlds Destroyed is a remarkable piece of work with or without the fan fiction tangents. Mark Ryan borrows elements from his other bands (Marked Men, High Tension Wires) but repositions them perfectly. I listened to the title song four times before moving on to the others. It’s slower than I expected. The lyrics are clearer. Like a Marked Men song it’s built on a foundation of a wall of guitars and steady floor tom but the combined effect is surprisingly peaceful, expansive. (At various times I’ve pictured the lonely surfer, the lonely cowboy and lately, the lonely astronaut. Or maybe lone is more apt than lonely.) “Time Sucker” and “Dirty Secrets” are even better. I’m giddy over the prospect of the upcoming Mind Spiders album.
Potential Johns: “Can I Really Not Go with You” is loud, fast, and fun, a good tune that would fit well with any Marked Men album. “Past Due” is the song of note, though. Longer, simpler, more repetitive, it reminds me of Neil Young and Crazy Horse, those songs where they go verse/chorus/verse/chorus for a minute or two then lock into a loop that could drive on for 15-20 minutes. It’s not jamming because no one’s wanking; there’s no trading of solos to flash instrumental prowess, just a realization that they’ve come to a point worth lingering on—this rocks, dudes, let’s stay here awhile. The song doesn’t vary for the final two and a half minutes. It would be a shame if it did.
More please. During the course of the review that follows I hope to impart some small sense of just how great these Night Birds records are. Mostly for the sake for fellow music fans seeking out new sounds but also, to a lesser extend, to make clear my hope that there is more from the band to follow. Let’s get started.
The Grave Mistake EP. 5 songs, 9 minutes. All killer, no filler. Everything that made the band’s demo EP click—rapid fire tempos, surf guitars, Nuggets-caliber hooks—is still in place but each of those elements is better this time. The surf riffs are more prevalent. The vocals are more confident and the rhythm section tighter. Sensing the potential for hyperbole overdose I’ve gone back to the EP three times since my initial draft. From the chorus to “Prognosis: Negative” to the tempo changes and soloing throughout “Harbor Rats,” I stand by my claims.
The “Killer Waves” single will be difficult to track down but it’s worth the work. The a-side is the band’s best song yet, the most Dickies like. I believe the b-side is a Belairs cover. Regardless, it’s a great revved up surf instrumental.
I still hear traces of the bands I referred to when the reviewing the band’s debut last year (Dead Kennedys, Minor Threat, Dick Dale) but this is their sound now.
Superchunk
“Digging for Something” b/w “February Punk” 7” Merge
For years Superchunk albums were events in my life. Initially, I didn’t know what to do with the self-titled record when it came out. I was in college, still thinking that pop and punk were mutually exclusive propositions. But week after week we kept playing that record until we gave up trying to decode it and just enjoyed it. Nine years later Come Pick Me Up came out. Mellower, restrained at times but still bursting with great song ideas. I was married by then and I’d finally figured out what to do with my life. On more than one occasion I thought, I’m going to grow old with this band, confident that they wouldn't lapse into Jefferson Starship or Who-like self-parody.
I can’t explain why I’d lost interest by the time Here’s to Shutting Up rolled out two years later. It took me awhile to buy a copy and when the mood to hear Superchunk struck that wasn’t the album I reached for. It was like they’d lost their way in trying to figure out how to age and continue changing as a band.
Then, last summer, the Leaves in the Gutter EP. “We’re in our forties. We’re kicking ass with songs that are clever and catchy but we’re not trying to recapture old glories.” They’d never be so lame as to pen such lyrics—leave that to me—but that’s the message I got from those songs. Everything I loved about Superchunk was there with new twists and turns along the way.
The streak continues with this excellent single. “Digging for Something” sounds like the band’s late '90s output. A big rock song with a chorus that catches the first time. The flipside, “February Punks,” is just as catchy but it burns faster. For all I know it’s an outtake from No Pocky for Kitty or On the Mouth.
“Familiar yet different” is what I’m saying and that’s a contradiction. Guess I’m back to trying to figure out Superchunk records. Cool.
The Sandwitches
“Back to the Sea” b/w “Beatle Screams” 7”
Southpaw
The narrative as I understand it: “Back to the Sea” calls for a return to the simple life, the way things used to be, to the primordial ooze if you want to take things to extremes. The ship’s sinking fast, let’s ready ourselves for life on the ocean floor. It’s unclear whether they make this transition by developing gills to adapt to their surroundings or building some sort of dwelling to adapt their surroundings to them. Either way it is clear that the new life is going well because once relocated we find them chatting about their favorite band. Sounds like they enjoy the new life.
The sounds as I hear them: joyful, uncluttered, melodic. Both cuts shuffle along on drums that wobble and guitars that clunk and clang, and it’s all really good. Recommended for fans of Mo Tucker and/or Jad Fair.
The Reports
“Bill Wyman Metal Detector” b/w “Attleboro Trailers” 7”
Ride the Snake Records
On the a-side the vocals drip with Ian Curtis cynicism but the drums push the tempo way past Joy Division speed. The bass is high in the mix, like a rhythm guitar track, and the lead guitar is firing off sixteenth notes that sounded like Dick Dale at first but now sound more like the early Chills (the former: noon, the latter: midnight). It’s one of those rare songs that grabbed me the first time and reveals something different each time. The b-side is good, though it lacks the twists and turns of “Bill Wyman.”
Thee Fine Lines
“She’s Kind of Evil” b/w “It’s Over Now” 7”
Ken Rock
Last time Thee Fine Lines were reviewed here at GM it was the band’s most excellent all-instrumental EP. These songs bring them crashing and stomping back to the Bo Diddley/Kinks/Billy Childish style they’ve used so well over time. It’s amazing how well and how often they find variations on such a simple sound. The benefits of doing so are so obvious to me that I’ve had a difficult time coming up with things to say about this fine platter. Brevity may the soul of wit but when it comes to writing music reviews, it, brevity, getting to the point, carries the implication that something is lacking in the subject matter; can’t be very good because it didn’t provoke much thought. My favorite exception being this assessment, taken from some guitar magazine, of Yes’ Big Generator: “No.” Back to Thee Fine Lines: cool record with equally cool cover art that looks like early MAD.
Short take: This book is remarkable. Maybe Shields’ best. Much like Jonathan Lethem’s Chronic City it digs into questions of what is real and what is fake. Like a documentary in book form, Reality Hunger incorporates dozens of voices. It presents high brow ideas so clearly and with such enthusiasm that it’s as fun to read as it is fascinating to consider. Send me your copy if you don’t love it.
Long take:
Exhibit A: “Have you ever heard a record that makes you feel as good as Stevie Wonder’s Fingertips — Part 2? I haven’t. It’s so real. When you listen to the record, you can hear a guy in the band yelling, ‘What key? What key?’ He’s lost. But then he finds the key, and boom. Every time I hear that guy yelling, ‘What key?’ I get excited.”
Exhibit B: “My intent is to write the ars poetica for a burgeoning group of interrelated (but unconnected) artists in a multitude of forms and media...who are breaking larger and larger chunks of ‘reality’ into their work.”
Both of the quotes above are taken from David Shields’ latest book Reality Hunger. For me they are the opposing forces that drive Reality Hunger, which draws on a stunning array of pop culture and high culture references. Exhibit A: just have fun with it. Exhibit B: take a sample, place it on the microscope, and analyze it. The risk of the former, for me, is failing to understand what draws me to a song/book/movie/joke; I really want to figure these things out. The risk of the latter, obviously, is spending too much time with my eye glued to the lens, missing out on life beyond the microcosm. (Lighten up, bub!) Thing is, I rarely strike the right balance. I tend to do one or the other. This doesn’t affect my ability to respirate or have a good family life, but reading a book like Reality Hunger, which embraces both, perfectly, is remarkable.
Reality Hunger looks at what is real and what is fake, what is fiction, what is non-fiction? Does it matter? Has it ever mattered? Shields addresses an astounding range of time periods and media. Hindu texts from the 14th century BC. Sonny Rollins. Bill Murray. Jessica Simpson. Emerson’s thoughts on the “cold, mechanical” nature of 19th century sermons. It’s all here and, amazingly, given equal consideration. With so many cultural references there is the risk of Reality Hunger turning into a text version of VH1 pop-ups — superficial name checking that has no accumulative effect. But Shields is so good at orchestrating all of the media considered that Reality Hunger is more like an excellent documentary.
I read Reality Hunger in three days — my version of a single-sitting — but I’ve spent three months thinking about how to concisely convey its hold on me. At this point I’m waving the white flag. I need at least one more read, maybe two, before I could offer a true review. This is more along the lines of my first impressions shared in the hopes that friends will read Reality Hunger and give me a chance to bounce my ideas off of them.
I wrote off Jay Reatard for the longest time. He seemed to be trying to hard to provoke, too calculated. I liked the ideas behind his previous bands more than the tantrums they stirred up. He reminded me of the kids in junior high who wore suspenders covered with ironic buttons. Weird for the sake of being weird, desperate for attention.
Then I read a review of Watch Me Fall. It claimed his new songs were poppier. It also compared the record to the Verlaines. That snared my attention. Verlaines comparisons are few and far between (a shame, that). I sampled two or three songs from Watch Me Fall and they made a quick impression. Either I had the guy wrong or he changed his act a lot. Or maybe we met halfway. Regardless, this is a remarkable record.
Watch Me Fall offers dozens of footholds for pop fans: the pretty acoustic guitar lead on “Wounded,” the gentle, Ray Davies vocals on “I’m Watching You,” the Peter Buck jangle that volleys with the Pete Townsend windmill action on “Before I Was Caught,” the Queen-like pomp and circumstance of “Nothing Now.” Every song has something to make it appealing. (As for the Verlaines reference I think the Chills, another long-running, overlooked New Zealand band is more accurate but that’s hairsplitting.)
So, is it a pure pop sell out? Hardly. The feedback on “Can’t Do It Anymore” is there to undermine the party, going on longer than it needs too. The guitars on the verse to “Nothing Now” buzz like a mosquito in my ear. And the drums, man, so stiff and mechanical, I have a hard time forgetting they’re programmed. (Are they?) The lyrics reach across three sub-genres: I Suck, People Suck, and Life Sucks. But he’s not wallowing in this dark state of mind or celebrating it or asking for pity. They’re more like an internal monologue that’s seeped out. (All of which might imply that this record reveals a more authentic side of Jay Reatard, as opposed to the cartoonish character of previous records. Could be. Just as likely Watch Me Fall presents another character.)
Pulling all of the above into cohesive songs is what makes Watch Me Fall so intriguing. Both sides—the crowd pleasing pop elements and the bratty antagonism—are given equal consideration. Longtime fans may find the record too easy to digest but newcomers should check out “It Ain’t Gonna Save Me,” “Wounded,” and “There Is No Sun.”
The Hextalls are the premiere Canadian silly-fun, kinda-crass, always-funny-even-when-sincere pop-punk band, and their new record Get Smashed lives up to all those hyphenated adjectives. While not as cohesive as their last full-length release, Call it a Comeback, Get Smashed has some of the catchiest songs ever released by the Hextalls, including “Pac Man” and “I Met Her At The Ropetow,” which boasts a three-part anthemic singalong outro that isn’t boring as well as standout bass work.
There are some skippable tunes that are more lyrically “generic” than I’ve come to expect from the Hextalls, which is even acknowledged in the title of “Generic Mid-Record Ballad.” This is evidenced again in “My X-Box Got the Red Ring of Death” but my annoyance with this song stems mostly from the piano quarter notes throughout that sound like a Honda somewhere has a door ajar.
Despite the somewhat-uneven flow of the record, in terms of production values and amount of musical talent, this release is the best yet for the Hextalls. If you like straightforward pop punk with strong harmonies and an irreverent tone — even if you’re not on the inside of the in-jokes; even if you don’t know (the man, the myth, the legend) Mark Wilson — it’s unlikely you’ll have a quarrel with this album. Four stars.
Last time out, 2005’s At the National Grid, Robert Scott and the Bats sculpted the best record of their 25+ year career, pitch perfect from start to finish. Understandably I went into their follow up, The Guilty Office, with high hopes. None of the elements have changed—the chiming guitars and soothing vocals—but they don’t melt together as well. I can hear the seams, so to speak, and find myself paying attention to the individual parts rather being immersed in the whole. The record opens and closes well but in between there too many songs like “Castle Lights” and “Two Lines” where the added strings feel more like decorations rather than essential pieces.
Don’t You Rise collects four tracks from ’98-’03. All four work well, on par with National Grid, and are surprisingly cohesive given the time span. A great introduction for newcomers.
