Mid-Week Power Pop Stop / Feedback Fridays / New Music!?!
It appears that YOUR NEW FAVORITE SONGS are ten to twenty years old . . . Truth be told, I do feel there is much out there forgotten, or never truly celebrated in the manner deserved. Therefore I have been posting bands and songs to the blog that don’t necessarily occupy the space and time we call today. I have been playing around with two themes each week…really, Feedback Fridays is the only theme I have been consistent with. The Mid-Week Power Pop Stop I have only posted once to. Honestly, I see that I will never post new music if I do both of these themes weekly. So, I think the solution is to post one or the other each week. Alternate between the two themes.
The Mid-Week Power Pop Stop is important to me because it was this genre that got me listening beyond the norm and digging beneath the surface. In the late 70’s, early eighties, on Showtime they would show music videos by bands. I happened to catch one by a band called The Shoes. My love of The Shoes led me to the Paul Collins’ Beat. Watching Nick Cage’s early performance in Valley Girl we saw him puke in the alley while Peter Case and his Plimsouls dished “The Oldest Story in the World”. Thanks to Valley Girl I was turned onto The Plimsouls and purchased Everywhere At Once which proved to be an almost perfect album . . . After some time, I realized, I never met a power pop band I didn’t like . . .
Feedback Fridays is so named for a characteristic of guitar playing that I love so and involves the musician using the noise from guitar and amp to color a composition in a way that no chords or notes might handle. Guitar feedback sounded very scary, and as a harbinger that something even scarier was just around the corner. My previous posts of Thin White Rope and The Dream Syndicate were of bands that thrived off of guitar feedback and always found richness in the chaos and the clamor.I can’t say what day posts will be exactly - but I can say there will be from two to three posts each week. If you have been reading the blog in the last month or so, you may have noticed that out of the three writers listed, I am the only one posting. Mark L has a fantastic blog called The Days of Lore that is a must read (He interviewed The Vaselines for Christ’s sake!) and is busy working and loving life in Portland, Oregon. As for Jason C., he is always busy, and though I would love nothing more than for him to post more often, I do understand how busy life can be and want to give him the same sort of understanding he has always cast in my direction. I just want him to join the fun! With the alternating of themes from week to week, I really hope to feature newer music. What? You say the Germs film is on Showtime this weekend?!! Shane West is Darby Crash?!?! We Got the Neutron Bomb indeed!
Rocking Out and Having Fun
I cannot imagine a more optimistic tune. No matter how hard eighties rock and roll production tried, it couldn’t kill “Better Things” - taken from The Kinks brilliant eighties entry Give The People What They Want. The superficial sheen and sickly sick drum sound aided by its evil Michelob beer chorused guitar tone don’t stand a chance against Ray Davies brilliant songwriting evidenced by decades of classic song after classic song. I take Davies in a heatbeat against Lennon/McCartney, and Jagger/Richards. Ray Davies always had a way with a simple narrative that could twist and burrow inside the undiscovered recesses of any listener’s heart.
“Better Things” was almost corny to me upon first listen: “It’s good to see you rocking out and having fun!” but something stuck . . . Perhaps it was in high school when a friend played this number for me as salve for my broken heart. I can’t remember what was hurting me . . . but I do remember this song. I also remember how fantastic Give the People What They Want was in its entirety. “Left of the Dial” raged, “Give the People What They Want” roared - and of course you had “Destroyer” which worked like an eighties paranoid response to the band’s sixties hit “You Really Got Me.”
No matter the place, no matter the time, no matter the circumstance - The Kinks’ “Better Things” is powerful medicine for whatever may be troubling one’s mind . . . catharsis, perfection - The Kinks.
Blazing Trails / Aural Comet Tails
Davis CA’s Thin White Rope came to me by way of Yreka. Yreka was a little town near the Oregon border (Yreka Bakery is a palindrome for you puzzle fiends, though it is no man and a panama canal…). I lived in Yreka in 1985 and regularly made trips to Ashland, Oregon to buy records at a great little store called Diane’s (which also specialized in some really awesome bootlegs by R.E.M. and VU - whomever owned this store found God, and quit selling the boots by the advice of the higher power it seems). It was in Ashland that I picked up a cassette through the advice of a friend by a little band called Thin White Rope. I had never opened my horizons to William Burroughs, and thus the band’s name and the cult author’s reference were lost on me.
What wasn’t lost on me, was what their debut Exploring the Axis provided in droves: dark psychedelia inspired by the same heroes (VU and Television) that fed The Dream Syndicate and True West (also bands that originated from the small little agricultural college town of Davis, CA). Thin White Rope offered a twist though in giving the listener brilliant CW rave-ups along with its sonic malevolence with its “The Real West” and “Dead Grammas On a Train”.
I loved Thin White Rope from album one to the end, but it was their first Exploring the Axis that surprised me, challenged me, and endured the most. Guitarist/Vocalist Guy Kyser and guitarist Roger Kunkel were the band’s core, but it was this album that also included drummer Jozef Becker and bassist Stephen Tesluk. Though subsequent albums hosted bass players that my friends and others cited as superior, I never, ever, got over the absence of Tesluk. Listening to Axis is an experience illuminating the band as truly the sum of its parts and not a showcase for any one player or part. If anything, this might be one of those rare albums that the bass player’s name does not have to be Flea for him to contribute mightily to the final product. The song featured today shows Tesluk’s repetitive, chorused bass lines pushing and pulling like tendon and bone against Kyser’s and Kunkels howling banshee blasts of guitar feedback. Kyser’s haunting voice providing the only traditional melody in a song that became my favorite by the band.
Forgotten Favorite?
No. Vomit Launch was never one of those bands that could either be forgotten or dismissed easily. When I first moved to Chico some twenty years ago, they were kicking around playing either The Blue Max, The Burro Room, or Duffy’s short lived Whispering Clam Room which is where I believe they played there last show . . . Then again, I could be wrong, and maybe Bassist Larry Crane would email me with the correction . . . Get this straight, not only were Vomit Launch about the nicest people you would meet, but easily the most underrated underground rock band in the last twenty-five years.
Living in Chico, running into Larry, Drummer Steve Bragg, Guitarist Lindsey Thrasher (Yes - the most rock and roll surname of all time is legit and not just show), or singer Trish de Rowland, would usually prove an affable meeting. These individuals adopted no pose, and had little use for affectation in the real world. In short, super people whom were easy to talk to, whether it be yelling something silly from the audience (which they would often throw right back to your embarrassment), or running into them on the street.
Bassist Larry Crane now known more for his curating the late Elliott Smith’s unreleased (some recently released) songs as well as his highly influential home recording magazine Tape Op was perhaps the member of the band that provided the most laughs depending on circumstances and conversations. My first band wedged itself into an extremely lively scene in Chico sharing bills with his band as well as the Downsiders, These Days, and numerous others. We had an uncanny knack for irritating many (mostly off stage) and one night thought it would be funny to bring some Red Vines to Larry Crane’s door at 10:30 in the evening. He did answer the door and at once seemed pained and amused. He invited us in, politely put up with our dumb non-sequiturs, and led us to the kitchen. Taped to his refrigerator was a massive, artistically rendered Family Tree of Chico Rock Bands. My bandmates and I noticed to our chagrin that our band was noticeably absent . . . Still, I liked how Larry kept insisting one of our songs stole a bass line from Savage Republic whom I had no idea who they were ’till ten years later . . .
Vomit Launch were always befriending, and bringing incredible bands to town. I wondered if my ears would ever live down the massive wall of sound SF’s Thinking Fellers threw up at The Burro Room, gorgeous as it was. I think they had something to do with Sam Coomes pre-Quasi band the Donner Party (whom I loved dearly) coming our way, as well as the Bay Area’s Catheads, and a little band called Camper Van Beethoven. Perhaps it was their alliance with (the) Idiot that could confuse an audience like no other band. Just seek out (the) Idiot’s long forgotten classic “Baby Born Without A Butthole”, toss it on the phonograph, and watch a room fill with discomfort and quickly empty . . .
I know this blog is supposed to be bringing you your new favorite song, and yet, maybe your new favorite song should be an old one. I love Vomit Launch for every single anecdote and reason I gave above. I love Vomit Launch because when they kicked off a set, it felt reckless, pure, and necessary. I don’t know of many pop bands whose rhythm section could prove as devastating as this band, with a charismatic lead vocalist leading the charge beside sweet jangly leads and furtive strums. Oh yeah, the name was good for annoying parents around the Thanksgiving Dinner table when I would bring it up; but really Vomit Launch was the perfect gift to a small northern californian town at the exact time it needed them.
Vomit Launch - Block of Wood (Bats Cover)
History Kind of Pales When It and You Are Aligned
The Dream Syndicate was one of those bands that changed it for me . . . I discovered the band about the same time I first heard Game Theory, in the mid 80’s. While I loved Game Theory’s skewed pop songs, LA’s Dream Syndicate I held much closer to the heart. I heard Steve Wynn and Karl Precoda’s legendary guitar duels (”Halloween”, “Days of Wine and Roses”) long before I encountered their New York fore bearers Verlaine and Lloyd. Okay, perhaps that is my fault for taking history backwards, no matter - here was a band that risked it on live recording similar to the sort of explosive improv we hope to see when we catch our favorite guitar bands live. I was pretty sure I would grow old taking in album after album of Precoda and Wynn sending sonic calamity heavenward and back to my eager ears.
Sadly, The Dream Syndicate’s The Days of Wine and Roses is the band’s rapid rise and lamented swan song all in one heated package. Kendra Smith left the band to pursue Opal not long after the debut with Karl Precoda quitting in 1984 following the band’s oft misunderstood sophomore release The Medicine Show. While subsequent releases saw minor acclaim for the band and Wynn’s songwriting nothing came close to the sort of revolutionary racket put down for Wine and Roses. ”When You Smile” proves to be one of The Dream Syndicate’s darker moments. Feedback squeals, curls, and licks at Kendra Smith’s slow persistent bass line with Wynn’s apocalyptic poetry burrowing beneath the riotous squalor. As good as this song is, it isn’t even my favorite on the album, but a gorgeous example on how a band effectively uses guitar feedback to paint a vivid province
The Dream Syndicate - When You Smile
Not a Nostalgia Trip
I discovered Cheap Trick’s “Downed” through Guided By Voices. Very appropriate considering Guided By Voices was indie rock’s answer to Cheap Trick a couple decades down the road from it’s origin. The fact that GBV covered this incredible, incredible song left me certain of Robert Pollard’s innate knack in recognizing inescapable hooks and melodies whether it be his own band or someone else’s.
The first time I heard Cheap Trick was perhaps spinning records for my ninth grade dance. For some forgotten reason, the band seemed dangerous to me. Dangerous in the same way that AC/DC would connect months later. It wasn’t until I was older that I understood that Cheap Trick did write some hard rock songs, but ultimately, it was their pop sensibilities that won out rendering their compositions the apex of bubblegum pop. Think The Knack, The Shoes, but keep turning that volume knob…
Cheap Trick songs make me think of the county fair with its Flying Bobs, Cotton Candy, Fistful of Tickets, the Yo-Yo, Black Velvet Posters, and the midway lights beginning and burning bright as the summer dusk dims. There’s something beautiful that Cheap Trick keeps on touring despite the change in trends and fashion. They don’t deserve to open bills for Journey with its Steve Perry impostor, nor warm up the stage for Styx minus a certain Dennis DeYoung. Cheap Trick is intact with its four original members (that is if bassist Tom Petersson is still with them). I would imagine the band pulling out “Hello There” and “He’s a Whore” with the same gusto as if the year 1979 was stuck on repeat. If this were my Groundhog’s Day, I would wake up to “Downed” again and again. While the eighties production (twinkling keyboards I say hello!) lays on the gloss a bit thick, “Tonight It’s You” is still a great, great song with changes and hooks proving both dramatic and designed for maximum fist pumping and air guitar. I love you Cheap Trick. In the words of a certain piano man: “I don’t want clever conversation / I love you just the way you are.”
Cheap Trick - Tonight It’s You
Open Your Eyes
Today is Mother’s Day and being a son and now a father, I can vouch for the fact that Moms deserve 365 Days a year to celebrate the value they hold in this world. With hindsight, I can see how it was that my mother encouraged me in all I did, and was never far so as to see that any possible rough landing might be made a bit more manageable. As a father, I see my wife never waver, and even (to my eyes) magically, instinctually, manage to choose right most every time when it comes to our beautiful son. My machinery means well, but I nervously wonder how I would fare were my wife absent for any length of time. Just through her love, and her presence, our son’s growth and well being flourishes. I know I have something to do with all of this too, but that doesn’t mean I am not awestruck daily, when it comes to watching my wife.
Mother’s Day could not be a more suitable holiday than to also celebrate the most beautiful song ever written. Neutral Milk Hotel’s “Holland, 1945″ crushed me the very second following Jeff Mangum’s countdown to fuzzed out bliss and lyrical imagery unrivaled in all of popular music. Well, okay, Dylan’s here too - “Spanish Harlem Incident” anyone?
Even before I picked up Kim Cooper’s 33 1/3 Book on Neutral Milk’s In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, the words alluding to Anne Frank’s sad end were evident. Cooper’s book proclaims the entire album as a concept centered on Frank. Strangely, the book cites Mangum as not being much of a reader, but when encountering The Diary of Anne Frank was intensely moved by her writing, and thus we have his band’s album revealing the power this literature held over him. In turn, “Holland, 1945″ uses its language so effectively, that despite the darkness and bleakness it observes human kind perpetuating, it also beholds all the mundane moments adding up to a life and worthy of our cherishing. I know beyond a doubt that I can hear this song one million times, and the one million and first time it comes to my ears, I’ll still be wiping the tears obscuring my vision. How brilliant and sweet that someone could give this song to the world.
Neutral Milk Hotel - Holland, 1945
Love Will Get You Like a Case of Anthrax
Unbelievable! Those were my thoughts times ten thousand the first time I found Gang of Four’s Entertainment!. Being that I had been exposed to the band first via Hard their ‘dance’ album from the eighties, I had never truly experienced what made the Gang of Four devastatingly effective when combining jagged, razor sharp guitar lines with pummeling rhythms. And I am not so sure how I found this album exactly, but I am certain I heard the track “Anthrax” somewhere else first. I want to say it was Urgh: A Music War but taking the time to compare internet facts and confirmation is not finding its appeal. “Anthrax” for some reason feels the way Kafka’s “Metamorphosis” reads - suffocating, claustrophobic, and going down, down, down the bad rabbit’s dark hole. The song begins with a mess of noise and a clarion call to arms by way of Andy Gill’s two note repeated guitar line forced aside by Hugo Burnham’s battering kit and Dave Allen’s sinisterly primitive bass line crawling out of the Prehistoric Tar Pits. All of this is fine, and Jon King’s deadpan chant atop the calamity and chaos reigns supreme - but it’s the guitar feedback that fries and splits this one like rotting meat singing to the sun. Sophia Coppola can have the anthemic “Natural’s Not In It”, and the capitalist complaint of “I Found That Essence Rare” never gets old, but it’s “Anthrax” that took Gang of Four’s Entertainment! to the dark scary places punk rock has always promised to explore.