Tag: #jesuslizard

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The Springtime Seven: Surprise Returns and Solid Singles

It’s a lovely spring day here in my beloved city by the lake (the linden trees finally bloomed so the neighborhood is redolent with the sweet scent of their blossoms) so figured it was a good time for a post from the porch. Today’s batch of boomers are a motley mix, blending hip hop, legendary punks, and pleasant pop, so should serve something to everyone before we’re done.

We’ll start with the oldest on the list — in terms of how long it’s been sitting open on my iPad, not the longevity (or absence) of its creator (both of those distinctions are held by another outfit, as we shall soon see — though both call the same town home…)  This one’s from Detroit’s Danny Brown and his sixth album Quaranta, which came out late last year (his second of the year, alongside his collaboration with JPEGMafia). It’s unfortunately another hit or miss affair, continuing the trend of his last few albums — gone are the deliriously energetic and unhinged cuts of his early outings, replaced by a spacier, more subdued tone. This seems likely a reflection of recent life events (Brown recorded it after spending time in rehab to get his drug and alcohol abuse under control), but there are still moments of that frenetic, insane cadence of old. This one’s a good example, finding Brown partnering up with label/posse mate Bruiser Wolf (of Brown’s Bruiser Brigade) — check out “YBP” here:


We’ll stay in the cut and grab another entry from the support group (heep…heep hop…heep hop anonymous…), this time from another pair of old salts, legendary producer Pete Rock and hometown spitter Common. The two have worked together on tracks here and there before, but recorded an entire album recently and despite not having an official release date it’s already presaging a possible sequel.  For starters it’s titled The Auditorium Vol. 1, but Common has also said it’s his third best album behind 2000’s Like Water for Chocolate and 2005’s Be, so the bar has been set. Judging by the first single, we’re off to a good start to those claims proving true — it’s got a classic Pete Rock beat (sampling MC Shan’s “The Bridge”) and some amped up verses from Common who sounds sharper than ever here. Really curious to see what else they dish out — enjoy “Wise Up” while we wait for the album:

We’ll close the hippity hop section with a somewhat surprising entry, both in terms of content and purveyor. The song itself is about the Palestinian crisis and the pounding its civilian population is taking at the hands of the Israeli military in its hunt for Hamas. (Death toll currently around 35k and counting…) That any song takes on as sensitive a subject as this — let alone anyone in modern hip hop, which almost exclusively doles out meaningless materialistic nonsense these days (outside acts like Run the Jewels, for example) — is something. That the person doing so is Seattle’s Macklemore, known  primarily for his overly earnest (and occasionally ham-handed) lyrics, is another.  That he does such a good job here, keeping his anger mostly in check and focused on the real issues (people’s reaction to the protests and not why they’re there, the weak (or absent) condemnations from US politicians and artists, etc) is even more impressive. It’s worth a listen — solid beat, sharp lyrics (“What you willin’ to risk? What you willin’ to give?”), and a topic that should be talked about more. Check it out here:

We’ll shift to less sensitive subjects and another somewhat surprising return, this time from Portishead frontwoman Beth Gibbons and her long-awaited solo debut, Lives Outgrown.  It’s somehow been over 15 years since her last turn with that iconic outfit (their last, 2008’s aptly named Third, appropriately landed in said spot on my year end list) and it’s been well over 20 since she recorded any original material without them. (2002’s partnership with Rustin Man, Out of Season.) Unfortunately I can’t say it’s been worth the wait — while Gibbons’ voice remains an ethereal, otherworldly vessel for vulnerability, there’s something missing here that largely squanders that tremendous gift. Portishead always juxtaposed that voice against somewhat foreboding, moody backdrops, ones whose mystery and danger heightened the peril and fragility of Gibbons’ delivery. The terrain here  is much safer and more sanitized, which strips that much needed tension from the proceedings. There are a couple anomalies — the sinister smoldering on the opening “Tell Me Who You Are Today” or the Indian-inspired freakouts on “Rewind” — and the killer “Floating on a Moment” could have been the capstone on an excellent album if there were a few more like it. Enjoy it in all its brilliance here:

We’ll step into the light now and bask in some much needed sunlight with a track from Oklahoma’s Wilderado who recently released another track off their upcoming sophomore outing. The album, Talker, isn’t due out until September, but the band have already released a third of its tracks, including this lovely little gem. Judging by the four we’ve heard thus far it doesn’t sound like they’re making any drastic changes (thankfully — their self-titled debut landed at #7 on my year end list in 2022 and has some irresistible ear worms on it), so hopefully we’ve got 8 more winners to look forward to in a few months. In the meantime enjoy this little slice of heaven, “Sometimes:”


We’ll close with a punky pair of surprising returns, the first from the aforementioned owners of both the longest absence and the longest tenure on the list, both of which clock in at over FIFTY YEARS(?!?) The resurrected ghosts are the legendary Motor City Five — better known as MC5, who are set to enter the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in a few months. It will be a bittersweet induction as their sole remaining members — frontman Wayne Kramer and drummer Dennis “Machine Gun” Thompson — passed away earlier this year.  Rubbing salt into the wound is the fact that not only will they miss that accolade, but also the release of their new album — just the third in the band’s five decade career and their first since 1971’s High Time — which Kramer in particular has been teasing (and ostensibly toiling on) for years. They just dropped the first single from it and it’s pretty good — definitely not the “phone it in” flimsiness you might expect from a “vintage” rock band this late into their career.  There’s the swinging swagger, the fiery guitar, even some of Thompson’s trademark snare blasts — let’s hope the rest is as good as this. Give it a glimpse here:


Last but definitely not least is the return of the beloved Lizard — the Jesus Lizard! — back with their own surprise announcement of an upcoming new album, Rack.  The Lizard haven’t released anything in two and a half decades — 1998’s Blue was their last — and while there have been a handful of reunion tours since then, the band had been pretty consistent about the low likelihood of there ever being new music. Front/wildman David Yow had thrown himself into his side projects, be they his acting, art, guest vocals for a number of bands, or his solo album. Guitarist Duane Denison kept busy as part of Tomahawk, who last released an album (their fifth) right before the pandemic shut the world down in 2021. Meanwhile drummer Mac McNeilly and bassist David William Sims seem to have been content to slip into civilian life, bowing out of the spotlight by and large. I’m not sure what changed, but maaaaaaaan am I glad it did — and more importantly that as with the previous band what they’re coming back with doesn’t sound like some watered down memory of their ferocious former selves. The lead single straddles the line between echo and advancement, giving just enough sonic reminders of their old stuff while sprinkling in some fun new tricks to keep it from being a boring retread. Denison’s guitar work is vintage, as are Sims’ chugging bass line, McNeilly’s gunshot crisp drums, and Yow’s deranged yowls, and the stop-start bits at the end give it a nice, menacing lurch (or drunken wobble, depending on your mood). They announced a tour to accompany the album (though somehow are NOT playing any hometown gigs?!?), so am looking forward to seeing both in the near future. The album’s due out in September, but in the meantime crank this bad boy up and get ready to thrash:


That’s all for now — until next time, amici…
–BS

 

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Words and Guitar: the Lizard, Loft, and Levon

Since the wind is howling outside like a frigid tornado and it’s therefore too damn cold to do anything else, thought I’d pop in with a couple recommendations that’ve kept me company by the fire, three auto-biographies for folks familiar to the eight of you that you might find worth a spin.

First comes the coffeetable sized book about the beloved Lizard (aptly named Book) — because if anything says “I’m warm and inviting — place me out in the open so children and random visitors can rifle through me,” it’s these guys, one of the loudest, heaviest, and flat out ferocious bands around. Comic irony about the book’s format aside, it’s a great read — aside from quick backgrounds on each of the members, told first in the individual’s words and then added to by the remaining three members, it walks through each of the band’s albums, from the drum machine origins of Pure to the disappointing departure of Blue.  Bassist David Sims leads most of those discussions, giving interesting background on the recording process writ large, as well as recollections (and recommendations) for specific songs on each album.   There’s validation in hearing that your favorite albums/songs are some of his/theirs as well (Goat, Liar, and Shot rank highest, and Down is acknowledged as one of the weakest), but it’s also fun to go back to albums/songs you’ve written off and try them again because they’re his/their favorites. (“Trephination” and “Too Bad About the Fire,” for example, or virtually all of Blue, which they still like/rank higher than Down.)

There’s also a ton of great photos of the band, both at gigs and behind the scenes (the blood-splattered guitar of Duane Denison with no explanation raises a tantalizing array of questions), and loads of stories/additional context from non-band members, such as producers, writers, and fans. The ode to the first second of “Boilermaker” is one of my favorites — both because it’s spot on and because not many bands elicit this level of adulation. (I’m afraid to look, but highly doubt there are blog posts or articles about the intricacies of 21 Pilots songs.) Here’s a taste:

“The opening second of Liar is hands down the greatest opening second of any album ever recorded…Part of its charm is how hilariously self-defeating it is to put the climax of your album within its first second…if Liar were a splatter flick, it would start with the woodchipper scene.  It’s getting cold-cocked without even seeing the face of your attacker.  No matter what volume your stereo is at, it’s too loud…it’s like walking in mid bark…it’s opening the door to find the Jesus Lizard rehearsing (or worse) in your living room…[it’s] an abrupt jolt coming in midsentence, seeming to send the message, “Uh, the party’s already started, where the fuck have you been?'”

Next comes the tale of Tweedy, as remembered by Jeff himself, Let’s Go (So We Can Get Back). Apparently Santa is one of the eight readers here, as she heard my wish and delivered this to me just after the holiday, and I’m glad he did because it’s a fast, enjoyable read.  Despite what you’d guess based on the tone of most of Tweedy’s music, he’s got a really good sense of humor (saying a signature on one of the pictures in The Loft had been “eradicated by the power of sad mid-tempo rock,” for example) and he’s often self-deprecating, which helps keep the mood light, even when he’s talking about pretty serious stuff — whether it’s the well-publicized breaks from the Jays — Jay Farrar from Uncle Tupelo and Jay Bennett from Wilco — or his equally well-publicized addiction to painkillers.  Tweedy seems intent on not glossing over things to make himself look good, owning up to elements that helped lead to those breaks and providing details that really drive home that first point (such as admitting he would steal painkillers from his dying mother-in-law when he was in the grips of his addiction).

It makes for a resonant, sympathetic read — from his childhood in Belleville, Illinois, a tiny town outside St Louis with “the longest Main Street in America,” where his dad worked for the train company (the town’s main employer) and his mom would put up posters for his early gigs (while also adorably taking money at the door) to the formative days of Uncle Tupelo, trading music with Farrar and his family, and the birth of Wilco in the wake of the former’s demise. Tweedy unsurprisingly knows how to tell a tale, and he walks us through a lot in the book’s ~300 pages — aside from the aforementioned episodes, he also details a lifelong insecurity and anxiety surrounding his music that seems surprising for someone of his undeniable skill.  (It also leads him to admit to something I’ve long suspected, his “trying…to find ways to undermine songs,” which seems like a form of self-defense now that you know where it’s coming from.) Both for what he’s gone through and how he chooses to portray it, Tweedy really endears himself to the reader and makes you connect to the music in new ways, now that you’re armed with additional context and detail.  Reiterates the suspicion that he’s a guy you’d like to hang out with for a couple hours — or at least I sure would… (if for no other reason because he knows about ridiculous things like this video, which he mentions in the intro as something guaranteed to make him smile, and it certainly worked for me. Be sure to stick around for the “solo” a little over a minute in…)

Last up comes the story of The Band as told by its drummer, the famed wild man Levon Helm, in This Wheel’s on Fire. It’s an equally vivid read, as one would expect with a narrator like Helm, taking you from the cotton farms of his youth in Arkansas to his formative years on the road with Ronnie Hawkins, which ultimately became the farm team for the future hall of famers. Both segments of his life feel like relics of a long-ago past — the sharecropping, segregation-era South and the birth of rock and roll — but Helm’s natural storytelling ability makes both crackle with detail.  Whether working the fields in the blistering heat, living in houses with no electricity or plumbing, or working the chitlins circuit, driving thousands of miles and playing hundreds of gigs, often for little or no pay, you can picture everything whether you believe it actually happened or not.  Which is not to imply Helm is embellishing, just that these eras seem so distant despite only being 60 or 70 years in the rearview mirror. (Another such example being his seeing Elvis play a show early on with no drummer because there was a law you couldn’t have one in a place that served liquor!)

Helm’s stories about life on the road during the birth of rock and roll are particularly incredible — playing four to five gigs a day, six to seven days a week, with a lead singer (Ronnie “The Hawk” Hawkins) doing backflips onstage and a piano player hitting the keys so hard the hammers would pop out like popcorn. Driving all over the South, playing torrid sets and getting in bar fights (and at least once blowing a place up for not paying them), before driving all the way to Canada to repeat the process. It sounded like barely contained bedlam — but man it also sounded like fun…

Through it all Helm’s country phrasings liven the proceedings, with lines like “so cheap he could squeeze a nickel hard enough to make the buffalo shit” or “stunned like a hog staring at a wristwatch” (or even calling harmonicas “harps”) giving everything a warmth and geniality as if you were sitting around the campfire listening to him tell stories.  Even when he gets to the Band era, which gets a lot more complicated and dark despite the fame and success, the stories are still engaging and give you insight into another key period in our history, the Vietnam/Woodstock era of the late 60s/early 70s.

Similar to Tweedy and Sims, Helm is refreshingly honest, talking candidly about the band’s output (essentially the Big Pink and its self-titled successor are the only two albums he rates highly) as well as its ultimate demise (he spares no sharpness for Robbie Robertson and his decision to pull the plug, in addition to causing their decline in the first place by taking almost all the songwriting credits).  It was surprising to hear how much he hated The Last Waltz, which I still think is pretty great, but based on the circumstances at the time (as well as what it sounds like got left out of the final product) makes sense in his telling.  It’s an entertaining read, whether you’re a devotee of the band’s music or not.

That’s it for now — hope you enjoy these.  I’ll see you once the ice hurricane lets up…

–BS

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Embrace the Whirlwind: Random Offerings from the Windy Shores

It’s been a wild couple of weeks — I successfully survived a weekend in New Jersey (although DID nearly die in a creek in the woods) and another in South Carolina (my kidnappers missed the hurricane by a week or so — NICE try, suckers), spending the remaining time stuck at the office dealing with one crisis after another. Thankfully there were a few musical items of note caught in the nanoseconds available between sleep and work, so in the spirit of the typhoons and hurricanes pummeling various parts of the planet right now, here’s a swirl of songs to sample this Sunday.

First up comes from eighties icons Echo and the Bunnymen who are releasing an album reinterpreting their biggest hits in a couple weeks. It’s an interesting concept — it’s something bands like this naturally do when you see them live. If you’ve got to play the same songs for decades, you inevitably are going to change elements up as you go along so you don’t go insane — but it’s rare to put those changes down officially. It’s the difference between a rub-on tattoo and a sleeve — one’s nice to try on for a while, sorta spice up the day a little, but the other’s a much more lasting commitment. Always the outsiders, the lads are opting for the ink and permanently putting down the products of their playtime, along with a couple new tunes to boot. I’ve heard a couple of the re-envisioned tunes so far and they’re not bad, but odds are I’ll stay with the originals after this much time (no offense, guys). The first original song I’ve heard is pretty good, conjuring the same sweeping feel the band is known for — check out “The Somnambulist” here:

Next comes a lovely cover of Richard Swift’s “Most of What I Know” by Death Cab’s Ben Gibbard. As the faithful eight of you know, Swift recently passed away unexpectedly and a slew of musicians have paid tribute to him in the intervening weeks, including Hamilton Leithauser, Dan Auerbach, and the War on Drugs. Add Gibbard to the list, who took time from promoting his band’s latest album (the pleasant, yet underwhelming Thank You for Today) to perform his tribute, a poignant pick as the refrain of “your love will keep my heart alive” seems apropos. Give it a listen here (and check out Swift’s The Atlantic Ocean for another lovely Sunday spin):

Last up from the softer side of the aisle comes the first single from Radiohead frontman Thom Yorke’s score for the upcoming horror film Suspiria, a remake of the 70s cult classic of the same name. It might seem an odd choice at first — both the movie and who’s soundtracking it — but when you remember Hollywood has no new ideas and just re-purposes every good (and mediocre) idea from previous generations, and that Yorke almost willfully picks projects seemingly intent on alienating his legions of followers (of which I am one), then it makes perfect sense. So I considered it a victory when I heard this first offering and it wasn’t six minutes of robots bleeping and blooping or chainsaws distorted alongside drum machine sounds — there actually were words and a pretty melody. It’s a minor miracle! We’ll see how the rest of the songs sound, but this one’s a winner — just Yorke’s lovely voice atop a delicate piano. Check out “Suspirium” here:

Now it’s time for a walk on the wild side, first with the skatepunks of FIDLAR, who despite being known for hilarious, catchy songs about drugs, drinking, and partying (as written about here before), are back with a pointed swipe at our current situation. Taking a swing at the government, politicians on the left and right, and our obsession with our phones and technology, it’s a surprisingly mature song from the California kids. (Their biggest hit — the fantastic “Cocaine” — sported Ron Swanson running around w/ a boner peeing on things, after all.) It’s a promising step forward, and has a pretty sweet little riff riding along throughout, too, which makes this a double win. See what you think (and watch the Swanson video from my old post for another flavor) here:

Speaking of Kanye (whether you followed that link or not, someone’s ALWAYS talkin’ ’bout ‘Ye so is not a non sequitur), he popped up again this week, thankfully for his music and not for some fool fucking thing he said about Chump (again). This time it’s for a song/video that debuted during the Pornhub awards (which, apparently is a thing? What are the categories — “most convincing groan” and “most creative use of an orifice?”) and it keeps with Kanye’s trend of late of dropping tracks that seem like throwaway thoughts in need of a little polish. As seen on his recent spate of five EPs (NOT albums) in five weeks, sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t, and appropriately this song falls in both camps. The meat of the song, the line “you’re such a fucking ho — I love it” is both stupid and tin-eared in the #metoo era (or just generally if you’re not into the whole “demeaning women” thing), and Lil Pump’s opening verse is similarly weak (though apparently he’s got quite the SoundCloud following, so what do I know). But then Kanye comes in, and despite not dropping any signature lines (four of his first ones are identical), something about his verse gets stuck in your head. (WOOP!) And the video, which looks like an homage to the Talking Heads and Minecraft, is visually interesting, too. So while only two minutes long, built around an idiotic/misogynistic line, and debuting at a porn gala — somehow I can’t get it out of my head. See what it does for you here:

We’ll close with the kings, hometown juggernaut punks The Jesus Lizard, who I miraculously got to catch again last week, which would have been memorable enough after ten years not touring, but the fact that I got to see them in my favorite venue in town, the Cat, made it even better. That the band played nearly thirty songs and sounded incredible, starting with frontman David Yow leaping into the crowd from the opening song and closing with a double encore, made it hands down the best thing I’ve seen this year (and rivals the first time I saw em ten years ago). These guys aren’t for everyone — wifey hates them and I understand why they’re not everyone’s cup of tea — they are loud, heavy, and often involve Yow screaming unintelligibly at the top of his lungs, but they are a force of nature and one of my absolute favorites.

They’re a perfect representation of the principle of the gestalt, a band where every member brings something so singular to the table that when you combine them as one, it’s absolutely devastating. Few bands can say that — another that immediately springs to mind is Sleater-Kinney (who wifey also hates) — but when it happens it’s undeniable. For the Lizard, it’s a potent mixture of Yow’s primal screams (and insane energy live), Duane Denison’s buzzsaw guitars, David Sims’ thundering bass, and Mac McNeilly’s Animalesque smashing of the cans that almost literally bowls you over. There’s nothing like these guys — most punk bands can nail the noise or energy to get you whipped into a frenzy, but do so at the expense of actual melody — something you can grab onto and get stuck in your head, bringing you back for more. It’s the difference between a sportfuck and a relationship — one’s good for three to five minutes of sweaty chaos (or hours, if you’re young/Sting), the other keeps you satisfied for years.

That’s how it is with these guys — they’re sledgehammer heavy, don’t worry about that — but the stuff Denison and Sims (or both) throw out there actually has melody. Whether it’s the guitar riff from “Boilermaker” or the bass line from “Blue Shot.” Or from “Glamorous” and “Monkey Trick.” Or umpteen others. It sounds like music — you can hum it, it’s catchy, you could play a snippet and the Jeopardy! answer would be “What is a song, Alex?” instead of the pointless screaming and shredding of so many other punk/metal bands. These guys are actual musicians — that they’re also loud/heavy AF makes it even better. So while I understand why some of you won’t like em, they have a special place in my heart — ever since I discovered em ten-odd years ago at fan’s night back home, where the audience picked the setlist and I was duly blown away (coincidentally ALSO the night I discovered similarly beloved Built to Spill, so despite being well on my way to a busted engagement at that point and spending the trip there/back in total silence is still a night I look back on as one of the best), these guys always amaze.

Looking up and down the setlist I can’t get over how many good songs they’ve got (and honestly can’t think of m/any they missed), but if I had to pick one to start you out, I think it’s best to go with what they used the other night — with a punch in the “Puss” from the get go. If you don’t like this, you probably won’t like anything else, but if you survive the first salvo you’ve got a bunch more winners to work through. Give it a try and see if it sends you into the crowd like Yow — I’ll GET. YOU. SOMETHING TO STOP. THE BLEEEEEEEEEEEDIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!: