NIRVANA – FROM THE MUDDY BANKS OF THE WISHKAH (GEFFEN)

NIRVANA – FROM THE MUDDY BANKS OF THE WISHKAH (GEFFEN)
With a landscape of already so many live bootleg CDs the sad event of Kurt Cobain committing suicide suddenly sent fans into frenzy foraging for more product than ever. With both a live video and MTV Unplugged album released, eventually at the end of summer 1996 this seventeen track live compilation was culled together by the remaining members of the band with a fresh set of footnotes from Krist Novoselic.
It begins with an intro of the band soundchecking. Even their soundchecks were fucking awesome it would seem. Truly this is a funny state of affairs but also in many ways it does reflect them band’s appeal at its most visceral.
From here the album tears into a swirling version of “School” that does not disappointment as it wonderfully hangs in the air prior to crashing through in joyfully incendiary manner. The track is culled from a November 1991 performance recorded at the Paradiso in Amsterdam which supplies four of the tracks present on this album. This set was actually released in its apparent entirety on a bootleg entitled On Stage In Europe.
The running order of the compilation actually proves pretty close to the setlist sequence of the band at the height of hype and mania. Early run outs of “Drain You” and “Aneurysm” run pretty much in the position they would have on any given night proving powerful and zippy introductions to the band and their wares. Both always proved particularly powerful in a live setting when compared to their studio equivalent. These songs always packed ten times the punch of anyone around them.
Obviously “Smells Like Teen Spirit” is present and during its opening the audience can be heard screaming. Its not quite the “In Bloom” video but it is screaming all the same, something record labels would have to pay millions to create with the only difference being that this is genuine and honest, true and fair that later again returns during a quiet moment on the second verse. This was a song that the band would come to eventually despise and subsequently ruin live on purpose but the performance here is the band firing on all cylinders and delivering a devastating blow.
Elsewhere the record delivers “Lithium”, “Heart-Shaped Box” and “Sliver” as a supply of career covering inclusion of singles. Indeed “Heart-Shaped Box” proves another track that inducing screams from the crowd.
Then Kurt drawls his way through “Spank Thru” before succumbing to the reality that it takes more than his messing around to ruin such a decent tune.
Unsurprisingly it is the version of “Scentless Apprentice” that provides the hardest hitting moment as the power chords benefited from the extra live guitar via Pat Smear as the Zeppelin “Immigrant Song” like drums pound the track into another dimension. This version is the one from the MTV New Years Eve broadcast in 1993 recorded in Seattle which remains one of the greatest video recordings of the band. Then two tracks later “Milk It” dishes out a similar set of dynamics as Kurt sports more silly vocals on the verses before christening the chorus.
The version of “Negative Creep” present here is towering artefact that displays how the new band dealt with and often improved the older material as they came into their own with lashings of reluctant fame and popularity.
Not quite the “(New Wave) Polly” as featured on Incesticide, the live version of “Polly” present here is a chugging and natural continuation of the track dragging it into the fully amplified live setting. With the additional noise comes increased volume in Kurt’s vocals as the song retains meaning now geared with more anger.
Storming to the finish a relentless take on “Breed” tears through prior to their famous debut of “Tourettes” at Reading 92 where jokingly they introduced the song as “The Eagle Has Landed”. Just like “Freebird” only without the flab and rednecks.
The record closes in much the same manner as many sets of the period with “Blew” as a voice rings “thank you for your patience” and the song serves as something of a farewell wave to the crowd as the guitars whistle in a panicked fashion as their eventual demise would appear nigh. For some reason the song just sounds like the closing theme tune now with hindsight. And with that, it is over.
An additional bonus is to be found on the fourth side of the double vinyl LP version of this record where various gig outtakes and stage banter play out that serve to make the band sound catty as they dealt with the various elements of a baying and occasionally hostile crowd/audience. Not a moment that has garnered major fanfare for the band but definitely worth a listen.
I fucked up and never saw Nirvana live. We were going to go to the Brixton Academy shows in early 1994 with Sebadoh and The Raincoats supporting but for obvious reasons they didn’t go ahead and forever I had missed out. I once saw Nearvana and despite being bricklayers by profession their set was great. These are songs that are almost impossible to wreck or ruin.
Not many of my CDs have cracks in their cases from overuse but this is one such example.
Thesaurus moment: sturdy.
Nirvana

Geffen

ELITE BARBARIAN – IT’S ONLY WHEN YOU GET TO THE END THAT IT ALL MAKES SENSES (FRONT AND FOLLOW)

ELITE BARBARIAN – IT’S ONLY WHEN YOU GET TO THE END THAT IT ALL MAKES SENSES (FRONT AND FOLLOW)

One of the strongest electronic beep records you will ever hear, the new record from Elite Barbarian achieves a certain kind of ambience ordinarily/usually harboured by the most strung out and sensitive of electronic acts without using such barbed sonics.

Tickling like the insides of a ZX Spectrum and playing out like the soundtrack of several Atari 2600 games; over the course of 58 minutes the album takes the listener on a journey of unexplored confines electronic beats/beeps often coupled with crazed sick piano licks.

The author of the album is Ben Page who as a member of both Rothko and Rocket No.9 is a seasoned and accomplished composer of modern ambient extracts often emerging from improvisation and instinctive desires and trajectories.

The real strength of this record is the manner in which it achieves being both relentless and relaxed at the same time, tempered and tenacious in its brute meditation. As the atmospherics grow so does the intensity as sonic layers reminiscent of raindrops, pulses and bubbling machinery scour your consciousness almost feeling transient as it interrupts the flow of your immediate activities.

Listened to as a whole the album merges into one great body of work not strictly to be swallowed whole but to accompany any mindset or duty that requires a holding hand to assist concentration and clarity.

By the time it reaches the 16 minute climax “Let’s Go Back To Morse Code” you sense you are coming to the end of being subjected to some kind of subliminal intake and that it is actually quite possible that the beeps could well be pieced together Joe Bonham style to forge together some kind of alien message. You’re unlikely to hear this record at parties, only funerals.

Thesaurus moment: static.

Elite Barbarian
Front And Follow

BLACK FLAG – JEALOUS AGAIN EP (SST RECORDS)

BLACK FLAG – JEALOUS AGAIN EP (SST RECORDS)

Females are difficult people.  You cannot predict them, it seems impossible to please them and it takes a really schooled mind to persuade them.  And this is the cold truth being addressed with “Jealous Again”.

The second Black Flag EP (third SST Records release) is another four blast of energy and fury.  It pretty much picks up where Nervous Breakdown left off with the main change now being Ron Reyes handling vocals instead of Keith Morris, not that their styles are million miles off from the other.

“What can I do without being yelled at?”

“Jealous Again” accelerates with an immediate visceral lurch.  The conversation occurring is the accused turning into the accuser.  It’s a common narrative, the kind of argument that takes place weekly, occasionally daily, within certain pair dynamics.  Here is the sound of stifled freedom coupled with jealous wife syndrome in full execution.  By the time Ginn is soloing two thirds of the way in it all feels headed towards some kind of resignation that this is just how it is going to be.

“It’s not my imagination, I’ve got a gun in my back.”

Up next is the barely minute long “Revenge” exhibiting hard reality crossed with wish fulfilment in dealing with the authorities standing in the band’s way and busting up their shows.  Gangsta rap was seldom so concise, precise and brutal in dealing with the cops.

“You’re an American.”

“White Minority” is quite the song.  I guess from one stance/perspective it could be taken as their version of “White Man In Hammersmith” but equally in a very brutal and dangerous way it sounds just about as right wing as a song could get.  Of course its not what it appears to be on the surface.  A band such as this could only ever be in a position to apply pressure upwards.

“I don’t care what you think.”

Increasing the aggression the heavily dismissive “No Values” offers the listener pure nihilistic representation, giving a set of lines and set of rules to spit in the face of their supposed oppressors.

“We know you stole our song.”

The extended play ends with “You Bet We’ve Got Something Against You!”  This is a harsh instruction, a threat condensed into fifty two seconds.  It is slow, plodding and pounding.  In short it sounds like being punched in the head.  Fortunately it is the band and the listener that is doing the swinging.  With vocals now delivered by Chuck Dukowski there seems an extra rub attached to the ceiling.

This is the sound of being nagged at by those near and far.  Relations and society will always have opinions to throw at you.  Don’t take them on board.

Thesaurus moment: nark.

Black Flag

SST Records

BABES IN TOYLAND – PAINKILLERS (SOUTHERN RECORDS)

BABES IN TOYLAND – PAINKILLERS (SOUTHERN RECORDS)

I bought this mid price album one day with the last few coins in my pocket.  It was a used copy from Time Records in Colchester and thus I was able to afford it.  And as a result I had to forgive and forget the creased booklet.

When I discovered real music I must concede much of my education came from MTV, which back in the early 90s actually played videos that actually featured real people playing real instruments and making real music.  The flagship show was always 120 Minutes and for a young newbie it representing a world that was terrifying.  The acts were scary and so were the people that liked it.  At the time grunge was breaking and thus this music was somewhat more salient to the audience than any other era past or present.  And during the daily advertisement for the weekly edition of 120 Minutes Babes In Toyland would feature singing “He’s My Thing” being somewhat representative of Riot Grrrl and revolution.  I heard that clip of the song for what felt a million times.  I was hooked.

“He’s My Thing” is the lead track on this mini album cum live album.  Following hot on the heels of the successful Fontanelle it is five studio tracks followed by an eleven song live set recorded at CBGBs in New York in April 1992 entitled Fontanellette which I suspect may have been from where the live footage of the “Bruise Violet” video was taken from.  And “He’s My Thing” is quite the relation to “Bruise Violet”, very similar in execution and a proper punk onslaught from the band.

All in all this is a release that doesn’t make much sense coming so close to the release of Fontanelle.  Was it belief that the band was so hot at that moment there was a decent buck to be made?  Was the material considered THAT good it would be wrong not to release it?  Or was it some kind of get out of contract act/obligation?

Moving on with the studio efforts “Laredo” contains a literary reference in the form of a nod to Tra La La from Last Exit To Brooklyn while “Istigkeit” serves as something of a trademark angry Bjelland lullaby that inevitably speeds towards oblivion.  And with that “Ragweed” featuring Lori on vocals is lumbering involving some kind of avant garde break for declaration while “Angel Hair” offers escape in a trademark Babes In Toyland vehicle which sits comfortable with everything else they do.  This is their sound.

And on the subject of sound the live recording is very good, very solid.  CBGBs always had a good recording system in place and I know other bands that recorded live albums there.

Kicking off with “Bruise Violet” (obviously) here is a band that sounds like their record suggesting that either Fontanelle managed to capture this live sound or that they were a dull live act.  I prefer to think the former.

From here Bjelland screams and gurns her way through proceedings as Lori thumps away as both elements perhaps serve to dilute the might of the guitar offering something of a subtly more whimsical take on proceedings.

By the time the band is playing “Magick Flute” they have royally warmed up and as the echoed trauma of “Real Eyes” fills the venue it offers an uneasy sensation.  Then in the aftermath Lori adds a disturbing drunk mantra which I still remember clearly from the night I saw them in Colchester.

Soon they are lashing out with “Spun” before it all ends with an uncompromising pairing of “Mother” and “Handsome & Gretel”, two songs that truly define the band.

It’s a nice place to visit but I wouldn’t want to live here.

Thesaurus moment: dessert.

Babes In Toyland

Southern Records

VARIOUS – MUSIC FROM THE MOTION PICTURE PULP FICTION (MCA)

VARIOUS – MUSIC FROM THE MOTION PICTURE PULP FICTION (MCA)

After the raging success of Reservoir Dogs, Quentin Tarantino was the coolest being on earth.  His first movie was so explicit and challenging that you couldn’t even see it on video so for my generation you either had to lie about your age and sneak into the cinema or get somebody to obtain a pirate video for you (at the time there were some pretty decent copies being copied off laserdisc).  And with all the hype still hanging into the air, prolonged by the floodgates of US independent movie being smashed open, suddenly his second movie was about to drop.  Then a barely completed version of the film won big in Cannes and suddenly it was huge all over.

As with his first movie, music was key to Tarantino’s second film.  Dramatic moments were punctuated by the songs surrounding it.  And once more it wasn’t a traditional film score, it was pop songs from a different era coupled with obscure and amazing gems.  In selection you sensed these choices were often as important to a scene as the lines.  For such effort Tarantino truly earned/deserved his executive album producer credit.

In an interview attached to a special edition of the soundtrack he states that the music for a script/film is one of his earliest considerations when sitting down and beginning the creative process.  He states that the music “triggers me into the personality of the piece” giving it a rhythm.  It is also during this interview that he reveals that he originally wanted to use “My Sharona” by The Knack for the sodomy scene.

There is something of a surf rock vibe attached to the happenings on screen.  The sweeping cool of a laidback guitar being restrained perfectly fits into climate.  Serving up such sounds were unsung classic acts such as The Tornadoes, The Centurions, The Revels, The Lively Ones and Dick Dale.

When the record dropped the world suddenly discovered the dizzying screaming charge of “Misirlou” by Dick Dale.  As the song kicked off the movie, kicks off this album, for a short while it represented the most exciting and driven thing in music.  Without warning the track was appearing everywhere: on television advertisements, backing montages and storming from stereos that general would never touch music such as this.  And Dick Dale was good value for it.  As reward for his efforts his career receive a huge shot in the arm with the most hedonistic example being his appearance on Later With Jools Holland being surrounded by a crescent of monitors and amps.  Around that time he also made a great appearance on the old night time Mark and Lard show on Radio One where he pretty much claimed to have invented all rock music ever and taught Jimi Hendrix everything he knew.  This man alone could have had his own movie.

More in tune with Tarantino’s previous soundtrack Kool And The Gang soon arrive with “Jungle Boogie” which is a painfully fun track that accompanies a painful period.  With that things remain smooth as “Let’s Stay Together” by Al Green enters the fray as it becomes evident that this time round he was playing with a bigger budget when it came to the music.  There’s not much more you can add in description of these two songs, they were already perfect without the hip context.

Another enormous track arrives in the form of “Son Of A Preacher Man” by Dusty Springfield.  Even in such seedy zones as the underworld loving tracks like this still come through.

The use and juxtaposition of “You Can Never Tell” by Chuck Berry is genius.  If you listen to the words accompanied with what is occurring onscreen, it is just strange.  The song itself is gorgeous, a wonderful/wondrous description of a wedding coming with the blessing of the elders at a time when such play is inappropriate.

And on that note another big scene occurs with the Urge Overkill cover of Neil Diamond’s “Girl, You’ll Be A Woman Soon” playing a bit part in scoring the moment.  In the era of alternative rock this was as close as Tarantino got to grunge rocking out to a lush take on a favourite song.

One of the most startling tracks on the album is the Maria McKee “If Love Is A Dress (Hang Me In Rags)”.  After hit the upper ends of the charts with her commercial abortion “Show Me Heaven” from Days Of Thunder (ironic coming from a Tom Cruise movie considering Tarantino’s interpretation of Top Gun in Sleep With Me).  This track however is quite a different kettle of fish, it’s a song that seeps with sadness.

As with the Reservoir Dogs soundtrack things go goofy towards the end and the hillbilly singalong of “Flowers On The Wall” by The Statler Brothers which sounds like a song straight from Hazzard County or Smokey And The Bandit with the picking banjo sound.  As Butch takes strength from the song using it to score an attempt to maim things suddenly become slightly more serious when you discover the act was the backing vocal group for Johnny Cash.

Littered throughout the album is an abundance of dialogue tracks from the movie.  These were some of the most popular tracks on the Reservoir Dogs record and the inclusion of these moments were now what set soundtrack albums aside from other compilations.  These soundbites serve as incentive.  It was always very cool to have Samuel L. Jackson screaming verse from your stereo.  It was the hipster equivalent of finding God.  And a most explosive manner to close the album on.

As with the movie this album was just cool, much larger than the sum of its parts.  What a time to be alive.

I think I was given this CD as Christmas present.

Thesaurus moment: modish.

Pulp Fiction

MCA

FOLK IMPLOSION – NATURAL ONE (LONDON)

FOLK IMPLOSION – NATURAL ONE (LONDON)

There was something about the Folk Implosion that made them seem like astronauts when this song made them “big”.  Shitty astronauts but astronauts all the same.  The music video was truly weird, the pair looked barely awake, unimpressed by the fact that people suddenly liked them.  Were these the grown up version of the kids from the movie of the same name?

It opens with oscillation followed by a snare sound clear as day before a bugging bass line steps in and never relents.  This could almost be a hip hop song.  Then Barlow drops in with his slack declaration as eventually Slint-esqe chimes serve to haunt to show.

And indeed I was something of a misfit, borderline space cadet when this single dropped.  The hollow alienation and unrequited rebellion suggested by the vocals in such a laidback lazy manner were really appealing.  This was the Grand Royal era and to be cool you just had to reference the right things.  You needed no end product, just to know where the good stuff was at.

Keeping with such unpredictable mentality the band follows with “Cabride”, a weird piece of micro jazz that expertly offers one soundscape from a certain corner on a summer day.  It exudes movement both physically and mentally.  Even with the pace switch it offers thump.

Resuming some kind of white geek lo-fi hip hop vibe the charging mantra of “Nothing Gonna Stop” offers a pulsing retort to the cynicism and sarcasm of the lead track.  It exists to make you move, to tap into what youthful energy remains attached to your being (which for me appears to be diminishing by the week).

Final track here is “Simean Groove” which is another trip hop type offering that replaces vocals with the sounds of wolves howling seemingly hungry and on the prowl.  As the music rolls in a straight line it is simple and very effective, the sound of an evil deflowering.  It’s a prelude to assault.

There is a time and place.

Thesaurus moment: bodeful.

Folk Implosion

London

PAVEMENT – WATERY, DOMESTIC (MATADOR RECORDS)

PAVEMENT – WATERY, DOMESTIC (MATADOR RECORDS)

Surprisingly menacingly sounding, this is Pavement in superior mode.  Maybe Malkmus was angry in its construction, angry like me as I buy this CD on eBay for pounds only to discover one of those unmoveable Cash Converters stickers on the back of the case with permanent marker attempting to disguise the fact that the disc was for sale (sold) for 10p.

“Brick Wall”.

Released on 25 November 1992 in between Slanted And Enchanted and Crooked Rain Crooked Rain it marked the on record debuts of both Bob Nastanovich and Mark Ibold (Spiral Stairs had previously played bass on S&E).

“Sick Profile”.

It arrives and expansive and shaking.  “Texas Never Whispers” initially resembles the sound of an alien invasion with broken streams of distortion and noise until the song looms into a menacing strobe.  Without missing a beat Malkmus reels off a shopping list of pointy observations and relations until the band and music finally catches up and repetition kicks in.  There is a warm hum to such nastiness.

The drift persists with “Frontwards” and what initially appears a pleasant drive before resorting back to a slow, bodeful approach.  It has a hook in defeat.

“Annual Report”.

“Lions (Linden)” opens with a plink then a plonk as a roaming baseline steers a jagged bout of guitar noodling as Malkmus meanders with his wording.  Both bent and linear.  Its Trumans Water territory.

Closing on a happy note the misleadingly titled “Shoot The Singer (1 Sick Verse)” is a mellow outro, a calm jaunt that exudes a placid weariness.  There are riddles in these scribbles.  It closes on the mantra “don’t expect, don’t expect”.

Further enhancing their fractured demeanour the rooster “Jim” artwork is actually a defaced cover of the self titled album by a lost band called Ambergris and not Old MacDonald’s Farm as vaguely stated.

Thesaurus moment: fortify.

Pavement

Pavement live

Matador Records

OL’ DIRTY BASTARD – RETURN TO THE 36 CHAMBERS: THE DIRTY VERSION (ELEKTRA)

OL’ DIRTY BASTARD – RETURN TO THE 36 CHAMBERS: THE DIRTY VERSION (ELEKTRA)

One of the greatest moments on Larry Sanders was the visit of the Wu-Tang Clan to the show and Hank Kingsley approaching them asking “hey, where’s Dirty Old Bitch” after having already commented to his assistant played by Scott Thompson: “my god, they look like carjackers”.  It made for a very strong argument against white people listening to rap.

Russell Jones was the wild man of the Wu-Tang Clan.  And The Dirty Version opens in appropriate fashion like a crazy fool fronting a slum opera.  Its all about the introduction, about the perception and persona.  This man had a reputation to live up to and the pressure was on not to disappoint.

This is the second solo album to come from a Wu-Tang member following Enter The Wu-Tang and often like the man it is quite mess, ramshackle and incoherent.  It helps the record that RZA was on board to produce and direct most of it but there is a definite/certain haze attached to proceedings.  The crazed style of ODB was always going to be difficult to hardness.

The record hits hard early on with “Shimmy Shimmy Ya” and “Brooklyn Zoo” which are two very solid hot hits with superior structure and exceptional arrangement.  Certain sections could consider the former somewhat misogynist but do these people expect from hip hop?  He likes it raw and he is not embarrassed to admit it.  And maybe he should?

“Brooklyn Zoo” is an altogether more swank proposition with a party vibe and emphatic bounce.  This is the sound of riding a dragon but being in control.

Delirium.

You sense at times this record required a bit of hand holding.  Making appearances are six of his fellow Wu members in addition to a whole host of female voices airing a full range of emotions from playful and satisfied to utterly horrified and enraged (as on the aural war zone that closes “Goin’ Down” which occurs surreally wrapped around “Over The Rainbow” from the Wizard Of Oz).

Ol’ Dirty Bastard was an original.  You see and feel his influence in crazed southern acts of this era who he in effect laid the tracks for, albeit in a less disgusting manner.  Still here was a man not above critique holding lyrics that could just as easily be described as “disgusting” as well as “street poetry” while at other times he was just on a rant.

When dealing with these songs you need to bear in mind that this was a man arrested for wearing a bulletproof vest.  This persona is not strictly an act, more an exaggerated version of a very big personality.

Considered by many most exciting when “drunk as hell” he held a stand out cadence that at times was borderline scat and very much an instrument in itself.  In the words of those around him he was just “not himself when sober”.  This after all is a record with a track entitled “Drunk Game (Sweet Sugar Pie)”.  Quite frankly what we had here just may have been the hip-hop Shane MacGowan.  If there was one member of the group that was loved, it was Ol’ Dirty.

At this point in proceedings the CD I was listening to has just died, skipped on track 13 which is “Brooklyn Zoo II (Tiger Crane)”.  It all feels appropriate; the record has reached some kind of intoxicated haze as my mind wandered to dirty climates and rotten times.  The spirit of Ol’ Dirty Bastard just crashed its way into this review seemingly with an instruction of “pay attention or fuck off”.

And now with that the disc just started back up as if haunted.  Bizarre.

Then it ends with some slick interplay with RZA on “Cuttin Headz” and one of the most disciplined workouts on the album.  He could be harnessed but only when necessary and good.

This is a scatological record, by no means generic or cohesive.  Often experimental in execution with his wayward and slanted approach there is almost accidental innovation here, a party approach that was not necessarily present in the rest of the Wu universe.  If nothing else he offered light relief.

At worst it wastes your time but at best it blows your mind.

Thesaurus moment: paradigm.

Ol’ Dirty Bastard

Elektra

R.E.M. – GREEN (WARNERS)

R.E.M. – GREEN (WARNERS)

The sixth R.E.M. studio album saw them making their major label debut after cleanly fulfilling their contract with IRS.  The band parted ways with the label due to their frustration at overseas distribution.  Green was recorded in Memphis with Scott Litt on production.

In many ways this was a real transition and bridging album.  With recording contract allowing/granting them complete creative control there was probably sense of giving Warners what they wanted/paid for, not least now being on a studio budget and longer time to achieve perfection.

The title Green exists on many levels.  The positive perception is one of a flourishing mindset and environment while the negative was the connotation of signing to a label and selling out in the name of money.  Regardless of the apparent mixed messages of the album title, set against a tough political climate with Bush Sr. sweeping the polls the agenda was to write a positive set of songs with hope and the intention to help people through.  And on that Green was released on 8 November 1988 the day George Bush was elected the forty first president of America.

Green played host to four singles: “Orange Crush”, “Stand”, “Pop Song ’89” and “Get Up”.  These are solid songs not necessarily ideal or the norm with view to pushing a band.  Before Nirvana coined the attitude and mentality of having an alternative act having a radio friendly unit shifter, R.E.M. was just as blunt in offering “Pop Song ‘89”, a clear salutation in opening up their stall to a fresh market.  As an album opener it’s placing it obvious.  With a video feature sarcastic topless dancing and bars covering nipples including Stipe’s he was heard to state that it was a piss-take and hopefully the end of the pop song.  If wishes were trees, trees would be falling.  Imagine “Finest Worksong” filtered through happy pills.

Hitting with big statements both “World Leader Pretend” and “Stand” serve as the political joints.  The former calmly acts as a verbal shake pointing digits at armchair politicians while the latter in an altogether more bouncy form urges/encourages the audience to get active.  This was one of the first non-pop R.E.M. songs I ever heard and it felt astounding.

“Dreams they complicate my life”

Peter Buck moved onto mandolin with this record.  At one point there was an idea of the album being half mandolin glory and half bubblegum heavy metal.  In the end the lines were less defined.  It is with “You Are The Everything” that the fresh sound from the new instrument tangs most.  Lines describing moments spent lost in thought sat on the backseat of a car offer grand recollection, a healthy kind of nostalgia with rare substance and value.  This is a summer evening song best served with the sun still bright and surroundings still.  Here is peace.

The crunch occurs towards the end with “Orange Crush” and “Turn You Inside-Out”.  The orange in question is Agent Orange as used in the Vietnam War and as a military like exchange occurs beneath the song the result is quite a dark one.  This was  a song somewhat born from Stipe’s father having being in the helicopter corps during the war.  And in equally expansive measure the words of “Turn You Inside-Out” expresses the power the band felt in its hands from becoming stadium rock.  It’s a chilling statement of the damage they could do.

“I Remember California” offers a dark and menacing closure in sparse fashion.  The trance like delivery of Stipe accompanying an almost tribal drone points to a rough past that looked likely to be the future.

Green serves solid if not superior.

Thesaurus moment: titivate.

R.E.M.

Warners

NIRVANA – MTV UNPLUGGED IN NEW YORK (GEFFEN)

NIRVANA – MTV UNPLUGGED IN NEW YORK (GEFFEN)

Emotions were running incredibly high when this release surfaced in late 1994. It had only been months since Kurt Cobain had killed himself and with it he had left an already miserable fan base reeling, still struggling to comprehend a world that hadn’t necessarily made that much sense in the first place. Suddenly their favourite songs had gone delicate and even more meaningful and emotive. Even music snobs liked this one.
The set was big even before the unfortunate event of the suicide. It was first broadcast in February 1994 and was received by me at a time when life did not necessarily make the most sense to me as I was stuck in some kind of post-school wilderness period without education and without a career in some kind of youth training college limbo surrounded by people who really weren’t going anywhere or doing anything with their lives. I had been lumped in with this crowd when really I wanted so much more. This was the problem of being raised in the sticks.
It begins with the lines “good evening. This is off our first record, most people don’t own it” as the band launch into a gorgeous version of “About A Girl”. With such a defeated announcement it really sets the tone for the recording as being one of downbeat beauty. Whether that comment was necessary or not is open to debate but it certainly was a defining moment that set out the band’s stall and looked/served to make any passer-by or fairweather supporters feel awkward and uneasy.
Following would come a strained version of “Come As You Are” which despite being acoustic still managed to maintain that unique, almost aquatic sound. Stripped down this song now appeared to bare its soul more than ever and became quite a different beast in the process.
The first cover version of the set (the first of six) arrives as Kurt refers to the song as “a rendition of an old Christian song, I think. But we do it the Vaselines way” as they step into “Jesus Doesn’t Want Me For A Sunbeam”. This is a song that I had numerous live electric versions of previously but this really seemed to work as Krist picked up an accordion and lent an unexpected element/edge to proceedings. Surrounded by so much warped but seemingly spiritual imagery was this Kurt fully succumbing to religion?
Next comes probably the most striking track of the set in the form of the David Bowie cover of “The Man Who Sold The World”. This was not expected; this seemed to come out of nowhere. Since when was Kurt a fan of Bowie? It was definitely not an obvious choice and with a bit of electric guitar to slice open proceedings the words seemed to fit as the reluctant superstar expressed a desperation and sense of loss. In the end as with every song the band would cover they improved it and added much value with a new meaning. The Bowie version never held this much depth.
From here tracks such as “Pennyroyal Tea”, “Dumb”, “Polly” and “Something In The Way” (which wasn’t included in the original MTV broadcast) feel very suited to the acoustic setting, possibly even better. “Pennyroyal Tea” particular stands out as being just Kurt on his own churning out a song with a lot of explicit personal meaning. Likewise the transformation of a barn-burning track such as “On A Plain” into a tender piece feels as if it gives the song a new meaning and the gift of reinvention.
The introduction of the Kirkwood brothers towards the end was a stand out decision lending an earthy and haunting tone to proceedings with quite different compositions that still managed to maintain cohesion within the set and tangible teardrops. Originally of the three Meat Puppets song performed it was only “Plateau” and “Lake Of Fire” that were broadcast as the genuinely sweet “Oh Me” for whatever reason failed to make the cut. While the other two songs almost sounded like something Alan Lomax might have discovered “Oh Me” was pure sweetness and when MTV played a tribute to Kurt at the 1994 MTV Awards we were offered a sneak peak/preview of the song which in many ways made it the most anticipated song for when the album was finally released. And as it was coming after Kurt’s demise the line “I can’t see the end of me” now possessed a huge weight. Then “Lake Of Fire” opens with the line “where do bad folks go when they die” and the listener could be forgiven for being slain by this point.
As the Kirkwood brothers exit Dave begins teasingly drumming the introduction to “Scentless Apprentice” before the band enter into “All Apologies” with much clarity and a version that opens sounding very similar to the electric version on In Utero. In its new state the song proves versatile and comfortable on this occasion as the rousing chorus retains its strangely upbeat and positive tone despite being in possession of quite fatal terminology. When it comes to a close it feels extended in its exit.
The real closing arrives in the form of their Leadbelly cover “Where Did You Sleep Last Night?” (“In The Pines”) as the performance transcends several decades of music as the modern version of the blues matches up to and pays homage to its ancestry. Were these words being aimed at Courtney? She didn’t deserve such gesture and sentiment. It’s a beefy song that definitely takes its toll as Kurt’s vocals really get pushed to the limit as he goes all out for the closer even having to take an agonising break/pause just before unleashing the final words.
With this the art of MTV Unplugged briefly became cool. No longer was it Eric Clapton doing a boring rendition of “Layla” instead it now held real merit and emotional value. In some ways I think they gave up the ghost after this, this was the session that would never be topped. This was so much more better than the Pearl Jam programme. Briefly bands jumped on the bandwagon but they were soon exposed, especially Hole who instead just made a mess of their show, emphasising the drama and crocodile tears. Then when Stone Temple Pilots did their session they included their own Bowie cover in the form of “Andy Warhol”. Why be so transparent?
On the whole I avoid this record these days, its just too sad to revisit but whenever I do I am reminded that Nirvana were the greatest band my generation will ever see.
Thesaurus moment: superlative.
Nirvana
Geffen

BABES IN TOYLAND – FONTANELLE (SOUTHERN RECORDS/REPRISE)

BABES IN TOYLAND – FONTANELLE (SOUTHERN RECORDS/REPRISE)

When it came to Riot Grrrl Babes In Toyland were always the band for me.  They were the first proper band that I ever saw live when they played the Hippodrome on Colchester High Street and when I borrowed this album from my friend and put it on a cassette with Meantime by Helmet on the other side.  This was a tape that I wore out.

Babes In Toyland were always a brutal proposition.  At a time when so many Riot Grrrl acts were posturing, they just did it.  And for that, for the longest time they were my favourite female band who I would defend to endless degrees while my apparently more knowing (more snobby) friends would tend to dismiss them.  Indeed when Sleater-Kinney arrived on our stereos I was heard to complain that they didn’t sound like Babes In Toyland.

In many ways Fontanelle was the album we wanted Hole to make.  And perhaps it was the one they could/would have made had Courtney not been so distracted (although she was certainly present her playing on the mind in “Bruise Violet”).  Also it never really sat completely comfortable with Bikini Kill and Huggy Bear, there was just something slightly masculine about the Babes In Toyland sound which felt thicker than the punky, hardcore, lo-fi offerings of the militant Riot Grrrl acts.  Plus they were on a major label (well, in the U.S. at least).

Wow, I have used the term Riot Grrrl in every paragraph of this review so far.

Co-produced by Bjelland and Lee Ranaldo this record is a blast, a force of nature from the off.  Very few ladies in rock have ever held a set of lungs akin to Bjelland and therein lay the band’s strength as her guitar playing, despite being ferocious and effective, was somewhat one dimensional.  Elsewhere in the mix the drumming of Lori Barbero serves as a strong weapon with its thumping and tribal take on percussion.  Barbero was always a wonder.

Coupled with the broken ragdoll cover art, there is something very bratty about this offering.  Bjelland always felt like a feisty little sister that could beat you up and with her came a brutal gang backing her up.  And with a guitar sounding like a motorbike it came with a raucous soundtrack.

As with all great albums it begins with a rocket, the star song and explosive entry.  “Bruise Violet” is a driven and disarming track.  From the off something does not sound right as the drums and guitar tangle together thumping ahead of the air raid siren arrival of Bjelland and her verbal assault aimed at what it would seem is Courtney Love.  As it all ends with accusation “Liar! Liar! Liar!” emerging from this track I find that my sinuses have been cleared.  Seldom has anger ever been so sincerely captured on record.

From here the screaming toddler cum psychopath act continues/persists as the bubbling anti-lullaby “Right Now” exudes an earnest explosion and “Bluebell” offers raucous stabs with Kat still playing the part of a little girl having a demented breakdown.

At this point I fear from a male perspective I am being somewhat patronising and condescending towards Bjelland’s plight.  As a method of expressing and intimidating there is something slightly cartoonish about the execution, one that may not necessarily be taken too seriously in an adult world.  On that note it seems essential that all gestures be loud and hard hitting.  Here was an act more about play and proverb than explicit reference to the corrupt world surrounding.

Always a big favourite with crowds the uber aggressive rewrite “Handsome & Gretel” serves as both a colourful metaphor and effective lash out at the world.  In under two minutes tables were distinctly turned with the description of “a crotch that talks” taking control and care of business.

Having now whipped the audience into shape (into position) a grand and varied dispatch of fizzy and hook laden tracks push things forward expounding how it feels to be a domineering minority.  This is album about fight and explanation.

With “Won’t Tell” we enter tempered territory in alarming and disturbing fashion as Bjelland takes on the role of both abuser and victor seemingly going through a session of recovery with weird sentiment correction.  It’s a song about a bitch and a bastard.  Then immediately afterwards the side ends subjecting the listener to the twisting and haunting instrumental “Quiet Room” that plays out in the manner of blood splattered closing credits.

As the process continues side 2 opens with “Spun” and things feeling confused, placed in an aftermath of dissolution as Bjelland calmly sings towards a mood swing at which point the band violently erupts in accusatory fashion.  Does my penis make me a bad boy?

From here the record makes confident strides to the end as Barbero continues to thump in tribal rhythms that were never necessarily a staple of indie rock.

The eventual pair of “Real Eyes” and “Mother” ensure the record ends on a high as Bjelland offers awkward scenarios first via some kind of bus journey that ends in altercation culminating in spooky vocal exploration and echo before the latter delivers a punchy and affective explanation of personal circumstances seemingly addressing paternal and spousal doubt in an effort to serve females all over.  This anger is not just hormones, not just the rag.

Fittingly it all ends with “Gone” and the sound of smashing glass and high spirited exuberance that echoes misbehaviour.  Eventually the casual strumming peters out, much like the band.

Fontanelle is a blunt piece of work, a solid and singular succession of songs born more of passion than performance.  There have been better, more talented and intricate female indie rock bands but for its flaws and juvenile gestures this is a heroic handling, perhaps misguided from a mainstream perspective but exhilarating from all other angles.

Thesaurus moment: indelicate.

Babes In Toyland

Southern Records

Reprise

URGE OVERKILL – GIRL, YOU’LL BE A WOMAN SOON (MCA)

URGE OVERKILL – GIRL, YOU’LL BE A WOMAN SOON (MCA)

Urge Overkill from Chicago was always one of those bands that you had heard of but hadn’t actually heard.  With three albums out on Touch And Go they came through during the grunge era as part of that host of US indie rock alternative bands that had a vague connection to Sub Pop.  This was a band that dressed up, sang punk soul not grunge.  Surely that meant they weren’t much different to the Afghan Whigs.

By this stage the band was signed to Geffen and thus connected.  The Urge Overkill version of the Neil Diamond had previously been the lead track on a six song EP on Touch And Go called Stull.  Somebody somewhere was listening.

Apparently Quentin Tarantino originally happened across the EP in a record shop in Holland.  The selection goes slightly against the grain as most of his music choices/selections have tended to be retro and original in form.  The track does however have the kind of funk, soul and groove that taps into his tastes and thus he selected it for inclusion in his second movie Pulp Fiction.  The significance of the find also suggests this was the visit to Holland where/when he came up with his famous Royale With Cheese speech/exchange between Vincent and Jules in the movie.  That said with Uma Thurman spread on the cover of the single perhaps it might have been more appropriate for Tarantino to throw an alternative rock bone to J Mascis.

“Girl, You’ll Be A Woman Soon” is a mucky song when you delve into it.  It’s the end of innocence attached to music.  Indeed read another away it could be construed as the corruption of innocence.  You can see why an act would wish to cover it as the sweeping gestures are stark and testing coupled with an overriding down tone that eventually builds into a huge declaration which enables the vocal range of the singer to soar.  If nothing else, its exercise.

Accompanying the main track is “Dropout”, a song lifted from their Saturation LP.  In contrast to the lead track (the cover version) this is an almost dance number offered by the act in almost an effort to reveal the real sound of the band.  It’s a track with bounce but only limited charm.  Rather than housing passion, it plods.  No dice.

The CD single closes with “Bustin’ Surfboards” by The Tornadoes, one of those surf instrumentals that appears in the movie and on the soundtrack.  In a collection where such songs weren’t necessarily distinguishable this is the one with the sound of waves crashing against the shore.  It’s a kind drive and it got them some scratch.

False pretence.

Thesaurus moment: propinquity.

Urge Overkill

The Tornadoes

MCA

DELUXX FOLK IMPLOSION – DADDY NEVER UNDERSTOOD (DOMINO)

DELUXX FOLK IMPLOSION – DADDY NEVER UNDERSTOOD (DOMINO)

“Daddy Never Understood” may just be the greatest burst of energy ever committed to vinyl.  In essence it is a bratty hardcore song but generally punks were never as playful or creative as this (where the fuck does the string sample come from?).  As the bratty premise screams all over its existence in the style of the world’s worst child you can’t help but feel affronted and made to feel that someone just slammed a pie in your face.

Everything feels cheeky about this package.  The cover shows some probably inebriated young lady grimacing on the verge of baring her breasts at which point the band takes the opportunity to place their initials in the region complete with Xs instead of full stops to fully display/disclose their straight edge credentials (yeah right).  And in initialising their name alone they are nodding towards D.R.I. a move also executed by Dead Fucking Last when referring to themselves as D.F.L.  Nobody ever said being hardcore was straightforward (just straight edge).  And then there is the whole element of the name Folk Implosion being a direct response to the name/concept of being a Blues Explosion.

Then there is the play out groove: “watch out mama…cuz I’m goin’ wholehog”  Didn’t these guys ever take a break from rebelling?

This seven inch houses five songs.  The band never stretched to an entire album during their brief career and away from this there is little else to hold onto.  You can’t put your arms around a memory.

The difference between Deluxx Folk Implosion and the regular Folk Implosion is that this band comes with added Bob Fay and Mark Perretta (in addition to the already demented John Davis and Lou Barlow manning the shit).  That and the reality that it was all tossed off with less care.

Continuing the wreckage “Greetings From Sarajevo” is suitably fuzzy with snotty, screamed vocals wrestling with whistling feedback as the brat on vocals makes silly gestures in a teenage hardcore style.  “Ovenmitt” then sounds like a poor band rehearsing “My Sharona” being driven my unfinished lyrics while “Liquid Bread” is all about the glitch and updated gestures of being wasted.

“Daddy Never Understood” is a track that I can listen to over and over again and always it will move me, make me want to jump up and smash something.  It is perfection.  And being short I can listen to it over forty times in an hour, nine hundred and sixty times in one day.  Perfection.

Knox, Lozenge, Mantra, Time, indeed.

Thesaurus moment: consummation.

Deluxx Folk Implosion

Domino

METALLICA – METALLICA (VERTIGO)

METALLICA – METALLICA (VERTIGO)

I was at school in my final official year when Metallica made their crossover/breakthrough.  Sometimes I used to hang out with some metal heads.  Some of them were my football buddies but a few of them were long hairs in the year above who smoked and appreciated my Nirvana and Mudhoney t-shirts.  Were these really my people?

Metallica was never a band that fully blew me away.  Perhaps it was due to being guilty by association (see above).  Maybe they were a bit too Kerrang for me at a time when I was very much traditional NME on the indie side of grunge.  Or maybe they just weren’t heavy enough for me despite the boasts of both them and their audience.

The Black Album was their fifth studio.  For it they brought in producer Bob Rock who previously was known for his work with Bon Jovi.  Indeed this was a conscious gesture of smoothing the edges and bringing a more accessible sound to their records.  The band may deny this but certainly that was the result.  More in a band’s mind/perception, Metallica were yearning credibility and respect as musicians.

The cover of the record is very black, just like the Spinal Tap cover.  This suggests that somewhere deep inside Metallica possesses a sense of humour (you hope).  Also referring to the record as “the Black Album” would suggest being something of the flipside to The Beatles “White Album” although the results are hardly comparable or polarising.  In a way you see what the band is aiming for (hinting at) but in execution it just doesn’t feel there.

Regardless of such gripes the record opens with “Enter Sandman” which almost immediately became the band’s defining song.  This push truly did get them over and if an album contains the song your band is always going to be best known for, then there is definitely something in there.

There is no denying “Enter Sandman” is a powerful song.  It’s a track seemingly written with a pause in place for pyrotechnics (although perhaps something James Hetfield may later have come to regret when some blew up in his face).

If you think about it really Metallica is a mental band.  It’s an act dominated by a rhythm guitarist wrestling with a Danish drummer with a funny accent.  Meanwhile the lead guitarist houses a permanent expression of fear while the current bass player has to tread carefully so as not to find himself being mentioned in the same breath as the original bassist who was horrifically killed in tragic circumstances.  They’re a great band; just don’t fall into the trap of taking them too serious.

The record continues with another single in the form of “Sad But True”.  Its an aggressive, some might feel misogynistic, track.  Certainly its advances are very confident and somewhat forward.  Did I really once think I could apply these gestures to my own situation and attempt to “charm” a lady with them?  I could/would not dare say.  There’s no escaping the fact, taken at face value this song is creepy.  And yet it was a single.

Old school fans then appear to be appeased with “Holier Than Thou” which displayed that the previous model of the band still existed if that was so desired.  However then comes “The Unforgiven” and an epic track taking on a western tone proving both cinematic and masculine in delivery.  Just the right ingredients for a heavy metal single.

For many people though this was their first Metallica record.  I would also bet that in a number of cases it was also many people’s first metal album as it what just presented in the right way to the record buying public and as with anything that is popular you cannot help but suspect it is something spread thin in the process.

And with that it arrives at the single “Wherever I May Roam”, an angst ridden tune highlighting just how manly Hetfield and his buddies are and how much they are willing to sacrifice in the process to impress the fairer sex.  Yes it is nonsense.  And such strange sentiments are then continued with the weird bravado attached to “Don’t Tread On Me” which opens with a heavy metal intro of “America” from West Side Story before rolling in a full on Pantera fashion.  Was this some kind of return of favour gesture?  Don’t tread on me indeed.

The second side of the record falls foul of cliché.  In “Through The Never” the band acts reductive as it slips into stock metal gestures and that horrible galloping sound that comes with classic rock.  That and the measured moment to chill out that comes with “Nothing Else Matters”, a song that pretty much resembles their version of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” with all its orchestration.  And then things get silly.

From here the remaining song titles of the record border on farcical.  “Of Wolf And Man” comes coupled with Hetfield doing a ridiculous call and response with himself (or rather the wolf man version of himself).  Musically it is another track that reminds of Pantera only without the might or economy.  Never let it be said that Metallica never meandered.

Upping the name stakes “The God That Failed” follows in severe fashion.  In its defence though the song does open with a solid baseline that leads into a sturdy delivery although as to which god they are referring remains a mystery to me.  With further research it turns out to be a about Hetfield’s mother’s battle with cancer and her Christian beliefs that prevented her from soughting medical treatment.

It all crashes to a conclusion with “My Friend Of Misery” and “The Struggle Within” in which Hetfield spits out more alpha male angst across a dense coupling of stock rock songs with standard, unexceptional solos served to emphasise the point that this is their record, this is their sound.  “The Struggle Within” particular falls foul with its cheesy militaristic posturing and thrash guitars that sound like machine guns.  This is perhaps a struggle that would have been best of remaining within.

The Black Album is a much lauded but much overrated piece of work (as is the band in general to be honest).  This pop music with loud guitars and snarling temperaments.  It was built with accumulating an audience in mind and thus was designed with itself spread thin.  All encompassing enjoyment of this record is swindle but everything has its time and place.

Thesaurus moment: oversell.

Metallica

Vertigo