Trendy limited edition (circa 2011) Black IPA/ Cascadian Dark Ale-styled medium body retains roasted chocolate depth, ice coffee appeal, and piney citric remnant. Ashen charcoal hop char upends dark carafa malting and tart pineapple-grapefruit ripeness. Subsidiary black currant and blueberry illusions embitter earthen grained backend.
Interesting limited edition (circa 2011) hybrid ale with copper-paled hue crosscuts ripe India Pale Ale fruiting with spicy Belgian Ale yeast funk. Lemony grapefruit-peeled orange-dried bittering contrasts candi-sugared banana, peach, pineapple, cherry, apple, and blueberry scurry. A floral perfumed waft spreads across tropic fructose. Black-peppered hop bite stiffens backend. Ancillary coriander-clove nicety nearly lost.
Waveringly eccentric straw-cleared herbal-spiced hybrid ale (circa 2011) spreads honeyed lavender pedals across syrupy citric tang and wafting floral potpourri. Tangerine, grapefruit, and orange pick up grassy-hopped heather, hibiscus, and sage dusting. Stiff alcohol solvency will chase away softies.
Resinous pine-needled oaken wood dryness affixes grapefruit-peeled pineapple and orange tartness above sugar-spiced crystal malting. Bitter blueberry-juniper conflux overtakes black-peppered oregano-basil-thyme triage at herb-encrusted citric finish.
Nebulous coppery amber medium-bodied India Pale Ale with ineffectual English hop variety falls short. Closer to a British pub ale, gathering dank black tea mustiness, cellar-bound mushroom-like yeast fungi, and citric-rotted apricot desiccation. Murky crystal-caramel malting beat down by everlasting alcohol-burnt bittering to dirty earthen wood spine.
Citric white ale spicing and funky yeast fungi furnish burnished golden Belgian-styled pale ale. Cheerios-like cereal oats and biscuit-y wheat spine upended by lemon rot acridity, grapefruit rind bittering and vegetal astringency. Herbaceous floral-hopped whim lacks resolve, seems misplaced.
Pleasant light-bodied amber-yellowed pale lager lacks body and depth. Crisp citric-hopped pep and sharp lemony seltzer fizzing counter spicy Belgian-styled yeast funk. Carbolic overload disguises apricot-dried crystal malting, biscuit-y barley-hopped pungency, and vegetal tinge to faltering toasted white bread spine, finishing watery and indecisive.
Nearly quintessential hop-heads delight efficiently contrasts juicy tropical fruiting and creamy crystal-caramel malting with prickly pine-hopped bittering to brutish ethanol-like 9.5% alcohol burn of bold gold-hazed medium body. Eye-squinting grapefruit-peeled tartness sweetens to tangy nectarine-pineapple-orange-tangerine-apricot-peach-mango-kiwi medley tagging candi-sugared molasses midst underscored by floral cologne-spiced hibiscus-lotus bouquet.
Soft eggshell-headed golden-hazed bitter, done in cask-only British firkin style, layers balmy citric herbs above bark-dried rye breading and fungi-like yeast residue. Meringue-creamed crystal malting contrasts lemon-peeled orange rind, grapefruit, and juniper bittering as well as leathery black tea and chamomile undertones. A bit thin.
Marking their latest unexpected comeback twenty years after their fourth studio album, the Feelies are like a cat with nine lives.
Originally from Haledon, the Velvet Underground-nurtured outfit, led by singer-guitarists Glenn Mercer and Bill Million, scored instant left-of-the-dial radio success with 1980’s soft rock masterstroke, Crazy Rhythms. Prefiguring the unaffected do-it-yourself lo-fi bedroom recordings that’d pop up in the early ‘90s, Mercer’s understated half-sung baritone, barely audible in the mix, juxtaposed delicately droned six-string dribbles and primal tribal beats in an inconspicuously subtle manner.
Like sipping tea listening to Belle & Sebastian on an autumnal Sunday morning or attending an early evening wine and cheese party absorbing the sun admiring Rubber Soul, the Feelies are enduringly pleasant on the ears, mind, and body. You could place ‘em alongside easy listening soft rock legends Crosby Stills Nash & Young, Loggins & Messina, or any other decent ‘70s femme pop luminary and they’d come out smelling like roses. The world outside may be in flux, but these northern Jersey natives have remained the same – even if long layoffs dulled the momentum.
This time around, Mercer got the chance to reconvene with his seasoned partners following a high-prized low profile solo entrée, ‘08s World In Motion. So all of a sudden on a wing and a prayer he’s back in stride with Million, a transplanted Floridian, plus bassist Brenda Sauter, drummer Stanley Demeski, and percussionist Dave Weckerman (snares/ floor toms/ sleigh bells/ tambourine). The planets must’ve aligned ‘cause a few desirable circumstances were necessary for the latest Feelies reunion to occur.
It turns out Million’s Princeton-based son had been casually jamming with Mercer around the time Turner Broadcasting Network wanted to use Mercer-Million song, “Decide,” for promotion, developing a line of communication for the co-composing duo. Furthermore, faithful Feelies followers Sonic Youth sought out the enigmatic combo for a Fourth of July Battery Park show a few years back. Combined with high internet demand for early recordings and several requests to play live, the Feelies returned to form on 2011’s refreshing re-entry, Here Before.
Getting lasting mileage out of the basic guitar-bass-drums setup, these resilient rockers have endured way past their modest incipient Jersey genesis. Whereas Crazy Rhythms received inspiration from a positively decadent late-‘70s New York scene that nearly died on the vine, belated ’86 follow-up, The Good Earth, a more uniform set, captured a demure bucolic rusticity. Invigorated by a cross-country tour where they coveted post-punk denizens such as REM (whose Peter Buck co-produced The Good Earth), Meat Puppets, Minutemen, and Replacements, the Feelies expanded slightly outward.
“We wanted to distance ourselves from punk. Growing up, we listened to the Stooges and Velvet Underground, so we’d seen it done better before,” Mercer claims. “But the CBGB’s scene wasn’t all strictly punk. Talking Heads, Modern lovers, and Television had punk elements, but weren’t safety-pinned leather-jacketed types. The whole punk scene, to us, was a little stale at that point.”
Incidentally, the dual guitar lattice of Television’s Richard Lloyd and Tom Verlaine had a profound affect on Mercer and Million’s less aggressive, more anesthetized fretwork.
“I saw Television early on at their first or second show at the Hotel Diplomat in Times Square. This was before CBGB’s. I saw Kiss there at probably their first Manhattan date. It was a small ballroom, not a rock venue. Dave and I were in a pre-Feelies band, the Outkids, around that time doing British Invasion covers, garage rock, and psychedelia. We may’ve done some demos.”
Utilizing sleeker textural designs and a rockier Power Station production, ‘88s Only Life attempted to land the Feelies on MTV’s newly christened alternative program, 120 Minutes, alongside fellow subterranean minions looking for a big break. Yet ‘91s confoundedly overlooked Time For A Witness, arguably the bands’ strongest set, suffered due to A & M Records untimely merger, limited publicity sources, and pressure to get to the next level of monetary prosperity.
Still, through it all, the Feelies steadfastly maintained the same charmingly understated pastoral serenity and naïve Jonathan Richman-clipped whimsicality of yore, standing clear of gimmicky propensities while gradually gaining surreptitious prominence amongst indie elitists and attentive egalitarians.
Back in the game once again, the Feelies lengthily intermittent legacy continues to sprout fertile seedlings. And the ambitiously apropos undertaking, Here Before, seals the deal. Though the approach is undeniably similar, their assuredness, determination, and discriminating musical sensibilities have definitely evolved slowly over time.
Showing no signs of wear and tear, the gallant troupe habitually relies on gentle melancholic mementos to counter louder uplifting fare. The cheerful jangled spritz and rubbery bass lope consuming “Nobody Knows” fittingly contrasts gently strummed dispatch “Should Be Gone.” Then, gray skies cloud the politely sublime auspices of “Again Today,” where presciently angular Neil Young-like shredding reinforces the cryptically caliginous mood. A tiny patch of sun shines across the mild psychedelic scamper and unbridled enthusiasm guiding “When You Know,” lighting up the wispy percussive-knocked tenderness branding “Later On” as well.
“We spent some time sequencing it to give it a good flow,” Mercer ascertains. “We don’t put out a lot of records, so when we do, we put in a lot of effort. Vocal parts sometimes provide direction, but mostly the songs start with guitar, then melody and lyrics. It’s all pretty effortless. It comes naturally, even more so now that we’ve played together so long. Usually, we do nine new songs and a cover, but this album had 13 songs so we varied the tone, tempo, and texture more.”
Never a big record collector, Mercer concentrates on songwriting and doesn’t spend time tracking current trends. However, he enjoyed the ‘mellow chill music’ of local Jersey band, Real Estate, enough to place them as the Feelies openers for the few dates they’ll play supporting Here Before.
Asked if his band would ever change its schematic, Mercer suggests, “Normally, I’d say I didn’t know, but I’ve been recording some instrumental stuff reminiscent of the Willies, a band I had between the first and second Feelies lineups that didn’t release anything. As for the Feelies, our chemistry’s improved and we each have our own unique approach to the instruments we play. Our individual styles have become refined, resulting in a comfort zone that lets us fall into the groove pretty easily. Also, as you go through life, you have more life experiences to draw upon.”
Hardly taking a backseat to his long-time lead singing pal, Bill Million may not be the focal point, but he’s the glue that binds the quelling quintet. His primary formative influences include the Beatles, Rolling Stones, MC5, Stooges, and of course, Velvet Underground.
“We used to joke about only redoing Crazy Rhythms’ nine songs and make a career out of it,” Million chuckles. “Initially, we approached music like minimalists. After some time off, it’s like Tom Verlaine used to say, ‘My senses are sharp, but my hands are like gloves.’ I interpret that to mean you have the thought process in place, but need to redevelop the physical attributes.”
Putting music aside to take care of family obligations, Million’s recent re-acquaintance with his old mates just felt right from the start. Complementing Mercer’s extraordinary leads with efficient chord progressions, he’s always fine tuning nifty guitar licks.
“We’ve retained the same basic premise, but keep working on it. The entire band is very comfortable listening closely to each other when we play. For “Later On,” Glenn’s doing these arpeggiated harmonics and Brenda comes out from right underneath him with similar bass notes,” he relates.
Touring with Mike Watt’s post-Minutemen trio, Firehose, during the late ‘80s, and Hoboken legends Yo La Tengo soon after, the Feelies and these worthy peers never reached aboveground access, but Million realizes contemporary radio and indie acclaim have been worlds apart since punk broke through the cellar door in ’77.
“Even Rolling Stone, the premier music paper, now does a mere two paragraphs devoted to cool bands, but put Taylor Swift, Justin Bieber, and Rhianna on the cover. They used to write poignantly about Jimi Hendrix and John Lennon. It’s a giant change and most bands don’t have a connection to that,” explains Million. “When I grew up, AM radio played the Beatles and Stones. But our bands’ content to be where we are. We have no interest in major labels. We’ve established an extended family with Bar/None Records. I don’t envy anyone who wants to go down the road to a major label deal with what goes on.”
Flying in the face of Lowest Common Denominator commercial airplay, the combative “Time Is Right” could be seen as a snippy snub serving notice to handcuffed mainstream discjockeys. On the positive tip, the Feelies have a large contingent of renegade fans in the northeast, Australia, Japan, and Europe. They’ve been offered tour dates overseas and on the West Coast, but seem averse to flying.
“We’ll keep honing our craft and probably won’t make any dramatic shifts. We just wanna improve upon our own musical direction,” concludes Million.
NEWPORT, RHODE ISLAND
Since 2009, microbrewery COASTAL EXTREME BREWING COMPANY, makers of Newport Storm brand beers, has occupied its new freestanding building two miles down the road from Newport’s historic downtown district and one mile south of Coddington Brewery, visited February 2011 (then became Newport Craft Brewing). Behind the green aluminum exterior lies a clean brewing operation with up-front tasting room, high ceilings, silver brew tanks, observation deck and rum distillery (apparently 22 rum distilleries were located in Newport during 1769, but floundered over time).
For $7, patrons receive a tulip glass to try four ample samples. While my wife enjoyed sweet blueberry-juiced, Graham Cracker-honeyed dessert treat, Rhode Island Blueberry (bottled version fully reviewed in Beer Index with brewers’ other products), I tried two similarly styled Black IPA-inclined aspirants.
Firstly, rich ruby-browned Newport Storm Spring Ale (listed as an Irish Red Ale but previously known as Maelstrom IPA) brought piney molasses sapping, coarse nutty sharpness, roasted hop char, and burnt toast shavings to cocoa-dried blackberry, black currant, and black cherry rasp.
Even better, bottle conditioned Newport Storm 2010 11th Anniversary Black Ale spread resinous hop-oiled bitterness across dark rum-spiced molasses-soaked cocoa-dried chocolate malting, date nut-breaded black grape, black cherry, and blackberry illusions, and floral wisps (with teasing ethanol hints).
Over the years, I’ve picked up a nice selection of craft beers at Newport-based Vicker’s Liquors (next to the Tennis Hall of Fame). On April ’12 visit, bought Newport Storm Ryan Rye Pale Ale and Sabrina Belgian Pale Ale plus Mayflower’s IPA, Golden Ale, PAle Ale and Porter as well as Haverhill GestAlt Brown Ale and Cisco The woods Monomoy Kriek.
A government by and for the people cannot perish unless profiteering government-sponsored corporate entities destroy the infrastructure, dissuade the entrepreneurial spirit, endanger the environment, puppeteer unsolicited foreign wars, or impose stringent rules handcuffing its own citizens. But take a look at what’s happened lately. Even the cheeriest forecasters must admit America’s in distress and these are dangerous times we live in.
That is, unless individuals take back the government, stop paying for Republicrat lobbyists, vote for responsible independents, and rescue their collective futures. Furthermore, if you believe music could save your mortal soul then you know the future belongs only to the youth of today.
Teeming with righteous dignity, Rise Against front man Tim McIIlrath uses hardcore punk as an instrument of war against interfering governmental machines and apathetic tyrannical monarchs. Maintaining a disciplined straightedge lifestyle reinforced by legendary D.C.-based post-punk antecedents Minor Threat and Fugazi, the combative sermonic activist fights the good fight versus sniveling oppressive scum of all stripes.
Comin’ straight at cha from Chi-town, Rise Against remarkably broke through mainstream America’s glass ceiling. They reached previously unattainable aboveground success (at least in terms of CD and concert sales) while inexplicably escaping the combative subterranean jungle heroic progenitors such as Dead Kennedys, Black Flag, Bad Brains, and Jawbreaker were eternally stuck inside.
Growing up in the sheltered northwest suburbs of Chicago, McIlrath sought relief early on from his sinisterly protective confines, gaining exposure to the ranting rabble rousing raiders that’d forever inform his muse. A true-to-life infuriated rebel with a cause, McIlrath and his mighty Midwest marvels (rounded out by co-founding bassist Joe Principe, long-time drummer Brandon Barnes, and fourth-year guitarist Zach Blair), want nothing less than a full-scale revolution overthrowing ineffectual ruling powers.
Barking back at fascist bureaucrats, environmental ruination, and senseless war-mongering since ’99s formative debut, The Unraveling, McIlrath’s crew moved forward a bit with each subsequent long-player, and more than a decade hence, 2011’s ominously foreboding prophesy, Endgame, may be their grandest emancipated proclamation thus far.
This time around, Rise Against takes on post-Katrina outrage, gay bashing, global warning, and dead soldiers as well as the usual pungent political practicalities. ‘Bending rules back into place’ works well as Endgame’s audacious adage, an unapologetic non-conformist blueprint bolstering blisteringly bloodied barrage “Architects” and menacingly anthemic phlegm-clearing diatribe “Help Is On The Way.” If that’s not poignantly penetrating enough, fist-pounding mantra “Satellite” grieves for deceitfully misinformed foot soldiers becoming ‘orphans of the Amerikkan dream.’
Employing his commandingly forceful baritone to pour his heart out, McIlrath screams intermittently, shouts relentlessly, and implores frequently, flaunting passionately inspirational rallying cries such as ‘won’t back down’ and ‘out with the old’ with compulsory urgency.
On ‘08s Appeal To Reason, his superlatively piercing manic screech got put to the test best plundering belligerently caustic omen, “Entertainment.” For Endgames, he exerts just as much emphatic vigor and lyrical severity on walloping metal-edged headbanger, “Midnight Hands,” a radical working class pilgrimage saluting hard-won freedom.
Armed to the teeth with the same incendiary aggro-rock intensity Ian MacKaye spit out in Fugazi, McIlrath’s catchiest set of tunes contain firmer declarative positivism, crisper guitar riffs, and resoundingly clearer percussion, reaffirming Rise Against once more despite any suspected shortcomings its major label affiliation might bring. Besides, ‘04s more melodiously festive Siren Song Of The Counterculture never compromised integrity and ‘06s snarling The Sufferer & The Witness proved to be even grittier than their early Fat Wreck Chords material.
Although McIlrath’s eminently straightedge, he shows compassion for those who wish to drink liquor responsibly or partake in the herbal delights of cannabis. He even admits to being for the decriminalization of marijuana. A member of Peoples Ethical Treatment of Animals and faithful extoller of common folk, this virtuous punk may abstain from drugs and alcohol, but he’s always ready and willing to battle it out with divisively fraudulent authoritative bigwigs ‘hell-bent on survival’ at the cost of every man’s inalienable rights.
So raise the flag for his courageous Chicago tribunal!
How did punk change your life?
TIM MCILRATH: It taught us raw, untraditional music is reliant less on image and technical proficiency than the emotion behind it. That unlocked potential for me. It seemed dangerous. That’s when I first got addicted. I saw it as more than just entertainment. Following that, the local Chicago hardcore scene in the mid-‘90s became more politicized.
There was a lot of stuff falling below the national radar. Los Crudos made Spanish hardcore from the Chicago ghetto. Explaining each song before playing it took longer than the actual song itself. Bands outside the area like Refused and Earth Crisis plus Victory Records’ By The Grace Of God were engaged in political music, turning shows into more of an education. I’d walk away from these shows with literate about animal rights and the environmental movement. This was before people were talking about these subjects and ‘sweatshop’ wasn’t yet a household word. It was cutting edge stuff that affected me.
It’d be irresponsible of me to leave the listeners with a totally hopeless, desolate feeling that there’s nothing to hope or work for. I’m in a fortunate position to be in this band seeing kids in the front row giving a shit for the planet. Grant it, they might not know what to do with that knowledge yet, but at least they’ll get the urge. It’s a cure-all for my own jaded-ness as a 32-year-old punk. I need to share the thought we’re all connected and not alone. If you have fire in your belly maybe you could connect with our music.
Too often we put water where the fire is and too often that fire is the male-dominated testosterone-driven rock scene people feel a part of. To think some of the problem with gay bashing happened in our audience was unacceptable condemning peoples’ lifestyles. I decided it was time to stand up and take the microphone and put out my own thoughts. If you think you’re at our show and believe someone doesn’t belong because of their lifestyle, maybe that means you don’t belong. It should be a sanctuary away from the bullshit of the outside world. I didn’t feel there was a definitive message being sent from the rock scene. Other genres made it perfectly clear. We play to a young, sometimes confused, crowd. They’re trying to see where they fit in the world and if they’re gay that’s one more hurdle to climb. “Make It Stop” is a reaction to the gay teen suicides, many of which took place in September 2010.
It’s a bit of both. Some is drawn from real experiences my friends lived through. I can’t write an entirely truthful breakup song, but I do find parallels in the romanticism of a breakup song and other parts of life. “Letting Go” played on that romantic relationship theme, but I also had another character in mind. The kid who’s following his parents dream of going to college and working this specific job to become a success and rejecting that dream and saying, ‘It’s not mine, it’s yours.’ A lot of kids go through that in adolescence – letting go of a preconceived direction to carve out their own path. But there’s a difference between giving up and getting the weight off your shoulders.
The title song, “Endgame,” invokes post-apocalyptic amnesty from multinational corporations and the governments supporting them.
Maybe the world we currently designed isn’t sustainable. Everything from our political framework to the toll the environment takes and our appetites towards war and religion. We’re hell-bent on survival, but it’s only when these problems collapse and get dismantled that we can learn from these mistakes. The civilization born out of this worlds’ ashes will hopefully be attainable. Our whole record is trying to paint that picture.
In terms of Iraq and Afghanistan, we made serious blunders in a war that wasn’t properly proposed to the American people. Saving people from a dictator is great. But it was proposed that these people had something to do with 9-11. Instead, we exacted some sort of revenge with oil factoring in. Look, if the military could be used to protect innocent civilians from crazy dictators, that’d be a noble cause. In Rwanda, if we helped stop genocide, I could see our role there. But it’s hard to trust the American government that’s blundered its way through many wars taking too many brothers ands sisters lives away from us for reasons unclear to their families. It’s a disservice to all those people serving our country to protect our way of life. It’s a great deception. It could be traced back to the Viet Nam War’s Domino Theory, which held no water.
What’s amazing is Congress is having this budget crisis fighting over crumbs when we have a $3 trillion war. And the military budget is the meat and potatoes of what’s happening to our tax dollars, yet we can’t pull the plug on war.
That cover, as I described to our photographer, had to depict a kid taking that flag from the ashes of wherever he lived and trying to find somewhere else to put it up and call home. That’s his journey for a place to rebuild and start over again. And this record is that journey through the ashes of civilization.
He identifies our strengths better than we could. He points out things in the moment that later seem obvious. He’ll say a chorus is too long and a verse has to happen again or we need a better ending to hang a song on. He’s a very effective lyrical critic I trust. He’s my quality control for getting lyrics right before they go out to the world. He’s also such a hero to all of us. Some in the band love him as a free spirit, others because he’s a great drummer, producer, or songwriter. We hold him in high regard and are anxious to impress him. He’s a great motivator. I wanna make him smile when I create a riff.
Yes. Absolutely. All of us were. Metal and punk are definitely cousins. I grew up more on punk than metal, but always had an affinity for the unorthodox, rebellious, sonic nature of metal. It’s more deviant than other styles. We’ve managed to exact our strengths, for the better part of what we do, from condensing better songs that get attention faster and get across my lyrics in a quicker manner. We want people bobbing their heads while we mix politics and music. We walk that eternal line of preaching and singing. That’s a gray area I try not to get on the wrong side of.
I think I’m reaching my goals more effectively now. I’m not one of these songwriters trying to be cryptic so it takes days to pour over a song in order to figure it out. I want people to get it. I don’t want a puzzle. We never had to crossover to the mainstream, the mainstream crossed over to us. That’s just the pendulum swing. But I’m not versatile enough to be able to figure out where that pendulum may swing. I just hope people find us as an awakening. But all music doesn’t have to be political. You have to have that fire in your belly for that.