Complex 8.6% alcohol-doused full body celebrates 40th anniversary of ’69 Frank Zappa album. Chewy molasses-soaked cookie-doughy chocolate malts pick up raisin, black cherry, and raspberry puree sweetness above wintry nutmeg-cinnamon-allspice holiday spicing. Vanilla-soaked bourbon-burgundy-whiskey boozing enriches coffee-roasted barleywine finish.
KIRIN LIGHT LAGER
Palest straw-hued 95-calorie softie with dry popcorn-maize acridity maintains sugar-fizzed rice cake sweetness that betters most boring chemically augmented light beers.
(ERIE) FALLENBOCK
Simply too light and arid for prestigious doppelbock class. Smoked chocolate malting and dried cocoa dusting, reminiscent of black ale styling, fades into wispy raisin-plum-fig spell to earthen dry-hopped barley-toasted bottom.
CISCO THE GREY LADY (WIT)
Peculiarly refreshing yellow-hazed Belgian-styled witbier blends spices, herbs, and fruit nuances in silkily bizarre manner. Musty raw-honeyed banana souring grazes white-peppered spearmint-jasmine-ginger freshness and clove-coriander-chamomile-anise spicing, but advertised tropical fruiting is overrated. Quirky champagne-fizzed bruised apple, rotted apricot, white peach, and putrefied lemon illusions not as unpleasant as it sounds. Photo courtesy of www.halftimebeverage.com
BOUNCING SOULS BACK TO JOUNCE ‘HOPELESS ROMANTIC’
FOREWORD: I remember hitting dense traffic in Manhattan driving down the East Side Highway and being half-hour late for my Bouncing Souls interview at a tiny West Village bar. By that time, lead singer Greg Attonito had left. But the rest of the band was cordial and drank a few beers as we spoke. At the cusp of Jersey’s hardcore post-punk resurgence, this New Brunswick-based quartet was in top form in ’99 when Hopeless Romantic was released. ‘01s even better How I Spent My Summer Vacation, ‘03s Anchors Aweigh, and ‘06s The Gold Record followed. A tremendously entertaining live band, the Bouncing Souls have thus far survived. This interview originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.
Buddies since they went to junior high in south Jersey, the Bouncing Souls continue to solidify their pop-punk-hardcore reputation on their fourth and most focused disc, Hopeless Romantic (Epitaph Records). More secure in the studio and tighter as a unit, vocalist Greg Attonito, guitarist Pete Steinkopf, bassist Bryan Kienlen, and drummer Shal Khici spit out catchy, boisterous, oft-times comical, high-gloss confections like it’s ’87 all over again.
The Bouncing Souls mine the spirit of punk-y antecedents, proudly wearing their badge of courage. I witnessed the Bouncing Souls at Tramps the first time, Thanksgiving Eve ’97. There was more fan nudity, comedic banter, and stage diving than at the recent May ’99 gig. But the quartet came off better than ever the second time, thanks to an ever-expanding repertoire, sharper instrumentation, and more melodic chant-alongs. The band not only got great response from the rambunctious “East Coast, Fuck You” and other well-worn staples, but also a pertinent version of Oi! Classic, “Ole” and rip-snortin’ new originals like the Brit punk-spiked “Fight To Live,” the bohemian football-styled chant “Bullying The jukebox,” and the jittery “Hopeless Romantic.”
I spoke to Pete, Bryan, and Shal a few days before their latest, and last, Tramps show.
What did the Bouncing Souls try to achieve with Hopeless Romantic?
BRYAN: We wanted to satisfactorily express ourselves and pull it off. Our songs have their own personality, and we try to tweak whatever knobs to make it right.
You’ve used Thom Wilson as producer for the last three studio albums. Why?
BRYAN: He has become part of the inner circle as a non-performing fifth member. He knows us on a deep level.
SHAL: He knows our music well. Like a best friend, he’ll tell us, ‘you could do better than that.’ We had this instrumental with a cool groove we thought was ready. Thom thought it was half-written because it was just a riff and a drumbeat. Meanwhile, we were satisfied already. We were gonna call it “Rinaldo,” after the Brazilian soccer player.
BRYAN: We’re like ‘watch our licks.’ Thom was like, ‘all right you lazy bastards, why don’t you write some fuckin’ lyrics.’ So we added guitar licks and came up with “Undeniable.” The songs that seem less characteristic of us happened spontaneously, like “The Whole Thing.” Thom was like, ‘That’s an idea. Now develop it.’ Sometimes we’ll smoke a big fat joint in the studio, play our instruments, and get on some kind of wavelength. That happened a few times on Hopeless Romantic.
PETE: Thom helped us get relaxed to the point where we could expand our songs.
Unlike most punk bands, the Bouncing Souls genre-hop through pop, hardcore, and hard rock with no ill effects.
BRYAN: We like all those styles, except we’re not afraid to be everything we like. Nobody likes just one thing. We respond to honest music with pure integrity.
The song “’87″ reminisces about hardcore’s peak year.
BRYAN: I think the first wave of hardcore was best since it came from somewhere within humans. Forever after that, a second wave of people only imitated that. We don’t imitate anything, The bouncing Souls have developed a unique approach.
PETE: Everyone in the band has different influences. They all show up in the music.
But how could four middleclass Jersey suburbanites embrace visceral punk firsthand?
SHAL: I think I could speak for everyone when I say everyone’s had messed-up stuff happen in their life. Regardless of what economic bracket, it doesn’t matter. Everyone’s had crazy experiences to develop angst.
BRYAN: I was a pissed off kid with a bad attitude. I don’t know why.
Have kids become more conservative since ’87? How has the hardcore audience changed?
SHAL: It’s just different. Kids are a bit more conservative since the market crashed around ’87. Hardcore shows change as much as our perception has changed. My version of hardcore in the late ‘80s was going to CBGB’s matinees. I thought it was totally dangerous and everyone was gnarly. There were a shitload more fights, but I was younger and smaller, and everything seemed bigger and more dangerous. It’s a whole different scene now. MTV is guilty of squashing the entire underground as any kind of threat. Instead of kids rebelling, they made the underground into a marketing tool. So there’s no political threat and it’s safe.
Do you make videos for any songs?
BRYAN: I like making videos for the art of it and for kids with cable stations and home video use. Our motto is: we draw the line with MTV. We dislike that shit. It sucks.
PETE: You turn it on and think, ‘This is everything I hate.’ Except Celebrity Death Match. That’s creative.
BRYAN: Otherwise, it’s like watching watered down Jerry Springer for frat boys. I’d rather watch VH1 Legends and Where Are They Now. When MTV took the revolution concept and put it on television, they snipped the balls off and re-sold it. Bouncing Souls aren’t kidding ourselves into thinking we’re a political threat. Our thing is the music we deliver on a person to person basis. If we could make one kid feel good about their life, then maybe he’ll overthrow the government. (laughter)
Tell me about “Bullying The Jukebox.” That song could rival the Dropkick Murphys with its in-your-face attack.
BRYAN: Yeah. I could see that. It’s sung like a pirate.
SHAL: It’s a true story about this one weekend where we were at a bar trying to bully the jukebox by putting $20 worth of coins in for one hour of play.
How’d you come up with the sordid Hopeless Romantic?
BRYAN: I was in bed with my girlfriend and wrote it in the middle of the night. It was directed at her, but not in a vicious way. There’s highs and lows of relationships. My point was, you put your heart on a plate and serve it to a girl like an idiot. That makes me a hopeless romantic while she’s a hard brick wall. Also, “Hopeless Romantic” is about romanticizing good ‘80s pop. We still feel its presence. It goes out to all the kids with big hearts. As ninth graders, we fell in love with music’s power.
Hardcore shows sometimes get out of hand because of misguided anger and misunderstandings amongst young, crowded fans. How could that be avoided?
BRYAN: Kids go to hardcore shows to let out aggression. My personal vibe is, be free to do whatever you want without bullying other kids or running the pit. If that happens, then you speak up. Otherwise, there should be an element of danger and an element of chaos with kids going ape shit, losing their minds, and looking scary.
PETE: It has to be positive. You could tell from onstage when you look out and see someone kicking a kid and acting like a redneck. It’s embarrassing.
Your nine-song live disc, Tie One On, was recorded in bootleg quality at the Continental. Why leave in chatter, missed notes, and unwanted distortion?
BRYAN: You play a live show and chances are you’ll go out of tune, break strings, and fuck up. It’s live. When you make a studio record, you make sure it sounds perfect. But in a live show, whatever happens, happens. We spent no money enhancing the live record. It’s an honest, cheap, punk-y show. And it’s sold cheaper than a normal CD. Any kid has his chance to tape it off a friend for free if they think they won’t like it. It’s not glorious, glamorous, or well produced. And it ain’t pretty. Anything goes. We feed off the crowds’ energy. It’s how we’ve lived for the past ten years.
What advise would you give to kids interested in starting a punk band?
BRYAN: Anyone could do it, but you can’t be a pussy and chicken out when the times get rough, because people throw obstacles at you from day one when you start a band. So few people make it. You have to have a song inside you and the guts to sing it. We blew off college and disappointed our parents. But now they accept us and think it’s cool. Remember, if you fill the world with bullshit, you’re doing a disservice. Find out who you are, and then be it.
DANIELSON FAMILE CHIP OFF OLD ‘CHOPPIN’ BLOCK’
FOREWORD: Beginning their career as innocent religious teens hooked on popular secular music, Danielson Famile (shortened to Danielson) have become challenging art-pop architects with an appreciable cult audience. Led by falsetto-voiced guitarist, Daniel Smith (now a Rutgers grad), they gained a good underground rep mostly due to the small-scale success of ‘97s super-fine Tell Another Joke At The Ol’ Choppin’ Block. Grunge producer was recruited to record ‘01s Fetch The Compass Kids and Smith went solo for ‘04s Brother Is To Son. By ’06, the entire Danielson crew got back in the studio for hard rockin’ masterpiece, Ships. This was luckily the one and only impersonal fax interviews I ever had to do (in ’98). This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.
Refreshingly reaching out to teenyboppers and serious music fans alike, Clarksboro, New Jersey’s fresh-faced Danielson Famile conquer unexplored pop territory on the striking masterpiece, Tell Another Joke At The Ol’ Choppin’ Block (peculiarly released by metal-edged label, Tooth & Nail). Combining lighthearted humor and cuddly harmonies with a hardcore commitment to God, family, and close relationships, this wondrously enigmatic, wholly ambitious sextet (made up of Smith siblings Daniel, David, Andrew, Rachel, and Megan, along with keyboardist Chris X) tug at the heart and challenge the mind. They tear down generational gaps through insouciant originals.
Though dressed in surgical white outfits at live shows, the Danielson’s songs never resort to campy novelty. While their rudimentary instrumentation, casual nursery rhymes, and innocent childlike appearance make them safely accessible to pre-teens to enjoy, their sophisticatedly twisted arrangements distinguish them as serious musicians. Rarely has such purity and wholesomeness been so successfully combined with clarity of vision, sense of purpose, and sheer enthusiasm.
Idiosyncratic New York underground legend, Kramer, supplies unobtrusive, even-handed production for the simple to intricate pop structures. Piercing falsettos and lovely sopranos rise above twinkled bells, stately piano, and strummed acoustic guitar on swell compositions such as spiritually enlightened “The Lord’s Rest,” matrimonial dreamscape I Am My Beloved’s,” conscientious-minded “Me To Datee,” and organ-soaked “Deviled Egg.” “Flesh Thang’s” youthful vigor and charged up refrains seem to recall the Talking Heads “Up All Night” while the expansive, improvised whirlwind, “Jokin’ At The Block,” could be a baptismal retreat.
Fronted by compassionate 24-year-old guitarist-vocalist Daniel Smith, the Danielson Famile provide joyous stimulation for a complicated world wracked with uncertainty and pandemonium.
The following are comments provided by Daniel via fax from Norway, where the band had begun an early ’98 European tour.
Who were some of your favorite musical artists while growing up?
DANIEL: In order of time from 1975: The Beatles, Peter Paul & Mary, Eddie Rabbitt, Top 40 radio, Def Leppard, U2, Bob Dylan, ‘80s new wave.
How do most of your songs come together lyrically and instrumentally?
DANIEL: I discover the songs with my acoustic guitar, lyrically and structurally. I then – depending on what the song calls for – show them to my family and they play accordingly. They are very good at it.
How did Kramer’s production help? How eccentrically weird is he compared to some of his obtusely abstruse works?
DANIEL: Kramer is good at making us sound like we were recorded in heaven. He has been very kind, and helpful, not weird at all.
As Christians, what are your opinions on abortion, pre-marital sex, and drugs?
DANIEL: We believe in a life of pure love, relationships, and creativity. The High Spirit makes it happen.
Why are you so proud to be a Jersey band?
DANIEL: New Jersey is finally gonna get the respect it deserves. New York hates it. Philly hates it. New Jersey itself is split into north and south. South resents the north. New Jersey needs support internally. We will no longer be laughed at and I am proud to say I’ve always been here. Let the New Jersey creative force begin.
Who are your favorite local bands?
DANIEL: My friend Don Zimmerman is a brilliant songwriter. We just finished recording his new album in my house. Scientific, Chris P., Superbeast, and of course, our dad, Lenny Smith, are faves. We are South Jersey. It’s a different world down here.
What does each individual member bring to the Danielsons that is truly distinct?
DANIEL: I can’t say what we are doing in the overall spectrum of music. I’ll let others decide that.
THE CLEAN @ KNITTING FACTORY
The Clean / Knitting Factory / June 5, 2002
Despite originally breaking up within 18 months of existence, preeminent first wave New Zealand punks, The Clean, became local legends when their infectious carnival-esque ’81 single, “Tally Ho!,” hit number one and a string of now vintage follow-up singles informed an entire generation of lo-fi pop bands from Down Under.
But while vibrantly loopy offspring such as the Bats, Tall Dwarves, and noisy Sonic Youth-styled drones Bailter Space gained attention, the durable Dunedin combo kept intermittently coming back, belatedly releasing their full-length debut, Vehicle, in ’90. The ensuing folk-skewed Modern Rock came four years hence. Then, ‘96s adventurous Unknown Country dropped.
After wallowing away the ‘80s in Kiwi underground folklore, the great-lost band has once more recaptured cerebral rock listeners. Righteously,’01s illuminating Getaway not only reached its aging post-punk American cult, but also cool collegiate coeds half their age, as proven by the large assemblage of admirers this rainy night at Manhattan’s Knitting Factory.
Guitarist-singer David Kilgour (whose solo albums are worth seeking out), his drumming brother, Hamish (concurrently involved with the fabulous Mad Scene), singer-bassist-high school buddy Robert Scott (ex-Bats frontman), and percussionist Danny Tunick (ex-Guvner) dug deep into their extensive catalogue recently compiled on Merge Records’ stunning Anthology.
Beginning with the instrumental Western guitar motif “Fish” (reprised mood-wise on the similar, busier “At The Bottom”), The Clean unloaded swampy pseudo-psychedelia, resilient neo-symphonies, and hazy pastoral retreats nearly flawlessly. Kilgour’s spangled guitar poured out angular riffs while his of-times lost-in-the-mix shy voice took lead on a third of the performances. Scott sang in a more expressively assured baritone, exhibiting a casual temperance perfectly reflected by his winsomely melodic two-minute tunes. Some drifted into the background barely noticeable, lingering through a steady stream of casually terse trinkets, but building to a climactic crescendo on the Velvet Underground knockoff, “Safe In The Rain.”
As the generous set came to a dramatic conclusion with the translucent “What Are You Fighting For,” plus a similarly serene stripped-down stroller and the dusky hook-filled “Whatever Do Right,” the appreciable gathering hit the damp streets completely satisfied. As for The Clean, they’ll be getting ready to tour America and gain some new fans with Jersey friends, Yo La Tengo.
CAVESTOMP @ CONEY ISLAND HIGH
Cavestomp / Coney Island High / October 25, 1997
This rampaging two-night Cavestomp!, sponsored by On Any Third Sunday, admirably captured the ageless nostalgic essence of underground guitar rock. Attending Saturday’s show were a diverse crowd of ex-hippies, punk rockers (the Candy Snatchers were spotted getting high at the upstairs lounge), mods, post-mods, and minimalist junk-culture enthusiasts. Literally defining the phrase ‘keep it simple stupid,’ this ghoulish pre-Halloween gig kept three-chord rockers comin’ fast ‘n furious despite occasional technical glitches.
Hosted by Fleshtones singer, Peter Zaremba (aided by obscure vintage vinyl played between sets), Cavestomp also featured merch tables with primal garage and punk recordings plus memorabilia. BBC footage of the Rolling Stones, the Move, The Who, and dozens more was shown at intervals.
As I arrived, the Insomniacs were playing nightmarish psychedelic rockers with reckless abandon, giving skeletal, no-holds-barred songs a helluva swagger. Somebody please put the Insomniacs on a bill with the Dropouts for a maximum fun ‘90s version of ‘60s punk.
Stockholm’s maddeningly archaic Nomads kept their composure after a blown amp cut short a version of Teenage Head’s “Picture My Face.” Opening with a perfectly scuzzy instrumental, the Nomads dedicated the anthemic “16 Forever” to the Dictators’ Andy Shernoff before giving the crowd a viciously searing “Touch My Hand” encore.
The Henchmen’s bustling Blues-tinged set was not unlike a stripped-down version of New York’s ‘60s legends the Blues Project. They let grinding organ saturate blurry guitar-drenched songs. But both Detroit’s Henchmen and Rochester’s Chesterfield Kings were temporary victims of faulty equipment and a muddy sound mix, taking away some of the energy but none of the verve of their combustible sets. Rompin’ through cryptic raunch rock, the Chesterfield Kings’ shag-haired singer-harp player, Greg Prevost, prowled around the club with a wireless mike that cut out at times.
Boston’s Lyres brought down the house with basic muscular retro-rock sizzlers underscored by snazzy organ flourishes. Their steamy after-hours party music will never be faddishly fashionable, though it deserves massive exposure for its uncompromising simplicity and proud association with rock’s roots.
Kudos to promoter, Jon Weiss, for assembling such a terrific and much needed event (and for getting me some free brews). P.S. Sorry I missed ? & the Mysterians, but it was already 3 A.M.
BLONDE REDHEAD / BLACK HEART PROCESSION @ BOWERY BALLROOM
Blonde Redhead / Black Heart Procession / Bowery Ballroom / November 15, 1999
Catering to more sophisticated and advanced underground tastes, the Bowery Ballroom featured the experimental brilliance of intuitive New York trio, Blonde Redhead, and the soft-focus delicacies of San Diego-based Black Heart Procession.
Blurring the line between post-modern noise rock and artsy prog-rock, Blonde Redhead’s enigmatic, guitar-imposed abstractions seem to initiate from Jazz related improvisations. Guitar masters Kazu Makino and Amadeo Pace offer slashing Sonic Youth-inspired chordal fury countered by single-note riffs that lingeringly bend and curl around tension-filled settings.
Besides providing diligent axe work, doll-faced Makino also manipulated taped sequences while relinquishing anguish and despair in an urgently pleading voice comparable to a vexed PJ Harvey or a dramatically exasperating shriek reminiscent of heartsick diva, Bjork. Drummer Simone Pace kept the rhythm red hot and feverish, banging skins with a mighty thrash.
Through the penetrating barbed wire affects, chaotic mantras formed. The spiraled warbler, “10,” featured Fugazi-linked Jerry Busher’s screeching trumpet blasts and a bustling slacker-styled All Scars punk dancer named Chuck. Siren exhortation, “Luv Machine,” sounded even more emotionally riveting done live.
Never shortening the distance between band and audience, Blonde Redhead slid in and out of clangorous fare with workmanlike precision. For an encore, they delivered the minimalist industrial machination, “In An Expression Of The Inexpressible, ” which locked into tape loop dementia for several minutes without changing course or increasing momentum. Stifling!
Black Heart Procession’s perpetually haunting, meditative death marches provided quiet peril beforehand. Wearing black sunglasses on a dark-lit stage, Pall Jenkins and Tobias Nathaniel tinkered with Wurlitzer piano, toy piano, Moogs, guitars, sheet metal, and saws, creating understated minor chord therapy out of ethereal imagery.
Although I missed half the set, fans seemed completely mesmerized by their withering soft-core and slow burn dynamics and brittle late night ambience.
All in all, a very rewarding evening for those who love being musically challenged. As I left the packed club, I thought I spotted no wave art-pop icon, Arto Lindsay, near the bar enjoying the proceedings.
THE FROGS ARE PUNKER THAN YOU
FOREWORD: I was not so much impressed by the Frogs off-the-cuff home-recorded coffeehouse-styled punk-imbibed novelties as much as I was intrigued by their audacious rips on conservative moralists and asshole media types. Wisconsin brothers Dennis and Jimmy Flemion began the Frogs was back in 1980, but only received properly publicized exposure ten years after when several soon-to-be-famous grunge artists touted them. I interviewed Dennis Flemion in ’01, when the Frogs last album, Hopscotch Lollipop Sunday Surprise, was released, and then put out of print, within months. This article originally appeared in Aquarian Weekly.
Witty Milwaukee deviants, the Frogs, gained recognition, and the respect of Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and the Smashing Pumpkins, by giving the finger to hypocritical conservatism and deriding phony moralists.
Masterminded by brothers Dennis and Jimmy Flemion, these twisted freaks provocatively ‘derange’ totally bizarre improvisations. 1989’s gay-themed Only Right And Natural and the oft-bootlegged Racially Yours mocked gay bashers, white trash, and prejudicial chauvinists with lewd profundities. The media-blitzed Starjob EP and ‘99s Bananimals provoked right-wing extremists, humorless hicks, and countless squares.
Recently, the Frogs unleashed their most polished, unified, and discreet long-player, the pop-rooted Hopscotch Lollipop Sunday Surprise. Gone is the lo-fi amateurism and a portion of the duo’s offhanded satire, replaced by conscientiously heartfelt glam-rock confections such as the buzzy “Whisper,” the stoically-sung fuzz-toned “Sleep On The Street,” the T. Rex-sniped “Bear,” and the implosive “Better Than God.”
Nevertheless, the Flemion’s can’t resist getting goofy for the blow job-addled “Know It All” and the warped psychedelic dreamscape “Nipple Clamps” or dismissive on the vehemently straightforward “Fuck Off.”
Originally perceived as a double-length concept album, Hopscotch initially salutes monogamous heterosexual contact instead of indulging in the taboo escapism, misogyny, bestiality, and sacrilegious lust hilariously exposed on previous releases.
Your new album has a more serious tone.
DENNIS FLEMION: We’ve played serious songs since our inception, but the labels don’t put them out. People don’t want to hear them in bars. They wanna rock. Unless you’ve built up an audience and you’re a demagogue, it’s hard to get people to sit back and listen. The days of Bob Dylan at the Royal Albert Hall, as documented on Don’t Look Back, when you could hear a pin drop, are over. Nowadays you’d hear people yelling song titles and shit. Everybody’s in everybody else’s business – which is a problem. They do it with behind the scene shows about actors, demystifying everything. It was better when we were in awe of these people. You get greater insight to spur your mind, but it makes it contrived and lacking of substance.
Are you pissed off that ultraconservatives don’t understand the Frogs sarcastic wit?
DENNIS: We were around before politically correct culture existed. Since 1980, our independent music has annoyed naysayers in the press.
You fist-fucked that priest on Bananimals.
DENNIS: I’m of the mind it was a goof. That’s why Only Right And Natural’s “Drugs” had a priest with a yeast infection. The person who puts down or accuses someone is usually guilty of the deed. John Lennon believed in peace, but was an angry man with violence inside him. Our songs aren’t pessimistic or evil, although saying that is like slitting my own throat. It’s detrimental to our band to say we’re not controversial because a certain segment of society views us that way. People are on different wavelengths with PC culture. Like someone said about Hitler’s reign, ‘It’s a lucky day for the ruler when the masses don’t think.’
If you know anything about spirituality, you know it’s hard to walk the walk. You might long for something on the side. This is normal. I’m just pointing it out. You get an orgasm for a few seconds of heaven. You feel connected. But then you’re kicked out of the garden. That’s the carrot religion holds up for the culture. After hearing it long enough, you finally go, ‘It’s not taking me there.’ It’s a mood-altering image religion pimps on.
The stuff we make up is done on the spot – which can be difficult. We can write on any universal theme and strike a chord. But there’s no place for censorship in art, whatsoever. The purpose is to express. That should never be shackled. Kurt Loder on MTV was discussing how lyrics could lead to hate crimes. What’s next? Banning everything. It makes you angry to see how the public gets snowballed.
Your humor seems to mock local Wisconsin cheeseheads as well.
DENNIS: It’s probably a reaction against them. The levelof hick stupidity is unbelievable. You shake your head in disbelief. Some of my sense of humor comes from my parents. But I took it farther than they did. I believe in freedom of speech and expression of doing with your soul whatever you want. Why be thin-skinned? There’s so much fear out there. It’s the dumbing down of society.
TV feeds off stupidity. Clinton’s out of office so now the liberal media that previously sucked his dick could smear his already horrid, diminished reputation anytime there’s a slow news day.
DENNIS: Now Bush is going, ‘We have to straighten out the economy.’ What was wrong with the economy? They manufacture this bullshit in the press. Like we had to go bomb some country. They show it on the news and there’s nothing going on there. Why bother? What’s the threat? But Iraq pulled a fast one on us (during the Gulf War) when they started burning the oil fields. The footage was similar to volcano eruptions. That was more punk than any band out there. That fucker (Saddam Hussein) is on the edge.
COME KEEPS DRIPPING ON ‘NEAR LIFE EXPERIENCE’
FOREWORD: Though I’d spoken to Come boss, Thalia Zadek, and right-hand axe man, Chris Brokaw, several times before (at the Mercury Lounge and other venues), this 1997 interview at a Chelsea café in Manhattan was our first ‘sitdown.’ Zedek had worked her way up the alt-rock no wave ladder through formative bands such as Dangerous Birds, Uzi, and Live Skull, releasing a few solo albums after Come disbanded in ’99. Chris Brokaw, former Codeine drummer, made over a half-dozen hard-to-find but easy-to-love and anything-but-compromising solo albums, including ‘05s truly superb Incredible Love. His live show at Maxwells in Hoboken during ’08 was one of my favorite events of the year. This article originally appeared in HITS magazine.
Baseball legend Babe Ruth grew up in Baltimore and reached Hall of Fame status playing for the Boston Red Sox and New York Yankees. Similarly, venerable tortured artist, Thalia Zadek, was raised in Baltimore, then settled in Boston after gaining initial credibility playing New York’s Lower East Side. She lent her formidable talents to cult faves Uzi and Dangerous Birds during the ‘80s. Along with Scarsdale, New York native and co-guitarist Chris Brokaw, they formed the critically acclaimed band, Come, recording audacious debut, 11:11 in ’92, and its respectable follow-up, “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” two years later. With bassist Sean O’Brien and drummer Arthur Johnson in tow, they also backed former Dream Syndicate leader Steve Wynn on ‘96s Melting In The Dark.
For Come’s current project, Near Life Experience,” Zedek and Brokaw recorded and then toured with Tara Jane O’Neil and Kevin Coultas, both of whom are on loan from ethereal mood purveyors, Sonora Pine. Near Life Experience damn well could be Come’s most accessible and adroit full length disc. It prominently features the cellophane-wrapped miasmic opener, “Hurricane,” the twisted mantra, “Weak As A Moon,” the tension-packed, electrocution “Bitten,” and the balmy reflection, “Sloe-Eyed.”
I spoke to Zedek and Brokaw at a Chelsea diner. Legend has it they picked up the check.
How did you come up with Near Life Experience’s twisted title?
THALIA: The title refers to a slip of the tongue. I was telling someone I had a ‘near life experience,’ but meant to say near death experience.. Chris was cracking up at the imagery of that.
How has your music developed over the years?
THALIA: The Dangerous Birds were very poppy. We had a lot of different ideas. But I got into straight punk afterwards. I began to like the unstructured music of the Birthday Party, which was similar to punk if you tore it apart.
How can artists maintain critical acclaim when impending popularity offers the chance to sell out?
THALIA: I think music that is really original will get popular. Musicians aren’t doing themselves a favor by jumping on a trend because trends change. If you make stuff that’s interesting and original while trying to express yourself rather than copy someone else, it’ll be appreciated. You may not be a superstar, but you’ll get an audience. It doesn’t make sense to me how people pander and sell out because if you lose credibility and integrity, there really isn’t much else. I like different types of music. But I’m always baffled by what gets popular.
What current band annoys you?
THALIA: Everclear strikes me as writing incredibly stupid songs. They get on my nerves and make me want to cringe. I like catchy songs with good melodies, like Oasis, but I don’t get into their silly lyrics.
What’s the first record you ever owned?
THALIA: Either “Kung Fu Fighting” or the Carpenters “Top Of The World.” I actually didn’t buy much music later on. The first musician I was really into was Bob Dylan. I remember Leonard Cohen. I love his song, “Suzanne.” I discovered more of his music later on.
The gloomy despair of your first two albums seems not as prominently displayed on Near Life Experience. Do you have a happier outlook?
THALIA: I don’t have a more satisfied outlook. But my outlook has changed. I can’t pinpoint what happened, but after 11:11 and Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, we tried to show some variety by not having just a single mood. Instead, we’d write five slow songs and then there would be one fast one thrown in.
The cover art for Near Life Experience seems to imply a reawakened innocence.
THALIA: What it implies is something not quite real. This German lady, Imche Wagner, took those pictures. I loved the colors and the doll sniffing flowers seemed fitting in its artificial nature. But there’s nothing artificial about the music. (laughter)
What made you want to pursue music, Chris?
CHRIS: My dad used to play drums. He once sat in for Jerry Lee Lewis. It was a fluke. He went to see him play at a roadhouse in Indiana and his drummer never showed up. He got paid and did a few sets.
Do you feel restrained being in a backup role to Thalia?
CHRIS: The main reason I play with Thalia is she’s a really good guitarist. Our friends introduced us and we played for hours. It was a great situation because we had a good musical dialogue. And she’s a great lyricist and singer. I’ve always trusted her judgement, even when she puts my music into words. The attention may be on her, but so is the pressure. Our stuff isn’t exuberantly happy so the press picks on Thalia, which is a relief.
What’s the difference between touring Europe and touring the States?
CHRIS: In Europe, they want you to play for a long time. It’s something they speak very highly of. My friends saw Guided By Voices in Berlin and they did five encores. In the States, they’d say that’s enough. But Europeans seem to have a longer attention span.
Who are some of your musical influences?
CHRIS: I was reading Please Kill Me by Legs McNeil. It had quotes from several late ‘70s punk bands which I realize influenced me. New York Dolls. Richard Hell. Iggy Pop, the Contortions, Public Image Ltd. And Bush Tetras. But lately, I’ve been listening to Charles Mingus and other Jazz artists.
What are the first records you owned?
CHRIS: Jeff Beck’s Beck-ola, the New York Dolls’ Too Much Too Soon, and Kiss Alive. One of the reasons I learned to play guitar was because of Kiss. Before that, I bought the singles ‘Bad Bad Leroy Brown” and “Monster Mash.”
LIQUID LIQUID: RAP’S UNSUNG HEROES
FOREWORD: New York City’s dub-plated groove-based post-punk troupe, Liquid Liquid, crafted influential multi-cultured homemade minimalist recordings a decade before the ‘90s lo-fi do-it-yourself indie rock and rap underground became all the subterranean rage. Grandmaster Flash & Melle Mel’s massively popular 1981 anti-cocaine diatribe, “White Lines (Don’t Do It),” used the elastic bass from Liquid Liquid’s “Cavern” as its musical bed, creating a big club following for the Jersey-originated quartet.
Though they disbanded in ’83, I caught up with Liquid Liquid multi-instrumentalist Richard Mc Guire in ’97 to discuss the generous self-titled double disc compilation that was coming out in weeks. We spoke over the phone for an hour. This article originally appeared in Cover Magazine.
Hip-hop began somewhat inauspiciously when Washington DC’s Chuck Brown was caught “Bustin’ Looose” and North Jersey’s Sugar Hill Gang cooked up a “Rapper’s Delight” in ’79. At about the same time, Liquid Liquid’s combination of diverse elements – Latin percussion, faux-soul, free Jazz, and eastern exotica – lent an extension to the underground scene that wouldn’t be explored until years later.
Influenced by Curtis Mayfield, Sly & the Family Stone, and African jungle rhythms, as well as dub-reggae tape manipulators Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry, Augustus Pablo, and Adrian Sherwood, Liquid Liquid put their minimalist funk smack dab in the middle of the punk and disco rebellions from ’79 to ’83.
Coming together at Rutgers University in ’78, Richard Mc Guire (bass, percussion, piano, guitar, melodica), Scott Hartley (percussion), and Sal Principato (vocals) first called themselves Liquid Idiot. They muddled around the tri-state circuit for a year before hiring Dennis Young on marimba and changing their name to Liquid Liquid.
In ’79, the band performed its first few New York shows at CBGB and various loft parties, on several occasions playing with graffiti artist Jean Michel Basquiat’s band, the Gray. After a three-song tape failed to immediately impress 99 Records (whose clients at the time were respected guitarist-composer Glenn Branca and the Bush Tetras), Liquid Liquid resubmitted a better recorded eight-track tape of a live show at CB’s that got them signed.
By ’83, Liquid Liquid had played the Peppermint Lounge with loopy dance rockers, Konk, and toured Europe with the Talking Heads. In quick succession, they had dropped two influential extended-play ’81 singles, an inspiring eponymous entree and Successive Reflexes, followed by ‘83 full-length, Optimo. Along with four live tracks recorded at Berkeley Square in ’82, these discs have finally been assembled and repackaged as the historically significant Liquid Liquid on Grand Royal Records.
Relying on intuition and impulse, these untrained, non-conforming Yankee experimentalists prefigured many post-modern studio techniques. They introduced freeform minimalism (check out the live version of “Push”) and loosely-structured rhythms devoid of any cultural restrictions.
Remarkably, Liquid Liquid was respected by both the underground rock community and dance club patrons. And their impact on electronica, drum ‘n’ bass, and ambient trip-hop is just starting to be realized.
“We made all-encompassing groove music,” Mc Guire says. “Each member collaborated, smoked pot, then waited for a good groove to arise. Scott and I referred to Liquid Liquid as ‘body music’ We went through permutations, growing from unskilled musicians to more sophisticated technicians.”
While hanging around in NewYork’s Lower East Side, McGuire became intrigued with Latin sounds. As meringue and other south-of-the-border rhythms filtered into ‘80s dance subculture’s mega-mix, Liquid Liquid seemed bent on internalizing Latin music as much as expanding hip-hop’s boundaries. Ultimately though, it was the rubbery “Cavern,” featuring the infamous bass groove sampled for Grandmaster Flash & Melle Mel’s coke-snubbing missive, “White Lines (Don’t Do It),” that made Liquid Liquid an important precursor of what is now respectfully labeled ‘old school’ hip-hop.
“Just when “Cavern” was climbing up Billboard’s dance charts,” Mc Guire says, “Afrika Bambaataa picked it up and began playing it at the Roxy, where Grandmaster Flash originally heard it. Then, club DJ Jellybean Benitz would close dance nights at the Funhouse with it. At the Paradise Garage, which was a huge gay joint and a benchmark of its time we’d play four songs. Then the DJ’s would spin discs.”
While waxing nostalgic, Mc Guire recognizes and accepts the shift in the music scene but doesn’t feel completely out of touch.
“It’s definitely a different scene in New York now with people cutting up music and giving a rebirth to old songs. They take it to another level using computers to construct and compose. And the form is growing rapidly,” he insists. “There’s a lot of drum ‘n’ bass I like, mostly DJ-related stuff like DJ Shadow, Tortoise, and U-Ziq. And Beck is all over the place. He puts it all together in one delicious stew and doesn’t take himself too seriously.”
On the cusp of club fame accorded by “Cavern,” the original Liquid Liquid called it quits in ’83. The pain of not receiving proper compensation for the use of its samples (check out Deee-Lite’s “Bellhead” and the Lights “Build A Bridge”) led Mc Guire to seek alternative ventures. He became a New York Times illustrator and now designs books, records, and Swatch watches. His own Mc Guire Toys line climaxed with ‘EO,’ an animated solar-powered toy. Still fond of his original artistic direction, he recently created a new video for “Cavern” at an animation studio. So keep watching for a possible third wave of Liquid Liquid.