It's Not The Eat, It's the Humidity - The Eat

What good punk rock sounded like before NOFX and Anti-Flag turned it into an abomination.

BY VINCENT ALBARANO

This time around I'm going with one of my favorite albums: the collected discography of South Florida's The Eat. “What the hell is The Eat?” you're asking. Well, The Eat were one of Florida's earliest punk bands, who managed to inspire a scene of other groups you (and I) don't care about. I'm sure this means nothing, but hey, I started doing these because I didn't want my comments and reviews to just stay in my head where no one would hear them. All that aside, The Eat started out in the late '70s and released their flagship "Communist Radio" b/w "CatholicLove" single in 1979. Their only other release during their lifetime was 1980's God Punishes The Eat EP. Other posthumous releases followed but the band remained unknown (natch). They were first exposed to the brain-dead punk public at large on the third volume of the Killed by Death compilation series, which even took its name and cover from their second EP. Years later, Jello Biafra (there's a name you'll recognize) went archiving and released this two disc compilation of all the band's studio recordings (unreleased tracks everyone!) and a series of live sets on his Alternative Tentacles label. Looks like those damn anarchists can do some things right.

The band got on the punk rock scene early enough that it hadn't yet been codified into a single sound, so a good deal of their songs don't fit the punk rock stereotype. The most prevalent sound here is guitar-based 1950s rock & roll, as demonstrated on "Jimmie B. Goode" (hell, that title gives it away), "Catholic Love," "I Led Two Lives" and a number of others. A few songs play out as pre-hardcore adrenaline rushes ("Nut Cop," "Kneecappin'"). Other tracks were funk-based party anthems ("Nixon's Binoculars," "Mr. Brown") or even weird psychedelic/folk numbers ("Dream of Yogi"). Overall, there's none of the dour posturing and petulant scowling found on most punk records of the era--this isn't meant to spark a revolution, but rather a party. The band was having fun and their audience couldn't help but get suckered into the energy--the live sides on disc two give the best proof of this.

Part of the band's appeal was their lyrics, which showed they really didn't give a damn what was thought of them or their music. The Eat wrote songs about things they enjoyed and these four friends and co-workers weren't about to be codified into a systematic way of playing music. One of the major topics was sports (natch). Another big one was guitarists/singers/brothers Eddie and Michael O'Brien's Catholic upbringing. Politics were a big one, of course, but The Eat were set apart from their punk peers by their way of handling such matters: far from attempting criticism of matters way over their heads (take a note, endless list of punk bands), these guys simply stated what was going on at the time. The songs that don't fit into these categories are about anything else the band wanted to poke fun at or discuss; these include animal abuse, stomping an ex-girlfriend's pets to death, and living like a punk at night but an adult with responsibilities by day.

Since I've had this collection for awhile and like it so much, I'm sure this all comes off more as an appraisal than a review, but why shouldn't it? If cookie-cutter political punk with no time for fun is a dull prospect for you, this album is the perfect counterpoint. Tired of thrash-and-scream bands who think Nervous Breakdown was the musical ground zero? Look no further. No sense of responsibility is needed to apreciate the songs contained within, and all pretention can be left at the door (unlike with this review).

Blood, Sweat and Tears - Ace Hood

I don't get it.

This one's by me, Matt Lovett, this time. This is an interesting one for me to come back with as anyone who knows or is even slightly familiar with me would probably be surprised that I would put time into writing about an album such as Blood, Sweat and Tears (especially so much.) I agree, given my usual indie/garage/punk tastes. Frankly, one song from Ace Hood and one tongueless, half-moan shout of his name would have been the end of my aural relationship with him. However, it is out of a friendly promise (I have a friend who is a HUGE fan of this guy) and an urge to test myself by analyzing and listening to an album I would not usually do that I have reviewed Ace Hood's new record. Now with that said...

Ace Hood's first top 10 record opens with a hook supplied by T-Pain. The hook is catchy and fun, but cheesy with a sarcastic, “oh wow I haven't heard this before” sensibility. In other words, using T-Pain as a feature is worn out and his niche in music seems to have disappeared. To back up T-Pain's role, Ace Hood goes on to explain why he is in fact the “king of the streets.” As Ace Hood goes on about how this is the “realest shit he ever wrote” I can't help but wonder: “what streets is Ace Hood exactly the king of?” Ace Hood's verses are simply empty, egotistical ramblings-- ramblings fueled by disillusionment. For shit's sake, he got T-Pain-- the “I'm on a Boat!” guy.

The second track, “Go N Get It” doesn't have the radio quality of its predecessor but makes up for it with an Ace Hood squeal in its introduction (check out 0:18). It then goes into a bunch of tired, uncreative lines about money and Ace Hood's problems. “Another day, another dollar” and “I'm a God-fearing nigga” are the types of things heard on this track-- reflecting Ace Hood's inconsistency in his verses and his inability to focus on a singular subject. Maybe I just don't get it, but by the end of “Hustle Hard” Ace Hood has probably mentioned his daily troubles and/or getting money/“hustling” more times than it is reasonable to count.

When the third, Yo Gotti-featured track, “Errythang,” came on, Ace Hood as a musician came together to me; he uses the same structure for most (if not all) of his songs, beginning with the hook and then following this structure: hook-verse-hook-verse-hook-etc. Not to mention the fact that “tough”, generally minor-key synthesized beats are a staple on Ace Hood tracks. To top it off, I still don't know what “errythang” means.

Pop-star, dancer and woman beater Chris Brown provides a slight break in Ace Hood's groaned hooks but still is incredibly confusing. What does “body two body [Body 2 Body]” signify? Translation please.

In the next song, Ace Hood has proven to listeners that “memory lane” is no longer an expression used exclusively by middle-aged persons. In addition, his song “Memory Lane” has also proven that one can be excused to a certain degree for judging a book by its cover (I can use cliché metaphors too!!!!) or in this case, a song by its title. I will give credit to Ace Hood in that there's at least a somewhat legitimate message here in this track, as it seems that Ace Hood may have had some real things to say about his past. Nonetheless, Ace Hood relies on low and overused phrases to express that “shit done changed.”

“Letter to My Exs” follows “Memory Lane,” creating a nostalgic back-to-back. As if you couldn't call it from the title, Ace Hood reflects on his past romances: how he thought he was in love once, started realizing “shit,” then had to let her/them go. Ace Hood philosophizes on love in fading out the track-- “fuck love” he concludes before going into the final refrain recitation. I should also mention that he doesn't fail to mention the quality of the “pussy” his exs provided in the hook of the track.

It seems rather contradictory that after a discouraging rant about love Ace Hood follows it up with the closest thing to a love song on the album-- “Beautiful.” Kevin Cossum croons “This one's for you girrrrlll” during the refrain while Ace Hood is flipping out about how attractive the girl he's talking to is in this song. I'm glad Ace Hood got over his cynicism and no longer feels burned by love, but Ace Hood has once again confused me-- did he grow that much between songs? It makes the legitimacy of his songs questionable. Perhaps Ace Hood just pulls most or all of his lines out of his ass even when he raps about things he says that he specifically underwent. Ace Hood appears to be having trouble putting the real him out there to listeners.

A string arrangement and an acoustic guitar intro embellishes the prayer-based next track “Lord Knows,” whereas Ace Hood is regretful of his life's deeds and needy of God's help. Ace Hood's knack for overuse and weak attempts for lyrical depth is still present even in this song, as chanted in the song's refrain: “only Lord knows what the hell that I've been really through.” “Lord Knows” is up there with “another day, another dollar” and “same shit, different day;” these are all exasperated phrases that thwart listener understanding or empathy. This is a defining defect of Ace Hood; his lack of eloquence in his verses hinder any sort of connection he could have with listeners, save those who may appreciate the superficial.

“Bitter World” is the same exact thing as every other track on this album where Ace Hood discusses his life's upsets and downfalls. He really doesn't change anything, save his tacky metaphors. “Spoke to My Momma” is also a similar deal, just with a motherly context. In actuality, the only thing that's different is that Ace Hood starts the song with “Spoke to my momma the other day” then continues to talk about hustling, his dreams and whatever depressing shit he was dealing with on every song prior to this one again.

I can only assume that the “Hustle Hard” remix is last because Lil' Wayne and Rick Ross, probably the most prominent mainstream hip-hop figures on this album, make appearances. They come off as celebrities almost by being on the last track, but their verses are as clunky and forgettable as Ace Hood's and quite lazily use many words from the song's refrain for their parts.

Ace Hood's Blood, Sweat and Tears is as sad as the entities that entitle the record. Ace Hood will need to develop his flow, consistency and creativity in order to produce a LP that can even be close to solid. Until then, I remain unimpressed and flustered with the repetitious middle-school level figurative language stuck in my head.

Arabia Mountain - The Black Lips

Even with several albums under their belt, the Black Lips continue to provide listeners with an honest rock & roll sound.

BY VINCENT ALBARANO

This one is my lead contender for album of the year. Maybe the fact that I've only bought three albums that came out this year (one was a reissue) influences that; I happen to like the band also. Either way, this is the one that proves I like some new music. Although the Black Lips (aka the garage band hipsters can like) have noticeably toned down their stage act after ten years together, they still can pack more wallop than any twig-boy indie rock band-- no shoegazing here, thank you. This one seems to be especially notable because most of the tracks were produced by Mark Ronson. I have no fucking idea who Mark Ronson is, other than the fact that he appears to be some sort of hipster celebrity. In the end, it really doesn't matter: the album sounds fine.

On the subject of sound it goes without saying that this album is much cleaner than the group's first three albums, which took cues from the most psychotic, backwoods rave-ups on the Backfrom the Grave comps. Their whole sound has been more polished since signing to Vice a few years ago, but I've been told that songs are more memorable when they aren't buried under layers of fuzz and reverb. The three singles that preceded the album set the work's tone perfectly: "Go Out and Get It" shows the band can blast straight-up rock & roll; "Modern Art" is a garage/psych number that recalls much of their earlier work (debauched lyrics inact); "New Direction" continues in the first single's style (piss off, I couldn't think of anything else). The album also delves into psychedelic work-outs that manage to hold my attention because they aren't nine minute suites with bullshit ethereal solos and meaningless lyrics praised as profound thoughts just because the words sound good together. This is best seen on the album closer "You Keep on Running," which at times recalls the darkest, most paranoid drugged-out moments of Sly & the Family Stone's There's a Riot Goin' On (this wouldn't be a music review if I didn't compare it to a classic, acclaimed album). Other songs touch on country ("Time"), piano-pounding '50s rock & roll ("Dumpster Dive"), and frat rock freakouts ("Mad Dog"). My top pick goes to the sparse, echo-laden "Bone Marrow," which begins with cryptic vocals over a simple drum pattern, and soon adds layers of dueling guitars alternating surf rock licks and garagey chords.

Overall, Arabia Mountain is one of the Black Lips' stronger efforts in a long career with multiple solid releases. Even if it can't quite match the furious brilliance and perfect balance of old influences and modern innovations found on Let It Bloom, it's still a damn good album. It's reassuring to know the Black Lips haven't lost their garage punk edge, even while expanding their musical palate, proving they're leagues ahead of the Sonics-centric groups that seem to populate the genre. If I haven't been clear up to this point (and even I question my abilities), let me put it to you this way: What other album this year has delivered passionate, true-to-form rock & roll?*

*Davila 666, I'll get to you soon.

Some People Deserve to Suffer - Stick Men with Ray Guns

Vincent Albarano, a new and occasional Warchild contributor, disussses one of his favorite punk records while revelaing his distaste for black metal and irriation with hipsters.

This one's been out for a few years now, so this is gonna be in retrospect. Since you clearly haven't heard about this band (unless you have read the Pitchfork review-- that was great, wasn't it?), here's the basics: Stick Men with Ray Guns were a hardcore band from Dallas in the '80s. They were infamous for the antics of their frontman, Bobby Soxx, who looked like Buddy Holly on speed, and would assault, piss on, and antagonize his fans and both his bandmates and others on the bill. They only released a few cuts on compilations during their heyday (Bobby had the 1980 "Learn to Hate in the 80s" backed with the "Scavenger of Death" single with Teenage Queers), so this 2002   retrospective is made up of those few studio cuts and a number of live songs.

First off: even though most of the songs are live, the sound quality is pretty good, considering the shit-fi standards most other hardcore live releases have when unleashed after thirty years. Granted, it would still have any audiophile scoffing, but fuck those uptight pricks.

Second: Stick Men with Ray Guns may have been part of the hardcore scene in the'80s, but they didn't offer any one-two thrash and bash; they were much closer to Flipper in sound, with loud, noisy, droning numbers. The guitar screeches and snarls; the bass rumbles; the drums mostly thump out a sort of tribal thud that serves the songs' rhythms perfectly. Bobby's vocal range is surprisingly wide: he can go from a low growl to a shrill whine, or even a gruff bark. I may have said wide range, but this is in a punk context, people. All these elements were key to the band's sound: a post-hardcore/proto-noise rock conglomeration of scathing noise competing with the rhythm section's brutal low-end thud. The sound is harsh and blistering, even on the studio numbers, but it only seems to add to the band's nihilistic qualities.

The perfect complement to such a harsh, uncompromising sound was Bobby's lyrics, which ran the gamut of punk rock's favorite topics. His main targets were Christianity, such as in the classic "Christian Rat Attack", which was given extra hipster cred when Thurston Moore and Richard Hell covered it later (see, I'm working with you people). Others took on Hardcore's raison d'etre: Ronald Reagan ("Nazi Cowboys (on Welfare)"). Some choose to focus on juvenile subjects ("Pee Pee in the Disco Mommy (I Gotta)"). The best lyrics are those that focus on the blackest corners of misanthropy possible. These include the blistering "Kill the Innocent" and a re-working of Bobby's "Scavenger of Death", which is transformed from a raging three-chord punker to a massive, crushing wall of noise. Such devotion to nihilism, misanthropy and random violence could quickly draw comparisons to shitty black metal, but let me set it straight: I am not overweight, lonely and depressed, nor do I have acne--heavy metal offers me nothing. Also, Bobby and co. were Texan punks with a bad attitude, not "Viking warriors" who thought burning down churches was cool. Despite some rudimentary themes and elements, their crushing lyrics alone set Stick Men ahead of the punk curve.

For a band in a scene famous for playing bad music really fast, Stick Men came up with some surprising musical variety: there are elements of straight-up Rock & Roll ("Satan Baby"), frantic Rockabilly ("Baby Now!"), and even shuffling Country ("Nazi Cowboys (on Welfare)"). All of this provides solid evidence that the band should be revered more than a number of other hardcore bands, but hey, MDC played faster. Due to the limited availability of Stick Men material, most of the band's reputation rests on stories about Bobby's antics, and that was certainly a great part of their appeal (at least as far as I can tell, I wasn't there; I have no idea what I'm saying. Don't listen to me.) So even with this CD being out of print currently, we now have much easier access to the band's legacy--Soxx stories included. It's worth the effort of tracking down a download link, as this one still hold some shocks and surprises. And those Bobby Soxx stories are worth tracking down too.

Leave Home - The Men

The Men sounds rather sexist to me, but they have arrived with an impeccable record with raw roots.

Nowadays, the world's listeners are pulled to a sound that is mostly synthetic and artificial, straying away from the organic. Instrumentation is favorably created in the tradition of synthpop while the sounds more strongly influenced by an older generation of music are starting to deteriorate. But then there are bands like the Men, who have created a real record with notes that have a meaning and power to them that strikes empathy and a desire to listen many times.

Leave Home's opener, "If You Leave...," is an eery, prolonged tune that maintains a soft ringing for its first minutes. It's bothersome to disturb it; it's best just to sit back and absorb the cushioned feedback and the choppy staccato of the guitar riff that follows. Then the Men flex about three minutes in to bring a face-melting roar of power chords comparable to Sebadoh III's heavier tracks. The transition is mildly cliché, but nonetheless it's sonically attractive-- at this point the energy you absorbed during the song's introduction is now being exerted freely.

“Lotus” and “Think” follow, abandoning long introductions. These songs are rock to their core. “Think” in particular has a touch of something even heavier, whereas in the song's middle it becomes increasingly disorienting with a touch of horn-like vocals that could probably even double as a means of soloing as well. “Think,” with its clear elements of thrash metal, is easily representative of where hardcore stands today.

Things get a tad more peculiar, and less straightforward. “L.A.D.O.C.H.” stands almost as a drum-and-bass tune that just happens to have guitar-- and it is absolutely irritating. In its lagging and squeals it somehow grapples the ears with curiosity, making a listener investigate the source of the musical and lyrical instability of the track. In other words, it truly pulls you in. The lyrics that can be caught are uh, intriguing: “The bringer of everything, nothing is here to stay” is screamed in various forms, sometimes followed by pure vocal honesty in the forms of a cough and/or a gasp for air. “L.A.D.O.C.H.” is merely a break in the album's mostly fast-paced nature, as “( )” and my personal favorite “Bataille” pound through afterwards with mimicking, mosh worthy riffs on bass and guitar.

It's interesting that this record is largely instrumental given the mighty emphasis placed on the group's vocals, er, screeches. The instrumental qualities of the record however show the band's dynamic character. Case-in-point-- Leave Home's second-to-last track, “Shittin' With the Shah.” This is an abrupt transition from “Bataille” which comes before as it is much more relaxes, but as the Men chill out on this song they are able to showcase broader influences in their music such as garage and early rock 'n' roll. The Men then come back from the break room, as they did similarly coming back from “L.A.D.O.C.H.,” to finish off Leave Home with “Night Landing,” a static punk rage with a tincture of fitting spacey guitar effect.

On Leave Home, The Men have a record that may be harder than what many ears have been accustomed to in the field of independent rock music, which could be met with some pester for audiences. But nonetheless, the Men's authenticity is worth getting used to. 

Here is the opening track, "If You Leave...", off of Leave Home:

 

Here's my personal favorite song from Leave Home, "Bataille":

 

 

Sound Kapital - Handsome Furs

The songwriting couple Handsome Furs, comprised of Wolf Parade co-frontman Dan Boeckner (alongside Spencer Krug) and wife Alexei Perry have released a new, synth-heavy new wave record that makes one miss Martin Rushent.

Handsome Furs have become the new wave, video game music band of the year with Sound Kapital. In this respect, Handsome Furs have delivered, having stated that the record would have 1980s electronic and industrial influences. They could not have done it better, save perhaps having some tracks that would inspire a restraining order or have gothy, love-lost anthems. Nonetheless, the likes of the Human League and Throbbing Gristle are all over this nine-track couple's album.

Dan Boeckner approaches this record with a door-slamming demeanor, perpetuated by his immediate story on Sound Kapital. “When I Get Back” is a bassy, driven tune of desire, and could easily be a club-bumping tune save the vocal aspect. This song represents a cohesion of lyric and melody in its swiftness as Boeckner sings in a hurry to abandon his current emotional state and “get back home.” New wave lights up the track with synthesized layering to help push this message. The grinding electronica of Sound Kapital continues with “Damage,” a homage to Throbbing Gristle's melodic (yet still disorienting) side (what?).

Boeckner's side project may have created a modern, new wave record. However, it's set apart in its songwriting, which is far more comparable to Wolf Parade than Devo. This is a record of heavy self-release and expression, which goes to show that Boeckner's songwriting has not shifted from his time with Wolf Parade but rather is static. The hooks and chanted choruses are all still here, not to the degree of “This Heart's On Fire,” but nonetheless the energy is ever-present throughout Sound Kapital. There's the opening track, “When I Get Back,” but “Bury Me Standing” and “Memories of the Future” also reflect a musical scream on behalf of Boeckner. A theme of many of these songs is the pursuit of feeling better, and this theme is spelled out in Boeckner's voice and execution of his lyrics.

“What About Us” is a fulfilling dreary alley of a tune. That is to say, breaking someone's heart in the context of this song is on the same stature as murder. It's simplicity is grating, but in that respect it also replicates the same sensibilities of its 1980s counterpart. The Human League's Dare comes to mind when listening to this song. Dare is a fantastic album, however the static quality of lyricism and vocals are more than capable of being irritating. “What About Us” has that same character, perhaps making Handsome Furs some sort of post-synthpop group? Sure.

A common criticism of Handsome Furs, as well as other Wolf Parade frontman Spencer Krug's side projects, is that it's simply not Wolf Parade. Dan Boeckner's work with Handsome Furs is miniscule compared to the Apologies to the Queen Mary. Handsome Furs have lacked that enthusiasm and inspiration; they are riding off the hype surrounding Boeckner. So it seems. However, the song “Repatriated” has changed that thought in me as the gem of Sound Kapital, confirming that Boeckner is capable of creating great songs without the Krug in the room. Boeckner chants over the best synthesizer lines on the album that he will “never be repatriated.” Repatriated back to Wolf Parade? Regardless of its meaning, Boeckner is able to make himself distinct, alongside his wife, as a songwriter and new wave revivalist. 

Check out "Repatriated" below:

 

Check out "This Heart's On Fire," one of Dan Boeckner's contributions to Wolf Parade's Apologies to the Queen Mary:

 

Codes and Keys - Death Cab for Cutie

Death Cab's latest launches 1000 shits, but not in the cool way.

It's not too surprising that Death Cab released an album like this. After all, each album they have released has been more uninspired and uncreative than their last. Narrow Stairs was listenable, I mean, “Cath...'s” jazziness was unique and “I Will Possess Your Heart” was, as I see it, an entertaining, creepy homage to The Police's “Every Breath You Take.” Plans was an indie-rock hit via the captivation of 14-year-olds. It seems all the more evident that they will never achieve their iconic Something About Airplanes or even Transatlanticism sound. The point made here is that Death Cab has released their worst album yet.

Death Cab dives into their new mess with “Home is a Fire,” which is a chill, whispery piece with a drowsy sense to it. Ben Gibbard's reverb is excessive, creating a sonic representation of our descent into sleep; which is exactly what it will do. The title track follows, stylized as a circus march with a symphonic layer. This song's lyrics seem to imply that we all need to cope with our basic human emotions, like jealousy, as Gibbard closes the second track with a repeated “We are alive.”

Many times song titles lead to a sense of predictability in a corresponding song's lyrics. “Some Boys,” Codes and Keys' third track, is one of those songs.

Have Gibbard's lyrics always been so vague? “Doors Unlocked and Open” has forced me to ponder this, as I have no idea what the meaning of this song is. Musically, the song is rather reminiscent of the album's first track with its fast-paced quality, repetition, and dreaminess. Luckily, the album's single, “You Are a Tourist” is more blatant, although the metaphor of the “tourist” is an exhausted one. Regardless, it's probably one of the album's stronger tracks, given the guitar riff is rather catchy making this song the equivalent of Narrow Stairs' “Cath...”

The album mellows into “Unobstructed Views,” or the soundtrack to some kid's stop-motion video of his home city that he posts on his Tumblr. It's relaxing, but completely silent and easy to overlook in the scheme of the album and of Death Cab's repertoire.

Once I got to the seventh track, the songs truly start molding into each other. “Monday Morning” utilizes the same musical voices it seems as many of the album's first tracks. Death Cab likes being swift all too often. The commentary presented in the song comes off as cliché gibberish about the necessity for change in our lives.

Off-beat piano and plenty of “OHHHH's” lead the next song “Portable Television.” (I think Death Cab has a thing for song titles that are normal and dull on this record.) But once again, in regards to the album's repeated musical themes, the tempo and piano played like a cave-man alludes to the song “Codes and Keys.” “Underneath the Sycamore” is also “the same” as the rest of the record. The album becomes tedious at this point, as it becomes clear that the majority of the songs have one of two qualities: tons of piano pounding or swift and spacey.

“St. Peter's Cathedral” I almost liked, for it seemed that Gibbard told everyone else in the band to just stop overdoing it. Upon first listening, I could have sworn it was a cleaner, childish James Blake tune. But don't worry, as always Gibbard attempts to create something anthemic and touching as the song goes on trying to capitalize on emotion with far from lo-fi vocal and guitar effects. Great for fans of The Edge.

I think anyone could have called the album's conclusion, a head-bobbing, acoustic guitar tune: “Stay Young, Go Dancing.” Gibbard refers to a “her/she” that we do not know, comparing her voice to a “symphony.” (Wow, that's so like, enlightening.) Listening in, I was longing for something dissonant; something you really couldn't sing along to (see “Line of Best Fit” from Something About Airplanes.) In this respect, this album is disappointing even though it was expected. Hopeful is not in this record's character, and I do not feel as such for the next Death Cab release.