 |
Reglar Wiglar Picking the easy targets since 1993 |
|
|
MUSIC REVIEWS: RW#3-1 < 20-21 19-18 17-16 15-14 13-12 11-10 9-7 6-4 3-1 RW #3 (1994) BUTTSTEAK Theze folks, from Norfolk, VA, were fun to watch. They said the F word in their songs and they spit on each other lots and they did a little impromptu thingamajig before they played in which a guy from the audience, who was actually a member of the band, heckled them as they were warming up. The guy from the audience, who was really a guy from the band, made the drummer, who was wearing a dress (not a bad figure actually, sort of waifish, Kate Mossy look) sing Happy Birthday while he smeared chocolate frosting on the guitarists neked bun cheeks which he put candles in, lit on fire, then stomped out with his boots. The dude pulls up his pants after that and plays the whole set with that chocolatey stuff on his buttsteak, which I'm bettin' he totally dug. Fuckin' Moon Pie. Anyway, the CD is equal nuttiness, got songs called "Lee Harvey Keitel" and "Fucky Sucky" and "Smacklord" but you should see 'em live and maybe buy the CD at the show like I did 'cause I got three free stickers when I did, except one of them was ripped, but hell it was free, well actually I paid an extra dollar for the CD because dude didn't have single but dat's OK., 'cause I had a nice time, even though the beer was warm, butt butt-ass cheap, which I ain't used to so I tipped big to make up for it which the waitress dug lots (she was wearing a Styx concert jersey and I think she was serious). I am so easily entertained, it's downright frightening–Scat-in-the-Hat MILKMINE This all reminds me of the first time I saw Milkmine here in Chicago when they played at the Avalon; I was first introduced to the Milkmine seven inch "SuperM" (also on choke, inc.) when it hit me in the bead after singer/bass player, Jon Nash threw it at me after insulting my shirt (a nice button-down J.C. Penny number that my aunt bought me for my birthday). The disc hit me squarely in the forehead and all theses grunge rockers in the audience turned and looked at me like I was a fucking burn victim, a look of pity and repugnance. I heard one little girl whisper to her boyfriend "Oh my God, Look at that shirt." What the fuck" All my flannel was at the cleaners man, I fucking swear it! See these ripped jeans? I ripped them for you, man! So Braile is a damn fine release if you like lead heavy, rock'n'roll. These kids're from Cincinnati but they aint' no fuckin' Whigs, dig? And for those rock'n'roll purists, all too comfortable with the guitar/bass/ drums format all's I gotta say is, that bass'll sure mistake yah for a geetar. The way these boys play it anyway. They would probably be offended by that remark, but what're yah gonna do? Huh?–Muggsy McMurphy KNOB GOBBLER Most Chicago bands I've had the discomfort of interviewing seem either too ready to slag their local yokels and their work or they comment that, although they could slag a great deal of Chicago bands, they won't 'cause they don't want to come across as arseholes However, when discussing Knob Gobbler, for some reason, no one holds back and this is good because Knob Gobbler should not exist. But who am I to judge? I am not God most certainly, in fact, I, Joey Germ am not even sure that God exists. Questioning the existence of a higher power and more intelligent being certainly becomes prevalent after listening to the Knob Gobbler CD, however, and the odds seldom turn up in God's favor. I have not seen Knob Gobbler play out, fortunately. I've heard rumors to the effect that they suck so bad that no one has seen them play yet. Seems like these boys been on the scene forever but I did a little research and I found out that that just ain't the case. Been together as a band for about three months as far as I could figure. Played their first show at Czar Bar in January last, according to their elaborate five page, glossy press kit, which incidentally contains no press clippings about them nor any reviews of them, their shows, or their CD. It's just a long sob story about how great they are and how hard they work and really need a record deal with a real label. The band consists of two members, Clyde, the singing tambourine playing drummer and Bill, the guitar playing, and sometimes, if you're really unlucky, singing second member. Why only a two piece? Are they just so creative and insightful visionaries that no other musicians feel honored enough to work within ten feet of their genius minds or perhaps these two fellows are just two of the most desperate geeks this side of Palatine and no one would want to be seen on a stage with them. If they possessed any talent whatsoever I could call them a Grunge Simon and Garfunkel, but they take the funk out of Garfunkel and rock about as hard as a bow-tied senator. Well, so much for the first installment of our local reviews. As much as I hate to sound like Beavis or his buddy, Butthead, don't send me your demo if it sucks. I just don't have the time–Joey Germ SPYRAL TAP Instead of a brief overview of the disc that would only mention the better aspects, quickly glossing over certain arteests who laid down time, money and perhaps a little sweat, I will address each song independently, ahem. Scrub is the first band featured on dis ting. I ain't heerd nothing about them, but that don't mean jack shit. Left Ventricle is the tune and it rocks solid, dude. Screw Party–I don't know–seen 'em play live once and liked, but "Lou Reed's Dead" don't pump my nads much As for the Wesley Willis Fiasco, now here's a moral dilemma for me. Having heard his full length CD Radiohead and then hearing him backed up by this heavy guitar crank makes me wonder whose bein' self-served here. What I do know is that I have seen said artists urinate in public one too many time not to question who's gonna benefit most from this fiasco. I've hard people say that Wesley is some sort of visionary, but reciting Taco Bell slogans is not a sign of genius in my opinion. The word exploitation keeps poppin' up in this writer's noggin' Water's Pass the Buddha. I'll pass on, but please they asked nicely, pass them the Buddha. Go on now. Appendix, first I think their song Lung sounds really Jane's Addictiony, then I rack my brains tryin' to think of who else they reminds me of and it's Monster Magnet, then I realize I'm right on both accounts, then come to the conclusion that I like it anyway. Wickerman, Stoned in Car, good long song, sound ain't so good though, like back in the day when you'd put a Public Enemy record on your stereo and without adjusting the volume-knobber thing from the record you just played, you couldn't hear nuttin'...nuttin/ You gotta crank the volume on this tune, but fuck, you should be doin' that anyway, right? D.O.P.E.'s dope. More heavy guitar, mosh-driven muting. Guitar rock definitely be the way it's done in Chi-Town, and I'll be gall darned if there ain't a big Bad Brains influence goin' on here, perhaps a lil' too big on the brains...maybe? Just a little. Hog Lady do little to stop the madness with their sacrilegious tunage. Preacher Man is naughty but nice. These people is reportedly broke up now, but we'll see. Hip Deep Trilogy ain't that bad I suppose. 'Nuff said. You know what's cooly? Disarray. funky. More disco than funk, but a nice little breaker in a sea of grunge, dig? Somehow, according to this compilation, there's some sort to of a Chicago-San Francisco connection. The CD is subtitled The Best New Music of Chicago and San Francisco. I didn't[t know we wuz sister cities but we must be. Horsey is from out there and their contribution adds a little spice to the entree. Quaker Youth Ensemble didn't do nuthin' for me. Did I forget to mention anyone? Oh yeah, Sabalon Glitz and Lacehead. Final note on the liner notes, I know it's fun to misspell words. I myself, do it all the tyme, but I get the fuckin' PMS cramps when I see 'thanks' spelled 'thanx', man do it hurt. Especially when it's used several times in an inch. I know, I know, I pick nits, but we all got peeves. Piece–Scat-in-the-Hat VERUCA SALT If I were writing a story on Veruca Salt, that would be the headline. So just in case, I got dibs on it and if'n I never do write a story on Veruca Salt (which I probably won't seein' as how the last time I wrote a story about a band, I was beaten bloody with a baseball bat( I'll sell yah the title for five bucks, cheap). Veruca Salt, the name was taken from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (which I thought I had a copy of, so I was gonna try to figure out the deep hidden significance of said name, but seems like I only had Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator which has got cool names in it but no salty ones, dig?) Anyway, this band is very cool. People gonna say "Breeders, Breeders, Breeders," and there's definitely the influence there but influences are suspect and ripoffs are a little more obvious. Hard rockin' and dual harmonies sung by female vocal chords is the comparison. Veruca Salt is Veruca Salt simple and plain. Nina Gordon and Louise Post and Steve Lack and Jim Shapiro, those are the people that people this band and I seen 'em live and that was fuckin' groovin' too. The show was packed with what looked like yuppies so if you're a critic and a cynic and a little too punk rock fer yer own good, you might write these folks off as some lame-ass, ready for MTV buzz band. That's only if you buy into the bullshit you profess to hate so much. Just dig the music, man. It's the music man! This 7" disc was produced by Wicker Diva, Brad Wood and it's got a cool lil' cover goin' there, sportin' old Evil Sailor 9 and it's on Minty Fresh and it's on peach vinyl and...and that's it–PC Jones MAMA TICK The Tick, as some of the rock'n'roll kids refer to them as, have released records on Amphetamine Reptile of the Mini Apple, Chicago's Skin Graft and Madison's Bovine and as their parting gift to us "Action City/Shout (at the Devil)" a 7 inch on Louisville's Three Little Girls Recordings. Action City is the chaotic and quite amusing anthem that best captures the Mama Tick sense of humor. Ben Keller, Adam Laats and Chad Moore simultaneously spout off, sometimes scream off, a collage of stream of conscience rantings about god-knows-what over a steady tangent of guitar noise "Shout at the Devil," a song included in their live set, is an ode to the Crue that the Crue does not even deserve. Sure Too Fast for Love was a good record but never forget Theater of Pain, Girls, Girls, Girls or egads! Doctor Feelgood. Incidentally did anyone see the Motley Crew interview on MTV where the Nikki Sixx prompted the whole band to walk out because the interviewer asked the Crue about their 80s videos--what with the hairspray, fiery explosions and half neked women sluttin' around hungry for heavy metal gratification. They were insulted by the question, seems like everyone, even the crew wants to put those decadent 80s behind. I guess the crew at thirty-something has finally grown up but there's really no need to deny your very ridiculous past, boys....bad boys...bad boys of rock. So pick up that there Mama Tick 7" or any of the four Mama Tick 7 inchers and be entertained by the new bad boys of rock–Malcolm Tent GRIFTERS Stank, Tripp, Diamond Dave and Slim do manage to pull off a good record this time around and I really don't think they should be that down on themselves, unless of course they're just trying to keep their egos in check, which is cool, but false modesty doesn't always get the bills paid. "She Blows Static" and "Shark" are good tunes, as is the haunting "#1" and "Corolla Hoist" (a remake of an earlier single). Their tune "Tupelo Moan" sounds like what the Black Crows' Robinson Brothers might have done in high school. Not to say that this is an amateurish attempt to rip off the Black Crows very professional rip off of Muddy Waters and the like, on the contrary, what I meant by that comment was that this whole album was recorded off a four-track in some flower shop and mixed in some really cheap Memphis studio, that's all I meant. This disc is low-fi, man, but it's cool like an early Replacements record, kind of got a Sebadoh feel to it, you know? This shit ain't slick and it ain't produced but it's for real, baby. Kind of reminds me of my old band... (What followed was one of the writer's suppressed desires to be a rock'n'roll star surfacing in the form of a comparison/anecdote/analogy of then he used to be in a band, a band that most likely sucked, but which he thought was way ahead of its time making them unappreciated, overlooked and frustrated, which forced him to break up the group and write records reviews. This whole mess has been deleted for your reading please-ED) Those were the days. Tank you for letting me share my feelings and my memories–PC Jones SIN NATION SINSATION Can you feel the hostility? Jesus, I need a valium. If I didn't know these guys from back in my Jersey days as a wandering loser and a drunk I would swear that the whole thing was a big hoax, a big record company gambit, a gimmick to make big bucks, like your Kiss and your Motley Crues. But no, these guys aren't even smart enough to be in it for the money. They actually take themselves seriously. Their Sin Nation anthem, "This is Sin Nation," could be sued by the Poison Control Center to induce vomiting after ingestion of poisonous substances, except that the the song itself is toxic enough to kill. Despite it being a very bad song, it somehow managed to get these guys into the limelight and allowed them to snatch their fifteen minutes of fame. I even heard a rumor from an acquaintance of mine that these guys got the opening slot at next years Lollapaloozer tour. Good grief! I had to beat the ass of the bearer of those bad tidings, the main reason for his beating was because this peckerwood. Actually thought that Sin Nation should play after the Beastie Boys. Sheesh! As I sit here and ponder how their other equally as abrasive songs such as "Hot Sugar Mama" and "Love Trigger Action" will be coursing through the brains of young innocent MTV watching children, I become depressed, catatonic, almost unable to go on. What this record seems like to me, is basically what Gun & Roses might have done had the entire band been in a bus accident on the Appetite for Destruction Tour and suffered irreversible brain damage but decided to make Lose Your Illusion anyway. There are some bands that are bad bands and some bands that are good bands. There are some good bands that do a good imitation f a good band and some bad bands that do a good imitation of a good band, but when you are a bad band doing a bad ripoff of a band that sucks to begin with, you are scum--rich scum maybe, but scum nonetheless. I leave you now, bitter, confused... I need answers–Muggsy McMurphy SEPULTURA Anyway, the review; I actually have several records to review. The first one is Chaos AD by those godhead, Sepultura, Chaos AD is a really good record. It's got some songs on it that are better than some of the others, for example "Territory" (cool video) is better than "Biotech is Godzilla" and "Slave New World" is cooler than "Propaganda", but all the songs are good and you should definitely buy this CD or the album or cassette, depending on what kind of stereo you own. If you ride out the CD there is some maniacal cackling recorded at the very tail end that will be sure to freak your neighbors' shit Another record I would like to review is Insynuator, whom I believe will have an interview with Muggsy McMuphy running in this same issue, which is why I was asked to review their last record which actually came out three or four years ago. This is a good record. It has some really super awesome songs on it and some fairly good tunes as well. Some songs on this record, titled Industrial Espionage, that rock are songs like "We Who Rock Harder Than Others" and "War Zone 91." You should get this one too A band called 3Jane, from somewhere in California have a debut record called the Sprawl. It's cool Cyberpunk, better than Billy Idol's new tunes. There's tunes on it called "Sally Shears," "Jack In" and "Ice Breaker," just to give you an idea of what this record is all about. Wow, they ask for one record review, didn't think I could meet their deadline, and then I crank out three reviews, hah! 'Til later on kids. Bye–Malcolm Tent MONO CAT 7 CATALOG Dig this, I call up this guy who partly owns and operates Mono Cat 7 Records in Cincinnati and I say, "Hey, holmes, I'd really like to review your shit for this ultra-cool, cutting edge, way alternative music magazine that I write for. Dudes like, "No way, cool, I'll send you copies of everything right away. What did you say the name of the magazine was?" "Chicago's Subnation," I says I. Sucker. So the records come in the mail a couple of days later and once again Muggsy';s charm does more good than harm, for Muggsy anyway. In the quest for the next burgeoning music scene, certain publications have bent their regional concentration to the Queen City: Cincinnati, home of the Reds and the (heh, heh) Bengals and the rising star that is the Afghan Whigs and with any luck, Mono Cat 7 Records. Mono Cat has only been committing themselves to vinyl and thus far they have a pretty impressive track record, no clunkers yet. The first release is by a band called Schwah featuring two of the labels owners, Tim Davison and Jerrod Oldman (Jimmy D, local axe merchant, being the third party). "The Living Most" and "I Love Bill Murray" are haunting tunes, eerie catchy hooks; good guitar rock. Schwah has been compared to Pearl Jam and Smashing Pumpkins, but then again, who the fuck hasn't. I've seen them play live a couple times, chicks dig it, so you got to be into that. Bushrocks: power punk, pop'n'roll, cool enough to overstuff yerself on their sugar-coated candy ride. Saw 'em at Cincinnati's Sudsy's back in the day and they put on a more than ok live show. Ditchweed is, the dare I say it, arrrrgh, GRUNGY record of the series. Sorry guys, I couldn't resist. No, but seriously, I've been told the production wasn't that great on this record but it still rocks, in a muddy in-the-ditch sort of way. "Tennessee Rider" is a stoner's rock anthem wet dream. There's some white trash genius behind this. The Whigs lend more than just their name to help out their local scene. Doing a cover of local rockers, Ass Ponys' tune, "Mr. Superlove." The favor is returned by the Pony's cover of The Whigs, "You, My Flower." It's a gem of a disc all around and hopefully, the big sell for the label. The Sistern 7 incher; it's hypnotic and kinda groovy in a reverby sort of way. It's got strong vocals and well... I like it. So there, I have not only justified my existence as a grossly underpaid music critic, but I have also paid for all these singles by pluggin' them in this rag. I'll even one-up Mono Cat by givin' you their address in case you should want to check out these singles yourselves, Hell, buy me a beer and I may even give one to yah. (Address Deleted)–Muggsy McMurphy RW #1 (1993) PROACTIVE PEACE MACHINE What these chumps do in the name of rock'n'roll is quite an abomination. What they do under the guise of alternative rock is unforgivable. If PPMs songs such as "Love Tick" and "Baby Groove Machine" were any more blatantly similar to Radiohead's "I'm a Creep" or "Plush" by Stone Temple Pilots, I fear we would be seeing some pretty fierce litigation on Court TV. But what's to be expected, any time a new fad or sensation hits the streets, it's marketable. Whether it be music or clothes or crack cocaine, it doesn't take long to get the band wagon rolling. The originators of the scene get exploited, ripped off and then dumped in the big budget bin. It's sad to think that such a thing could happen with bands of such obvious talent like Stone Temple Pilots or Blind Melon who've spent years pioneering and crafting a new sound so unique they had to conjure a new moniker for it; thus the word grunge is a household one. The troubling thing about the PPM CD is that it is actually beginning to sell quite rapidly. The bandwagon hysteria that accompanies burgeoning rock movement shovels its share of dung onto the musical shit pile. The saying that you'll never go broke appealing to the lowest common denominator, you can bet your arse that record companies know this. Before I get too carried away let me just tell you what is actually redeemable about this CD; the cover is cool. I'll admit I've never seen two dog's fucking quite so passionately, especially on an album cover and I'll also concede to the Proactive Peace Machine that they do have a couple of so-so songs and that one of them actually made me cry (due to a beautifully done string arrangement and some touching lyrics). The song is called "Tears in the Sink" and even though you can sing the lyrics to "Candy Says" throughout the entire song without missing a beat it is still a touching effort by PPM. The band as a whole however still blows. What the discerning alternative music listener must do, it would seem, is to get a gigantic umbrella to protect his or herself from this downpour of bad bands that has been falling steadily from nowhere, especially Seattle, ever since this whole grunge thing broke with Nirvana back in '91. We don't need anymore alternative bands! I wish everyone would wake up and get the picture. Let's not oversaturate the market, not when there are bands like Animal Bag, 4 Non Blonds, and Blind Melon out there ready to take it to extremes. I guess it just leaves the true alternative music fan no other alternative than to wait it out in the hopes that such copycat bands like Urge Overkill, Butthole Surfers and Jesus Lizard fade (or fad) away into oblivion. Anyway, long live Eddie, think for yourself and peace to you–PC Jones MERCURY REV The most economical way to describe Boces is: ten songs of varying length. However, being unemployed allows me the luxury of being a little more gracious with my praise; these guys are fab, hip and fairly rad. Boces starts with "Meth of a Rockette's Kick" which is an epic song reminding me in some strange way of Lou Reed's Street" Hassle", not so much in content but in narrative structure. Whoah! But all analyzation aside, listen to this song after a blunt and you just might lose your mind for ten minutes and 28 seconds. "Bronx Cheer" is the hook hit of the record and it's a good one, it is, dare I say it: cute. I've seen the video on the, mostly impotent Alternative Nation and it was quite groovy. "Downs are Feminine Balloons" and "Snorry Mouth" are a couple other extra long songs that pop brain cells with no prejudice. If you like the Flaming Lips you are sure to groove on this, it is very similar. Drug references and psychedelic lyrics and everything else is the very obvious comparison (but let us not endorse such activities in a public forum). The guitar work is a little less crazed than Wayne Coyne's or Donahue's when he's with the Lips but more controlled guitar playing inhibits them not, my friends, it's still cerebellum toaster quality. There are also more backing vocals and crazy flipped out flutes and horns and shit like that with Mercury Rev for which I am a sucker. And if you like women's breasts you will no doubt enjoy the promo poster that accompanies the first album. Boobs seem to e a long-standing theme in a comparatively short career for Mercury Rev. One of the member of Mercury Rev is a woman so don't you be so quick to call them pigs, besides, like Playboy pictorials, the covers are done very tastefully and no compromising positions are assumed. In essence I think the Flaming Lips and Mercury Rev should not be viewed as simply two bands that sound a lot like each other, but rather, view them as two sister bands seeking to do the same thing with their music which is? I will not be so presumptuous. Buy everything they've done and do in the future and you will have invested wisely in some seriously, beautifully strange stuff–Muggsy McMurphy. ANNIE BALDWELL What this album accomplishes in it's atoescious endeavor is to recreate a world where trust in not inherent to the characters that inhabit it. Where the life of a woman is not always conquered with the facility that those more fortunately gendered inherit at conception. The encompassing morals that thwart her psyche are not her own, but rather they have been institutionalized upon her by a source foreign to her yet as familiar as her own brother, father or uncle "Eject me, reject me, but I am not your enemy just 'cause I sit down to pee." Maybe a cringeful piece of rudimentary poetry, but when it is sung by Annie Baldwell it has become inbued and beautiful. The truth about her lyrics is that they are as embarrassing and ugly as the realities they depict. Ms. Baldwell's first offering, To Thine Ownself was often times diffident and decidedly mitigated (understandable circumstances, most new comers are). Most of her latest album is not cynical, there is a welcomed inconsistency of tone with this album. The second half of Passion's Greatest Players brings with it a fresh, uncompromised account of life as a woman in the 90s. An era in our relational history that supposedly marks the end of the insensitive man, an year where men and women have reached an understanding of one another. Gone are the sloppy solipsism that littered her first effort. Gone too unfortunately is much of the humor and self deprecation that more than subtlety calibrated To Thine Ownself. Two long years have labored and borne the fruit of Annie's second album. A lot can change in a woman's life in two years. Especially for a woman in the music industry where there's pressure for a woman to sell her sexuality. The conscious or unconscious, subliminal or apparent desire of men in three piece suits, for women to degrade themselves in order to sell records is a subtle theme ever present in Baldwell's work. Sexual pressure may have affected Annie, but I'm sure the nude photo of her on the cover was entirely her idea seeing how blatantly compromising it is. In essence what we have here with this piece of work is an artist in pain, exuding this pain unto her listeners in the hopes that they can better understand her realities and the absurdities of our relations with the opposite sex be you female or the other one. "Me and Billy would walk on the beach/he'd call me his baby, his big buxom peach." It's time to wake up and smell the testosterone–Jayne Wayne VARIOUS ARTISTS Furball Records is one such sapling that has recently put out a 12 song compilation of underground Chicago talent. The CDs got a bunch of band's like Trenchmouth, Mama Tick, Wickerman, God Box, Hog Lady, Loud Lucy, Uptighty, Scissor Girls, Conduscent, Stumbleblock, Flying Luttenbockers, bands like that, in fact that's all the bands. Cake from Flipside called the compilation "incredible," "great stuff." Option noted that it "didn't contain any embarrassments." Alternative Press dissed it though, but they did so in a clever and witty way by completely missing the point of the liner notes. New City said the cover art is "tremendous", the best we've ever seen on any local compilation." But what do they all know? Listen to your pal. Muggsy, he knows. This is a good solid comp. of your local scene, dude, buy it and support these bands and this label. Buy all local releases. Go to shows. I know there's a lot of bands that suck on the scene right now, but shit, look at the pop charts any day of the week. The charts are ruled by the talentless of our society. We need help. We need fresh blood. Buy this CD, the guy at Furball owes me money–Muggsy McMurphy |
 |
©1993-2012 Reglar Wiglar Magazine |