issue #02 pdf - Razorcake

or Husker Du album was coming
out, but those days are long gone,
thanks in no small part to every twobit
Blink 182/ NOFX/ Queers/
Screeching Weasel clone group that
has ever dragged itself up from the
pits of Hades. So why do I like a
band that relishes in performing
songs that gave me nightmares as a
child in a style that normally makes
me want to climb into a bell tower
and smoke a few people? Hell if I
know, but DAMN are they good at it.
This, their third album, is just as
funny, catchy and downright
smokin’ as their last effort. Their
focus of attack this time out is on the
‘60s and they put their own indelible
stamp on some of the worst songs
from that decade, and even render
the Stone Pony’s “Different Drum”
listenable, the original of which
probably makes even Linda
Ronstadt and the Eagles cringe every
time it comes over a nearby radio
speaker. MFGGs certainly won’t
change my life or anything, but they
did learn me that there are exceptions
to even the most rigid of rules.
Besides, how many punk albums do
you own that your mother knows all
the lyrics to before you even put the
damn thing on? -Jimmy Alvarado
(Fat)
ME FIRST AND THE
GIMME GIMMES
“Shannon” 7”
MF and the GG’s always give me
time to reflect on my musical
upbringing, since they cover old shit
and make it listenable. My parents
never listened to a lot of music
beyond The Kingston Trio (Who the
Dropkick Murphys cover and modify,
by the way, with “Skinhead on
the MTA”) and The Limelighters, so
I don’t have many musical scars to
excise. That covered, I don’t even
pretend to know dick about Del
Shannon. I’ve heard “Runaway”
when standing in line to get gas, but
the Gimmes grow it some nuts, get it
faster, scuff it up and I like it quite a
bit. It may be the way that Spike
sings, but the way the Gimme’s present
a song, I actually listen to the
words and like it more than I could
possibly enjoy the original. “Hats off
to Larry” is a big, ol’ fuck you to a
chick. The narrator’s happy that a
girl got dumped by Larry because
the girl previously fucked him over.
Me First and the Gimme Gimmes
are single-handedly overthrowing
AM radio by making those moldy
oldies, polishing them up with punk
spit (and a drum track), and makin’
‘em golden. -Todd (BYO)
MELVINS
“Colossus of Destiny” CD
Okay, I’m 10 minutes and 34 seconds
into the one 60 minute track on
this and, so far, it sounds like outtakes
from the soundtrack to
“Forbidden Planet.” The cover says
this is a live recording, so I’ll stick it
out and see if there are any actual
songs on this. At 12 1/2 minutes it
still sounds pretty much the same.
Twenty-five minutes in and still no
change. Is this some sort of tribute to
Bastard Noise? Forty-nine minutes:
Oh, neat...drums! At 54 minutes it
almost sounds like a song, but at this
point, I no longer give a fuck. -
Jimmy Alvarado (Ipecac)
MEMBRANES, THE
“Kiss Ass, Godhead” CD
So far as I’m able to tell, this is a rerelease
of an album that came out 12
years ago. This is one of those bands
I’d always heard of but never actually
took the time to listen to, primarily
‘cause I always thought they were
one o’ them Crass-type bands and I
hated Crass back then. Well, I’m
kicking myself in the ass pretty hard
right about now, ‘cause this disc let
me know exactly what I missed out
on. This was produced by Albini
back in his Big Black daze and the
overall sound is reminiscent of that
period. I guess this stuff would be
called “post-punk,” and it has all the
trappings: razorwire-sounding guitar,
rumbly bass, lotsa “space” in the
sound and all, but the songs are well
realized and are catchy in a weird
way. I guess I’ve got a new band
whose back catalog I must search
out. -Jimmy Alvarado (Overground)
MERLE HAGGARD
“If I Could Only Fly” CD
The man is a musical maverick, an
enigmatic well-traveled larger-thanlife
legend, a stern and stoic leathery-faced
old outlaw who’s sturdily
rode the hellbent-on-fury buckin’
bronco of life into many a duststirred
silhouetted sunset. His music
is country, pure and simple and noholds-barred.
Yep, on this here smorgasbord
spread of delectably tasty
ditties, old-time country’n’western
is heartily served by the musically
mercurial master himself, Mr. Merle:
whiskey-sippin’ country twang that
smoothly quenches the debilitative
thirst of the forlorn, lost, and forgotten
transient nomads aimlessly wandering
the vast sprawling expanses
of America’s endlessly open rural
desolation; chugga-chugga cowhide
country that colorfully conjures a
smalltown backwoods honkytonk
setting of sawdust-covered floors,
sweet and sticky BBQ beef thickly
piled heaven-high on platters of
beans, potato salad, and home-baked
bread, and nostalgically cradlin’ a
longneck while swayin’ in a bootshufflin’
cheek-to-cheek waltz with
your true-love high school sweetheart;
cryin’-in-your-beer shitkickin’
country that appropriately provides a
spirit-stirring soundtrack of robustly
brawlin’ manliness. The most intimately
inspirational moments contained
herein: the jaunty and jazzy
New Orleans rowdiness of “Honky
Tonk Mama” (it’d do ol’ Hank Sr.
proud... he must surely be smilin’ big