Java.June.2017

When Banana Gun released their first
record, I would have been hard pressed
to define them by genre, but there
was an almost Americana vibe to
it. By 2012, when The Elephant in the Room was
released, any hint of Americana was gone and they
were well on their way to coming into their own.
Two years later, Love.Instinct came on like a rock ’n’
roll juggernaut, and before the end of that year, they
released a four-track EP called I and the Me. The
banjo seemed to have gone the way of the dodo, and
the band had clearly solidified their unusual sound.
Banana Gun has just released their most aggressive
and fully realized album to date with Dance Monkey
Down in Faux Town. It’s consistent blues-drenched
rock from beginning to end, with all the usual Banana
Gun flourishes: some jazz here and there, a little bit
of folk when needed, a lot of guitar, liberal helpings
of sax and a rhythmic drive that pounds mercilessly
through the entire record, even on the occasional
mid-tempo number.
There’s never a dull moment, and while there may not
be quite the revelations found on the previous two
full-length albums, the songs are of an overall higher
quality in both their construction and performance.
The band pulls it off effortlessly on record, much like
they do during their live show. Kevin Loyd, Ian Breslin,
Nic Dehaan, Ross Troost and Kyle Scarborough have
finally made the album that combines the songwriting
brilliance of Elephant in the Room with the technical
acuity of Love.Instinct. This record plays like their
fans’ heart’s desire come to fruition.
The gritty guitar start to “Screen Time,” with sax
slowly emerging, has to be one of the coolest
beginnings to an album, as the music seems to
emerge from the shadows. Backing vocals and
horns appear long before Loyd even starts with his
usual swaggering, seductive vocals. He flexes his
range throughout the tune while the guitars fight
for attention. It certainly sets the stage for the
excitement ahead as it builds into a frenetic pace
with an indomitable groove.
It’s almost immediately overshadowed by “Sex, Drugs
and Rock and Roll.” Built on a Chuck Berry backbone
with Stax-like horns exploding everywhere, this
is possibly my favorite Banana Gun tune to date,
regardless if it’s derivative. It owes as much to punk
rock as it does to Chuck Berry, so it’s a fine blend of
esthetics for the modern day. I can’t imagine that the
two songs that open this record will ever leave their
live set. Yes, they are that essential to the band’s
oeuvre, far more so than, say, “Light On.”
“Wind Up Lonely” has a very ska vibe going for it,
which is a step beyond where Banana Gun usually
goes, but I could do some two-tone dances to this
track that I haven’t done in 20 years. There’s also an
influence from south of the border, and it all comes
together brilliantly with the ska template. It seems
almost like a pop tune, right until Loyd loses his
mind at the two-minute mark with raging guitars and
howling screams.
When it starts you think “One and Only” might be the
first slow number, but it’s more like a ruse that recalls
The Doors in the way they could start a song slow
and increasingly apply more heat to it across five
minutes. It builds slow and steady, with Loyd’s vocals
growing to a growl. Not necessarily an outright
rocker, it’s a mid-tempo investigation into blues and
jazz that rages within itself. It’s a sweltering number
drenched in summer sweat that relies on the sax in
the end to take it to the limit.
Another pure Banana Gun classic is “Inmate
Heartbreak,” which will be a live standard for years
to come. One of their most aggressive tracks ever
recorded, Loyd sounds unhinged, the sax rages,
the guitars duel and the rhythm section thunders.
Somewhere someone is trashing a hotel room to
this song, and if they’re not, they should be. There
may be a touch of metal here, which is welcome and
refreshing in the Banana Gun realm.
The deep blues of “Hitchhike with the Devil”
finishes off the first half of the record with one of
the longest and most fascinating tunes. All in all
it’s a pretty standard “me and the devil” blues tune,
but it’s Banana Gun doing it, which adds an extra
level of darkness and authenticity. It seems like a
bit of a slowdown when compared to the rest of
the album, but out of context this thing rocks pretty
hard—it’s just that Banana Gun have raised their bar
on how hard they rock. The guitar is wonderful and
maddening, and by the end of the solo, the devil is
sitting on the couch with you, asking if you want to
go for a ride.
“All & Everything” begins like it’s going to be some
kind of twisted carnival pop song, but half a minute in
the guitar rages and we are back in familiar Banana
Gun territory, with driving blues and a catchy chorus
that hooks you for days. Seven tracks in with four
being easy single material isn’t a bad flow under any
circumstances.
“With Love” is probably the most sentimental song
found here, and it slows the pace a little, but only
to allow a few moments of emotional depth. It’s a
touching number, albeit restricted to something of an
adolescent musing on love, or an adult looking back
on a time when there was a trace of innocence. This
is the only glimpse of their Americana roots and a
nice tune that allows you to catch your breath.
At this point in the album, you should get the idea
that this is all killer and no filler. From the opening
wah-wah salvo of “Gimme Your Love,” this is the kind
of groove the band has built its reputation on. It’s the
best representation of every member in one song,
as well as one of their finest arrangements. Sure,
the sax and brass could be found in some key Stevie
Wonder numbers, but not with that funky guitar
or monstrous cult of rhythm backing this thing. It’s
flawlessly pure in its execution and THE highlight of
the second half of the album.
“If It’s All the Same to You” has a cool ’50s doo-wop
meets ’70s rock revival vibe that they’ve visited
previously on a few occasions and that never
disappoints. It’s a number for dancing for sure—and
I mean like they used to dance at a sock hop, with
couples swirling and swinging each other. Kyle’s sax
completely makes the number what it is, while the
backup vocals add an air of authenticity.
“Call Off Your Dogs” sounds like it could fit into a
side of Exile on Main St. or be an outtake from Sticky
Fingers. It’s got that reflective, damp basement junkie
feel to it, and while it may not rock quite as hard as
most of the album, it is one of the most essential
tracks to the overarching scope of the record. It’s a
fine achievement in songwriting, as well. The second
half is more of a tribute to the band’s guitar players
ascending through the roof. It ends in a swirling
quagmire of sounds and feedback galore, before an
unexpected turn.
The overwhelming country vibe of “We May Only
Have Tonight” is an unexpected surprise, with a
bright and shining acoustic guitar controlling the
soundscape. It’s an unlikely way to end the album,
but you should always expect the unexpected with
Banana Gun. It’s a bit heart wrenching and delicate,
and the only place it could go on the album is at the
end, without seeming completely out of place.
Dance Monkey Down in Faux Town captures the
vitality of Banana Gun’s live show with their most
consistent recorded set ever. It’s a balancing act, to
be sure. Where there have been uneven measures in
previous recordings, they have finally perfected their
work on this record. Let us hope we don’t have to
wait another three years for them to prove that this
is the case.
JAVA 31
MAGAZINE