Killing Joke - Killing Joke

Killing Joke is one of those bands that are made an enigma by their own inconsistency. At times, they are electrifying, a post-punk/proto-industrial hybrid that feels a full decade ahead of their time, playing moody, driven music loaded with political and existential angst. The band’s combination of ‘doom-and-gloom’ metal heaviness with the faster tempos of the burgeoning punk rock scene was notably different from the parallel direction hardcore bands were taking in order to further push the envelope in its stress of mood and atmosphere, as opposed to the catch-all hardcore solution of ‘just play a little faster’. Not only was this combination unique for post-punk, a movement splintering more and more into arty, futurist-aping synth bands, but it was a direct precursor, both spiritually and sonically, for the industrial metal movement of the late 80’s and 90’s. Listening to their self-titled album now with the benefit of almost 30 years of hindsight, Killing Joke practically define industrial as we now recognize it, even though they pre-date our current understanding of it, existing in a time when industrial was an often radically experimental genre lead by the Throbbing Gristles of the world.

And yet, for a band so well ahead of their time, Killing Joke is as much an object of frustration as they are an object of adulation. The group seems to exist so much better in singles and playlist snippets than they do on a full album listen. Sure, a track like “The Wait” is the kind of thing that will force you to take notice, comprising of an infectiously brooding buzz saw guitar line and a rapacious tempo that once again heralds industrial comparisons. The song is noisy like a steel mill and excessively bleak, yet there is no denying its inherent catchiness. And it’s not the only highlight: Opener “Requiem” is EBM at its most anthemic, a dance-y affair where the appeal transcends the no doubt gothic core of Killing Joke’s audience, and “Wardance” is an echoic, strongly-paced synth-metal track where the vocals are spitted out in a guttural, Germanic rasp.


Ultimately, what makes these songs great is their sense of urgency. Not only are they the fastest-paced songs on Killing Joke, but they just carry with them a feeling of intensity. Elsewhere, however, the band lulls about far too much to keep up this feeling. “SO36” is a plodding gothic waltz that never goes anywhere interesting, content just to linger awkwardly and take up space. This is symptomatic of a greater problem at work in Killing Joke. Too often the focus on atmosphere comes at the expense of listenability, and while it is this unique dynamic that makes Killing Joke so fresh and different, you get the sense that they don’t really know what they’re doing with it yet. Which is a shame, considering that just a few years later they’d be moving in the opposite direction, with their sound coming off as overdramatic and cheesy as opposed to overly insular.

So while it is flawed, Killing Joke remains a landmark, both for its influence and its ingenuity. Great at times yet occasionally middling in quality, as an album, it still manages to hit more than it misses. With their debut album, Killing Joke escaped the routine experimentation post-punk was mired in, and instead created something new, something rough, yet something genuine enough to be the launching pad for an entire generation of artists. And while it’s easy to get frustrated by what could have been, it’s just as easy to think of what couldn’t and wouldn’t have been without a jumping off point to begin with.


Killing Joke

Lifter Puller - Bay City Rolling 7"

Lifter Puller is what Craig Finn was up to prior to fronting The Hold Steady and personally, I've always seen them as the superior band regardless of the mainstream popularity of the latter. Their material was not only much more consistent, but featured the type of gripping tales of drugs, drunkenness and debauchery usually reserved for pulp fiction. Bay City Rolling was one of the group's last releases (post-Fiestas and Fiascos), and it features two songs, the raucous "Secret Santa Cruz" and the more restrained "Yo Quereria", both strong efforts which make good use of the band's established sound from F&F. For fans of the band, or for anyone interested in the whereabouts of post-punk before its mid-00's revival, this is a must.

Bay City Rolling

Bauhaus - Bela Lugosi's Dead 12" Single

"Bela Lugosi's Dead" was Bauhaus' first single, originally released in 1979, and it stands as their most prominent and well-regarded song to date, as well as a landmark in the evolution of post-punk. Lasting over nine minutes, "Bela Lugosi's Dead" takes on a starkly minimalist approach, experimenting with a purposely sparse sound and accentuating atmosphere over musical complexity. The grinding, reverb-drenched guitars, the fidgety, echoic drums, the hypnotic, throbbing bass, all of it combines to create the overwhelming sense of foreboding gloom that teems throughout this track. Singer Peter Murphy's vocals have all the solemnity of a funeral dirge, as his trance-like drone carries along the drifting desolation of the instruments.

Morbid, eerie, and ominous, this single is a classic in every sense of the word. If you haven't heard it before, consider this an absolute must-listen. (The B-side isn't bad either.)

Bela Lugosi is dead

Best of 2008: #3. Verse En Coma - Rialto

I first found out about this album as part of a superb mega-post/analysis over at Last Train for Cool, and decided to check it out due to it being mentioned alongside two other post-Pg.99 bands I was rather big on, Malady and the already-covered Pygmy Lush. Anyway, I strongly recommend you check that out (Extra encouragement: it has a link).

Now then, Verse En Coma are kind of a hard band to nail down. They don't conform to any genre norms, despite their hardcore pedigree, and while this may make it hard for overly obsessive outsiders to properly categorize them, it also allows the band to run free with their ideas, unhindered by any bullshit expectations of what they should sound like. As a result, Rialto ends up with greater musical similarities to The Holy Bible-era Manic Street Preachers or Wire than it does to Pg.99, and frankly, it's far better for it.

Really, describing their sound relative to anything almost requires a certain contextual knowledge of the band members' past, as it could be surmised that everything on this album is an evolution of what Malady did (Verse En Coma being formed by two former members of Malady, Jonathon and Kevin). In this case, I would describe what Verse En Coma does as a more tempered, weary substitute for the dark, abyssal and endlessly pessimistic punk of Malady. The same expansive, dream-like atmosphere is in full effect here, but it comes off more like a hallucination than a nightmare, the bitterness of Malady eschewed in favour of a numbing feeling of dissociation. The instruments crackle with the same fuzz-laden cacophony seen on Malady, with the canned ferocity of the drums being especially notable (and fantastic). Guitar lines constantly move in and out of the translucent, reverb-drenched fog surrounding them, barely sounding recognizable amongst the midst of their own distortion. Even the vocals are blurred beyond being immediately identifiable; the singer's more desperate cries come off as even more restless as a result of the hedging waves of distortion, while the mellower vocals sound like little more than a gentle hum, clouded to the point where they sound almost indivisible from the bass.

Thematically, Rialto sees Verse En Coma look at the ennui of modern life through a number of narratives, executing this concept excellently both in its effusion of mood and in its lyrical content. "Through Ice Patches and Pine Trees" is a fast-paced musical whirl through continually unfamiliar territory, with the lyrics taking on an introspective, stream of consciousness style that emits the kind of honesty and self-discovery that comes only with a double dose of insomnia and alcohol. "In a Factory" teems with repression and angst as it tells a story of disenfranchised lovers amongst the backdrop of their mutual working-place. The music is bleak, but the vocals exude an entrancing warmth, suggesting the speaker's relationship is a lone yet utterly redeeming bright spot in the vast array of lifelessness and subordination he finds around him.

we were the young ones
we were the artistic ones
we were the "they don't know what life is really about" ones

Verse En Coma's Rialto is the best debut album of the year, an effort that takes the most distinct and intriguing parts of Malady and infuses them with a stellar song-writing skill and an even more ambitious musical approach. The album progresses like a long, bewildering dream, as it constantly changes narrative focus, but never seems to break the singular progression of mood. Unfortunately, clocking in at under a half-hour, Rialto isn't quite as epic in length as it feels in scope. But it is an enrapturing journey through the highs and lows of Richmond, delivered through such a dissociative state of ennui that it isn't sure if it still feels either.

but i'm still here

Best of 2008: #9. Have a Nice Life - Deathconsciousness

When I first heard this album, it was something of a revelation; I had downloaded “Waiting for Black Metal Records in the Mail” based on internet word of mouth, and there was something about it that gripped me entirely. It was slow, plodding, and ominous, with a leading guitar line like a strobe light at a rave, flickering madly amongst the translucent haze of distortion. It was also very, very good.

Have a Nice Life is the musical project of two men based in Conneticut who make experimental and expansive shoegaze/post-punk music that could be considered dance music for the clinically depressed. Deathconsciousness is the group's first album, a two-disc, 80+ minute trip through the recesses and crevices of the sub-conscious, and all the hope and regret that lies within. From the dive lounge aesthetic of "Bloodhail", to the quiet desperation of the aforementioned "Waiting for Black Metal Records in the Mail", to the wary elation of album closer "Earthmover", there are a number of different moods and feelings brought to mind here, which is just as representative of the album's ambition as of the passion put into it. Some songs show off the plaintive and gloomy side of the band ("The Big Gloom"), with slow, droning, almost abyssal shoegaze mixtures taking presence here, while others opt for a quicker pace, drawing comparisons to the gothic side of 80's post-punk ("Telephony"). At times, Have a Nice Life even wander into industrial territory, as seen in "Deep, Deep", which comes off as Throbbing Gristle as imagined by Joy Division (were that only possible).

At any rate, there's an almost ethereal quality to the layered mixture of guitar and synthetics that feels as if it transcends the immediacy of stimulus/response and burrows its way into your brain with ingenious hooks and a haunting atmosphere. A lot of the songs off Deathconsciousness manage to be emotionally resonant despite their prima facie impenetrability, so that even though the vocals are often blurred beyond recognition, buried under layers of distraction, they still come off as mournful, or confused, or bittersweet. Taking the whole of the many different moods developed throughout the entire album gives you a sort of manic depressive handbook, a portrait of bipolarity in the face of tragedy.

So while I’m not as big on Deathconsciousness as I was when I first heard it - it's overlong (although that could be considered part of its charm), it isn't an album you can just listen to at any time, and some of the songs (off the first disc especially) just lack any sufficient intrigue to them - it’s still an impressive album that’s full of dark, brooding, and occasionally beautiful shoegaze music, accentuated by a lo-fi production quality that conjures up images of spending late nights walking home and the lonely faded incandescent glow that guides each step. This is music that feels like it was made for 3 a.m. introspection, that washes over you and shelters itself within your thoughts. And for that, it's damn well near-perfect.

Best of 2008: #13. Adebisi Shank - This is the Album of a Band Called Adebisi Shank

Foreword: Due to the density of albums being presented over the upcoming weeks, I won't be posting links with them. If you want a link for any of the albums shown, leave a comment and I'll see what I can do.

(Note to self: insert clever quip relating to how Adebisi Shank refer to themselves in the third person in their album title. You find this original and highly entertaining, and wish greatly to exploit this original sentiment to keep you from having to think of an introduction that isn’t gently laid on a platter for you.)

I first found out about Adebisi Shank from an excellent mixtape posted down at Hardcore for Nerds, chronicling the strongest alternative acts in Ireland. The song “Horse”, off the band's debut EP This is the EP of a Band Called Adebisi Shank, was one of the most noticeable songs off the playlist, and I was instantly hooked. Their debut album was released a couple of months later, and while it only clocked in at a meagre twenty-four minutes (for a full-length anyway), making it only seven minutes longer than their first EP, it still managed to be one of the biggest surprises of the year.

Adebisi Shank is either a punk band playing with complex time signatures and a strong sense of technicality, or a math rock band with a vigorous punk flare, depending on how you look at it. But however you choose to look at it, what Adebisi Shank deliver here are eight songs of pure adrenaline rush. An overwhelming energy radiates from this album, with the band playing with such speed and prowess that you’d be hard-pressed not to enjoy it. The song-writing is just as consistent in this sense; there’s not a song in sight that you wouldn’t be commanded to tap your foot to, if not outright make you get out of your seat and dance along with. The band utilizes quick, darting guitar riffs, intertwined with equally complex bass lines, to weave a musical tapestry that is both memorable and captivating, a rare feat for a math rock band. This is all backed up by strong rhythmic drum work that grounds the guitars, allowing them to roam free without turning the final product into a barely coherent mess. All in all, this is one of the most excitingly fresh releases of 2008. Don’t let it pass you by.

this has been the capsulated review of a band called Adebisi Shank. hah… get it? ‘cause that’s a play on the album title… yeah.

Naked Raygun - All Rise

So I was sitting in a psychology lecture today, and, as psychological discussions are wont to do, the topic inevitably turned to Naked Raygun (my psychology professor is awesome). Specifically, the instructor used his desire to listen to Naked Raygun vinyls in order to explain the concept of drive in relation to Drive Reduction Theory. The analogy was a mess, but it accomplished two things: one, it made me envious (I want All Rise and Throb Throb on vinyl), and two, it transferred onto me the desire of listening to Naked Raygun. It was a situation which could have been considered ironic, but only by someone who does not fully understand the definition of irony.

Released in 1986, All Rise, Naked Raygun's third album, marked the in-between phase of a transition in which the band would evolve from the brasher punk of their debut into the noisy-but-melodic post-punk outfit seen on Jettison (see my post here). It moves away from their previous album, Throb Throb, with an increased emphasis on atmosphere and a change in production style; the sound here sounds more like their later albums than anything they had done previously. There are still some examples of blaring, balls to the wall punk, specifically on "New Dreams", which almost feels like a Throb Throb b-side, but for the most part, the album is more mature than anything the band did before it. Still, this is vintage Naked Raygun, featuring some classic riffs, and the same overriding theme of pessimism found throughout their discography.

In some ways, All Rise could be considered the younger brother to Jettison (unless you have a better metaphor, in which case I suggest you use that instead). The two albums share a great amount of similarities, but the ideas presented on All Rise are accomplished to a greater degree of success on Jettison. All Rise contains the same strongly pop-oriented song structures of Jettison, but feels more like the Buzzcocks than Big Black in doing so, with some of the hooks veering closely into pop-punk territory (see: "Mr. Gridlock"). Combining this development with the darker, more cathartic songs like "Backiash Jack" leaves this album feeling disoriented, caught between the contrasting ideas of melodic punk and noisy art-rock dissonance. The main strength of Jettison was in combining these ideas, but here, the result isn't as cohesive. While some songs pull off the feat perfectly, others just feel awkward, as if they'd rather belong on a Stiff Little Fingers album; which is likely intentional, given the degree to which the former influenced Naked Raygun (see their "Suspect Device" cover for more). It's not that these songs are bad; it's just that they don't exemplify the reasons why I listen to Naked Raygun. Their ability to integrate haunting pop hooks into a blistering punk attack is unparalleled, and it comes off a tad disappointing when they take their foot off the gas just to ape another band's approach. Not bad, just... disappointing.

But slight blemishes aside (and they are only slight), this is still a fantastic album created at a time of transition in the band's career. All Rise generally gets ignored in Naked Raygun's discography, sandwiched in between the band's two more accomplished efforts, but just because it hasn't the intensity or creativity of their other efforts doesn't mean it should be looked over in the least. Lack of cohesion aside, some of the band's best songs are on this album, and it can stand up to, if not surpass, most any punk album of its time. No, it's not Jettison, but what is?

All Rise

Pere Ubu - The Modern Dance

Pere Ubu - The Modern Dance


Named after a French proto-surrealist play, and coming off about as artsy and pretentious as that would imply, Pere Ubu was first formed in 1975 in Cleveland, Ohio. Combining art-punk sensibilities with a delightfully absurdist take on song-writing, the band created a dense and murky form of post-punk that took cues from the garage rock of the 60’s and bordered heavily on avant-garde. On the subject of Ubu, it was once written:

“Pere Ubu will be looked back on as the most important group to have come out of America in the last decade and a half. Either that or they will be entirely forgotten”

And whether you’ve heard of them or not, it shouldn’t come as much of a surprise how that one turned out. But it’s a shame really, because this attitude was very much indicative of how the band was viewed. Either you love them or disregard them as too weird, too out there, or too subversive to remain consistently listenable. While these are legitimate complaints, it rarely overshadows the insane greatness that the band was often capable of conjuring. Between David Thomas’ warbled cries, the off-key dancing of the guitar and bass, and synth-wizard Allen Ravenstine’s incredible infusion of any number of background noises, Pere Ubu channeled the bizarre to create the phenomenal. On their first album, The Modern Dance, they fully showcased this peculiar concoction, creating an influential and seminal work in the process.


Although they would eventually move into more New Wave territory, eventually landing on the other side of the pop music spectrum, make no mistake about it – The Modern Dance is very much a rock record, albeit a very arty one. The garage rock influence shines through even the densest of distortion, as the opening guitar line on “Street Waves” would certainly attest to. But it is where Pere Ubu departs from their predecessors that they become interesting. A variety of multicultural influences abound, as the band veers between any number of styles, from areas as diverse and musically different as Middle-Eastern and rockabilly. Part of this is in the tuning of the guitar; it holds very little strength here, even being overshadowed by the bass at times, much less the calamity of noise contributed by Ravenstine. As such, it sounds less like the usual Western styles of the electric or acoustic guitar, and sort of like a more twang-y version of the sitar at times (emphasis on “at times”).

Atmosphere is a big part of the Pere Ubu sound, and The Modern Dance exemplifies this through the synthetic arrangements of Allen Ravenstine. Ravenstine’s part comes in through his creation of setting that underlies the rest of the music, be it through the occasional waves of triumphant applause in “Chinese Radiation”, the industrial rhythmic clanging of “Real World”, or the ominous, air raid siren-lite sounds of “Over My Head”. His influence on this record isn’t as great as it would come to be on future releases, but it is still a big part in formulating Pere Ubu’s unique musical direction. The synths on this album work to create a very distinct atmosphere in a very different way than they would later be used, mainly through the channeling of background noises and atmospheric musical cues, rather than the dance-y synth arrangements that would later come to personify New Wave.

However, this is in many ways David Thomas’ band, as the founder and only constant member throughout Pere Ubu’s career, so I’d be remiss if I didn’t spend some time focusing on his odd, almost surreal caterwauling. Imagine an especially noisy hawk. Now, imagine that that hawk is dying, possibly due to internal bleeding, and just won’t shut up (god, this is a really bad metaphor). That’s kind of what David Thomas sounds like, a dying hawk, squealing and squawking incessantly in a high yet somber pitch as it slowly dies. Or maybe a drunken homeless man on the street, muttering to himself about whatever he pleases, and occasionally raising his voice in delightful inebriated glory. Whatever he sounds like, Thomas’ vocals are easily the most noticeable and recognizable thing about Pere Ubu, and they work to fit the eccentricities of the music seamlessly.


With The Modern Dance, Pere Ubu created an underground classic, an experimental slice of ‘avant-garage’ (Thomas’ term to placate music critics looking for a trendy expression to use in their reviews) that doesn’t disappoint. Few bands can create the same blend of abstract weirdness, much less pair it with any number of interesting musical ideas. Absurd, surreal, and only a tad disjointed, The Modern Dance stands as another important step in the ultimate merger of music and art. To this date, it remains important in its influence, even if not nearly as many people remember it as they should.

The Modern Dance

Naked Raygun - Jettison

Naked Raygun - Jettison


Storming out of the 80’s Chicago hardcore scene, Naked Raygun quickly became one of the most prominent and influential bands of their time. Blending post-punk stylings with the speed and fury of hardcore, they created a distinct niche for themselves, never being afraid to experiment with their sound or to diversify their attack. In 1988, they released their fourth and arguably best album, Jettison, which, along with Big Black’s Songs About Fucking, would act as a harbinger for many of the musical trends occurring in the Chicago scene at the time.


On Jettison, the band takes the ferocity of previous releases and tames it somewhat, relying more on strong hooks and powerful storytelling to get their point across. The vitriolic sentiment once pointed at government and military now seems more introspective, and the power of the lyrics is gained from within rather than aimed at afar. Rather than continuing at attacking the false ideals of trickle-down conservatism that permeated the times directly, they focus more on the affects of those policies. Whether it be a lament for the wastes of war (Soldier’s Requiem), or a detailed description of inner-city life (Ghetto Mechanic), the strategy works in creating a wholly realized atmosphere that encompasses the album as a zeitgeist of the times.

Which isn’t to say the fury is gone; merely re-directed in its approach. The same bottled hope and frustrations that appear on so many punk albums of the time appear here as well. The caustic anger is thick and unrelenting, giving an anthemic feel to many of the songs. This succeeds in really driving home the despondence of the themes that emerge throughout, striking a delicate balance between anger and dysphoria. The guitars are just as dense in their assault, fashioning vivid, broodingly atmospheric soundscapes. Distortion surrounds these guitars, as you can practically hear them crackle and fizz at times. Yet as rough as Jettison sounds at times, it also shows off an incredible set of pop hooks to it, as Naked Raygun utilize cutting guitar riffs and haunting backup vocals in order to effectively build the mood of the album. It shows the innovation of the band that they can create catchy punk tunes that also work as blistering hardcore masterpieces at the same time. That they can remain arty and subversive, yet still pull off a memorable pop-influenced hook that will stay in your head for days.


With Jettison, Naked Raygun created their magnum opus. It’s a high-speed expedition through the graveyards of the 80’s, as dense as it is epic, and as intelligent as it is irate. With the ability to combine pop sensibilities with the furor and velocity of hardcore, Naked Raygun set themselves apart from the pack and prove themselves as true luminaries of the American Underground. From a personal standpoint, this is the best hardcore album of the 80’s, and an absolute must for anyone with any interest in the genre.

Jettison

Mission of Burma - Signals, Calls and Marches EP

Mission of Burma - Signals, Calls and Marches


Imagine the Stooges. Now, imagine taking Raw Power, rolling it around in fuzz and distortion, and throwing in lyrics about surrealist and existentialist philosophy. Amplify it by a thousand, and you have Mission of Burma.

Born out of the ashes of a short-lived Boston area band called Moving Parts, friends Roger Miller (guitar) and Clint Conley (bass), enlisting the help of drummer Peter Prescott, formed Mission of Burma in 1979. Mission of Burma quickly turned heads, gaining underground support and critical acclaim with both the release of their debut single “Academy Fight Song”, and their ear-shattering live shows. They would later release an EP and a full-length recording, on their way to reaching the zenith of Boston’s growing alternative scene before their break-up four years later, due to Miller’s worsening case of tinnitus.


To best understand Mission of Burma is to understand their influence and their innovation as a band. This was a group that played post-punk like no other, creating some of the most elaborate and improbable soundscapes ever to grace vinyl. They played with a sort of instrumental ferocity that is rarely, if ever matched, forging raucous arty punk through some of the most creative use of tape loops to date. Their music was often dark in tone, going back and forth between quiet minimalism to pounding desperation. Flanked by the thick, cascading guitar riffs of Roger Miler and the all-encompassing layers of distortion backing him up, Mission of Burma were noisy, loud, and often brilliant.

When cited, they are generally remembered for their one full-length recording, Vs., but their best work, in my mind, was the 1981 release Signals, Calls and Marches. From the opening isolated guitar line of “That’s When I Reach For My Revolver”, it becomes quickly aware that this is an entirely focused piece of work. One can almost hear the desolation in the background as the protagonist cries out for all that he has lost. The pounding drums guide this song along as it builds into its austere climax, remaining remarkably poppy and accessible despite its bleak subject matter. From here, we move onto the far rougher sounds of “Outlaw”, then on to the angry criticisms of “Fame and Fortune”, and then to the steady forceful punk of “This Is Not a Photograph”.


The final two songs are both stunning in their beauty. “Red” is a brooding anthem of sorts, progressed by striking guitar patterns and a hammering drum beat. The song is permeated by a haunting set of backup vocals, lending creepy disposition to the song that only grows as the singer cries “things are crumbling outside me”. Finishing the album is the absolutely exquisite instrumental piece, “All World Cowboy Romance”. Using the richness of the guitars to their full potential, Miller and Conley intertwine their instruments to construct a lush, luxuriant body of sound that has to be heard to be believed. Prescott wails away on the drums, orchestrating and directing the tempo with his almost methodical pace. Personally speaking, this is one of the finest instrumentals I have ever heard, and ranks as one of my favourite songs of all-time. Eventually the band reaches a serene crescendo, one still pulsating with the power of the drums as it climaxes and denoues.

With Signals, Calls and Marches, Mission of Burma created their greatest achievement, and set the stage for one of the most influential bands of the 80’s. This is one of the rare occasions in which an EP is the best thing in a band’s discography, and, given the quality of their other releases, this is not a remark to be taken lightly. It’s not just arty; it’s a full-fledged work of art on the same plane as, or perhaps even surpassing the best that post-punk has to offer.

(Note: The 1997 re-release includes the singles "Academy Fight Song" and "Max Ernst" as bonus tracks, and they are included in the link below.)

Signals, Calls and Marches