vinyl

Independent music, ca. 1983: Diehard punkers would say that it was the last, great year for hardcore, as long-hair & metal had yet to really "crossover" and encroach on their music (just wait until 1984, punk). In LA, the Paisley Underground was in full swing and in the midst of producing its best round of janglin' retro/future sounds. As for the labels . . . SST was mired in legal battles; it wouldn’t be until the next year that that label would revitalize the indie music scene. NY’s ZE Records had been bought off and totally lost it's aesthetic direction, floundering as it was with inane WAS (NOT WAS) and WAITRESSES recordings. Only Some Bizarre Records in London, with it's burgeoning roster of post-industrial misfits and headcases, would offer any real suggestion of a new sonic architecture. Looking back nearly twenty years on now, the year in music feels more transitional than anything else, a bridge between points already-defined and those as-yet-undefined. But let this much be known: it was year that left us with some amazing recorded work, and some of this we've seen fit to discuss below. --MR

100 Flowers: 100 Flowers LP (Happy Squid) - The Urinals were one of the oddest and most interesting bands to come out of the late 70’s Los Angeles new music scene. This deceptively simple sounding guitar-bass-drums trio had a lot in common with quirky bands like Pere Ubu, but also contained the desperate energy of some of the more strictly punk Southern California bands of the period. Without changing any members, the Urinals became 100 Flowers and eventually released a self-titled LP in 1983 that unfortunately went mostly unnoticed.

There were a lot of bands that sounded like this in 1983 — driving but gloomy minimal arrangements with distortion, dissonance, and I’m-about-to-fucking-lose-it vocals. But there were few who sounded this cohesive, hypnotic, magical, and sometimes even slightly heroic. The rhythm section can make you think of the spareness of Wire or, when they jam, a condensed kind of Krautrock with the three instruments weaving in and out of each other. Some of the more tortured vocal arrangements are similar to their peers, Mission of Burma, but it’s the harmonizing that truly distinguishes this record. 100 Flowers stop just short of writing hooks, but their sharp and abrupt rhythmic sensibility slightly undermine any pop elements that might emerge. Yet, they still write choruses that can be sweet enough to sing along to. --BA

The Birthday Party: Mutiny in Heaven EP (Mute) - On this 4-song EP, the last studio release by The Birthday Party, gone for the most part is the frenetic maniacal theater of their earlier LP’s (classics like Junkyard and Prayers on Fire). Songs like the slow and stagy gutter blues of "Jennifer’s Veil" and "Say a Spell" are an indication of where singer Nick Cave will be when he soon embarks on his solo career with The Bad Seeds (same goes for guitar player Roland S. Howard and his mid-eighties These Immortal Souls).

But there is still a lot to like here. Howard gets plenty of space to practice his inimitable post-punk horror soundtrack guitar — part Morricone and part Stooges - and is still complemented by the well-timed doom of Tracy Pew’s bass. And "Swampland" is as terrifying and relentless as The Birthday Party at their best, with Cave exclaiming in a desperate strangled scream, "I cannot run no more!" Maybe not their greatest achievement, but second rate Birthday Party was always better than the best efforts of most. --BA

Butthole Surfers: Brown Reason to Live EP (Alternative Tentacles)- The main character of the first release by Texas’s The Butthole Surfers is Anus Presley. Like the Butthole Surfers, he’s had enough rejection, persecution, and alienation, and he’s feeling cornered ("She’s been talking behind my back again, this time I’m gonna bleed!"). What else is there to do but make a scatological stand and fight back?

At the end of the cacophonous and revelatory first track, "The Shah Sleeps in Lee Harvey’s Grave", Anus screams with conviction, "I am number one motherfucker, don’t even look back!" But it’s on the record’s final track, "The Revenge of Anus Presley", that he is allowed the space to rant vindictively for three plus minutes ("I’m hungry for pain. Your death is mine motherfucker!") And Brown Reason to Live is full of such vendettas. Whether it’s vocalist Gibby Haynes squawking to the beat like a giant mythical pissed-off bird to open "Barbecue Pope", or Paul Leary’s guitar that acts as a laser mowing down zombies from outer space in "Something", the Surfers get there revenge more often than not. A rhythm section that is sometimes tribal, sometimes a stupid hoedown, and other times twisted psychedelic funk, is a foundation and a propelling force for Gibby’s disturbed screams and Leary’s free and dark guitar work.

This is a record full of demented glee and timeless lyrics like, "I shot the Pope and I feel good!" But there’s also melodic and almost folky cuts like "Hey", where a lost cowboy laments his inability to love. Not much that came before Brown Reason could have prepared you for the relentless, dissonant assault of the Surfers. Scary like an abandoned funhouse full of homeless squatters, but even more frightening when you realize it only hints at the maniacal brilliance that would follow on their1984 full length LP Psychic, Powerless . . . Another Man’s Sac. --BA

The Fall: Perverted By Language LP (Rough Trade) - Mark E. Smith, the voice of Manchester’s The Fall, was fond of taking on characters and engaging the listener in conversation. Sometimes creeping and whispering, and often sounding drunk and incoherent or like a man talking in his sleep. But after lulling you with his gibberish he would strike loudly with something profound or suggestive. Perverted by Language is a record full of good advice, exclusive knowledge, accusations, and witness testimony.

On the opening track "Smile", over a marching beat and explosive drums, he commands you to do just that ("Smile!") and then adds, like a demented self-help speaker, "Go on, you can do it!" Smith is just as excited when spotting a celebrity (or is it a deity?) in "Garden", "He’s here! I swear! I saw him!" When stumbling upon actual revelation, he is equally ecstatic:

Snow on Easter Sunday Jesus Christ in Reverse!

On the unforgettable final cut of the record, "Hexen Definitive/ Strife Knot", he makes a useful suggestion to an overly presumptuous individual:

You know nothing about it, it’s not your domain Don’t confuse yourself with someone who has some thing . . . to say

A drunken but hard working rhythm section is usually out in front on Perverted (and most of The Fall’s many records) and punctuated by sharp guitars and keyboards falling down the stairs. And it’s down the stairs the Fall leads you, through a dark labyrinth and down into a dilapidated and leaky basement.

There’s one thing Smith wants you to remember, repeated over and over and emphasized in "Hexen" — "Strife is life, and don’t forget it". If only we could remember this one essential bit of wisdom. But words and their ideas are difficult to retain when we have been so perverted by language. --BA

Flesh Eaters: A Hard Road to Follow LP (Upsetter) — Tattered, worse-for-wear Hollywood outcasts sputter though split lips and lost dreams on this, the last "real" FLESH EATERS LP. This has that drunk long-after-everybody-else-has-sobered-up relationship to things that less articulate guys like the Leaving Trains would decide to build careers around a bit later. Singer & lyricist Chris D. disowned this record for years after, and no wonder: it’s a depressingly dark journey through a claustrophobic wasteland of alcohol-fueled romantic despair and eerie paranoia. But the FLESH EATERS Alice Cooperish hard rock was loosening up in all manner of cool ways at this point. You get more guitar breaks (matched, it would seem, by a 3-fold increase in the number of words Chris would cram into each song), the addition of cowgirl Jill Jordan’s attractively-off-key whine (what ever happened to her?), and a cool cover of Al Green’s "Rhymes" pointing to roads eventually explored in full by D.’s DIVINE HORSEMEN. At the time, a lot of knownothings asked why they had persevered after Slash had ditched em earlier that year. I, for one, am glad they did. --MR

Fred Lane : From the One That Cut You LP (Shimmy Disc) — Mindwarping musical pataphysics that sound like Sun Ra’s Arkestra backing a funny farm escapee for a one-off gig at a Red Skelton roast. You’ll be scratching your head in disbelief as the Rev. Dr. FRED LANE (abetted by Ron Pate’s mighty DEBONAIRS) says it loudly with lounge, jazz, hillbilly, spy music, musique concrete, and whatever lunchmeat he might have had laying around his mausoleum in Tuskaloosa, AL. Repeated listenings will drive you to talk oatmeal with your haircut and attempt to pull your lower lip over your head, if only to lick off that greasy toupee FRED has slathered on your skull. Those goo-goo-googly eyes of his say it 1000 times better than I can. Tip on in for a little fun in the fundus. --MR

Legendary Pink Dots: Curse LP (Play It Again Sam) — Quietly creepy electro-puppet pop of the highest Masonic order. Actual production budgeting (contrasting markedly with the homemade, cut ‘n’ paste feel of their earlier work) set these tunes off as never before — glistening like tiny rubies on a bed of fresh snow. Why consensus among Dotheads is that this is inferior to what came before/since, I know not. It’s poppy for sure, but no more/less so than anything else singer d’Archangel Ka-Spel ever oozes. And you better believe it: these poppies are of the finest opium variety. --MR

Marc & the Mamas: Torment and Toreros 2-LP (Some Bizarre) - Soft Cell had grown decidedly darker on their Art Of Falling Apart LP, while Marc’s 1^st solo set (Untitled) hinted at the crooning still to come . . . but what could've prepared the world for such hair-tearing, mascara-smeared hysterics as this? These four sides stumble headfirst into ill-lit tea rooms, slither down dark & dangerous alleyways, and teeter out onto 5^th story ledges looking, always looking, for that stage on which to end it all. It’s a balancing act that goes so wildly over-the-top so frequently (the garish version of Rogers & Hammerstein’s "Beat Out That Rhythm on a Drum" is a particularly audacious move) it musta bugged the bejesus out of all those frizzy-haired, Converse All-Star-wearing rock critics that populated the music press back in 1983. Many someones thought it’d be some kinda insult to call this heavy-handed. Heavy-handed? What, do the good ones come in any other weight? --MR

The Minutemen:Buzz or Howl Under the Influence of Heat EP (New Alliance) - The Minutemen were three musicians absolutely comfortable with their instruments and completely familiar with each other sonically. The range displayed on their 1983 EP Buzz or Howl Under the Influence of Heat is that of an extremely agile trio exploring a dynamic fusion of rock heroics, funk rhythms, improvisation, and beat-like lyrics with punk spirit.

The smooth running kinetic machinery of Mike Watt’s rubbery bass line and D. Boon’s scratchy rhythmic guitar could sound as tight as The Meters on something like "Dream Told by Moto". In the middle of that same song, they could digress into a few moments of dissonant jazz and return to the original groove as if they never left. "Product" also has an improvisational feel when loopy but triumphant horns explode with a mind-blowing guitar. On a song like "Cut", The Minutemen are a kick-ass power trio from San Pedro, achieving hard rock drama without the distortion, posture, or an excess of bombast. The Eastern-tinged psych-jazz intro to "Dreams are Free Motherfucker" could easily follow certain pieces by Sun Ra or Yusef Lateef And the Southern California beach influence can be felt in the spacey surf instrumental breaks of "Little Man With a Gun in His Hand".

Throughout this record, the rhythm section of George Hurley (drums) and Watt (bass) builds a menacing tension for the late guitarist singer D. Boon to do his high wire treble act on. The Minutemen somehow managed to be economical as well as euphoric, like a wind-up toy that you just turn on and it delivers - one kinetic engaging piece of music after another. --BA

Psychic TV : Dreams Less Sweet LP (Some Bizarre) - Despite 50+ other albums, this is the only time you’ll find PSYCHIC TV truly openflowered and in full bloom. Never again would Genesis P-Orridge surround himself with so much talent (remember this was the festering womb from whence John Balance & Peter ‘Sleazy’ Christopherson of COIL and David 23 Tibet of CURRENT 93 would spring). And never again would Genesis P-Orridge have this rich a record company budget to blow on such aural shenanigans. This is a microcosm of all earlier and later worlds these sociopaths sank themselves into: you get pretty pop songs ("Orchids"), lush choral and string orchestration (c/o of Andrew Poppy), postindustrial sturm und Cazazza ("Iron Glove"), kreepy white noise sexplay ("In the Nursery") and so, so much more. And all brought to you in "Zuccarelli Holophonic" sound, which you can impress your hi-fidelity friends with as the only non-biaural 3D sound system in the world! --MR

Sort Sol : Dagger & Guitar LP (Medley, Denmark) — Best damn Danish rock band ever, and this was their first record they got dead right. This effortlessly mingles highly stylized post-punk with hardened garage rock, topping it off with a really great pop crooner. The occasionally awkward constructions scattered about in Steen Jørgensen’s lyrics make me wonder how much English he really understands, but it’s all delivered with such an appealing underground grace that you can’t really care. Doesn’t hurt to have Ms. LYDIA LUNCH on board for a couple songs (esp. on the gender swapping "Boy — Girl"); but really, this is much more than a LYDIA side project. They’d go on to release a bunch of other bitchen records throughout the 80s and 90s, and their newest from 2000 shows they can still do it. Simpletons will forever compare these guys to NICK CAVE & Co., but unlike the BAD SEEDS, SORT SOL aren’t afraid to rock out. Call em a Dane DIE HAUT that’s settled down with a steady vocalist and leave it at that. --MR

James White's Flaming Demonics: S/T LP (Ze/Island) — This ought to have been yet another perverse reinvention of the hydraheaded James Chance/White/Black juggernaut. Ostensibly this time he’s the jazzbo who sells his soul and blows for broke, only to discover eccch! little horns have begun to sprout on his forehead. But truth be told, Mr. White falls a bit short of the mark, sounding as if some blood had been sucked someplace along the way. Was it the loss of his muse Anya Phillips to cancer the year before? Too many bad drugs and/or STDs? Who knows. What he left us here was as close to "real" jazz as he’d venture back then (even Ellington gets dragged down to that herky-jerky level of his for a tribute medley). Thankfully, this doesn’t really sit like anything your dad would dredge up outta that old console stereo that usually lay dormant in his den. White’s choppy, uptight sound is as ornery and claustrophobic as on 1982’s Sax Maniac LP, but his vocals (here limited to only a couple of numbers) just don’t seem as bowel-churning as they once did. Ah well — it still blows the mind that they once let guys like this make records for the majors. --MR

Various Artists: DECODER Soundtrack LP (What's So Funny About) - Weird hodgepodge of noir themes, stray dialogue, and post-industrial throb comprise the bulk of the soundtrack for this mostly forgotten (at least in the USA) Kraut cult flick starring Einsturzende Neubauten's F.M. Einheit and teen "sensation" Christiane F. The whole thing comes across as a dry run for Some Bizarre's more definitive IF YOU CAN'T PLEASE YOURSELF PLEASE YOUR SOUL compilation that would surface a couple years later. Dave Ball of Soft Cell and Genesis P-Orridge are the primary aural culprits behind this, but Matt Johnson (The The) and Neubauten themselves also bob up at points to add their trademark touches. And while there's nothing here you'd wanna sell your mom to hear, it remains a curious if uneven document in and of itself. Never actually saw the film, but I've always imagined it to be Berlin's answer to Beth B.'s VORTEX - you know, a difficult-to-decipher exploration into modern existentialist horror, 80s military/industrial paranoia, etc. And in fact, NYC underground actor Bill Rice somehow managed to get cast in both of these films, so maybe there is something to this . . . Still, the music does manage to conjure up an even more claustrophobic world than the one we currently agree to live in, which is, I suppose, to Dave & Gen's credit. --MR

Reviews by Brian Armbruster & Michael Row

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