As I try to peer into my increasingly-foggy youth, I realize that my very first introduction to punk music of any sort was via early Green Day. I was maybe ten years old, standing in the room of my friend’s older brother as he put on “Nice Guys Finish Last.” Just standing, just listening, just loving it. A few days later, I managed to borrow Nimrod and Dookie to burn my own copies, discs which have not worked for almost a decade now due to overplay.
I knew I liked Green Day then, and I liked them A LOT. So years later, when I was finally old enough to purchase my own CDs and found myself browsing the “G” section at Walmart (undoubtedly on a fruitless search for more Goldfinger), I found the “Green Day” tag and sifted through the cases, pulling out an album of theirs that I hadn’t yet heard, one that would change entirely the way I thought about music: Insomniac.
As their third full-length and second major-label release, no one would have been surprised to see Green Day repeat the successful, accessible sound of their previous record, but that is exactly what the band avoids on Insomniac. Tré Cool lays into every single drum beat with fervor and fury, driving the tunes at tempos that mainstream radio had never even approached before. Billie Joe Armstrong thrashes his guitar strings, his tone soaked in distortion. He completely ignores even the concept of a guitar lead, favoring simple and biting power chords—and so Mike Dirnt’s rumbling bass fills that void, running through bright yet brooding basslines in “Stuart & the Ave” and “Stuck with Me."
While there is no lack of the pop sensibility that endeared them to the world, Green Day focuses the sound of Insomniac through the infuriated energy of their punk rock roots. And yet, Insomniac remains the band’s darkest release, and shows them testing the limits of the genre in which they began. “Geek Stink Breath” and “Brain Stew” feature slow, chugging progressions drenched in distortion and low frequencies, adding a morbid depth to their historically pop sound. “Panic Song” takes off with an extended jam intro, Dirnt frantically strumming a single screaming note while Armstrong and Cool crash against each other for two full minutes before launching into the song proper. Even the cover art features a layer of the strange and sinister, an adaptation of a Winston Smith collage entitled “God Told Me to Skin You Alive.”
Green Day’s Insomniac was written during a confusing and violent life upheaval for the band, a paradigm shift from which their abrasive instrumentation and darker lyrics are bred. Their previous release Dookie, being both their major-label debut and a monster hit, had propelled the trio into stardom overnight, a veritable accident. And yet the fact that they had attained it, even through dumb luck, led to their expulsion from the DIY punk scene at 924 Gilman Street, which had been their home and family since their high school days. Suddenly, Green Day stood in the spotlight of the world, completely abandoned and derided by their once-musical peers.
Insomniac is a record about frustration and fury, about being stuck in a situation never asked for, and no song captures the complete insanity of that situation better than the album’s punk banger, “Jaded.” Clocking in at a minute and a half, “Jaded” was tacked onto the third single, “Brain Stew,” because of the crossfade between the tracks, and thus received far more promotion than it ever would otherwise. Amid a breakneck pace set by Tré Cool’s thumping kick drum, Billie Joe and Mike Dirnt give their strings the beating of a lifetime as they thrash and scrape. The instrumentation feels like a building about to collapse, yet the band holds it together long enough for Billie Joe to deliver his ranting, raucous lyrics.
Immediately, the loss of control is made apparent: “Somebody keep my balance / I think I’m falling off” before commenting on the meaninglessness of at even attempting to control the situation in the chorus: “Always move forward / Going ‘straight’ will get you nowhere.” “Jaded” is Green Day’s swift kick to the face of fan and foe alike, a deriding commentary towards the bizarre situation they’ve ended up in, as well as their complete lack of interest in taking a side.
Whatever your view of Green Day, if you give Insomniac a chance, you will find at least a true sincerity that most bands would sell their souls (and have already) to mimic, let alone embody. These three goofballs perform the most punk-rock of all actions by creating a record so unforgiving and unrelenting in its honesty that both the mainstream and the underground refused to accept it (just check out this angry letter written to Billie Joe, as well as his cheeky response). It is this record that showed me how to be true to oneself, wholly disregarding critics and sycophants and idols to create something that is simply and brutally the soul. Even if it is somewhat juvenile, bleak, or even nihilistic, Insomniac forces the listener to reevaluate the musician’s target of their music—the listener, or the creator—and that is a topic no other record even dares to approach.
About a year ago now, I absolutely fell in
love with American Football’s debut LP, a rite of passage that had eluded
me completely until it was reissued. If I had one lament at that time concerning
American Football’s music, it was that there simply wasn’t enough of it to be
had. Thus, you can imagine my ravenous delight when I got my grubby mitts on their
brand new follow-up album, American
Football (LP2), seventeen years after their break-up. The prospect of more
sprawling songs in which to lose myself certainly had me excited, and yet the
fact that this band could not only recapture the magic of their youthful
songsmithing, but also improve upon it, has left me amazed and impressed beyond
measure.
It may be a bold statement, but to me, LP2 seems a massive step forward from American
Football’s debut. While Mike Kinsella, Steve Holmes, and Steve Lamos have
retained the emotional honesty and gentle but penetrating technical
musicianship for which the act is known, there is no lack of evolution on this
record. The musical and lyrical themes explored on their first album, both now
considered quintessentially “emo,” are still present on LP2, but expressed in a more mature fashion. The band members use
the wisdom and experience gained in the last seventeen years as lenses, giving
the act a new light that is both profound and extremely relevant.
But as LP2
exhibits, American Football’s music has grown in the interim, so much so that
it is now able to look beyond the emo introspection of its youth. Kinsella’s
writing has become more aware of the world around him and concerned for those
who people it. “Give Me the Gun” is a track about “checking in on a distressed loved one,” while “Home is Where the Haunt Is” examines the
effects of grief and loneliness. It is in this latter tune that Kinsella’s
writing really shines, as he first acknowledges the heaviness of the situation:
“the past still present tense / you need more time to mourn,” before
finding some understanding and acceptance: “The ghost in the corner of the room / knows how you’re feeling / ‘cause your dead to him too.” LP2 shows this band’s growth from
self-centered youths into responsible and responsive adults, connecting outward
concern with the inward contemplation for which they are known.
The lyrical composition is hardly the one
facet of American Football to have matured. Just as the scope of Kinsella’s
writing has enlarged, so to has the band’s instrumentation. Both Kinsella and
Holmes have retained the “sparkly” guitar sound which is their signature, and
put it to work hard, but it is no longer their limit, as acoustic guitars,
vibraphones, and bells all work their way to prominent spots in the songs.
Similarly, the odd time signatures and interlocking melodies that define
American Football’s sound are prevalent, but dialed back just enough to let
Kinsella’s powerful, heart-wrenching vocals to take the center. And last but
not least, their inclusion of Nate Kinsella as a full-time bassist has
made all the difference, his unobtrusive yet poignant lines filling the low end
that was so notoriously missing from American Football’s sound.
Perhaps the best example of the band’s sonic
evolution is the second release from LP2,
“Give Me the Gun.” The overall structure appears relatively simple, alternating
just between A and B sections, but American Football brings its technical
skills to the forefront with their time signature choices, writing the A
section in a convoluted but harmonious 6/4 (one measure of 11 and one of 13),
while the B section alternates between 8 and 7.Kinsella’s vocals are sparse, his lyrics even sparser, allowing the
intertwining guitars to meld together in between spotlights on Steve Lamos’
soft yet syncopated drum lines. “Give Me the Gun” is a perfect example of how
this band brings its big guns to bear—subtly, letting the mood and music carry
the true weight and adding flourish only when appropriate.
Whether or not you choose to place it against
the band’s small but significant legacy, LP2
is an American Football record that easily stands on its own as awesome and evocative.
The picturesque instrumentation, laden with both thought and feeling, couple
perfectly with Mike Kinsella’s painfully truthful lyrics to design nine unique
composites of the band members’ lives. LP2’s
delicate beauty is both resonant and easy to absorb, and if it gives any hint
as where these men are headed, I know I will continue following them with eager
eyes and ears.
As
I am prone to telling almost anyone who will listen, Norma Jean has long been
one of my favorite bands, and since its announcement about a year ago, I had
been jittery with excitement in awaiting their latest release, Polar Similar. Despite this act’s fluid
nature as a musical collective, my faith in their ability to deliver music
that is both groundbreaking and yet true to the legacy has been unwavering. And
though there are no longer any founding members present in the band,
this fresh lineup succeeds in honoring the tradition that is Norma Jean while
producing what may be the best record yet released under the moniker.
Norma
Jean has perpetually been a heavy band, and Polar
Similar delivers fully on that promise. Guitarists Jeff Hickey and Philip
“Philly” Farris pull heady, ground-shaking chugs from their instruments,
playing predominantly in tunings as low as Drop-A or Drop-G. Bassist John
Finnegan thunders out angry bass notes that reverberate through the chest,
while Clayton “Goose” Holyoak bludgeons his drums towards a violent end. The
band is loud and brutally heavy, pulling as much metal from their instruments
as possible, smashing melody against mania without compromise.
Norma
Jean has loaded Polar Similar with
the same raging heaviness we expect from the band, yet never before has the
music been approached with such fearlessness. As lead singer Cory Brandan
states, the intention behind the record was “to do things [our] own way, and not care if anyone gives a shit about it,” and indeed there is no lack of
innovation on the record. Norma Jean explores completely new territories in
some pieces, using sampled recordings in “II. The People” and “A Thousand Years a Minute,” featuring a spoken-word piece in “Synthetic Sun,” and mixing in a
gentle grand piano coda for “1,000,000 Watts.” This experimentation even extends
through recording techniques, as apparently the band recorded guitar parts over an indoor pool at the studio as well as through the walls of the house they stayed in.
This
willingness to delve into new, unexplored areas is truly the drive behind Polar Similar, and one of the
most notable undertakings is Cory Brandan’s increasingly melodic singing.
Although the man can scream and growl like a rabid and furious jaguar, songs
like “Reaction” and the band’s tribute to the late great Lemmy,
“Everyone Talking Over Everyone Else,” show Cory concentrating his vocals in a
beautiful yet still edgy singing voice. This choice allows for him to play with
the emotion of the song, to let his anger seethe rather than shout. This also
creates a new dynamic in the music, so that when Brandan does scream, it shakes
the listener all the more by contrasting with the quiet that came before it.
Further
nuance and innovation are present in the lyrics, both in theme and in
presentation. Apparently Polar Similar
involves a loose concept, reflected by the numbering of four of the tracks that
break up the movement of the record. And while that concept seems rather vague
and broad, that massive scope is apparently the point; as Cory puts it, the
thematic pieces arose from a desire for “Polar Similar to really tell a story and be disconnected from us as people.”
The four titles seem to zoom in on one another; “I. The Planet” being a superficial
lump of us all; “II. The People” representing the individuals; and “III. The Nebula” an ode to the undefined, amorphous boundaries that separate us.
Thus, the final and explosive track, “IV. The Nexus,” references the connecting
thread that ties us all together, the uniting sameness at the heart of all of
us that shatters those boundaries.
The
creation of Polar Similar is a form of catharsis for the band, and for me, no tune defines this feeling better
than “Death is a Living Partner.” Amid some of the most intense, unrelenting
instrumentation of the record, Cory dissects at full volume his passage from
youth into adulthood. His wail of “The invincibility of our youth has just given way…to the inevitability of our death” starts with rage, yet settles
into a full, heavy understanding of his own mortality, before naming death as
his “living partner / a consummate, consummate one.” This pounding,
furious coda is the audial equivalent of gazing into the void, a gaze that
results in either peace or annihilation, that sucks me in every single time.
Undoubtedly,
Polar Similar is an album of
evolution, of maturation, and of experimentation. Norma Jean has poured every
piece of their hearts into this record, filling it front to back with unbridled
emotion and power. Whether exploring new frontiers or treading carefully across
old wounds, this band strides forward without fear or hesitation, turning that
journey into the brutal truth that lies at the heart of every song. Polar Similar is a record full of
surprises, but it leaves me without a trace of doubt that this band’s
trajectory leads only upwards.
If
there is a soundtrack to my turning eighteen, it would have to be Streetlight
Manifesto’s Somewhere in the Between.
Streetlight’s extremely technical yet thoroughly delicious brand of
ska-folk-punk was the dominant sound of my last year of high school. The
complex, multifaceted, and most of all catchy compositions inspired me to shoot
beyond power chord progressions and straightforward lyrics in my own music, sensibilities
that continue to inform my own writing.
Truly,
Somewhere in the Between was a pivotal
listen for me in those days. And yet, with my eventual distancing from ska, a
solid five years had passed since I had actually listened to it front to back.
So when I shoved the scratched, burned copy into my car’s CD player a month
ago, I felt a twinge of fear that perhaps I wouldn’t really like it, or even
understand it, anymore. Yet as the explosive first notes of “We Will Fall Together” pealed through my speakers, my anxieties dropped to the floor as the
glory that is Streetlight washed over me.
Though they try their hardest to come off as uncaring goofballs, Streetlight
Manifesto is an act unfamiliar with the term “good enough,” instead whittling
down each composition until it as cerebral as it is beautiful. These seven men
load each song with nuance, the rhythm section peppering in syncopated hits and
massive dynamic shifts until every song plays like a symphony. The four-piece
horn section furthers this by taking lead singer Tomas Kalnoky’s hummed suggestions and turning them into intense collages of harmony and
counterpoint. On top of all this musical majesty, every member of the band
contributes to the singing in some way, taking the ska cliché of gang vocals
and elevating it to the echelon of a punk choir.
The
band’s technical approach alone on Somewhere
in the Between is enough to get the head spinning, but Streetlight also chooses
to explore a plethora of sound palates. Refusing to be labeled as simply ska,
they instead give the listener a veritable buffet of musical flavors: Pete
McCullough’s running bass lines suggest a heavy jazz influence, while Kalnoky’s
raking guitar chords simultaneously draw from punk and Middle-Eastern folk. The
horn section’s melodic structures go even farther, calling to mind the music of
gypsies in “We Will Fall Together” or the early days of big band with “The Blonde Lead the Blind.” As Kalnoky puts it, he wanted Somewhere in the Between to breathe with “a world influence,”
and with seven members exploring seven different musical backgrounds, they easily succeed in unearthing a whole new continent of sound.
One
of the best examples of this married complexity and catchiness on Somewhere in the Between is the
thunderous “Would You Be Impressed?” Sporting a Spanish influence in the
composition, Streetlight races like a bull through each verse. Chris Thatcher’s
snare drum blasts as he holds the insistently insane rhythm at a speed that
would spell death for a less-cohesive band. The song eschews a traditional
chorus, opting instead to end each verse with the punctually shouted line “It’s not my fault,” intermingled with ever-varying horn arrangements that explode in
juxtaposition with the vocals. Virtually no part of the song features a true
repeat, the band instead taking each idea and turning it on its head the next
time it occurs, suggesting continuity while continually evolving. “Would You Be
Impressed?” flaunts every aspect of Streetlight worth acknowledging, an
intricate masterpiece that truly blooms in the ear.
The
instrumentation on Somewhere in the
Between received borderline obsessive attention in its creation, and the
lyrics are no different. As his break-neck singing style demands, Tomas Kalnoky
fills each song with tons of lyrics, but not a single word seems facetious or
accidental. He wields both repetition and alliteration with the skill of a
famed poet, such as in the vehement line “So fuck the flocks of sheep that keep amassing masses / asses being led so far astray.” Additionally, his
continuous use of small, gripping refrains, such as “mercy, mercy, mercy me”
in “Watch It Crash,” create a constant stream of moments for his listeners to
latch onto, so that no matter how long or complex the tune, some part is
guaranteed to seize both attention and heart. And even when his lines appear to
make no sense—“Little Miss Dismiss cannot miss like a detuned radio”—well,
damn, they sure are fun to sing.
With
his effective synthesis of flourish, depth, and honesty, Tomas Kalnoky proves
himself to be a powerful writer, and no song says it better than the album’s
opus “The Receiving End of it All.” Above a maelstrom of heady instrumentation
and perhaps the best breakdown ever written, Kalnoky tears through a tale of
lost connection, reminding his dear “Marigold” that “though sour grapes will turn to wine, it’s all just vinegar with time.” He flirts with the image of
an innocent romance fading away with the lines “We used to be in love (my love!) but now we’re just in like,” before finally placing the blame on
himself: “When you needed someone most, I wasn’t there, I wasn’t even…” The
entire troupe that is Streetlight pours their broken hearts into the performance
of “The Receiving End of it All,” backing Kalnoky’s hectic, earnest tale with
their own sincerity to create a song that to this day gives me chills with each
listen.
After returning to this record like a
prodigal son, I can’t believe how silly I was to think it would mean anything
less to me. Somewhere in the Between
is a phenomenal album, ten intensely crafted songs that awaken mind and body
with their energy and intelligence. And even now, after a month of non-stop
spinning, I am still discovering little moments of nuance or integrity, moments
I had missed again and again in my younger years. Somewhere in the Between remains a seminal record for me; I did not
have to grow to love it, and with the way it continually proves its worth and
wonder, that will never change.
My
musical fascination for the last year and a half has been post-hardcore and emo
from the 90’s. Since falling in love with the music of At the Drive-In,
I have continued backwards through the rabbit hole to find the bands they
toured with, or the bands that share their influences. I’ve encountered many
monster acts on this journey, becoming caught up in single songs or whole
albums of melodic madness. But for the past year, one song in particular keeps
rising to the top of my queue, a truly beauteous composition: “Blue Boy” by
Texas is the Reason.
Two
tenuous guitars open this tune, Garrett Klahn’s simple melody mixing with
Norman Brannon’s wavering chords. The rest of the band sidles in behind the
strings, until Texas is the Reason explodes into the song proper, layering
distortion and wailing bends over the chaos. There is a subtle heaviness to the
song, hiding in the drop tuning and Chris Daly’s quick drum fills, that colors
the initial feeling of melancholy into something darker. Amid this prismatic
instrumentation, Klahn begs for a chance to prove himself to a distant lover, struggling
to keep her near with the line “maybe with you on my side / I’ll be able to reach the sky.”
“Blue
Boy” is one of those tunes that grip me right at the beginning, leading me like
a small child through an emotional journey. The lilting and tilting intro is
laden with trepidation, not unlike the feeling buried in the stomach before
talking to a crush. Yet the subsequent explosion of overdrive, crash cymbals,
and earnest vocals suggests a newfound confidence, a statement of intent and
purpose. Where once there was only nervous energy, suddenly the band finds a
conviction, a belief in itself that is perfectly summed in the refrain “to me,
this is for real.”
This
new and confident identity is not just a feeling I’m imposing on the song, but
actually a representation of the band members themselves during this time
period. While initially released on a split EP with The Promise Ring, “Blue
Boy” was one of a few new songs written for Texas’ next full-length, one intended to be their major label debut. As Norman Brannon states, these songs show
the band finally “[figuring] out what Texas is the Reason sounded like.”
The band truly felt that these songs “actually were” Texas is the Reason,
showing their sound evolving into one both original and progressive, and thus
Garrett’s exclamation in the coda of “you finally found me” suddenly seems far
more personal.
That
evolution from boys in a band to men making music is what lies at the heart of
“Blue Boy.” The “reactionary spirit” inherent in each vibrating string,
each thumping drum hit—that is the goal of music, to capture the human journey
in a succession of notes. As Texas is the Reason’s only true sophomore release
(the other two songs written at the time were only recently recorded), “Blue Boy” is the notch carved into the doorframe of this band’s
house, the only true testament to that moment in their existence.
To
lead singer Garrett Klahn, “Blue Boy” is a song that “pinpoints exactly where [Texas is the Reason] were and where we were maybe going.” For me, it
testifies to the strength of soul-searching in a band, in discovering what
truly makes up the experience and putting it out in as faithful and honest a
version as possible. Those first few notes of “Blue Boy” strike my heart with truth
and excitement like few other songs can, a feeling of which I could never grow
sick. They are notes laden with uncut integrity and pure potential, and I have
no doubt they will ever get to me.
While
riding shotgun in my mom’s minivan at age thirteen, I had my second ever musical
“a-ha” moment (the first being my discovery of Goldfinger). After some begging,
my mother let me put on the local rock station for the remainder of the ride.
As I turned the dial, booming vocals began to pulse through the speakers along
with a massive guitar riff laden with distortion and reverb, and in that moment,
I knew that this—whatever “this” was—was definitely how rock’n’roll was
supposed to sound.
I
later discovered that the song was “Plush” by Stone Temple Pilots, off of their
debut Core, an album somehow even
bigger and more “rock” than the single. Released in 1992, the record’s production
calls back to the 70’s in its enormous sound—Eric Kretz’ snare drum booms like
a mortar shell, while Dean DeLeo’s guitar chords sound the product of forty
instruments rather than just one. The composition is largely straightforward,
all pentatonic scales and 4/4 timing, yet STP really guts that simple formula
for everything it’s worth, piling soaring solos and bombastic basslines into
each piece until it seems about to burst.
The
sound of Core screams rock’n’roll,
yet it isn’t all loud guitars and reverby drum fills. Stone Temple Pilots
explore a very diverse sound palate on their debut record, shaping a classical
landscape in “No Memory,” playing with an eastern-tinged bridge in “Sin,” and
being all-out goofballs on the improv’d “Wet My Bed.”
Similarly,
while much of the record is definitely loud, the band proves to have a fantastic
understanding of dynamics as well. “Dead and Bloated” may be explosive in its
syncopated hits and distorted riffs, yet “Creep” carries just as much power,
albeit in a different form. The acoustic guitar meanders through gentle open
chords, Robert DeLeo marks changes with atonal bass fills, and Kretz wields his
sticks more like paintbrushes than hammers. Core
is an example of a band in control of its sound, four musicians able to turn
their intentions into audio without compromise.
Yet
for all its exploration and diversity, Core
is foremost a hard-rocking record, and no song drives that point home harder
than “Piece of Pie.” The tune is composed of riff after monstrous riff, the
guitars chugging in a drop tuning over a visceral drum beat. Singer Scott
Weiland growls his microphone into submission, using his voice to build the
intensity of each verse until the chorus goes off like a grenade. “Piece of
Pie” is Stone Temple Pilots in top form, the band’s huge and heavy sound
employed to full effect.
As
a whole, Stone Temple Pilots creates a gigantic monolith of rock, but it is
lead singer Scott Weiland who truly demands attention. He brandishes his voice
with extreme discipline and power, which allows him to produce multiple
different timbres, a true anomaly amongst rock singers. His vocals boom loud
and deep in “Plush” and “Where the River Goes,” yet in “Naked Sunday” he hones
an edge onto his notes that is sinister and yet endearing. Similarly, in
“Creep” his words take on a gentle and mournful rasp as he sings “I’m half the man I used to be.”
Scott
Weiland commands a vocal style simultaneously methodical and multidimensional,
the secret weapon that makes Core
such a potent and evocative record. Like its instrumentation, the lyrics are
largely simple and unadorned, yet the writing certainly fits the intensity of
the album. Weiland describes his lyrics as “small, sick poems” which explore
the macabre: “Plush” relates a piece of news describing the discovery of a
murder victim’s body, while “Wicked Garden” touches on the loss of innocence. Weiland
has stated that he finds “the darker shades of life more attractive than the yellows and oranges,” and the lyrics of Core
certainly dive right into that darkness.
Weiland
shies away from no topic or perspective, and no song exemplifies this better
than the first single “Sex Type Thing.” For this song, Weiland pulls
from a deeply personal experience in which a former girlfriend was raped by a group of men. And as if that very idea wasn’t dark enough, Weiland
takes on the perspective of the rapist, using lines like “you shouldn’t have worn that dress” and “I know you like what’s on my mind” to embody the sociopathic sense of entitlement the man feels for the woman’s body. Weiland’s
fearless personification of a heartless, misogynistic criminal in “Sex Type
Thing” draws attention to the intense wrong of the situation without giving him
an ounce of credibility or quarter, using the position of power in this
scenario to take away any and all justification or excuse.
Stone
Temple Pilots use colossal instrumentation and dark subject matter to give
their album serious weight, and almost twenty-five years after its release, its
imprint remains firm and defining. To me, Core
is through and through a fully-formed rock record, and one that I’ve returned
to countless times since that day in the minivan. It is both a staple of 90’s
alternative rock and my own music library, and no matter how many times I’ve
heard “Creep” or “Plush” thump through my car’s speakers, each listen remains
fresh and monumental as the first.
Disclaimer: The following piece is a super-in-depth look at one of my favorite records, and as such, it is riddled with personal opinions and praise for said record. This cannot be helped.
I
make arbitrary and impulsive decisions very regularly, decisions that brighten
my day by having no other purpose. Whether it’s an afternoon iced coffee, a
$0.99 in-app purchase, or an evening drive without a destination, I try to
allow spontaneity into my life to break up the general monotony of work and
responsibility. The effects of these snap calls rarely last beyond a few
seconds of elation; however, there is in my memory one completely random
decision of mine that has had a truly lasting effect on my daily life, one from
which I still regularly reap the rewards.
During
my first semester of college, I found myself with $15 and zero intention to
save it. While pondering a use for this money, the video for “Peaches” by The
Presidents of the United States of America cycled onto my TV, a tune with which
I was familiar but that I had not given very much attention. Impressed by the
band’s twangy rock and goofball attitude, I promptly jumped into my car, drove
down to my local FYE, and with that $15 picked up their eponymous debut record,
an album that has since become one of my all-time favorites.
Every
time I pop The Presidents of the United
States of America into my CD player, I am baffled and amazed by how natural
the music mixes energy and beauty. PUSA combines the thrashing and speedy
tempos of punk rock with riffs reminiscent of the golden age of rock’n’roll,
weaving a wave of sound that is seriously infectious. “We Are Not Going to Make
It” and “Lump” fire off with the tempo and dynamics of a bottlerocket, while
“Stranger” and “Candy” opt for pretty strings and funky beats. PUSA lays
technical skill over thoughtful aesthetics, creating a sonic stream that takes
not a single wrong turn.
Between
fluid dynamics, explosive energy, and the occasional time signature swap, The
Presidents’ composition shows serious skill. However, their greatest weapon
lies not in the shape of their songs, but the instruments they use to create
them. Rather than playing a conventional bass, Chris Ballew employs a custom 2-stringed basitar, while Dave Dederer rocks a 3-stringed guitbass. These two
hodgepodge creations are woven together in intricate chords and melodies,
letting PUSA delve into sonic territory that is wholly their own. And as if
that wasn’t enough, drummer Jason Finn even plays an unorthodox kit, prominently
featuring a cowbell and a block while absolutely devoid of ride or crash
cymbals. PUSA uses ingenuity and audacity in their instrument choice, further
separating their hectic and oddball sound from any other act.
Just
like the instrumentation, the lyrical content of this record is skill laced
with insanity. Chris’ lyrics are almost entirely nonsensical in nature, and all
but four songs feature references to animals. Few compositions step into the
real world, and if they do, they are loaded with self-deprecating humor that
tears down whatever human image Chris may have. Yet beneath the silly and
whimsical language, Chris builds layers of sincerity, of emotion and
intelligence, using word craft and plenty of literary devices to mirror the
thematic images that his songs construct. There is plenty of crazy to be found
on this record, but so to is there honesty and intellect.
Between
the instrumentation and the lyrical madness, each song on The Presidents of the United States of America is much like an
oddity at a carnival—enticing, mythical, a spectacle. So please forgive me as I
pull back the curtain these peculiar yet wonderful tunes to give every one its
due.
1.Kitty
It
takes a certain audacity to open up your debut record with your most bizarre song,
but the Presidents are nothing if not ballsy. While the chorus is infectiously
catchy, the verses of “Kitty” move in a sleek groove punctuated by incessant
“meows.” Chris’ character first invites a poor cat into his house, only to
quickly suffer a scratch attack before finally dismissing it with the lines: “fuck you kitty / you’re gonna spend the night outside.” The speaker’s excitement
seems to double for the cut-time coda, as he belts the excited “Kitty kitty kitty kitty kitty kitty touch it” like a seven-year-old with ADHD. PUSA
kicks off their eponymous debut with a song that both rocks and perplexes,
giving the listener a straight-away shot of their humor without any qualms.
2.Feather Pluckn
As
if the opener wasn’t silly enough, The Presidents hardly pause before sliding
into their next tune, “Feather Pluckn.” Chris and Dave play as a unit here,
bending their strings in a goofy progression that bounces through the verses
before diving into full distorted rock for the choruses. Jason Finn’s drumming
drives the song, dominating syncopated hits and using his hihat to control the
dynamics.
But
perhaps the most effective part of the song is Chris’ vocal melody, which
somehow manages to give life and vivacity to his nonsensical lyrics. The focus
appears to be animals sharing secrets, painting scenes of “birdies…talking in codes to clams in the clouds.” Chris’ gentle, bopping verse melody sounds
like he is trying to stay out of earshot, yet his chorus vocals explode as he
exclaims “ten million monkeys all pick up guitars / nobody taught them how,”
the secret finally bursting from his lips. Using emphatic vocals to tell this
silly tale with enthusiasm and grace, Chris lets the humor and insanity of
“Feather Pluckn” shine against the tight instrumentation.
3.Lump
The
first punk banger of the record, “Lump” is the result of Chris Ballew’s “trying to write a Buzzcocks song” with his band’s unique instrumentation. While
initially inspired by a benign tumor in his head, Ballew tossed everything of the
“too depressing” idea except the title, instead using his language to relate
the tale of a woman lying in the mud. He plays with sound in his lyrics, weilding
alliterative phrases like “Lump lingered last in line for brains” or “life limped along at subsonic speeds.” His spirited delivery and simple but
catchy language choices expertly complement the driving drums and screaming
strings, creating a perfect mix of punk and pop that, when released as a single, helped launch them into the public’s eye.
4.Stranger
Though
the lyrics are full of clumsy pick-up lines like “you seem pretty cool for a naked chick in a booth,” for this record, “Stranger” is perhaps the song
most grounded in reality. Jason pulls his drums far into the background on this
one, letting Dave and Chris pine away on their strings as Chris’ vocal
awkwardly asks out an exotic dancer. “Stranger” provides us an excellent
glimpse of how these PUSA ties the guitbass and basitar together, each melody
complementing the other both theoretically and emotionally. The verses would
seem almost innocently romantic if they weren’t spoiled by the creepy chorus
and the absurd mumbling of the outro. With “Stranger,” Chris reveals to us a
touch of his amorous side before drenching it in his humor like a throwing a
glass of wine in our faces.
5.Boll Weevil
The
first tale of the record to directly personify an animal, “Boll Weevil” wobbles
into a world rife with ridiculousness. Chris spins the yarn of a fat bug that
refuses to leave his house, simply content to melt in front of the TV while
getting high. The groove is as funky as the melody, the band mixing classic
rock’n’roll rhythms against their punk thrashing. Though the vocal harmonies
really shine, it is Jason Finn’s diverse drumming that really moves the tune
along: his verse beat is syncopated and slippery, while his chorus pattern cuts
the 4/4 into 12/8 and turns the intensity up to eleven. “Boll Weevil” shows
PUSA pull the funk forward in their sound, giving Finn a space to flaunt his
beat building skills.
6.Peaches
The
hit song that gave the Presidents’ their platform, “Peaches” is an excellent
example of this band’s ability to harness pop sensibility. The tune is split
into two distinct suites, one soft and one heavy, taking the listener on a
leisurely walk that quickly ramps up into a full-on adventure. Chris’ melody
begins sweet and succulent, strolling over wavering strings and soft hihat work
from Finn. The chorus pick up the pace a bit, before the song slides into the
chugging coda, pushing a dissonant chord progression and crashing percussion.
Kicking
off with the most dissonant riff on the record, “Dune Buggy” juxtaposes dark,
rumbling strings with the sunny tale of a spider taking a little joyride in his
tiny dune buggy. Dave and Chris slap a cool groove beneath the vocals, as Chris
describes this diminutive vehicle that rocks a “squishy transmission”
and a “sassy chassis.” The very idea of a small bug tearing across the
sand, hitting jumps and showing off for his spider woman, is both imaginative
and adorable, but the Presidents’ choice to partner it with brooding
instrumentation helps the imagery to stand out even further. While initially my
least favorite tune on the record, “Dune Buggy” has since won me over, and with
every listen leaves me wishing there was an extra seat for me in that “little blue dune buggy.”
8.We Are Not Going to Make It
Another
punk rock essential, “We Are Not Going to Make It” takes The Presidents’
preposterous sense of humor and turns it in on themselves. Above a pounding and
simple progression, the Presidents’ openly admit to sucking, stating “there’s a million better bands with a million better songs.” Jason Finn lets his
drums sound clumsily against the strings’ power chords, mirroring the
self-deprecating tone of the line “we don’t have the talent.” The song
even features a false, faltering start that is perfectly in tune with their
out-of-tune concept. “We Are Not Going to Make It” batters the band and the
listener alike, flauting faux ineptitude and humor without a hint of remorse.
9.Kick Out the Jams
A
half-bastardized cover of the proto-punk anthem by MC5, “Kick Out the Jams” is
PUSA at their most punk. Finn’s drums are driving, Dave’s guitbass screams
through a fuzz pedal, and Chris howls against the tide of his pummeling bass
notes. His rewritten lyrics are utter nonsense, his language referencing the
band’s name with phrases like “This is my term” and a barking promise of
“I solemnly swear to uphold the Constitution,” yet not an iota of the
original version’s infectious energy is lost or misplaced. The whole affair
clocks in at less than 90 seconds, giving the listener a quick distilled
injection of The Presidents of the United States of America before exploding
into silence almost as quickly as it appeared.
10.Body
If
“Dune Buggy” puts darkness and light in the same room, “Body” forces them to
sit face-to-face and have a conversation. Dave and Chris tie their strings
together in a creeping, almost disturbing riff, mirroring a vocal melody that
feels so unhinged, it might as well be seeping from the mouth of a sociopath.
The choruses burst forth from quiet verses, Jason Finn jostling his hihat and
rolling along his entire kit, while the coda blooms outward like a furious
mushroom cloud.
The
instrumentation may be unequivocally dark, but Chris’ lyrics hold far more
ambiguity, as he somehow simultaneously evokes themes of pet love, sexual
desire, and death. The verses call out to “little” animal friends, following
their cute little lives to unfortunate ends: “Little salamander, where did you go? / Edge of the yard / I found you, you know / All brown and hard.”
But the prechorus refrain of “I can’t get your body / out of my mind”
dumps the platonic feelings for something more obsessive and sinister, leading
to the strange erotic chorus line “She goes smooth through my body.”
Chris melds together three completely antithetical ideas in “Body” with a level
of craftsmanship unattainable by most other acts, adding a truly dark edge to
PUSA’s normally humorous music.
11.Back Porch
My
favorite tune on the record, “Back Porch” is a ditty spun in the key of a
backwoods bumpkin. Chris alternates to fifths in his bassline, while Finn is
glued to his snare, the twangy country verses punctuated by full-on punk
choruses. Between images of a goofy animal band serenade, Chris places multiple
references to other songs on the record, his character “slurping on a peach”
with a “kitty at my foot.” He even calls out to Finn, the “chicken on the drums,” who responds with a tiny yet heartfelt fill. Topped off by
perhaps the best mid-song rant ever written, “Back Porch” is the Presidents’
flexing their absurdity, drenching the instrumentation and the lyrics with
completely nonsensical and hilarious fun.
12.Candy
Continuing
the carnal tone launched in “Peaches,” “Candy” this time applies the sexual directly
to the edible. Chris invokes the orgasmic quality of his sweets by personifying
them as a woman, describing her “red rope hair, gumdrop lips / cotton candy thighs,” attributes that leave him and his teeth “worn and useless.”
Accompanying this overtly erotic imagery is instrumentation that is wholly
hypnotic, the strings linked in perfect unison over Finn’s metronomic drums. The
band slips from 6/8 in the song proper to a subdued 4/4 bridge, letting Dave
rip a quiet but evocative solo on his guitbass that gives me chills. “Candy” is
the sleeper hit of The Presidents of the
United States, prioritizing feel and sound over humor and showing just how
hard this band can hit, even when they lean back into gentler territory.
13.Naked and Famous
Brandishing
another expertly knotted string section riff, The Presidents’ tie a bow on
their debut record with “Naked and Famous.” Dave and Chris work as one player
in this, practically finishing each other’s musical sentences. The song starts
by wandering through lyrical images that appear to have no meaning whatsoever (“3D billboards and big / thirty-foot smurfs”), but the song truly comes
together in the second half: the tempo is fired up, the gain pushed to 100, and
guest musician Kim Thayil of Soundgarden tears the tune apart with a
face-melting solo. “Naked and Famous” firmly shuts the book the Presidents’ eponymous
first release, crashing to an end with all the grace of a train on a blown-out
bridge.
Despite
eschewing really any conventional sound palette, it’s pretty obvious that The
Presidents of the United States of America have mastered the technical aspects
of their craft. However, their music also communicates to me (and based on the record’s commercial performance, many others too) on a much more personal
level, largely due to the band’s refusal to take any of it seriously. As Chris
puts it, The Presidents are “entertainers, not artists;” the response of
the crowd, laughter and joy, are the currencies they deal in.
For
the band, “entertainment is job one,” and the fact that they can manage
to bring so much absurd happiness to their fans with such a well-polished
machine is truly admirable. Best of all, this silliness is not manufactured or
a shtick; it’s who these guys are. Chris had apparently been making silly music long before he started The Presidents, and the fact that he now makes music for young children only proves his commitment to his crazy craft.
The humor is inherent to their sound, and just as pivotal as the guitbass or
the snare drum. There can be no PUSA without it.
What
The Presidents of the United States of
America offers to the world is wholly unique and wholly the Presidents.
Their music is catchy, rockin’, visceral, and often hysterically funny. I picked
it up on a completely unprecedented impulse decision, and still find every spin
to be refreshing, exciting, and fun. I may never understand what prompted me to
scoop up this seminal and inspiring album, but I will always know it to be $15
very well spent.
