If you know me at all, you know that my first and only favorite band has always been the legendary Goldfinger. Their viciously passionate tunes are the primary reason I picked up my bass guitar or began compiling an arsenal of records. They’re a massive influence on my own art, and the gateway that got me into punk, ska, hardcore, metal—all of it.
But when they dropped The Knife this summer, their first record in nearly a decade, something held me back from running to the record store and grabbing a copy. Some trepidation, perhaps at their long hiatus or the apparent lineup upheaval, had me making excuses as to why I hadn’t heard a single song, let alone bought a copy. It was a full two months before curiosity got the best of me and I checked it out.
And as I should have known, Goldfinger always comes through for me.
The Knife is certainly not your standard Goldfinger record, but neither is it any less Goldfinger than I had hoped for. There are amazing dynamics across both the sound and the composition; the record opens with a punk ripper “A Million Miles,” followed by a too-danceable-for-its-own-good ska anthem “Get What I Need.” Goldfinger flaunts dynamics in the individual compositions as well, using quiet verses to amp heady choruses, juxtaposing grinding slash beats with insanely catchy pop hooks. The Knife ranges far in both genre and intensity, so that no matter what your stylistic preferences are, Goldfinger delivers hard.
If I’m being honest, one of the biggest worries my heart housed when this record was released had to do with the lineup changes. My heart holds endless room for the first two incarnations of Goldfinger, so when I heard that John was the only returning member for The Knife, I felt a little disheartened. To then learn that both Charlie Paulson and Darrin Pfeiffer had since cut off contact with John, and that Kelly Lemieux had left to play bass in Buckcherry of all acts, only served to deepen my depression about the whole affair. While I’ve always loved John Feldmann’s infectious songwriting and sincere energy, it was the band Goldfinger that I loved, not the name, and to think that it had become “the John show” left me feeling less than excited for the release of The Knife.
That said, when I finally gave it a shot, I was surprised to find that the new lineup carries this comprehensive and powerful collection of songs with ardor. Philip Sneed handles his guitar with skill and grace, his leads melding seamlessly with the rhythmic thrashing that John and bassist Mike Herrera set down. The drums are manned almost exclusively by none other than the pop-punk legend Travis Barker, though Twenty One Pilots’ Josh Dun also makes an appearance on “Orthodontist Girl.” In addition, The Knife is loaded with spots by guest musicians, many of whom apparently collaborated on writing, bringing fresh minds and voices to Goldfinger’s music.
Despite John’s lackadaisical creation process, there is still a whole lot of substance to the songs that make up The Knife. John spends much of the record writing about his past from the perspective of the present, reminiscing on times good and bad and analyzing his relationships with family and friends. “Who’s Laughing Now” was apparently written about a “business relationship that went sour,” one that John “loved and cherished,” while “Tijuana Sunrise” describes his dangerous and debauched youth after his parents had “tossed [him] aside.” Similarly, “Get What I Need” wanders through the positive memories of John’s punk-rock youth, while the re-recorded “Am I Deaf” looks back on those same instances from the perspective of a 40-something family man trying to reconnect with his youth.
Though some substance may still be lacking, overall this record is insanely tasty, and I know without doubt this CD won’t be leaving my car’s rotation for a long time. The Knife gathers the iterations of Goldfinger’s past and brings them into a crisp and catchy present tense. John Feldmann knows that, despite the various changes that age and experience have brought, Goldfinger is still a huge part of his life, one that he’s “not ready to let go of yet.” And so I will not let go either, but instead revel in Goldfinger’s continued vitality and evolution in the same way a fourteen-year-old me did: with wide eyes and anxious ears.
As
I’ve mentioned from the very beginning, the original Tony
Hawk’s Pro Skater games have a special place in my heart. They were my introduction
to the genre of punk rock, my original exposure to music that was fast,
energetic, and honest. The first installment in the game series ignited my love
affair with Goldfinger and ska-punk in general, while the sequel
acquainted me with the likes of punk legends Lagwagon and Bad Religion. For an eleven-year-old homeschooled dweeb living in semi-rural
Connecticut, these games were more than just entertainment: they were my
gateway drug into the world of alternative music.
Among
the more acclaimed names like Rage Against the Machine, Anthrax,
and Powerman 5000, there was also a lesser-known band on the soundtrack
of THPS 2: Millencolin, a European
group then just beginning to get recognition in the U.S. “No Cigar” was an instant
hit with me, its angsty no-fucks-given attitude arriving just as I was becoming
a teenager, and I was absolutely enamored. I would play the game for hours just
so I could learn the lyrics, all the while wishing I could get my hands on more.
Thus, when on my fourteenth birthday I was given a blank check of sorts for CDs
(the same haul that brought me Bender’s monumental debut), at the top of
the list was Millencolin’s Pennybridge
Pioneers, the parent record of “No Cigar” that came to define my standard
of punk rock for years to come.
From
my first spin of Pennybridge Pioneers,
I knew that I had found something worth cherishing. There is no lack of prowess
or personality on this record; every song, whether in major or minor key,
offers catchy melodies and precise instrumentation too juicy to ignore. The
sound is very reminiscent of So. Cal punk, which is no surprise given that Pioneers was recorded in Hollywood
and produced by punk icon Brett Gurewitz. Yet this Swedish quartet
layers in a large amount of catchy writing onto their music. Instead of shying
away from pop in favor of gritty punk, Millencolin dives right in, smashing
along a swing beat in “Fox” and chugging at a slow, danceable pace in “The
Mayfly.” Similarly, Nikola Sarcevic’s straining and raspy vocal lines seem to
rattle out pages of lyrics in seconds, all stuck to a delightfully fun melody.
While
pop is definitely the driving factor in Millencolin’s music, the vehicle is
their impeccable punk rock aesthetic. Fredric Larzon smashes his drums with
quick and precise strikes, bullying along “Highway Donkey” and “Duckpond” with
blurring cut beats. Guitarists Erik Ohlsson and Mathias Farm alternate their
rhythm and lead sections to create perfect complements to each other’s playing.
And at the center is Sarcevic’s rumbling bass, thumping down the foundation
beneath the band or growling in the spotlight in “Devil Me” and “Right About Now.”
On
Pennybridge Pioneers, Millencolin
takes their skate-punk roots and injects them with a healthy dose of pop, and
no song epitomizes this as well as “A-Ten.” Opening with a dolorous yet driving
guitar riff, Ohlsson and Farm weave their rhythm pieces together, enveloping
the entire spectrum of the instrument’s sound and spinning it into a
masterpiece. Nikola’s vocals are laden with emotion as he attempts to console a
friend through a loss, his mournful exclamation of “You wanna see her back again” wringing every ounce of feeling from the song. His melodies and the
instrumentation belie the song’s minor key, instead drawing hope and happiness
from a situation that would usually imply darkness. “A-Ten” drives its emotional
content home with relentless energy, a deft blend of mosh and melody that
invariably gets stuck in my head long after the song is done.
Undoubtedly,
Millencolin has their composition process down to a science, producing pieces
that feel as passionate as they sound. As is often the case with this style of
music, however, the lyrics on Pennybridge
Pioneers want for that same precision and attention to detail. Many of Sarcevic’s
lines feel sloppy, his images ill-defined. Lines like “to prevent something like a theft I got her locked around a tree” in “Fox” are laden with
unnecessary words, while the phrase “does never get a pass” in “The Ballad” doesn’t even make grammatical sense, perhaps a result of English being the second language choice for these Swedes. Still, I can’t stress
enough how absolutely sincere Nikola’s vocals feel, so that even his laziest
writing comes across with as much intensity as if he were shouting it right in
my face.
Although
most of the lyrical work on Pennybridge
Pioneers fails to invite anything more than a cursory read, one particular
piece manages to fully encapsulate and communicate its ideal with surprising
ease: “No Cigar,” the song that had me hooked from the very first slap of the
snare. Across a backdrop of searing skate punk, Sarcevic unravels line after
line of distilled teenaged angst and alienation. His verses clamber across the
various judgmental attitudes we all encounter in our youth: “Tell us where you’re from / what you want to become / and we’ll say if you’re OK,” or the
still resonating “We will shut you out / We’ll put you in doubt / If you think that you’re special.” In the face of this negativity, Nikola’s chorus
lines cast aside the darkness with a powerful mission statement as he shouts “I don’t care where I belong no more / What we share or not I will ignore / And I won’t waste my time fitting in / ‘Cause I don’t think contrast is a sin.” It
is this message of self-acceptance, defying expectations and norms in favor of
individuality, that slammed into my 12-year-old ears like a shotgun blast,
resonating fully with the budding angst that I was just getting to know. “No
Cigar” introduced me to both the sound and ethos of punk rock, values that
still reside at my core fifteen years later.
Pennybridge Pioneers is the record that “took [Millencolin] to the next level,” and while it may sound dramatic, in a lot of little
ways, it has changed my life too. It gave
me my first real taste of So. Cal punk sound (even if they weren’t from Cali),
a sound with which I would soon become obsessed. It provided me with the
material (and the guts) to start playing bass like a punk, as well as the
inspiration to take that bass work to a band setting. It inspired me not just
to value my own individuality, but to assert it, to push it through to the
forefront in all that I do. And though I can’t imagine it will have the same
life-shattering effect on you that it did on me, I urge you to give this record
a spin, because at its very worst, it’s still a damn good listen.
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.
Every music enthusiast has some band that they idolized during their formative years, only to find out that, when the visor of youthful bliss had been lifted, that act was never really all that great. For me, that artist is Chicago pop-punk masters MEST, whom I first discovered in the liner notes of Goldfinger’s Hang Ups. I soon landed on a copy of Destination Unknown, and was ecstatic to find another act that was everything I loved in music: fast, loud, catchy, and angsty. And though a decade later, Destination Unknown now plays like a guilty pleasure, I still am quite in love with its almost kitschy charms.
As a unit, MEST is extremely tight and quite creative, and do manage to put together a powerful array of songs on their sophomore major label effort. Guitarists Tony Lovato and Jeremiah Rangel thrash through heady power chord riffs, one guitarist occasionally dipping into a melody or trading off vocal duties to the other. Bassist Matt Lovato lays a groundwork of extreme integrity, while drummer Nick Gigler flies through fills, slashing his drum heads in half with his speed. Their collective energy is virtually unmatched by other acts; songs like “Opinions” and “It’s Over” are so lively that I have no trouble imagining the band jumping up and down in the studio while recording. As instrumentalists, MEST sure has a grip on their genre, and deliver an intensity and honesty that had me frothing at the mouth when I was a kid.
Produced by Goldfinger frontman John Feldmann, the sound of Destination Unknown is loaded with hallmarks of his mentoring, one aspect that really helps it stand out. There are constant dynamic shifts throughout each song, making every second interesting and every repeated section unique. Besides their well-worn punk sound, MEST creates variety by dipping into other genres as well, emulating ska in “Reason,” touching on pop in “Mother’s Prayer,” and toying with hip-hop beats in “Cadillac.” Furthermore, songs like “Living Dead” steer away from the general verse-chorus-verse song structure, adding further intricacy to the album. While MEST certainly brings some worthwhile pieces to the table on Destination Unknown, it is the guru-like advice and production of John Feldmann that makes each song pop in its own way, letting the record explore sounds and spaces that it might not have otherwise.
One song where instrumentation and production coalesce flawlessly is the driven and emotive “Drawing Board.” Opening with a dolorous guitar riff that establishes the mood, MEST uses the room of the song to stretch in all sorts of directions, thrashing through a punk chorus broken up by gentler verses, beating down on a rhythmic bridge, and even peppering in a gentle, melodic guitar solo. Both Jer and Tony interweave their voices in harmonies and counterpoints throughout the song’s coda, before capping everything with a reverb-drenched choral outro. While John Feldmann’s fingerprints are all over the arrangement, it is MEST’s die-hard execution that brings “Drawing Board” to life.
If I’m being honest, the instrumentation, arrangement, energy, and production of Destination Unknown are all superb, if not near flawless. This record has it all in the instruments, but unfortunately, the lyrics suck more than a little life from the songs. While simplicity is to be expected from a pop-punk act, MEST seems to put the bare minimum of effort into their writing, i.e. piling some words on top of a melody. Though they may be catchy, the opening lines of “Another Day” feel like they were scrawled inside a high school freshman’s diary: “Another day gone by / and still no reason why / you say goodbye and then you cry.” Similarly, the lines “Frustrated with what’s going on / I feel lost and I don’t feel right” from “Opinions” sound like they came from the pen of an automaton. And while they do craft a few interesting phrases here and there, for most of Destination Unknown, both Tony Lovato and Jer Rangel unfortunately seem far more focused on finding cheap rhymes than imparting anything insightful.
There is a horrifying weakness in the lazy writing on Destination Unknown, but truth be told, MEST is not an act trying to impress anyone. As Tony puts it, although they consider themselves “serious musicians,” they are certainly “not serious as people,” and that comes through in their extremely general lyrical writing. There is a massive atmosphere of fun throughout Destination Unknown, pervading every song regardless of its tone or lyrical content. The music is made to incite mosh pits, to whirl around to while thrashing at a guitar, or simply to laugh, nothing more. When the band needs to be serious, such as in arranging their instrumentation or in dedicating a song to the Madden brothers’ mother, they are more than capable; the rest is just four friends having fun doing what they love.
Listening back to this record, I find myself laughing more than a little at the pedestal I used to place under Destination Unknown, whose instrumentation still holds up as powerful and complex while the lyrical sentiments and execution leave me cringing. But still, Destination Unknown stands as pivotal in my musical upbringing, having fostered much of my own teenaged angst at a time when I didn’t know where else to put it. With each listen, I am immediately taken back to my thirteenth year, sitting in my cold basement and stumbling along on my bass to the rhythms of “Fuct Up Kid” or “Breaking Down,” warmed with a fun, rocking nostalgia that I wouldn’t trade for anything.
I have a long history with ska, and usually
encounter no trouble enjoying the acts that perform it, but for whatever
reason, Less Than Jake and I have never truly gelled. Through all of high
school and college, LTJ records found their way into my hands, and I even got
to see them open for Goldfinger in 2008. But they never impressed me, or even
totally made sense to me. Even though they had everything a good ska act
needed, and are celebrated as one of the great third-wave powerhouses, I have
just never understood their music, and have never found them to be anything
more than alright.
In pondering this strange disconnect, I asked a
good friend to recommend an album to reintroduce me, as he is both a huge fan
and pretty knowledgeable in all things LTJ. After some careful thought, he
steered me towards a copy of Borders & Boundaries, asserting that
this was the best record to show me how capable this act could be. Trusting in
his wisdom, I popped Borders & Boundaries into my car's CD player,
and although I am still not enamored, it has certainly provided me with a new
appreciation for this beloved third wave act.
If Less Than Jake is known for anything, it is
for energetic performances, and Borders & Boundaries is completely
stuffed with energy. Vinnie Fiorello smashes his drum kit about in thundering
slash beats, combining syncopated hits with Roger Lima's jazzy basslines. Chris
Demakes' guitar is crunchy with overdrive, but his crisp tone and full chords
fill out what little space the rhythm section doesn't have covered. Roger and
Chris trade off vocal duties, sometimes mid-song, creating dynamic and
interesting melodies to counterpoint the horn section, making Borders &
Boundaries loaded with tight and lively performances and a damn fun listen
from start to finish.
Between surprisingly tight production values and
driving composition, Borders & Boundaries makes for an airtight
listening experience, but as one spin will tell you, it is far more a punk
record than a ska one, a fact acknowledged by the band in a 2011 interview.[1]
The staple elements of a traditional ska sound are rather sparse on this
record; Chris rarely relies on upstroke chords and almost never turns off his
distortion, and although horn players Buddy Schaub, Pete Anna, and Derron
Nuhfer are full-time members of the band, their contributions only appear on
half of the songs, leaving the other half to the trio of the rhythm section.
The underdeployment or lacking contributions of
the horn section in Less Than Jake has always been a source of contention for
me, and it does feel like there is some unexplored melody space on this record.
However, the trio of Chris, Vinnie and Roger plays as an extremely tight unit
on Borders & Boundaries; their vigorous and youthful performances
really drive the whole sound of the record, and as hard as it is for me to
confess, they often don’t need all the horns (and Buddy admits just as much in
an interview shortly after Pete Anna left)[2].
Their enmeshed playing really exudes a meaningful energy that communicates a ton
all its simplicity, providing a thorough foundation upon which the horns can easily
be added as ornamental pieces.
As far as instrumentation goes, Borders &
Boundaries is exciting, detailed, and definitively pop-punk, and the lyrics
for the most part follow a similar vein. Most of Vinnie Fiorello’s writing is
straightforward, rarely edging into poetics, which perfectly fits their style
of music. However, the band has taken the time to weave an overlying theme into
most of their songs, specifically that of the effects of time passing. Many of
the songs take on a nostalgic feel, remembering old friends from the past like
in “Mr. Chevy Celebrity” or directly invoking memories in “Suburban Myth” with
lines like “I’ll show you where I lost my job / and where I got chased by the
cops.”[3]
But rather than wallow in the past, LTJ also takes a look at the future as it
approaches; “Pete Jackson is Getting Married” analyzes the oncoming rush of
adulthood in an exciting form, while “Last Hour of the Last Day of Work” dreads
that same idea. Although simple, Less Than Jake completely conquers their
lyrical theme of the passage of time, touching on both past and future
incarnations of themselves without fixating on them.
To my surprise (and more than a little chagrin),
Borders & Boundaries is actually loaded with songs that I can’t stop
spinning, but no two tunes receive more airplay from me than “Last Hour of the Last Day of Work” and “Is This Thing
On?” On Fat Wreck's website, the album is described as "a display of
significant growth for the band," and indeed, both of these songs present
a vulnerable side of the band that I had never heard before[4].
In each tune, Chris’ emotive vocals deal with insecurity in and suspicion of
the modern world, exploring how easily it is to get swept up in the surge of
the future. The lyrical anxieties in each tune are reflected by the
instrumentation which, while staying in the pop-punk field the band has
pioneered, utilizes major rises and minor falls in the chord progressions that
reflect and solidify the terror in Chris’ voice and Vinnie’s lyrics.
With messages like "you can't second guess
how to live your life,"[5]
both “Is This Thing On?” and “Last Hour of the Last Day of Work” step away from
the usual LTJ “gimmicky songs about our friends" feel (of which there is
no shortage on Borders and Boundaries) and actually open up to the
listener. This open exposure is something I did not think Less Than Jake was
capable of, and knowing that they can write songs with true meaning such as
these has definitely allowed me to appreciate them like never before.
Although in no way a mind-blowing experience, Borders
& Boundaries is a solid record in every way it needs to be: the music
is rocking, the melodies are catchy, and even the mistakes still exude fun. It
is, as Chris calls it, a record loaded with "staples" that LTJ is
"still proud of to this day," and I completely understand why it is
held in such high regard by both fans and the band.[6]
In exploring this record, I think I have finally established the connection
with Less Than Jake that I need to further explore and appreciate their
catalog, to experience the records I don’t know and rediscover the ones I used
to enjoy. Borders & Boundaries has become a true gateway into LTJ
for me, and I would be a liar if I said I wasn’t excited to see what lies
beyond. Tunes to Check Out: 1) The Last Hour of the Last Day of Work 2) Is This Thing On? 3) Malt Liquor Tastes Better When You've Got Problems
As
my musical interests continue to grow and diversify, I’ve found that the
greatest surprises don’t always stem from stumbling upon a little-known artist,
but from rediscovering new things about the artists to whom I used to listen, whose
CDs I spun to death in middle school and about whom I thought I knew
everything. When I began exploring ska music in my senior year of high school,
I was shocked to find that so many of the bands I loved and listened to either
already fell into that genre or had dabbled in its sound. Thus, when I again
came across Smash Mouth’s Fush Yu Mang,
I was hardly surprised to find it soaked in upstroke guitar chords and horn
arrangements. If anything, they only solidified my resolve to re-experience
this band that, when I was quite young, had meant the world to me.
For
my eleventh birthday, I received as a gift my first ever CD, the inaugural
album that would kick off a lifetime obsession. This album was Smash Mouth’s
sophomore effort, Astro Lounge, and
although I hardly listened to anything but “All Star,” for the next few years,
I proclaimed Smash Mouth my favorite band. I quickly abandoned that record and
that band, however, once Goldfinger entered my life, and it wasn’t until my
senior year of high school, playing in a ska/punk band with my three best
friends, that my drummer burned me a copy of Smash Mouth’s first record, Fush Yu Mang. As I spun the CD for the
first time, I was floored to find ska and punk influences from a band I’d once
loved, but had gone years without hearing, and with each subsequent listen, my
former obsession with Smash Mouth again began to bloom.
Fush Yu Mang is three
things: energetic, diverse, and tons of fun. Smash Mouth is a band that thinks
while it plays, and all four musicians provide us with intricate compositions
that capture our attention without sacrificing an ounce of energy or
enthusiasm. Furthermore, when they decide on a sonic avenue for a tune, they
absolutely nail it: their punk thrashes about in distortion and slash beats,
their ska skanks against the beat with upstroke barre chords, and their pop
grooves with impeccable melody and upbeat progressions. Smash Mouth plays into
each genre completely, but the music never deviates from sounding like Smash
Mouth. The sounds these four gentlemen create are their own brand, through
which they express and experiment with different tastes and styles, and the end
result is brilliance.
The
distinct musical flavor of Fush Yu Mang stems
from Smash Mouth’s commitment to their music. Their sound is honest and whole
because they are first and foremost making this music for themselves—they play
what they want to play, regardless of genre labels or outside expectations. In
an interview with NY Rock, singer
Steve Harwell remarked: “When we formed the band in 1994, we didn’t have one
style of music in mind. We wanted to write songs that feel good to us and make
others feel good. The question of a particular style never once crossed our
minds.”[1]
It is this simple
delight in creation that gives Fush Yu
Mang such an accessible sound, one that invites the listener back time and
time again. Furthermore, the fact that they produced this record entirely on
their own,[2] without the input
of countless detached corporate bodies, shows that Smash Mouth is a band
committed to their craft and everything it represents about them as individuals
and as a band.
While there is a plethora of sounds to sample of Fush Yu Mang, the focus lies in the thin
area between punk rock and ska. Greg Camp’s guitar playing is forefront in both
mix and composition on this record, and his choice between clean barre chords
or dirty power chords is the base to which the rest of the band reacts with immaculate
fervor. For instance, “Flo,” the record’s opening track, tears out of the gate
with a monster beat worthy of moshing. While the verses are peppered with ska,
the song’s vehicle is distilled punk: Kevin Coleman trashes his kit while
Harwell accusatorily shouts “Who the fuck you think you’re foolin?,”[3]
pleading with his girlfriend to cease deluding herself in her unresolved
feelings for her former lover. While “Flo” erupts off of the disc like a missile,
in sharp contrast, “Disconnect the Dots” completely foregoes that punk vehemence
to focus on a full ska arrangement. A bright and beaming horn section owns the
intro, and Paul De Lisle’s bass walks perfectly lock with Greg Camp’s clean
upstrokes. Topped with gang vocals in the chorus, “Disconnect the Dots” encapsulates the ska side of Smash Mouth,
standing in stark contrast to the more battering beats of “Flo” and proving
this band has an incredible capacity for diversity in their music.
Smash Mouth’s mastery of their craft is hardly limited to the
instrumentals. Fush Yu Mang is laden
with lyrics that are engaging, cognitive, and especially fun. Smash Mouth has a
serious sense of humor which they constantly flaunt: “Beer Goggles” describes
the 2 A.M. slump in standards, “Padrino” marks the invention of the new genre
“mafia rock,” facetiously celebrating the lifestyle of the mob, and “Flo” and
“Heave-Ho” both capture different chapters in the band’s history, retold in
hilarious hindsight.[4]
Other songs take on a more serious tack, addressing real issues of the world
from which this band arose. “Nervous in the Alley” deals with the effects of
parental abandonment, giving us graphic images of a girl “waiting for her fix”
and paying for it with her body.[5]
Similarly, “Walkin’ on the Sun,” the record’s seemingly upbeat lead single, is
actually a call to arms, urging us to “snuff the fires and the liars” that
dictate our world’s behavior before the entire thing gets “bushwhacked.”[6]
Smash Mouth uses their debut record to paint a portrait of their world, and
every tale is regaled through interesting language that ranges from hilarious
to horrifying.
In my opinion, Fush Yu
Mang is a remarkably deep first record, and each track features some idea
or riff into which I can really sink my teeth—with the exception of
one. Unfortunately for this band, there
is one fatally crappy song on this record, the penultimate track “Push.” The
instrumentation, while partially interesting with its effect-laden guitar parts
and slight tempo changes in the verse, feels very rushed and underdeveloped,
giving me the impression that this song was more than likely written in the
studio right before recording. And if the riffs took fifteen minutes to flesh
out, the lyrics must have materialized in less than five, as they completely
lack for any semblance of meaning, emotion, coherence, or even rhyme. Harwell
rants at some undefined adversary, seeming to cycle through every limp cliché
he can think of while he “spin[s his] wheels and [tries] to figure it out.”[7]
There is no focus for the song other than vague and meaningless expressions of
frustration, but the vocals are front and center in the mix and composition,
thus giving the listener absolutely nothing to which the listener can relate.
“Push” might border on absolute drivel, but it is an anomaly
in the sea of awesome music that is Fush
Yu Mang. Every other tune displays deep thought and honest enthusiasm from
start to finish, and none more so than “Heave-Ho.” A three minute Smash Mouth
history lesson, “Heave-Ho” relates the band’s true experience with a crotchety
neighbor[8]
who is so unpleasant, even “church mice at St. Leo’s down my street / have
moved so far away.” Because the band practiced (and later recorded demos of two
Fush Yu Mang tracks) in Greg Camp’s
apartment, they quickly received an eviction notice,[9]
which they attributed to the complaints “lazy cow” next door. Harwell sings of
the band’s plight with a serious tone, but his language is completely
laughable, as he compares his future to hers: “Maybe someday when I’m jaded / 9
to 5 at a job I hate / I’ll come home and razz my neighbors too.”[10]
“Heave-Ho” is an honest and hilarious assessment of the troubles of being in a
band while hanging on those myriad naysayers that attempt to impede every
musician’s crusade for creativity.
From its inception, Fush
Yu Mang was never meant to be more than a collection of Smash’s Mouth’s
enthusiasm for their craft, and there is no lack for integrity or intellect on
this record. Both the content and the performance are exuberantly enjoyable,
but the delivery system of genre-hopping composition and spirited word play
keep the listener’s mind as engaged as the heart. Listening to it now, I now
have no doubt as to why the eleven-year-old me loved this band, and why the
eighteen-year-old me adored this record: there is simply too much fun to be
had.
Tunes to Check Out: 1) Flo 2) Why Can't We Be Friends? 3) The Fonz
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.
Though I’ve spent the last decade immersed in music, diving
into new genres and endlessly working to expand my sonic horizons, only one
band has held my fascination and reverence through the whole journey. Since my
teens, Goldfinger has been my absolute favorite artist, my gateway into punk
and ska, and the main inspiration behind all my musical endeavors. No matter
how many times I’ve heard one of their songs, each listen is as fresh and
awe-inspiring as the very first time, and even at their worst, Goldfinger adds
some incredible element to their music that keeps me both interested and
enamored.
My obsession began when my best friend, whose
enthusiasm for Goldfinger rivals my own, introduced me to their music.
Together, we have analyzed and dissected every song and every record, ranking
them in the most objective manner that two superfans can. And though each of
Goldfinger’s albums has its strengths, to me, their eponymous debut has always
come out on top, perhaps not as their best record, but certainly as my
favorite. To me, it is the epitome of their energy, and all of its sixteen
tracks (including the ridiculous prank call) exude originality, enthusiasm, and
honesty in amounts that I have yet to experience anywhere else.
Despite being released in the midst of the punk/ska
craze in the 90’s, and out of southern California no less, Goldfinger’s
self-titled record is anything but conventional. The combination of high
caliber musicianship and diverse influences produces an incredible amalgam of
sound that is completely unique to this act. Charlie Paulson absolutely murders
his guitar, ripping through solos and providing tasteful harmonization to John
Feldmann’s rhythm. The interaction between Charlie and John is flawless, their
compositions working together to create melodic and driving treble episodes.
This duo also provide a range of energy and intensity: “Miles Away” jumps with
pop-punk exhilaration, “My Girlfriend’s Shower Sucks” features a slow reggae
groove, and “Nothing to Prove” is hardcore-punk at its finest.
Grounding two such creative and prolific lead players
would be a severe challenge for most rhythm-section men, but for Simon Williams
and Darrin Pfeiffer, it seems as natural as breathing. Simon’s bass tones punch
and rumble, and underneath the chord changes, his walking lines move as
seamlessly as a school of fish through the ocean. Darrin’s drumming is just as
complex, as his improvisational style, incredible speed, and thundering energy
meld endlessly beneath the strings, leaving no section without a rock-solid
percussive foundation. Both drums and bass take turns in the spotlight over the
course of Goldfinger, giving us moments to drool over each
instrument, yet even more incredible is how well these two players work
together. Darrin’s kick drum seems attached to Simon’s lower register, their
parts interweaving and meshing to provide impeccable backdrops to the treble
section.
Against this armada of instruments lay the vocal
stylings of John Feldmann, whose impassioned performances immediately suck the
listener into the maelstrom. His energy bleeds through the speakers, and the
fervor with which he sings and shouts is so apparent and honest that it’s easy
to forget he recorded his parts in a studio rather than in the middle of a mosh
pit. What’s more, every vocal part is tinged with the unmistakable accent of a
smile, assuring the listener that John Feldmann had a hell of a time recording
these vocals, and loved every second of it.
This excitement and delight dripping from John’s
vocals bleeds all over his lyrics as well. Although no poet, John concisely and
effectively communicates his ideas with his word choices, utilizing both
profanity and blatant honesty to leave no confusion as to his intent. In “The
City with Two Faces,” his choral scream of “Fuck LA!”[1]
is both powerful and catchy, and his self-loathing lament of “I know I’m fucked
up and I wish I was dead”[2]
in “Mind’s Eye” is sung with a voracity that almost contradicts his lyrical
moping. Most of John’s topics are personal yet universal, spinning tales of his
life at this point and delivering them so we can’t help but sing along. And
while he generally takes a serious approach, the humor ingrained in
Goldfinger’s being is hardly stifled: “My Girlfriend’s Shower Sucks” grieves
over poor water pressure, and “Mable” regales a tale of a three-day
relationship ending in infidelity. Though the prose on Goldfinger demands
no dissection, every line is coated in mirth and conveyed with elegant
simplicity, leaving songs lodged in the head for hours afterward.
Without question, I could gush over this record until
I had a dissertation’s worth of text, because to me, there is a geyser of
intrinsic, almost primal truth welling from the creases in this jewel case.
Every note and every word on Goldfinger resounds with me more
than any other piece of music I’ve encountered. Thus, I feel a general overview
of such integrity would be an insult to both this incredible band and to my
readers, and only a track-by-track analysis can sufficiently bring every
incredible facet of this record to light.
1.Mind's Eye
With this opening track, Goldfinger sets the pace of their
debut record at a sprint. “Mind’s Eye” explodes with purified punk intensity,
kicking off with a slash beat drums and bullet-train chord progressions. John’s
vocal melodies soar through catchy rhythms that demand crowd participation.
Coupled with his exuberant delivery, his intelligent approach to his vocal part
creates a strong contrast against his whiny self-loathing lyrics, forcing us to
take his complaining in an ironic light. Despite the circle pit tempo, the
entire band is tight, nailing all their syncopated hits and transitions with
cold precision, immediately giving the listener a hearty serving of the
astonishing attention to detail that defines this band’s sound. Loud, fast, and
loaded with clever compositional choices, “Mind’s Eye” provides the perfect introduction
to an album, immersing the listener in all things Goldfinger by grabbing and
tossing him in headfirst.
2.Stay
Goldfinger charges through “Mind’s Eye” with such
ferocity that even when as barrel into “Stay,” not an iota of energy is lost.
In contrast to its predecessor’s manic feel, “Stay,” is more easy-going, a
pop-punk party with a hint of swing. The band starts at a moderate tempo,
letting the groove at the heart of the song thrive in palm mutes and heady
bass. John’s vocals take center-stage here, his melodies simple but extremely
effective. Against the norm, virtually none of John’s lines are tied together
with end rhyme, but his note choices and rhythmic singing is so fluid and
natural that each lyric seems to slide naturally into the next.
With “Stay,” Goldfinger introduces on this record a
musical theme that is prevalent throughout their career: the sudden change in
energy, where the entire band unexpectedly yanks the throttle to full. “Stay”
gives us a first taste of this idea when the instrumentation slips out of the
swinging groove into a soft bridge: Darrin taps his ride cymbal and Charlie
picks through chords while John laments the absence of his significant other.
They let this lull go just long enough to set in, and then immediately burst
into fast hits and thrumming power chords, repeating both verse and chorus at a
manic pace and sprinting to the end of the song. This abrupt outburst turns
knocks “Stay” from being a great tune into being an incredible one, and the
ferocious way that Goldfinger pulls the trigger on this double-time coda
demonstrates just how enthusiastic these four musicians are about their music.
3.Here in Your Bedroom
Because of its moderate success as a single, for the many
uninitiated, “Here in Your Bedroom” counts as their only exposure to this
monster act. Fortunately for them, however, this tune is easily one of the best
examples of the myriad and multifaceted sound of Goldfinger. Opening with a fun
and complex syncopated drum beat, Darrin sets the stage as ska with his raucous
rimshots, supporting the upstroke chords and inventive melody that soon
follows. Charlie and Simon drive the feel of the song, and the band’s decision
to modulate this riff with each chord creates harmonies and progressions that
flirt with jazz theory. Realistically, most acts have trouble pulling off one
key change, and for anyone else, the decision to play verses in a completely
separate key from the chorus would be insane. Yet Goldfinger proves that
audacity pays off, as this continual shift in key (another theme that spans
this band’s entire career) is executed with effortless grace and confidence.
One factor that really sticks out in this song is
John’s dualistic approach to the subject matter. At first listen, the lyrical
ideas seem almost obvious: the speaker, languishing comfortably in his
relationship, secretly frets over the security of that position, knowing that
overnight, everything could change and he could be left behind. The initial
read suggests this almost clingy character refusing to let the relationship
grow and refusing to grow himself, as in the chorus he continually repeats “I
still feel the same.” However, a closer look at the verses makes the nature of
the song take a 180. The speaker’s admissions of “Here in your bedroom / I can
turn my head off / The less that I feel / Is the less that I’m on top” can be
read to suggest that he comes to this girl with the intention of not thinking
or feeling anything—in his mind, there is no commitment or relationship, only
what exists between them in the bedroom, and his incessant worrying of “will
you still feel the same” is a fear that she will begin to feel something more
than physical attraction. Thus, using very simple language, John creates a
dichotomous paradox of words with “Here in Your Bedroom,” simultaneously
describes a longing for and aversion to deep connection.[3]
4.Only A Day
A short burst of pop-punk, “Only a Day” is two minutes
packed with absolute passion and devotion. Goldfinger comes in with guns
blazing and maintains this fury through the whole song. Simon’s bass tones are
especially punchy underneath Charlie’s feedback-ridden guitar riffs, and Darrin
smashes his snare so hard it sounds as if he is striving to shatter the head.
John’s vocals are just as ardent, as he relies on shouting much more than
actual singing, yet his interesting melodies and catchy songwriting only
benefit from the extra energy bleeding through the speakers. Even when the song
breaks down into a gentle acoustic facsimile of the verse (one of my favorite
moments on this record), the hushed tone only serves as a launch pad for these
four to explode outwards towards the coda. Between its heavy intro and
syncopated chorus hits, “Only a Day” never fails to pump me up, and remains one
of my absolute favorite tunes from Goldfinger’s catalog.
5.King for a Day
Where its predecessor was as straight forward as music
can be, by comparison, “King for a Day” is perhaps one of the most
sophisticated compositions on Goldfinger. The song operates on the
very idea of modal changes: the verse and chorus are rooted primarily in D
mixolydian, yet the song shifts a whole tritone for the verse into G# major.
Such drastic key changes are unheard of outside of freeform jazz, yet
Goldfinger cruises between these keys without breaking a sweat—even John’s
vocals shift modes without so much as a stutter. This casual grace and
confidence is reflected in John’s lyrics, which offer a tender warning against
working ourselves into the ground for no reason. His informal delivery of lines
like “If I write this song to you / would you listen up? / ‘Cause this is your
life, it’s not mine”[4]
remind us how important it is to occasionally just step back and groove,
because behind all the wealth, power, and drive, we are still only human.
The relaxed and unconcerned tone of “King for a
Day” is reflected in the musicianship on this track, although with a different
intention. In a 1996 interview with Drop-D
Magazine, Simon Williams asserts that
“we’re just a pop band that touches on reggae, ska, and punk….I don’t want us
to be caught up in any trends.”[5]
Despite such a humble assessment, Goldfinger are truly masters of
genre-blending, and with this tune, they deftly distill the elements of reggae
through their unique filter: Darrin’s kick drum is loaded with heady reverb,
and Simon’s bass line strolls with the laid-back elegance of a celebrity.
However, Goldfinger doesn’t stop there in their quest to drop reggae knowledge,
instead adding a smooth and subtle organ and captivating horn lines (provided in
part by members of ska-powerhouse Reel Big Fish) to really seal the flavor.
Goldfinger’s ska influences are obvious and
authentic, but this particular tinge of rude flavor has a more intelligent
application. The band gives us two verse-chorus alternations in this reggae
voice, letting the trumpets and upstroke chords lull us into a sway, only to
abruptly dump the clutch into high gear, propelling us into punk slash beats
and heavy distortion, completely reimagining the song at double the speed and
triple the volume. With “King for a Day,” besides showing off their technical
skills, Goldfinger proves that they are audacious, spending almost an entire
song convincing us that we can relax to the music, only to whip us into a
sudden frenzy and toss us into the pit like a stage-diver.
6.Anxiety
Though I love this record through and through, there is
one performance that far outshines everything else imprinted on this disc for
me, exuding more vitality and vigor than any other song. For me, “Anxiety” is
the absolute epitome of music, a song more multifaceted, intricate, and sincere
than any other piece of music I’ve ever heard, and everything that Goldfinger
does in its two-and-a-half minutes unequivocally proves my point. This song is
packed with more energy than a power plant, but simultaneously our core four
performs their parts with precision and cognizance. Simon pummels his bass,
Charlie shreds through a melodic guitar solo that is both engaging and
inspiring, and Darrin utilizes every cymbal in his kit, from tiny pops of the
splash in the second verse to upbeat smashes of the bell in the chorus. The
drumming in this song is entirely unbelievable—Darrin is incredibly precise
throughout, laying down hard beats and complicated fills that would make other
drummers forfeit the trade. However, the overall flavor of his playing feels
very improvised, as if he is sitting behind the kit with only an inkling of how
the song goes. His faultless and paradoxical meld of order and chaos endows
“Anxiety” with percussion so intense and animated, I would dare to call it
alive.
While John’s thrashing guitar holds down the chord
changes beneath Charlie’s truly astonishing lead parts, it is the frontman’s vocal
and lyrical contributions that really take “Anxiety” into the atmosphere. On
this tune especially can we hear his smile pervading the vocal, especially at
the tail-end of the chorus with the line “Feel it all and know that this will
pass.” The message ingrained in the lyrics is one that is just as stimulating
as the musicianship, as John urges his listener to stay strong against the
overwhelming human urge to overanalyze and overcomplicate every challenge that
decides to interrupt our lives. His verses trace the spiraling progression of a
person under stress and their slow dissociation from responsibility: the
subject begins by “thinking about it,” but quickly shrugs off their own
capability, leaving it in the hands of a great power by “praying about it,”
until finally they buckle under the perceived weight and start crying, giving
in to despair.[6]
Through this entire progression, John remains the
voice of reason, reminding us that there will be waves too big for us to
handle. He asserts that life doesn’t always have to be taken so seriously,
because with enough time, even the worst trials will pass. Between the
exceptional instrumentation and its sober-yet-unconcerned message, “Anxiety”
has remained for over ten years my all-time favorite composition. It is an
anthem to which I can rock out or meditate, a song born by serious musicians
who refuse to take life seriously and who remind me always to do the same.
7.Answers
In sharp contrast to the fierce punk of the previous
track, Goldfinger decides to let their ska side fully shine with “Answers.”
This atypical minor-key jaunt is led by Charlie’s raging and catchy guitar
melody, which interweaves itself with John’s searing vocals. In keeping with
their genre choice, the chorus is laden with gang vocals, the whole band
stepping in to support John’s accusatory demand to “tell me where your
skeleton’s hiding.”[7] The flavor is further
sustained with the added horn section, featuring a soulful trombone solo from
RBF’s Dan Regan. Though in live performance, Charlie’s melodic riffing would
normally take the spotlight in this tune, he humbly bows to the horns in this
recording, letting them fill the sonic space in typical third-wave fashion. All
the way through its devolving and frightening outro, “Answers” embodies the
essence of the So Cal sound that this band arose from, but filters it through
the enthusiastic and earnest camaraderie of these four musicians to create a
unique and heady Goldfinger infusion.
8.Anything
Like “Only a Day” and “Anxiety,” “Anything” is another
track that delivers a short jab of pure Goldfinger, both in energy and sound.
The connection between Charlie and John as guitarists is extremely evident:
John’s switches between full-bodied power chords and harmonizing licks, while
Charlie layers both feedback and delightful leads on top. John’s lyrical
message is also conveyed with heart-rending honesty—though he knows he is a
“martyr” for a girl that fills him “up with emptiness,” he refuses to give her
anything less than all he is. His complete resignation to this situation of
undying love remaining unreciprocated is extremely tangible in his voice, so
much so that the pause after his line “I can see sometimes you don’t want me”
implies a punctuating shrug of acquiescence. Such frank sincerity is a key
factor in making meaningful music, and one listen proves that “Anything” is
naturally swarming with it.[8]
9.Mable
Up to this point, Goldfinger has been a
largely serious and intense endeavor, but with “Mable,” this band changes gears
entirely, revealing an integral part of their sound: humor. Leading off the
goofy jam in the pregap, “Mable” is John’s parody of the longing love song.
However, this torrid affair lasts only three days: John meets Mable on Sunday
and falls for her, so much so that as of Tuesday, he marries her, exclaiming to
the world “I’m with her now until I die.” However, on Tuesday, she is steeped
in infidelity, having left John for Charlie, who is apparently hung with “a
tube of cookie dough.” Besides the literal dick-measuring contest that ensues,
John’s sappy and stupid chorus lyrics complete the romantic satire with cliché
images of “smell[ing] the flowers” and “kiss[ing] all the babies.”[9]
Though the lyrics are absolutely incredulous, Goldfinger
attacks the music in their typical fashion, as Charlie drives the song with a
super-catchy and fun guitar riff. The tune also features an energy change, as
the band explodes into cut time into the final chorus, only to cut it back
again for the outro. “Mable,” now and always an absolute standard at Goldfinger
live shows, blends both the precision and absurdity that are absolutely pivotal
to what this band is, and even after years of beating it to death, remains a
fun and hilarious listen with every spin.
10.The City with Two Faces
In a similar vein to “Mable,” this tune is loaded with
tongue-in-cheek reference and sarcasm, and is Goldfinger’s ode to the poser.
“The City with Two Faces” kicks off with a heavy distorted bassline from Simon,
who launches the tune into overdrive. This song is super-heavy, and features
the violent and driving influence of metal on this band. The band opts for
dissonance in this one, putting distortion on everything (including the vocals),
and rocking a chorus whose two chords are tritones. John screams in disdain at
the posers and fakes roaming the streets of LA, who cultivate images of
themselves as punk rockers while complaining that their “espresso is too cold,”
before dumping the tune into a jazzy breakdown in which he takes on the voice
of one of these imposters.
Over Simon’s thick walking bass line, John pokes fun at
the farcical musicians overflowing from LA, who know LA’s “got some great
bands” before butchering the name of Bad Religion, skewing it into something
reminiscent of “Badger Legion.” He further shoves his foot in his mouth by
claiming that most of Nirvana’s songs were about heroin, thus ripping on the
faux-intelligence the music scene flaunts. John’s completely facetious rant is
both hysterical and intelligent, and drills home the fact that Goldfinger,
while being composed of four absolute goofballs, has an intelligent drive
behind even their humor.[10]
11.My Girlfriend’s Shower Sucks
A slow and smooth reggae jam, “My Girlfriend’s Shower
Sucks” is Goldfinger’s breather, often cited as the mandatory slow song in a
set that allows them to relax for a moment. The chill vibe of this tune is
certainly conducive to relaxation for everyone except the speaker, who can’t
seem to get a worthwhile shower at his girlfriend’s place. Again, the band’s
humor overflows from this tune, as John compares the shower’s pressure to
urination, remarking that its poor performance makes him “grumpy” and causes
him to “lose hope.”[11]
Despite being hardly longer than a minute and offering little more than a
hearty laugh, “My Girlfriend’s Shower Sucks” is a surprisingly complete song,
and give the listener a chance to recover from the intensity before diving back
in.
12.Miles Away
Every
record has a tune that is so catchy and fun, it can hardly come fast enough,
and for this record, “Miles Away” takes the cake. Goldfinger is an act known
for their live performances (indeed, in an interview with RockZone, Darrin states “[I want people to remember] that we were a
good live band. And goddamn sexy too), and the sheer vigor with which the band
rips through “miles Away” proves that it was made for the stage.[12]
A pop-punk anthem, this tune moves so quickly that sprinting wouldn’t keep you
up with it. Featuring thrashing power chords, bright guitar licks, and
incredible vocal harmonies, this tune demands singing along, and whips even the
most placid crown into a frenzy of punk piranhas. Also, for all of its
intricate and virile movement, “Miles Away” is extremely easy to digest, with
an easy melody and only the most subtle of flourish. “Miles Away” is
Goldfinger’s gift to those who supported them at live shows, a two minute
juggernaut during which dancing is not only obligatory, but a natural extension
of the music itself.
13.Nothing to Prove
Do you want thrashing madness frothing over from your
punk rock? Of course you do! And Goldfinger’s “Nothing to Prove” has enough
insanity to drive the whole world off the deep end. This song is Goldfinger’s
excursion into pure hardcore punk: Darrin’s batters his drums in slash beats
and somehow still manages to kick it into cut time, while Simon and Charlie
rake their strings into frays across quick moving chord changes that
undoubtedly left their fingers raw, if not bloody. John’s vocals move are so
fast that they border on a mad dash. The band flies through verse-chorus
changes before crashing into a heavy groove in the bridge that gives me chills
with each listen. There is so much passion in this song that the whole band
joins in on the chorus of “nothing to prove to you,” shouting as if these five
words are their last.[13]
“Nothing to Prove” is easily the most energetic and driving tune on Goldfinger, and impressed me so much
that my friends and I named our first band after it, motivating us every night
to play with as much passion as our heroes.
14.Pictures
Another dexterous tune loaded with groove, “Pictures”
opens up with a smooth and mosaic bassline from Simon Williams, and though the
rest of the band quickly jumps in, it’s clear that Simon owns this one. His
bass is deep and furious, but each note flows charmingly into its neighbor,
keeping the frame of the song collected yet elegant. The whole ensemble
reflects this elegance against the pop/ska backdrop, as Reel Big Fish’s horn
players return for one last bout of melodies, but as with most Goldfinger compositions,
the ska bleeds into other genres, as the band shuffles into a suddenly brutal
metal breakdown, built on tritones and syncopation, before taking on a more
standard punk sound to finish off the tune.
Like the composition, the lyrics in “Pictures”
twist and turn in all directions. John’s lyrics take an ambiguous approach to
the subject of love, touching on the many facets and implications created in a
relationship. He plays the clingy lover in the first verse, complaining “Here I
am alone again / it seems like your never there,” but in the second verse, he
is the romantic, proclaiming “I’m so glad you’re here / I can’t believe I
deserve you / I thought I’d let you know.” Furthermore, while he takes these
conflicting voices of love, the song’s overall topic carries dichotomous
undertones. On one level, John’s request for a picture of his lover is cute if
not innocent, but on another his need to “look at you when you’re not there”
can be taken as a request from a sexually frustrated lover who lacks visual
stimulation.[14] John’s simple lines
explore every direction that love can take by layering them together, making
“Pictures” both an intelligent read and a sensational listen.
15.Phone Call
Though the track listing officially ends at 14,
Goldfinger leaves a few hidden and hilarious surprises tacked in the outro, and
the first, a prank phone call, is one of the most absurd things I’ve ever
heard. This call is the world’s first true introduction to the bedlam that is
Darrin Pfeiffer, a man who will soon be known for forcing audience members to
eat Twinkies wedged between his buttcheeks. In this call, Darrin answers a want
ad for a drummer, posing as the rude and strung-out “Tim-Dog.” Though Nigel,
the poor sap of a musician, attempts to ask relevant questions, Darrin takes
total control of the conversation, focusing mostly on the taboo topics of hard
drugs and STD’s. His interruptions become more crude and strange as the call
goes on, as Darrin claims to have moshed on “12 hits of acid” in a crowd of
melting people, but in the end, his ridiculous ruse somehow wins him an
audition for Abby Normal. For the world, this phone call is the first boom of
the coming storm of Darrin, but for Goldfinger to include such a skit on their
debut record is extremely bold. Goldfinger is this band’s
first true impression to the world, and with it they choose to flaunt the fact
that they don’t take themselves very seriously. Such honesty at the risk of
success is virtually unseen in the music industry, and Goldfinger’s audacity to
fly in the face of reason only verifies how confident and crazy these four
individuals (especially Darrin) are.
16.Fuck You and Your Cat
Goldfinger decides to officially close their eponymous
debut with a concocted shot of everything the record has worked to build. The minute-long
“Fuck You and Your Cat” starts slow with acoustic guitars and tapping
percussion, as John weaves through memories of a relationship in its honeymoon
twilight. But in typical Goldfinger fashion, the song turns into a thrash-punk
rocket, loaded with distortion, crunchy bass, and hasty beats. John shouts
disdainfully over the fracas, defaming his ex in the worst of ways as he sings
“So fuck your trust, your perfume and your mother too!”[15]
In this final one minute and sixteen seconds, Goldfinger recaps the many themes
that they’ve been working to solidify along the course of the entire record.
“Fuck You and Your Cat” works energy changes, incredible instrumentation,
profuse humor, and angsty relationship-related lyrical images, spinning them
all in one final burst of precise energy and enthusiasm. This hidden coda is a
perfect a footnote to Goldfinger’s record, reiterating the many musical ideals
with which they’ve been playing. It is a distilled shot of pure
Goldfinger, establishing the fundamental aspects of this band’s sound and style
that will define their coming career.
I completely understand that my love for all things
Goldfinger is certainly skewing my view of this record, and I accept that.
However, anyone who cracks open this record cannot deny the immeasurable
honesty that surges outward from this record in abundance. Goldfinger is
this band’s first true foray into the world as musicians—it is their first
opportunity to impress the world, and this band throws itself body and soul
into this record. Their enthusiasm for their own music runs rampant through the
album and flavors each tune, and is so contagious and constant that my only
impulse is to share in that raw energy.
In an interview with Al Muzer, Darrin states that “Pretty
much all we’ve ever really wanted to do [was] play shows in front of kids and
go completely crazy.”[16]
If Goldfinger shows anything at all,
it is that without doubt, this band has succeeded. With their self-titled
debut, Goldfinger wastes not a second on sucking up, giving in, or selling out.
Every note and syllable is indelibly and absolutely theirs, a brutally honest
and humble impression of their hard work and passion. This record is their
imprint on the world, with a tone both serious and flippant, but never anything
less than 100% Goldfinger.
Whether or not you explore this record is up to you, but
know this: after ten years and hundreds of songs, I have yet to find anything
remotely as honest, intelligent, or downright fun as this record. It picks me
up when I am depressed or stressed, and it keeps me uplifted hours after my
speakers have gone silent. It has and continues to influence me as an artist, a
musician, and a person, and each time I spin it, I am left with a ringing in my
ears that urges me to be all I can be without compromise.
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