Over the next couple of years the low-key but ever present leftist feeling in Earle's work started coming to the fore as he became increasingly vocal in public about his opposition particularly to the US military campaign in Iraq, and George W. Bush's policies in general. As a result his next album, Jerusalem (2002) was an incendiary album in the US in its unequivocal political position, and one song in particular proved too much for many to stand. 'John Walker's Blues' is about as sophisticated a political rock song as an overt one can ever be and despite still being essentially simplistic it's pretty powerful, not least because taking the viewpoint of the jihadist US citizen allows for a more honest examination of how and why someone might take a standpoint that is different to the majority of a country's citizens. Besides which it's not a bad song. Indeed the album on the whole is a decent rock album (there's no stylistic examination going on here - it's the rule of rock: if you're politically angry, you ROCK OUT), but it's possibly a little hidebound by it's determined stance. I can't help but feel that his points may have been better made if he had used the eclectic stylistic approach that he had perfected to frame them. Nonetheless, there's a lot of fire and fury on Jerusalem and a lot of blame apportioned to a lot of deserving targets. In many ways it's a real relief to have someone as articulate and impassioned as Earle making points for the left because as a rule it seems like it's mostly left to the types of Jon Stewart saying "this is my impression of George Bush - duhhh" to represent the left and that's not good enough, so Earle is something of a beacon. Jerusalem is in no way Earle's best work, but as far as angrily political albums go it's a lot better than Springsteen or Neil Young's contemporary efforts and in my opinion it played an important role.
Next up is Earle's second official live album, twelve years after the catastrophic meltdown of Shut Up and Die Like An Aviator. Just An American Boy (2003) is a very different kind of record, assured, confident, searching and assertive. Where the previous album was a document of a crippled performer coming to the end of the road, this is a whole new person whose commitment to songwriting and political engagement has completely enlivened, restored him. As a live album goes, and as we've seen that's rarely very far, it's a really good example. The songs are given slightly different arrangements to their studio versions, not markedly, but just enough to bring out new angles, and Earle's voice and overall performance is confident and direct. It's all good stuff, the song choices are fine and there's no arguing with his engaging personality which never seems overbearing even when he's giving it large about the state of the US.
Interestingly, Earle's next album, The Revolution Starts Now (2004) is a general thematic continuation of Jerusalem being essentially another political broadside, but there's a broader canvas being used here, and the amps are turned down. On The Revolution Starts Now Earle uses character driven narrative songs in the main, whereas Jerusalem was too incensed for stories, and the result is more thoughtful and wide-ranging examination of the issues around military campaign in Iraq. There are some fantastic songs here ('The Gringo's Tale' is a brilliant tune with some viciously depressing lyrics) but the real highlights unfortunately do bring into the light the weaker tunes (let's pretend the cod-reggae and unfortunate mixed-message "humour" of 'Condi, Condi' never happened for instance). It's a difficult album precisely because it has such highs and such lows, and the stuff that's good is really superb, but how to deal with an album that has 'Condi, Condi' on it....
For some reason I haven't picked up Earle's last three albums so it's on to the next on the list, East River Pipe. East River Pipe are one of those bands that for a short time in the early 90's it was the law to like (a bit like Neutral Milk Hotel a bit later). I never got it myself and listening to the debut 10" mini-LP, Goodbye California (1992), I'm not really any the wiser as to what was getting people hot under the collar. It's gentle, cynical echoey indie rock of a jangly lo-fi stripe and although it does have a melancholy tone there isn't enough to really go mad about. If anything it's another one of those records that sounds too dramatically indebted to the smart-arse British acts of the C86 type, which is fine but their records were better, you might as well listen to them. There are two distinct problems with Goodbye California, one is FM Cornog's flat and unappealing voice has so little character that you kind of hardly notice he;s even there (at least Bill Callahan's voice is actively irritating), and the other is that the songs are so limply structured, so half-baked that you can't really get involved in them. In terms of atmosphere and tone it's all perfectly pleasant but as soon as you start listening closely the whole thing reveals itself to be hopelessly shallow.
Right, deep breath, because he comes some really appalling but hilarious nonsense. Of all the acts on Digital Harcore perhaps the least threatening were EC8OR. If ever a band exposed DHR schtick for dreadfully hollow posturing it was ECC8OR. Early 7" 'Cocaine Ducks' (1996) sets out the paltry stall - terrible drum machine clattering and limp metal guitar samples (just like their mentors Atari Teenage Riot but without the genuine sense of commitment) and shrieking and shouting about nothing much. 'Cocaine Ducks' itself isn't too egregious, it's just badly produced noise that doesn't say or do much. B-sides 'We Are Pissed' and 'Raving Hypsospadie' are much, much worse. 'We Are Pissed' is 60 seconds of Patrick Catani and Gina D'Orio shouting about how pissed they are (I assume they meant pissed off) while 'Raving Hypsospadie' is 5 minutes of the worst breakcore rubbish you've ever heard and that makes the more dismal end of ATR's output sound like genius. The second proper album (not including the compilation on the Beastie Boys Grand Royal label - explain that if you can) 'World Beaters' (1998) is just a pale imitation of ATR's metal sampling, scratching and breakbeat noise with D'Orio playing the Hanin Elias role of screaming a lot. It's really pretty weak, but there occasional signs that they had a few ideas of their own when it calms down a bit ('The Shit You Dig' is pretty good). It's mostly silly nonsense though, as is 2000's 7" 'Gimme Nyquil (All Night Long)'. Honestly. Anyway, there's no way I'm getting rid of this stuff, like everything good, bad, or EC8OR on Digital Hardcore, it's pure gold. (btw there's no cover for Gimme Nyquil and two tunes is easily enough...)
Coo, we've got to the Echo and the Bunnymen section quickly than I'd expected, I had anticipated being able to spend all of tomorrow with Ian McCulloch and the rest but here we are already. We won't be mucking about with any of the 90's output, this is strictly the top stuff here, starting with 1980's debut, Crocodiles. Jettisoning any sense of musical grandstanding in performance the Bunnyment favoured letting things unfold in a much more insidious way and the light and shade involved in all of the music on their albums is really interesting. It avoids being goth despite being decidedly gloomy, it's miles away from pop music despite having fairly standard structure, it's not exactly typical indie fare. I suppose the Joy Division would have been a starting point but even that would be a misleading reference really. It's pretty clever all told and even though McCulloch takes the grandstanding role as vocalist and lyricist, it's strangely appropriate the music should be so unshowy to allow a subtle, seemingly rickety platform on which he can build his strident performances. Crocodiles has some great songs, the most obvious being I suppose 'Pictures on My Wall', 'Pride' and 'Villiers Terrace', but it's all pretty good, and bearing in mind that this was stuff designed to sit just outside what was going on at the time, it's testament to their balls and their brilliance that it still sounds so great now.
Heaven Up Here (1981) continues the development of the bleak but melodic sound and really serves to demonstrate what great, understated musicians the band were: Will Sergeant's guitar work is as superb and restrained as ever, but it's the always ignored rhythm section of Pete de Freitas and Les Pattinson that are in really superb form (the second half of 'No Dark Things' is a real showcase). In any case, although I don't find the songs on Heaven Up Here as immediate and urgent as those on Crocodiles, it's still a fabulous album, and McCulloch's mightily pretentious poetry leaps from absurdity to absurdity and is delivered with such self-assurance you almost buy into it. In some ways I find Heaven Up Here relies too much on a de rigeur gloomy introspection and it's works least well when it slows to a crawl ('Turquise Days' for instance), and it starts to show it's age at those times too. Nonetheless, it's a great record.
No comments:
Post a Comment