Firehose - Fromohio

The Minutemen are fondly remembered by most as heroic 80s punk rockers, with some smart messages entrenched in a working class spiel, but mainly for the blend of punk and jazz and funk that set them apart from their peers. Comparisons to early Gang Of Four have been drawn, although it’s fair to say that the British band relied more heavily on a hard funk influence to their rhythm section, whereas the Minutemen had a wider range. Towards the end of the Minutemen catalogue, bits of country began to surface, but didn’t dominate the mix. After guitarist D Boon’s death, Ed Crawford drove from Ohio to California to talk bassist Mike Watt, drummer George Hurley, and The Unit into forming a new band, and thus Firehose was born. The band released five full lengths and a light dusting of singles and extended plays, although at some point The Unit was forced out of the band after a violent altercation with Hurley, although there are rumours that a barber was involved. Crawford brought a more distinctively country-flavoured edge with his guitar and vocals, Watt’s bass playing became more eclectic, encompassing more swing, and Hurley’s agile drums mostly stayed true to the freeform jazzy talents that we remember him for. What we ultimately got were five albums that were all different, but all the same in many respects, including genre-bending and inconsistency.

Fromohio was the third of those full length records, and is perhaps the one with the strongest southern lilt, which is in evidence almost immediately. A brief jazz-funk introduction of cymbals and an angular guitar give way to a more full-bodied good-ol’-time rock. “Riddle Of The Eighties” is quite the swinger, as is Crawford’s vocal contribution, but it features plenty of stop-start dynamics. “In My Mind” has an even older sound to it, but has an irresistible flow to it. The vocals are relaxed a little, delivering nothing but simple verses, the cymbal-heavy drumming features a four-on-the-floor beat in the background, the bass keeps swinging buoyantly, and the guitar work is wonderfully suited, switching from some upbeat acoustic-sounding strumming in the verses to neat high-end twangs in the breaks, the last of which segues neatly into a little guitar solo to finish with a flourish.

The harder funk Watt is better known for employing makes its first appearance introducing “”Whisperin’ While Hollerin’”. A more snare-heavy rhythm and paranoid vocals and guitars give this track a stark menace after what came before it. A brief solo and a few other high notes punctuate what is very much a bass-led song. We’re entering a largely funk-driven part of the album at this point, but we’re kept in with the opening theme with the first of three little sound pieces. Crawford does a little instrumental take on a classic guitar piece with “Vastopol”, a whiskey-drenched tune originally by Elizabeth Cotten, whose death was referred to on the previous album, 1987’s If’n. It’s a bit stuck out at this stage, giving the classic inconsistency, but it serves well to keep the album tied in.

“Mas Cojones” is a bit of a mess. It doesn’t really have a beat to it, the sparse guitar and bass work sound a bit disappointing, and the vocal interplay between monosyllabic Crawford singing and one-sentence spoken lines courtesy of Watt don’t really gel. There’s a brief moment where the instruments fall into place and give us the promise of a restrained build up, but this fails to materialise and the song carries on as it started. “What Gets Heard” is a better track, featuring a much more aggressive bass line, Watt’s much deeper voice doing some singing, and some scratchy guitars that sit well above the mix. “Let The Drummer Have Some” is another little sound bite, this time of Hurley mostly working cymbals, with a few other bits clattering around.

A marching drumbeat, acoustic guitar and vocal harmonies introduce “Liberty For Our Friend”, which is as funky as a Cornish pasty, and not quite as exciting. Save for the drums, it sounds like a campfire song, conjuring images flannel shirts on logs, and roasting marshmallows. I hate marshmallows. “Time With You”, which was released as the promotional single for the album, follows, and brings back some much needed pop and swing. Great guitars lead the way, backed by timely drumming and smooth bass. There are more hooks crammed into this track than in the last five put together, and the guitar movements flow into each other brilliantly.

“If’n” starts with a funky little riff, descending guitars meet climbing bass notes. Some gentle acoustic guitar kicks in with some gentle crooning, and a Watt one-liner does a much better job recycling the music sequence than on “Mas Cojones”, and after a couple of them, a more lively piece kicks in, and then the song leaves gently. Rolling drums see “Some Things” jump into the breach with plenty of life, and there’s plenty of pace even in the quietest bits. It’s an unspectacular but fun track, so while it doesn’t win any awards, it keeps the album flowing nicely.

This purple patch on the album culminates with “Understanding”, which shines without breaking into a sweat. The cruising opening riffs give way to some subtle bits, as indeed many songs on the album have done, but each time that opening sequence comes in, you get a comforting feeling and start bobbing your head. Crawford’s vocals here are some of his best, and Hurley’s drumming is intricate without being flash, and we’re left with the highlight of the back end of the album. Another Hurley solo, appropriately titled “‘Nuf That Shit George”, is the last of these little musical interludes, and is forty seconds of mostly scattergunned lower end drums. The album closer, “The Softest Hammer”, is a slow track with echoing vocals, and it doesn’t really do anything for the first half. A build up this time does lead to a more powerful part of the song, although the sluggish pace is continued. Somewhere in the din, you can hear the screams of “It’s Ed from Ohio”, which is a factually correct piece of information.

Fromohio is probably the Firehose record that is the most shy of really great songs, but while the inconsistency is there, the overall standard of the music is just as good as any other Firehose record, perhaps even the best. If you’re in the mood for a good ol’ time, there’s a handful of really good ol’ rock to sink your teeth into, particularly with tunes penned by Crawford, who, like Boon before him, typically wrote the catchier songs compared to Watt’s tougher songs. Nevertheless, if you’re feeling the funk, then there’s something here for you too. While nothing here quite stacks up to “Sometimes” and “For The Singer Of REM” from If’n, Fromohio overall outguns its predecessor in all departments, and was a fine way for Firehose to finish the chapter and start on the heavier sound that permeated Flyin’ The Flannel and Mr Machinery Operator.

Personal picks: In My Mind, Time With You, Understanding

Picks for others: Time With You, What Gets Heard, If’n

Relative weaknesses: Liberty For Our Friend, Let The Drummer Have Some, Mas Cojones

Tracklist

01 – Riddle Of The Eighties

02 – In My Mind

03 – Whisperin’ While Hollerin’

04 – Vastopol

05 – Mas Cojones

06 – What Gets Heard

07 – Let The Drummer Have Some

08 – Liberty For Our Friend

09 – Time With You

10 – If’n

11 – Some Things

12 – Understanding

13 – ‘Nuf That Shit George

14 – The Softest Hammer 

Face To Face - No Authority / Don't Turn Away / Over It

A slice of nice, basic pop punk. Face To Face carved out a name for themselves in the early to mid 90s with a few “classic” (no malevolence intended, I just disagree with it, disagreeing is what I do) melodic punk records, and then got criticism from most angles for changing their sound to an almost gloomy alt-rock style on 1999’s Ignorance Is Bliss, and then got another barrage of insults for changing it back. The band broke up after 2003’s How To Ruin Everything, took part in some side projects (most notably bassist Scott Shiflett and vocalist/guitarist Trever Keith in the impressive Viva Death) and reunited a number of years later after the coast had cleared and all most people remembered of them was those earlier albums, reinforcing this with their live shows. Indeed, eleven of their twelve-song set supporting Dropkick Murphys in Manchester in April 2010 were from the first three records. The following year, the slightly underwhelming Laugh Now Laugh Later was released, but for its shortcomings, confirmed that Face To Face were back to stay and carve out a living again, rather than live entirely off the fat of the nostalgia of old fans for a decade or two.

The band’s first long player, Don’t Turn Away is often cited as their most loved/influential record, although it’s not a runaway winner. 1994’s Big Choice and the self-titled album that followed two years later retain high praise from modern pop punk circles, but the 1992 debut had a simpler formula, and borrowed the iconic head-in-knees kid idea from Minor Threat’s first record for the album cover. So that’s what we’re looking at, but along with some related releases, and because I’m a stick in the mud for chronological order, we’ll start with the No Authority single.

The A-side of this single, which came with about three different covers from the folks at Dr Strange, is a different, rougher version of what would appear on the album. Low-end guitar, steady pace, vocal melodies, and all the other things you’d expect from a listenable but uninspiring three piece still in relative infancy. Two B-sides were provided, the first of which is “Don’t Turn Away”, which was left off the record bearing its name. Keith’s vocals, which proved to be quite capable as time went by, are horrible on this side of the disc, which is rounded out with a dire cover of Blondie’s “One Way Or Another”. Face To Face’s covers have always been hit or miss for me, and this falls into the latter category. What we’re left with is a single that doesn’t really showcase anything, other than the competency of the early rhythm section of Matt Riddle and Rob Kurth.

Don’t Turn Away was eventually patched together (the material that made up the album was recorded with two different engineers) and released on the same label. The opening track, “You’ve Done Nothing” seems to pick up where the single left off, although a slight change in the music halfway through showed that they weren’t going completely by numbers. “I’m Not Afraid” is a bit more interesting despite being musically a bit simpler and slower. A lot more work’s been applied to the vocals and backing vocals, and it pays dividends.

“Disconnected” is the song that really got Face To Face off the ground. Riddle’s bass is more complex in parts, some guitar muting and harmonics, and a catchy, layered chorus helped the album sell too fast for the label, which is why my copy of this, as well as the Disconnected single released the next year, were on Fat Wreck Chords. “No Authority” is here, rerecorded, and with a new intro with just drums and then some bass added. It’s essentially the same song apart from that, but the better production helps it to sound a little less lacklustre.

Most of the best songs on Don’t Turn Away are in the middle of the record. “I Want” sees Keith starting to flirt with the higher strings on his guitar, and while the riffs are still simple enough that even the writer of this review can play them with his notorious “spazz-hands”, they’re some of the better ones on the album, and Keith’s vocals are on relatively good form. The lyrical content which looks for solutions from negative situations became the quintessential Face To Face song. “You’ve Got A Problem” is a more accusatory, aggressive song, and was the one used by Fat on their first record sampler. That seems a bit odd, given that “You’ve Got A Problem” doesn’t sound either representative of the record, or a top track.

“Everything Is Everything” slows the pace a little, and the backing vocals range from major presence in the chorus call and response (well, call and “ahh ahh ahh

After an increasingly strong sequence, “Nothing New” sounds sluggish and flat, Keith’s vocals dip in form, and higher guitar notes don’t save the listener from feeling underwhelmed. “Walk Away” tries to be more energetic, but more vocals in the same vein as the Blondie cover and an uninspired chorus really leave you feeling as though the album’s starting to do as so many have and run out of steam.

Before you give up on the album, some bass and rolling drums bring in “Do You Care?” This energetic number sees better vocals, better harmonies, and a better chorus, providing a much needed lynchpin to the record. With the wheels still on, the album closes on a mediocre note, with vocals veering either side of form, but it does enough to not leave a bitter aftertaste.

The Disconnected single gets skipped over because its B-sides can be found on Over It. The split with Horace Pinker also gets ignored because it opens up a can of worms too many (I’m not reviewing Horace Pinker here), and of the two tracks Face To Face provide, one is on Over It, and the other is a painful Violent Femmes cover.

Chad Yaro was added as a second guitarist somewhere along the line, and Over It appears to be a trial for the band formula as much as it was a trial for the record label. The first half of the EP contains rehashed songs from Don’t Turn Away with this slightly fuller sound. “I Want” opens proceedings with a slightly protracted intro, and a quicker pace than the LP version. While not disgracing the original, it’s not quite as good, as “I Want” worked well at the tempo it had. “Nothing New” doesn’t sound very different at all save for the different backing vocals. This version of “Disconnected” was the version that became popular and made a name for the band, and while I prefer the more basic version on the album, this version stands up just as well with the extra meat from the guitars.

The excellent “A-OK” is the only pick of the bunch here, and it would be released on Big Choice the next year to be a highlight. Pounding drums, good vocals, great guitars, and some space for the bass to break out make for an infectious song that fares as well as anything on Don’t Turn Away. I can’t imagine why they decided to mess with the formula for playing it live, I wouldn’t change a thing about it. Like “A-OK”, “I Used To Think” was a B-side on the Disconnected single. A menacing start gives way to a pretty solid song, but it’s the uplifting backing vocals that steal the show from Keith’s chorus.

“Don’t Turn Away” gets rehashed in the same way that the first three tracks did, and while it’s a significant improvement over the original, it’s still not a great song. It’s energetic enough, unlike the moping start of “Not Enough”. However, this song, from the Horace Pinker split, turns out to be a great song. Despite not containing anything particularly outstanding, and a negative, defeatist mantra, the song somehow manages to come across as uplifting. The elusive concept of changing of pace rears its head to give the listener that shot-in-the-arm effect a couple of times to round out what can best be described as a decent quality collection of scraps.

No Authority is really only for collectors, Disconnected is in the same boat, the split with Horace Pinker is only of value to Horace Pinker fans, and Over It is good but derives too much from other records. Being unable to decide whether the dynamic is one of a high bass and low guitar duelling, or a more rangy power trio, and being unable to even confirm whether or nor Trever Keith can sing, a classic record Don’t Turn Away is not. Being simplistically upbeat, catchy, relatable, and something you can sing along to without relying on high speed and boisterous yelling, a great record Don’t Turn Away is. It rates highly because it manages to kick arse without doing anything special, although I do wonder if I’d rate it higher if it were recorded in one go. If you dig that sort of rock, pick this up. If you’re looking for some more intelligent craft, try Ignorance Is Bliss and the So Why Aren’t You Happy? EP, or try a different band.

Personal picks: I Want (old), A-OK, Not Enough, I’m Trying, Pastel

Picks for others: Disconnected (new), I’m Trying, A-OK, I Want (old), Do You Care?

Relative weaknesses: You’ve Done Nothing, Walk Away, One Way Or Another

Tracklist

No Authority

01 – No Authority (old)

02 – Don’t Turn Away (old)

03 – One Way Or Another

Don’t Turn Away

01 – You’ve Done Nothing

02 – I’m Not Afraid

03 – Disconnected (old)

04 – No Authority (new)

05 – I Want (old)

06 – You’ve Got A Problem

07 – Everything Is Everything

08 – I’m Trying

09 – Pastel

10 – Nothing New (old)

11 – Walk Away

12 – Do You Care?

13 – 1000 X

Over It

01 – I Want (new)

02 – Nothing New (new)

03 – Disconnected (new)

04 – A-OK

05 – I Used To Think

06 – Don’t Turn Away (new)

07 – Not Enough

Fugazi - In On The Kill Taker

While Steady Diet Of Nothing was more dextrous and intricate than the largely anthemic 1990 release Repeater, or the Fugazi, Margin Walker and 3 Songs extended players that came out between 1988 and 1990, the 1991 album didn’t fully take the shackles off, held back further by the flat self-production. Thus, as Repeater remains regarded as an essential punk rock album, the more ambitious Fugazi was borne out in the years following, as more songs were crafted for their next album.

In On The Kill Taker caused an initial furore before consumers even cracked open the disc. The band were big enough for larger stores to sell their records, but, barcodes being a requirement, most record labels integrate one into the back cover. Helped by the fact that guitarist Ian MacKaye happened to be co-founder and co-owner of Dischord records, band and label had the same viewpoint that the band’s art package was not to be disturbed, and managed to wrest a compromise. An external sticker with a barcode on was to be used so that SoundScan could do its thing. With the long list of ethical stances and confrontations Fugazi accumulated in their time, this one was largely lost in the din of the record itself, although it’s nice for me to have an album with no barcode sitting on my shelf. Having said that, all the barcode would have covered is some incoherent rambling. The artwork is pale pastel blues and yellows, with old style typewriter font and messy scribbling in amongst lined paper and the Washington Monument, with some black in the inlay and a rambling letter, a plain blue disc, and a bit between the CD and the back cover that resembles one of those newfangled post-it notes with lines on them. I’m sure they didn’t exist in 1993, and it’s just some yellow lined paper worked into the booklet, but I like the way that it looks as if the band stuck a personalised post-it note under the CD, even if it does just repeat “I will not lie” a dozen or so times.

Anyway, about the music that had to cut through this. A bleeping guitar fades in, and then another high-pitched guitar joins in, followed by the rhythm section. Bassist Joe Lally and drummer Brendan Canty manage to sound ominous and yet funky, which they do so often and so well. All give way to a snarling guitar, and then, on the minute mark all come in, joined by a noticeably venomous MacKaye bellowing out social critiques. The only weak point in the quite brutal onslaught of “Facet Squared” is the pace, which sounds quite pedestrian once the song gets going despite the guitar thrashing, which is exaggerated primarily by some uncharacteristically dull drumming. The same can’t be said of “Public Witness Program”, introduced by a rapidfire snare. While “Facet Squared” was like being slowly clubbed to death, Guy Picciotto’s first contribution is nimble and incisive. Piercing vocals puncture a song delivered at a blistering pace that leaves everything from the previous record in its wake. A simple but vicious guitar solo is punctuated with… hand claps? “On a Fugazi record? It’ll never work”, you might say. Yet, despite being one of the last sorts of cheery things you’d expect on any Fugazi record, let alone this cutting track, it actually works quite well.

Suddenly everything goes very quiet. Some very subdued guitars intertwine. MacKaye is whispering, and the music sounds very threatening, and it occasionally erupts briefly. A loud snare, a shouted word, or a few rising notes from rising guitars, but it always pulls back. We’re brought back to the less disturbing guitars intertwining. Two minutes in, “Returning The Screw” appears to come to a quiet stop, but then the guitars come in again, gently building up, until the band suddenly explodes into life. MacKaye is again full of bile, sounding more like himself from his Minor Threat days. The song abruptly ends, and some more subdued guitar noodling builds itself in. This isn’t “Returning The Screw” anymore though, and “Smallpox Champion” starts charging at full tilt soon enough. Picciotto delivers what is perhaps his most directly political Fugazi song, a trait usually aligned with MacKaye’s writing, and cuts into the treatment of native American tribes with gusto, preferring to associate the actions with the America he lives in rather than, as the nationalist way of thinking would rather have it, foreign colonists that don’t represent the star-spangled banner. The music cuts out briefly, save for some downplayed drum clicking, but starts roaring forth again after a couple of seconds. The final minute sees some slightly more palatable guitar, some much funkier bass, and some catchy chanting, although the aggression isn’t shelved.

After another sharp stop, “Rend It” begins straight away with clattering instruments. Picciotto gets a second track in a row, in the first part of a three track segue, but the songs continue to be unpredictable. “Rend It” perhaps represents In On The Kill Taker as well as anything on the album. Complete instrumental silence follows the end of the descending instruments, cut only by Picciotto’s searing vocals. The guitars wince in the background after a verse, and then everything winds up for the chorus of jagged riffs and harsh vocal harmonies. Some MacKaye screams followed by Picciotto wails see out the song. Before the track can fully fade out, some clean sliding guitars are followed by quietly spoken vocals for MacKaye’s “23 Beats Off”. Some distortion gets added in and MacKaye clears out his lungs to build up the track, but the other aspects are kept in check. A more menacing guitar with some bending strings comes in, and the second windup is more penetrating. The song gives way to feedback and a solitary drum. However, there’s nearly four minutes left on the track. It’s all feedback solos, and not particularly crafty or tuneful ones at that. What was a great track has more or less been ruined, and it’s no surprise that this was truncated to about a minute on the rare occasion that it was played live. The feedback dies away almost enough, but another segue is made into “Sweet And Low”. Although he’d provided backing vocals in the earliest days of the band before Picciotto joined, Lally’s vocal debut for the band wouldn’t come until 1995, with “By You” featuring on Red Medicine. “Sweet And Low” almost was, but Lally couldn’t find the right words for his composition. It’s got a nice bass sequence to it, but overall it’s a bit boring, and very placid.

Canty introduces Picciotto’s “Cassavetes”, which brings back scratching guitars. Apart from the drumming, the track isn’t particularly special, but brings us back into more familiar territory, and sees Picciotto reminding us that he hasn’t forgotten how to roll his an R like he like on “Dear Justice Letter” on the previous album. “Great Cop” sounds almost like a hybrid between the opening two tracks, with MacKaye’s anthemic vocals and the directness of “Facet Squared”, but with a little more urgency, and less screwing around. “Walken’s Syndrome” gives us another dose of raw feedback, but less than thirty seconds in, the song announces itself. Picciotto continues his cinematic theme, referring to the car crash described by Christopher Walken’s character in Woody Allen’s Annie Hall (if memory serves me correctly, Jawbreaker added soundbites from the very same soliloquy to the beginning and end of “Jet Black”, released a little later on 1995’s controversial Dear You). Following from the previous track, “Walken’s Syndrome” is unflinchingly relentless and acerbic, and ten songs in, the first-time listener is completely drained.

After an exhausting effort, Fugazi finishes with a couple of heartfelt radio-friendly love ballads, with the one exception in that they don’t actually do that. The violent nature is gradually reined in, but MacKaye and Picciotto each sign off in style. The former provides “Instrument”, full of gloom, extended, strangled vocals, a belittled groove, and a supreme final minute as quickfire guitar noise gives way to powerful riffs and strong vocals. Picciotto has the final say, and his amazing vocal performance on the album (I don't like his voice, but it's been on top form throughout) finally seems to be tiring, dying amongst the classy string picking of “Last Chance For A Slow Dance”. But it’s not to be. Despite the slow tempo, the instrument power comes in during the chorus, only to be beaten by the vocals. A lonely guitar piece closes out the album with a hush.

The sheer catharsis of this record is unrivalled. Many good records manage to balance flow and juxtaposition well to give you a sense of dynamics, but never as Fugazi did it here, so absolutely. Even the weakest section between the wall of feedback at the end of “23 Beats Off” and the calmness of “Sweet And Low” only serves to highlight the extremities that this album achieves, and these overindulgences seem not just forgivable, but almost necessary ingredients to achieve the phenomenal listening experience of it.

It may come as no surprise that there was trouble making this record. The band attempted to do some recording with Steve Albini, but remarkably couldn’t achieve a sound they were happy with, so they went back home to record in the Inner Ear, and it’s hard to conceive that this was a mistake, despite Albini’s reputation. It may not be my absolute favourite album, as I don’t see anything wrong with going for ones that work for me. However, of all the albums that I would ever have considered in my top ten, or even top twenty records, In On The Kill Taker is perhaps the most poignant definition of a boundary-pushing unit at its creative peak. While Steady Diet Of Nothing was at times carried through weaker moments by the rhythm section, the entire band is on the money for almost this entire album.

Personal picks: Public Witness Program, 23 Beats Off (first half), Smallpox Champion

Picks for others: Smallpox Champion, Last Chance For A Slow Dance, Instrument

Relative weaknesses: Sweet And Low, 23 Beats Off (second half)

Tracklist

01 – Facet Squared

02 – Public Witness Program

03 – Returning The Screw

04 – Smallpox Champion

05 – Rend It

06 – 23 Beats Off

07 – Sweet And Low

08 – Cassavetes

09 – Great Cop

10 – Walken’s Syndrome

11 – Instrument

12 – Last Chance For A Slow Dance

Hüsker Dü - New Day Rising

You’ve just produced a pretentious double album, where do you go? If you’re The Beatles, keep producing crap, because you’re The Beatles and you suck. If you’re Bob Dylan, keep singing like a drugged cat on a chalkboard, because that’s your thing that you do. But if you’re Hüsker Dü, you rein it in a little and produce some happier songs. Zen Arcade was a dual petroleum slab combining their earlier brand of ineffective thrashy hardcore with psychedelic instrumental posturing, giving us a few good songs, a number of okay songs, and plenty of cheap filler. Nevertheless, it was praised for its invention, although it didn’t make the top 500 album list from Rolling Stone, which drools over The Beatles, Bob Dylan, token credibility-grabbing nods to the spheres of other genres and other types of rock, and double albums (evidenced by Minutemen’s Double Nickels On The Dime making the back end of the list, four double albums in the top ten, and of the top ten, twelve of them are Beatles and Dylan records). The presence of The Clash’s Sandinista! seven places above the Minutemen double LP can only be attributed to the fact that the people who compiled the list were aroused by it being a triple album, because it was a triple stinker in terms of quality.

However, being regarded as influential on rock as they apparently have been, those boneheads had to fit Hüsker Dü in somewhere. Scraping in at 495 on the list, compiled in 2003, at the opposite end of the list where the captains of the industry were voting on the records they wanted to keep selling, was the follow-up single disc New Day Rising. The fuzz remains, but the ambitious sprawling influences on Zen Arcade have been replaced by straight rock, and hardcore was instead blended with a strong dose of melody and familiarity.

Having said that, this is no flawless frisbee. For what is essentially a much more concise record, we’re given something of a soundpiece to start with. Pounding drums, an upbeat guitar and a positive mantra (literally the album title, over and over) give us the signal that the band’s in a different mood. However, it just keeps on going. The mantra becomes gradually sort of howled and screamed by the band members, which is probably supposed to be symbolic of how they’re still hard, or giving us false hope, or painting an aural picture reminiscent of Edvard Munch’s “The Scream”, or something else we don’t care about. Anyway, it gets boring after a while. “New Day Rising” is followed by Grant Hart’s “The Girl Who Lives On Heaven Hill”, which has a long title because the chorus is a longer line than Hart usually challenges himself to repeat during most choruses. For a track with a reasonably aggressive guitar, it’s quite a fun track, except for the vocals. Whether you like his voice or not, having it so low in the mix really messes with your ability to listen to the song.

A poor start. Have the media moguls screwed up again, even on their attempts to claim some integrity? Bob Mould strikes back with what would become a trademark. “I Apologize” has the fuzzy guitar and occasional strangled scream of the Hüsker Dü of old, but more pop melody than their entire double album from the previous year. And there’s plenty more to come. “Folklore” lasts all of ninety-six seconds, Mould’s vocals are rushed, the guitars are rushed, Hart is screaming in the background, and it’s not as sugary as the previous track, but it still smacks of a band getting a more palatable sound, although they were still some way from 1987’s Warehouse: Songs And Stories. So they’ve even picked a transitional record as their favourite Dü record?

“If I Told You” sees a rare writing collaboration between Mould and Hart, with the latter providing lead vocals. This is more or less unheard of, given the infamous friction between the two. Hart clearly wrote the chorus, and some of the vocals are garbled, but it’s still got plenty of friendliness to it. The album’s promotional track appears even more so, but “Celebrated Summer” is a bittersweet summer anthem. Greg Norton’s buoyant basslines and cymbal-heavy percussion courtesy of Hart that are pretty consistent throughout the album are here as strongly as anywhere. Mould’s ambivalent ode to summer contains plenty of half-shouted vocals and aggressively played guitar, albeit with brighter chords, but once in the middle and at the end, everything’s stripped away bar a picked guitar and a couple of whispered lines. The band gradually builds back in along with the tempo after the first respite, and we get a good chunk of extra song before the second one closes the song out gently.

After closing out an accessible song so quietly, you’d expect to be kicked in the nuts with a more aggressive stomper of a track. Judging from instrumental rehearsals, that’s exactly what they were planning to do. Instead, we’re served up with “Perfect Example”, which sounds like the outro to “Celebrated Summer” being recycled, given a gentle band backing and a touch of distortion. Mould rambles and is barely audible, and while it’s not horrible, it’s a shame to end the first half of the album with it, especially knowing that a different track was going to appear in that spot.

The second half kicks off in a jaunty mood, despite the track being called “Terms Of Psychic Warfare”. Hart sounds like he’s gloating, there are some high-pitched backing wails, and the guitar and bass riffs are cheery to the point of being quite irritating. On the plus side, not only is the title not the chorus (can you imagine having that line repeated at you and not hating it?), Hart manages not to utter it in full a single time. Outrageous! Mould gets back at the helm and gives us a song with bipolar disorder. Nervous, scattered drums, anxious guitars, and incoherent mumbling make up the verses. The music winds up into faster tempos with a howled choral refrain that recalls Zen Arcade and the Metal Circus extended player, leaving us a song that may not be a highlight, but has a very interesting character.

Following in the footsteps of “59 Times The Pain” is “Powerline”, a shorter and more level-headed song that has a more hypnotic quality to it, with its metronomic snare and relatively smooth guitar, and Mould’s vocal delivery subdued slightly in volume, but not to the damaging extent of “The Girl Who Lives On Heaven Hill” or “Perfect Example”. The frenetic, rising guitar solo at the end is almost in danger of being too low in the mix as well, which sees Norton’s swirling bass surprisingly high up, but it holds its own, and a relatively straight song garnished with plenty of small unusual nuances becomes something much more interesting. Some old-time feel-good piano prances above the mix in Hart’s final offering, “Books About UFOs”. He espouses his infatuation with a girl who’s obsessed with astronomy. Sweet occasional backing vocals, a charming guitar solo dated not too dissimilarly to the piano tinkling, and a sort of spoken verse section make “Books About UFOs” stick out like a sore thumb, and while it may not be representative, it is quite infectious.

From here, the album sounds like it’s gradually regressing into Zen Arcade mode. “I Don’t Know What You’re Talking About” hybridises melodic choruses with an aggressive chorus, and isn’t especially memorable. “How To Skin A Cat”, on the other hand, is memorable, if perhaps for the wrong reasons. Mould’s amusing but slightly disturbing business proposition for skinning cats for free is backed by an incomprehensible din. For an album that has pushed songs with structure consistently since the opening salvos, you can’t help but feel that there’s no place on it for this steaming pile of sonic gloom. “Whatcha Drinkin’” sounds quite generic, although a nice tempo change gives it a little bit of flavour. It’s passable as a back-end-of-an-album track, but needs better support than “How To Skin A Cat”. “Plans I Make” is the closer, and it’s a fast rager that almost recalls Zen Arcade in its most aggressive moments, brighter chords being all that separates it from “Indecision Time” or “Pride”. It descends into another din, with some anguished screams from Mould. Nevertheless, it too is easier to forgive than “How To Skin A Cat”, having some sort of song structure in the first half, and its descent into chaos doesn’t disrupt the flow of the album, bookending it as it does with the other acceptable mess of a track, “New Day Rising”, which was inexplicably included in Rolling Stone’s top 100 guitar tracks list, once again scraping the bottom, indicative of credibility-searching.

So what of the two tracks that didn’t make the cut? “Listen” and “Erase Today” are fine, powerful Mould rockers that fall under the two minute mark. “Listen” is bright and punchy, but was substituted for “Perfect Example” for reasons which can presumably only be explained by artistic licence. “Erase Today” is a little more reserved, and was cut in favour of “Powerline”, which makes sense at first glance, and would be easier to swallow if “How To Skin A Cat” had also been cut out.

Despite all of its shortcomings, the one thing Rolling Stone did right in this scenario is pick New Day Rising as the Hüsker Dü representative. It contains enough of the ear-shredding distortion and aggression of their old days, and the melodic songcraft of their final years. It even has a cover that violently assaults retinas less than most of the band’s catalogue. However, in part because of these reasons, it’s hard to visualise many people actually picking it as their favourite album, but a second favourite is more feasible. If you like their smarter compositions, there’s Warehouse, if you like their more experimental hardcore, there’s Zen Arcade (how many times have I referred to it here?), and if you want music to throw chairs to, there’s Zen Arcade again, or better yet, Metal Circus. As is the way with Hüsker Dü review, a “should have been” tracklist is provided. I’ve even put my neck on the line and explained the logic (or lack thereof). “If I Told You” is swapped in position with “The Girl Who Lives On Heaven Hill” to make the album more accessible before waiting for the third song, “I Apologize” moves below “Folklore” to ensure that “…Heaven Hill” is surrounded by clear catchy songs. “Listen” takes its rightful place closing out the A-side, and the B-side begins with “59 Times The Pain”. “Books About UFOs” is brought up the list a bit, “Erase Today” comes in, and “Terms Of Psychic Warfare” is dropped further down to prevent the album sound like it’s tailing off into the past.

New Day Rising is nevertheless a good hardcore experience in its current form, and I’d recommend it to anyone who listens to punk or altenative rock (are they the same thing now?). There’s no point recommending it to hardcore fans because they will already have heard it. Don’t do it because it’s in a Rolling Stone list, because taking that list seriously means that you like The Beatles. Having said that, don’t check it out on my say-so either, there’s no such thing as too much research, unless your sources are trying to sell you the Capitol Records catalogue.

Personal picks: Powerline, Celebrated Summer, Listen

Picks for others: Celebrated Summer, I Apologize, Books About UFOs

Relative weaknesses: Perfect Example, How To Skin A Cat

Tracklist

01 – New Day Rising

02 – The Girl Who Lives On Heaven Hill

03 – I Apologize

04 – Folklore

05 – If I Told You

06 – Celebrated Summer

07 – Perfect Example

08 – Terms Of Psychic Warfare

09 – 59 Times The Pain

10 – Powerline

11 – Books About UFOs

12 – I Don’t Know What You’re Talking About

13 – How To Skin A Cat

14 – Whatcha Drinkin’

15 – Plans I Make

Author’s recommended tracklist

01 – New Day Rising

02 – If I Told You

03 – Folklore

04 – I Apologize

05 – The Girl Who Lives On Heaven Hill

06 – Celebrated Summer

07 – Listen

08 – 59 Times The Pain

09 – Books About UFOs

10 – Powerline

11 – Erase Today

12 – I Don’t Know What You’re Talking About

13 – Terms Of Psychic Warfare

14 – Whatcha Drinkin’

15 – Plans I Make

At The Drive-In - Vaya

At The Drive-In rose pretty quickly through the ranks of noisy post-hardcore, in a high arc that culminated in a stellar final album and subsequent disintegration. A brief look at their catalogue shows three albums which are incredibly dissimilar. 1996’s Acrobatic Tenement, despite being fairly intricate, failed to avoid sounding a little bit like a pop-punk album with ambitions. 1998 saw the release of In/Casino/Out, which had very little resemblance to the previous full length. Brutally aggressive music with a rough mix contrasted with increasingly complex guitar work meant that this record was a completely different animal. Another two year hop and the critically acclaimed, commercially quite successful Relationship Of Command was unleashed. A lot of the anger remained in the music, but it was tamed by a much slicker production, and strong elements of progressive rock gave a much more textured album.

The band was an unusual case in that they made frequent use of extended plays, and not just as throwaway material. Prior to the release of the band’s first full length, the Alfaro Vive Carajo! EP displayed much poppier melodies. El Gran Orgo was released in the year between Acrobatic Tenement and In/Casino/Out, and while it sounded more like the former in terms of mixing, it neatly fills the gap between those two records which would have otherwise been a non sequitur, showcasing more aggression at times that leant more towards the latter.

The same could be applied to Vaya, a snapshot of the band’s progression rather than scraps. This 1999 release framed them somewhere in the arc between their rawest peak and the experimental direction they were heading in that contributed to their dissolution. The production finds a sweet spot between coarse and slick, the scale of aggression is broadened, and a couple of different approaches are exercised. This sort of description can indicate a lack of cohesion, but the record sounds as cohesive as any of their full albums.

“Rascuache” kicks things off, and instantly draws the listener into a sense of unease. The introductory sequence treads a line been tribal simplicity and an electronic groove. The song explodes into In/Casino/Out-style ferocity, but the elements of the intro haven’t quite left the song entirely, and they’ve certainly made their mark. A complex drumbeat brings in “Proxima Centauri”, and Cedric Bixler-Zavala almost seems to be chanting at first. Some more experimental guitar work separates Omar Rodriguez-Lopez and Jim Ward. The song twists and contorts frequently, perhaps a little too often. “Ursa Minor” is more recognisable as a song rather than a series of experiments, and builds up well. A languid bridge takes out some of the energy, but an iteration of the chorus is all that’s needed to reignite the song.

The half-album’s centrepiece and arguably its peak is “Heliotrope”. From brutal attacks to intricate solos to a single bending guitar string hovering over Paul Hinojos and Tony Hajjar's rhythm section, “Heliotrope” carries a wide range of the arsenal of At The Drive-In, and gels them all together extremely well. The focus track, for which a music video was made, “Metronome Arthritis” follows, and while it isn’t exactly painful, it’s much slower than anything on Vaya thus far, and really sounds like it’s dragging its knuckles. The pace only picks up very slightly at any point, and it feels like the venom that the band is capable of delivering has been diluted rather than sparingly used. This song would foreshadow some of the slower, weaker songs on Relationship Of Command.

An aggressive riff introduces “300 MHz”, which exercises a lot of quiet-to-loud sequencing that we’ve come to expect from At The Drive-In, but unfortunately it doesn’t have the same impact here. With only one track to go, you might be wondering if Vaya is running out of steam after a bold start that could have promised a full length record of solid material. “198d” starts in such a subdued manner that indicates a band going out on a whimper, but they turn it around in surprising fashion, and come up with a great slow song. Bixler-Zavala’s grating bleat is not fashioned for songs like these, which is one reason why the band had struggled to get this right more often than not. Whereas in “Metronome Arthritis” the guitars were a bit on the boring side for the most part and highlighted the depressing drumbeat, on “198d” they sound much more natural at this pace, and the restrained drumming works nicely. Of course, the chorus is louder, but retains the pace and the mood. Even Ward’s backing vocals, which bark even more harshly than Bixler-Zavala’s, are arranged into a relatively pleasant chorus. The mood is sullen, but despite being the gentlest track by a long way, it’s also one of the strongest.

At The Drive-In would have further success with slow songs on Relationship Of Command with the excellent “Quarantined”, and further failure with the marathon “Invalid Litter Dept” that will leave some listeners wincing, greater success in experimentation (“Quarantined” again being a defining example), and matching success in unbridled aggression in tracks like “Arcarsenal”. This is all fine and dandy, Relationship Of Command deserves its place as the band’s widely heralded magnum opus. But for all the accolades the full length gets, Vaya has given us some of the band’s best work. At The Drive-In will always be an acquired taste, but if you’re accustomed to harsh vocals and harsh post-hardcore or whatever they’ve rechristened a subsubgenre that translates to “sounds a bit like At The Drive-In” (which the crap they’re coming up with, probably something like “psychedexperimetal post-screamocore”), then Vaya is a worthwhile addition to your selection. Just make sure you get Relationship Of Command first.

Personal picks: Heliotrope, 198d

Picks for others: Heliotrope, Ursa Minor

Relative weaknesses: Metronome Arthritis

Tracklist

01 – Rascuache

02 – Proxima Centauri

03 – Ursa Minor

04 – Heliotrope

05 – Metronome Arthritis

06 – 300 MHz

07 – 198d