Music That Matters, Pt 27

The music we love as teenagers is the music we bind to for life. It’s a fact. Our iPods – remember those? – were proof. No doubt you're still listening to playlists based on the formative periods of your life. I certainly do. (Some reside on my Spotify account now.) And why not? It makes us feel good—an iced brain bath for the ongoing existential anxieties.


But the intent of this blog wasn’t to be the flashbacks of some gargoyled grayhead posting about the sorry state of music after my coming-of-age. I’ve dwelt in the old school, admittedly, but I’m graduating now.

So watch me gush: We should all do as much. In the age of Trump – whether supporter or resister, these are times that could benefit from some positivity. Especially, in the age of social media: we’ve all become tireless bleating whingers of something or other. Note to Boomers: Good music is still being made. Let’s move on.

263) Scheer, Shea (1996): Guitars like chainsaws ripping through a junkyard’s worth of rusted F-100s while a plaintive girly voice chirps tales of trauma: Scheer’s sound was a beautiful marriage of disparate personalities, and like most marriages, this one was also short-lived. Hailing from Belfast, Scheer managed one album and major tour, released a less interesting followup before the record company lost interest in them. They were a niche market, one that Baby Metal would pursue years later (in the extreme). But Scheer did it much, much better.

264) Killing Joke, I Am the Virus (2015): OK Boomer? Name a Millennial band that roars like this. These grayhead veterans crush on their album Pylon. And yet, AllMusic said the album “doesn't sound terribly innovative.” MetaCritic gave it a 77/100, according to Wiki. F**k ‘em. The sound will make the atlas joints in your neck want to go full bang. This album rages with fire and menace and both the guitars and drums deliver like a Chicago P.D.’s taser.

265) Ann Peebles, I’m Gonna Tear Your Playhouse Down (1973): If you hear Al Green in this it’s because Peebles had Green’s production team and band are behind her. As a singer, her style was mature and subdued and she’d the critics’ love behind her, especially the white ones – Robert Hilburn in the Los Angeles Times was a big fanboy. However, this critical love never seemed to bump her into the mainstream, which is a shame. As for the song itself, I’m a sucker for the passive-aggressive love songs that follow the general formula of I’m going to leave you. Soon...Maybe...



266) Sebadoh, Careful (1994): Back when college radio was a thing and record companies were paying attention, Sebadoh were darlings. Founded in 1988, these Massachusetts college town dropouts were what was “alternative” then: a descriptor generally referring to bands low on musical virtuosity – that eschewed soloing, heavy on the irony, mildly introspective if not entirely emo, and with mostly vague lyrics. It all seems so long ago now. At the time the album was hailed and ended up on a number of Best of the Year lists.



267) The Ghost of a Sabre Tooth Tiger, Too Deep (2014): Aussie psychedelicists, Tame Impala – a band mining similar lode as GOASTT – had Sean Lennon’s endorsement as sounding most like his dad. TI has also hit the big time, something GOASTT was never going to do. GOASTT’s sound is also très retro and much more Strawberry Alarm Clock than Revolver. But much more than TI, they stick their melodies and their psychedelics have more atmosphere. Their thievery is affectionate and sincere. I think this band is way better: Good songs, solid jams, better lyrics, and way heavier.



268) Jack Bruce, Rope Ladder to the Moon (1969): This guy was the genius behind Cream way back when, but for some reason couldn’t find his much commercial mojo without Eric Clapton’s guitar. His early solo albums – especially this one – are now considered classic and enjoyed some success in their time, mostly in England. Bruce did a series of albums in the 70s, experimented with a few things – played with Leslie West and Robin Trower (what was he thinking?), did some jazz – but couldn’t seem to find his audience again. He was eventually dropped from his record label. Sad: Jack deserved so much better.




269) Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Midnight Man (2008): Of old guys doing good, still, you could count them on one hand – Cave, Tom Waits, Leonard Cohen to the end, occasionally Bryan Ferry, Andy Partridge, Stevie Wonder maybe – but the crimes of the many refusing to sunset overwhelm them. Look at this list from 2019 of nearly every band you can think of – reductive, missing original members, and with voices you’d think couldn’t blow out a candle – and they’re still touring. But listen to Cave here – he continues to have something to say and says it with a muscular voice. Nick ought to share some that Viagra – some of his peers could use it.

This is one Boomer who’s okay.



270) Beck, Sexx Laws (1999): White boy R and B with Country flourishes that delivers – and his falsettos crush.




271) Minnie Ripperton, Reasons (1974): Maya Randolph’s long-deceased mother brought whistle tone singing to the mainstream and had this moment of glory back in the day after years of toiling in the undistinguished Rotary Connection. Her Olympian near dog whistle registers aside, her voice was a lot more than just muscle. This is the song she should be remembered for, not Loving You.




272) Elvis Costello, So Like Candy (1991), Veronica (1989): Looking for inspiration and impetus, Paul McCartney and Costello teamed up in the late 80s and collaborated on songwriting. Some were Costello’s, some were McCartney’s (My Brave Face). In 2017 McCartney released some that he’d been keeping in the can all these years. For me, of the lot, these were the best: So Like Candy was the jewel in the crown. (Veronica was the hit.)






272) Anastasia Screamed, Tornado (1991): Another college radio darling band – ca. 1987-1992 – these Beantown-transplants-to-Nashville alt f**kboys would end up far more obscure than Sebadoh. Singer Chick Graning is the prize here. This EP was their moment of glory.

273) The Brecker Brothers, Some Skunk Funk (1975): If you don’t know who they are, you know their samples. Both brothers, Randy (trumpet, flugelhorn) and Micheal (sax, flute) played with just about everyone over their careers and elder Randy was a member of the original Blood, Sweat, and Tears lineup. If the album’s hit single was any indication, they were throwing everything into the box to make a hit record as any bump-shoveling AR dude could’ve hoped for. The proof being their appropriation of Average White Band with added disco sauce that became the album’s hit single. But Skunk Funk shows the band way hotter, more ripped, and trades out the disco sauce for fusion – like trading up for hot salsa from ranch dressing.




Bonus! Elbow, Leaders of the Free World (2005): These Mancunians have been kicking around since 1997. They’re now eight albums in but this was from their third. This demands your attention from the start. I’ve always been a fan of their relaxed intensity. A reminder that many of the best things you’ll ever hear will come to you in a whisper. These guys are cunning whisperers.

An Old Joke Still Killing: Killing Joke

I love it when old guys deliver. And here Killing Jokes ships like a meth-smoking Flying Dutchmen on 11.

A brief history: British, formed in 1978, often credited with being the instigators of what’d become known as industrial. Their early albums featured tribal drumming, guitar slabs on repeat, simple grooves, and singer Jaz Coleman’s distinctive roar which often seemed to operate beyond the redline. He seemed capable of massive vocal bursts that could’ve been sculpted on a cheese grater. They were, and are as you’ll note below, if nothing else, intense.

Fifty-eight year old, New Zealand-born Coleman (his mother is half Bengali) has been known to have some, er, interesting worldly notions. He left music behind in 1982 to go to Iceland and wait out the impending asteroid apocalypse. During the time away he’d also study serious classical composing. Later, he’d work with “some of the world’s leading orchestras.” He’d also become an ordained priest and a father of three daughters. After touring the U.S. many times, he has come to see Americans as the obese, food doped, crippled with short attention spans, dumbed-down, and unfocused passive zombies that we are. He also says computers are killing the future’s potential great minds.

Fair enough.

The 2015 version of Killing Joke flexes a sound of brutal guitar hammering and insistent ruthless drumming. It’s a groove fit for slamming on the dance floor. And that voice: When he says “I am the virus,” you will believe. So clamp on the headphones and prepare for five minutes of an aural apocalypse you won’t regret.

Killing Joke: Asteroid (live)

I've a theory as to why musical tastes tend to change with age. That is, why as we scale up in age do our music choices tend to mellow down? The reason, as I've unscientifically concluded, is that as noise in our lives increases — career, marriage, mortgage, kids, etc. — the less we want it in our diversions. I think this goes a long way in explaining the popularity of banalities such as Twilight and Barry Manilow. But mellowing down doesn't have to be all vanilla. Even though I'm now on the ripe side of middle age myself I can't imagine how senile I'd have to be to enjoy, say, Rod Stewart's diddling over of The Great American Songbook. Or to book passage on the next Air Supply cruise. Take the "a" and "t" from adult and you're left with dull (then add another "l"), but it doesn't have to be that way.



E.g.: Killing Joke, a relic from my post-adolescent musical formation of '78 - '81 (after that they continued without me). For those who don't know, Killing Joke is considered one of the fathers of Industrial and is an admitted influence on many bands that followed (Nine Inch Nails, Nirvana, Ministry, Jane's Addiction), including metal (Metallica, Tool). Interestingly, Asteroid was originally recorded during a more recent reforming when remaining original members ages were deep into pattern baldness and middle age spread. Grease-painted vocalist Jaz Coleman — already wearing a precursor of his retiree's jumpsuit — became an ordained minister in 2003. (KJ songs are larded up with scriptural references.) His ordainment followed periods of dabbling in Alister Crowley and the occult. In the early 80s he convinced other band members to join him in Iceland to wait out the impending apocalypse. (That's all right, Jesus missed that call too.)
If this latter day sound is also Industrial then it's of the most wizened and vintage variety. Asteroid is repetitive and coarse, transgressive is the word reviewers used, like a buzz saw ripping through 24 gauge steel. Yet, somehow all that bash comes out remarkably hypnotic as well — kinetically so, if that's possible. (That phrase may be as oxymoronic as "High-impact Yoga" but you get the idea.) What works for my ears is the intensity of the sound; I don't believe there's another sound in the universe that quite conveys what only an overdriven guitar and a vocal with that kind of force thickened rasp can. Our emotional soundtracks aren't all violins and twee singer-songwriters huddled over acoustic guitars. Killing Joke's sound is a great symbol of the working life: Coarse, repetitive, droning, and yet with a kind of stuttering rhythmic balance. Maybe it's the fact that it's a sound pounded out by guys with AARP cards (like me) that speaks so well to me. (Although, judging from audience's young faces, the sound isn't limited to an age group.)

And maybe it's the touch of humanity within. Hear the plaint in Colemen's shout; He may be singing about the world's demise but he's not quite ready yet (as none of us are ever likely to be). I'd guess he's no more ready now then he was when he ducked into the Land of Trolls.

In conclusion: The sound may travel in a clenched fist but it arrives with an open hand.