Bands That Rule
Mission of Burma
Almost totally unknown outside of certain American independent/punk music circles, but a highly influential band nonetheless. Guitar, bass, drums, tape manipulations, and shouted, artless vocals. Melody was never their strong point, but dynamics and texture were what made this band essential. Their debut single, "Academy Fight Song," alternated martial beats with smooth, almost electronic choruses. Their next release, an EP, had the powerful "That's When I Reach For My Revolver." Again, soothing verses explode in the chorus and the lines "That's when I reach for my revolver/That's when it all gets blown away/That's when I reach for my revolver/That feeling passes by each day." Chilling and powerful. Their only album release, "Vs.," explored and developed the themes and styles they had laid out. Stop/start rhythms, pummeling guitar/bass/drums, guitar/tape effects that stretched the range of the instrument and use of echo and open spaces were their hallmarks. MoB's career ended with the posthumous "The Horrible Truth About Burma," a live album that opened no new territory, but gave fans a sense of what they could deliver live.
Blue Oyster Cult
The band that literally defined "heavy metal." It was fan and occasional collaborator Richard Meltzer who coined the term to describe the fast, loud, aggressive music the band was trailblazing in the late 60's. Starting as a psychedelic band, their roots were evident on their first album. But the essential albums, "Tyranny and Mutation" and "Secret Treaties," still stand today as some of the best heavy/hard rock ever recorded. Keeping the psychedelic core and Buck Dharma's beautiful, melodic guitar lines, they unleashed a sonic assault unheard of in their day. Immense roaring guitars and bass, keyboard atmospherics and neo-jazzy drumming created a freight train of sound. The band was big on imagery (their "cross and pothook" logo baffles people even today) that blended evil and humor in ways intended to separate fans and the clueless. Lyrics were often cryptic, hinting at strange, dark worlds. But the music was their core, and in that they excelled. But, after their live album, "On Your Feet or On Your Knees," they seemed to lose their way, even though this was the period of their greatest commercial success ("Godzilla" and "Don't Fear the Reaper"). Still recording and touring even today, it is fair to say that their greatest days were in the early to mid 70s. Back then, NO ONE came close to their unique blend of metal power, melody, style and songwriting, and cryptic lyrics.
Joy Division
Bleakness personified. Music to contemplate suicide to, if you want to go through with it. Lead singer Ian Curtis hung himself the night before they were to leave for an American tour that was widely expected to make them "big in America." Listening to their three albums, his troubles with alienation come through loud and clear. "Love Will Tear Us Apart," "Dead Souls," "She's Lost Control," "Isolation," the titles say it all. Their self-named first album is more raw and rocking, but the cold, crystalline austerity of "Closer," their awesome second album, showcases the band to chilling effect. Frantic, lost, alienated, scared.
Mott the Hoople
A loud, good-time band with an intellectual/poet leader. Mott was insanely popular for a while in the early-to-mid Seventies as a live band, especially in their native England. Great hard rock with melodies you could hum and lyrics that made you think. Ian Hunter had a big Dylan complex, but he still carved a place of his own. Their first few albums of formless and loud rock ("Death May Be Your Santa Claus" is one title that stands out, though.) never got them anywhere; it was David Bowie who gave them the boost they needed. He produced the album "Mott" and gave them their biggest, most enduring (and atypical) hit, "All The Young Dudes." They followed this up with the rollicking, rocking, and wide-ranging "The Hoople," and never looked back. When Mick Ralphs left to form Bad Company, they recruited Ariel Bender and cemented their live reputation. Good time, for-the-lads rock and roll, with the ability to capture the frustrations of their audience in a way that turned it into a bond. An interesting side note: one of their biggest fan bases was in Cleveland, Ohio. Ian Hunter even wrote a song about them, "Cleveland Rocks," which you can still hear today, as the theme song for "The Drew Carey Show."
BeBop Deluxe
Who says art-rockers can't rock? This is the band that puts the lie to that old canard. No one can question their "art" label: odd time signatures; complex riffs (often slammed up against other complex riffs); long, looping melodies; and a premium on technical ability (especially in guitar virtuoso, lead singer and songwriter, Bill Nelson). But the music always had a zest and bounce to it, a willingness to rock out joyfully that most art bands wouldn't deign to. It was Nelson's restless spirit that pushed the band across numerous styles and genres, while also grounding them in his spiritual questioning. In the space of just four albums, the band grew and matured rapidly; the range covered is astounding. Still, Nelson disbanded them for a new outfit (Red Noise) that went sideways to a kinetic, retro-futuristic, frantic sound. He then retired to a studio in the English countryside to produce a series of pastoral, gentle albums. Go figure.
The Sex Pistols
The avatars of the second wave of punk music--after its mid-Seventies birth in America in bands like Blondie, Television, Devo, the Avengers, etc.--the oxymoronic embodiment of the virtues of the music they played and the evils of the corporate business they railed against. In it only for a lark, and never taking it seriously, they made a roaring, offensive noise that really did shake the world. Surpisingly conventional in its structure, being a compilation of already-released singles and b-sides and a few newly recorded concert faves, "Never Mind The Bollocks" is still a powerful blast of punk. After them, punk rock went in a different direction still evident today.
Midnight Oil
Thunder from down under. They began life as a beach/bar band in Australia. Loud, in yer face music--the soundtrack to burly, drunken men blowing it out. But once the band grew comfortable with the power they had, they began to explore other ways of deploying it. On their first American release, "Red Sails in the Sunset," you can hear the struggle between loud and thoughtful in songs like "Kosciosko" and "Best of Both Worlds." It was on their breakthrough album "Diesel and Dust" that it all came together. This is one of those rare albums where it all happens: a band at the peak of their creativity, a group of musicians who play perfectly and confidently together, songs that grab and compel, lyrics that make you think, and a producer who is sympathetic and able to place the songs in a perfect sonic environment. The result is another perfect encapsulation of a band and a moment. Later albums are still good, but the magic is not quite there.
The Sisters of Mercy
The archetype and template for Goth rock. Andrew Eldritch's voice--deep, theatrical,sonorous, and from the grave--and Dr. Avalanche, the aptly-named drum machine, bracket their precise, measured music. The band released a handful of EPs on their own Mercyful Release label and garnered a reputation for dark, sinister music. They could rock out when they needed to--"Train" is the closest they came to a slinky, sinuous dance tune and it's surprisingly good--but chose instead to move at their own pace. Their cover of Iggy Pop and the Stooges' "1969" is a good example. The original is a wild, hedonistic orgy; the SoM's version is controlled by the drum machine into a whip-snappingly precise steamroller. Their penultimate song, "Temple of Love," marries snaky guitar lines to thunderous bass and drums and creates a headlong rush into the depths of love-torn hatred. "And the devil in a black dress watches over/My guardian angel walks away/Life is short and love is always over in the morning/Black winds come carry me far away./With a fire for the fireworks up above/And a gun for a lover and a shot for the pain inside." Wow. Their first album--years into their career--was actually a let down after that. The band then sundered into three new bands (The Mission, Ghost Dance, and a reformed SoM); Andrew Eldritch kept the original band going, but it was never the same. Still, the influence of the SoM sound can be heard in dozens of Goth and industrial bands today (like Type O Negative, who are *extremely* similar. . . .).
Wire
It must be obvious by now that I value intelligence as much as the music in rock. Wire is damn near the perfect marriage of smarts and rock that I've ever heard. They began life as a punk band in the London heyday of the era, playing one- and two-minute songs with a twist. Their first album, "Pink Flag" rivalled the Ramones' debut for short, loud, and fast. But always there was the tongue-in-cheek, subversive wit. Their second album, "Chairs Missing," found them expanding (to three-minute songs!) and exploring the forms of songs. But it was their third album that is their masterpiece: "154." Songs about cartographers, commuters on the train, distant and bitter lovers used odd arrangements and especially a wider scope of noise-as-music to create songs unlike anything heard in punk since the earliest days of its American roots. Again, it was a case of a band at their peak hooking up with a producer who understood them. In fact, Mike Thorne became an integral part of the band for the sessions, adding keyboards and production effects that took Wire to newer and ever-higher accomplishments. After a so-so live album, the band broke up for more than a decade. Reforming, it was as if they had never stopped. All the music they recorded in the first sessions was jam-based; it showed the loose, exploratory side of the band that earlier albums only hinted at. But it also carried forward their own stamp as experimenters. Songs became much longer and more electronic as they progressed, echoing the first punchy punk songs in smoother and more flowing new songs, while moving into newer, slicker territory.
The Dead Kennedys
The band unafraid to call a spade a spade. Often called America's answer to the Sex Pistols, this is inaccurate. John Lydon and Jello Biafra (the Kennedys' front man) shared a dyspeptic world view, but Biafra tried to cram an encyclopedia of information into his venom. Where the Sex Pistols revelled in consumer culture, the Dead Kennedys reviled it. The earliest songs were short, loud, fast, and in your face (like crowd favorite, "Nazi Punks Fuck Off"), but with the introduction of new drummer DJ Peligro the band began to slow down and experiment. Albums like "Plastic Surgery Disasters" showed them struggling to keep true to their punk roots while making room for Biafra's lyrical tirades and the band's growing musical skills. "Frankenchrist" saw them hit that perfect balance. Again, songs are longer, but the sense of men with great power and the skill to wield it precisely comes through loud (very loud) and clear. And always, there is Biafra's scathing indictments of our cultural and political failures: "In lonely gas stations with supermarkets/ find rows of them for sale./ Liquid-filled statues of Elvis Presley/ screw his head off and drink like a vampire./ His disciples flock to such a fitting shrine/ right across from his Grace-less mansion./ A shopping mall, full of prayer rugs and Elvis dolls."
The Buzzcocks
Critical faves in England, they never quite made it here. Another of the loud-and-fast school of punk, they were blessed to have superior songwriter Pete Shelley. Hurtling along at the speed of light (at one time, they were the fastest band on Earth), it was easy to miss the beautiful musical and lyrical hooks and lovely melodies. The essential American release to get is "Singles Going Steady," the perfectly named compilation of their hit A-sides and the more experimental b-sides. Perfect pop songs (When played at slower tempos with lusher instrumentation, their songs were jewels of popcraft, as the Fine Young Cannibals proved with "Ever Fallen in Love?" ) share space with trance-inspired songs like "Why Can't I Touch It?" and "Something's Gone Wrong Again," songs that explored the band's fascination with pulse.
The Chills
From New Zealand, Martin Phillip's constantly changing band still managed to sound remarkably consistent throughout their long, fragmented career. Their distance and disconnection from the rest of the world made for a sound that's hard to categorise. Very melodic, quiet even when they rocked out ("Look For The Good in Others And They'll See The Good in You") and very quiet when they tried to be (the frightening winter murder song "Pink Frost"), with a lot of open space in their production that gave their music sunniness even when the lyrics were gloomy (the waiting-for-the-government-check song "Doledrums"), the Chills were unique. Phillips' yearning voice, matched with his often minor-key songs, calls to mind "Pet Sounds"-era Brian Wilson, in a way. I guess it's the Pacific ocean that does it.
The Tubes
Who says you can't marry vaudeville to rock and roll? Famed for their elaborate stage shows, enacting each song in its own little costume drama, the Tubes were rock-and-roll excess carried to excess. Every song was staged and choreographed, leading to long, involved concerts (witness the double-live "What Do You Want From Live?"), with numerous character and costume changes. Their music was derived from mid-70's California songwriting--big surprise, right--but their attitude was a weird blend of rah-rah Americana and vaudeville song-selling. But the music was always there. From early hit "White Punks on Dope" ("Other kids are livin' in a ghetto/ But born in Beverly Hills ain't much bett-o.") to the TV-themed album "Remote Control," they consistently delivered the goods.
The Dictators
What you get when smart-ass, music-loving New Yorkers start a band. Andy Shernoff was the brains of the band, writing most of their songs. On their first album, his wise-acre lyrics, breezy melodies and Beach Boys harmonies, and love of classic rock forms made for great songs like "Weekend," "Cars and Girls," and "Next Big Thing." But it was "secret weapon" Handsome Dick Manitoba who was the heart and soul of the band. He began with the band as a roadie and hanger-on (even being featured on their first album cover), but he was such a character that they let him front the band, even though he could barely sing. On-stage, he was a charismatic blend of ringleader, showman and pro-wrestler. The band went through other changes by the time of "Manifest Destiny," their loving send-up of hard rock. New bassist Mark "The Animal" Mendoza let Shernoff switch to keyboards and also gave the band a Blue Oyster Cultish menacing edge. Scott "Top Ten" Kempner and Richie Teeter were given more vocal highlights. Most of all, the band's sound metamorphosed from a 60's hard rock into a late 70's metal roar. Songs like "Science Gone Too Far," "Young, Fast and Scientific," and "Two Tub Man" still had the lyrical smart-alecky quality that was a signature of the band, but it was now welded to a full-on metal assault. Their next album, "Bloodbrothers" was a testament to the tightness of the band, and moderated their sound a bit. After their break-up, they began a career of annual reunion concerts documented on albums like "Beat the Meatles" and "Fuck 'Em If They Can't Take a Joke," which upheld their reputation for audience good times, tight musicianship, tom-foolery and smart-assness, and great songs played with gusto.
Wall of Voodoo
Most folks only know them, if at all, through their novelty radio hit "Mexican Radio." And though the song accurately captures the band musically, it still doesn't quite get across the weirdness that is this band's stock in trade. Beginning from a film-scoring company, one day they were listening to a playback of some of their music when someone pointed out how it sounded like Phil Spector's "wall of sound." Someone else said, "No, it sounds like a wall of voodoo." And a band was born. Lyricist Stan Ridgway always had a cock-eyed view of the world, with a writer's heart, and a voice that unavoidably dripped ironic sarcasm. The music is very hard to describe. Sergio Morricone-inspired guitars, creepy synthsizers, machine-based percussion (They had no drummer, per se, but someone who turned on a 60's-era, tube-driven drum machine and banged on the array of cymbal-trees and other devices surrounding him. He was as precise as the rest of their music, but sounded like no other "drummer" in rock.), film-score-influenced songwriting, and a lazy, robotic swing all added up to a one-of-a-kind sound. Their first album, or "Dark Continent," their second, are the best. Personal favorite songs: "Two Minutes 'Til Lunch," "The Passenger," "Tomorrow," "Back in Flesh."
(Soon come: Ultravox, Catherine Wheel, Urban Verbs)
