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(Scoop, 1983)
Is there really any point in coming down heavy on an obscure, budget-line Byrds hits EP released by a European subsidiary of Pickwick? I suppose this is a waste of precious internet space, but come on: four cover songs? And then both originals have McGuinn writing credits? Nothing by Gene Clark?! Argh! Well, give the compilers credit for presenting a broad overview of the band’s career, at least; there’s one song from Mr. Tambourine Man, one from Turn! Turn! Turn!, one from Younger Than Yesterday, one from The Notorious Byrd Brothers, one from the Dr. Byrds & Mr. Hyde sessions, and one from (Untitled). Also, even if the six picks aren’t representative of the Byrds’ BEST work, they do reveal the major facets of the group’s sound over the years, as there’s impossibly warm, beautiful folk rock (“Turn! Turn! Turn!”); a lean, jangly Dylan cover (“All I Really Want to Do”); a bloated, ridiculous Dylan cover (“Lay Lady Lay”); a melodic vocal showcase (“Goin’ Back”); nervous acid pop (“So You Want to Be a Rock ’N’ Roll Star”); and hokey country rock (“Chestnut Mare”). There’s obviously nothing awful on here – except for “Chestnut Mare,” maybe – but given the scattershot song selection, overemphasis on McGuinn, and abysmal sound quality, there’s no reason to bother with this thing. Just go ahead and spring for all of the studio LPs. Except for Sweetheart of the Rodeo, Byrdmaniax, and Farther Along. What with them stinking.
(Trance Syndicate, 1994)No surprises here. It sounds exactly like you’d expect a late-period Butthole Surfers cover of “Good King Wencenslaus” to sound: the massed voices, the squiggly/squealing guitars, the caveman percussion, the squelchy electronic breakdowns. The saving grace is the amusing blackout-drunk voiceover that takes over a minute or so into the song. “How come…there’s little…bugs out there…(hic)…having sex…a bunch of ’em are having sex and, and spending a lot of money…?” And so forth. Tee hee. No need to turn up your snoot at some honest, down-home sophomoric fun, especially when it’s being done in the name of Christmas cheer!On the B-side, the nonsensical lyrics of “The Lord is a Monkey” are delivered in an evil drawl, and the whole thing is a loose, repetitive, squawking, and distinctly unpleasant bit of bad-trip, shitkicking guitar-psych. It could stand to be a bit more interesting – never gets anywhere exciting – but given that the song was recycled on Electriclarryland in 1996, it’s fun to think how noxious it must have been to innocent “Pepper” fans the world over. Did I already say “tee hee”?While I’m on my high horse, please allow me to discuss a nice system I have for keeping track of multiple baseball games. I watch one on my laptop with the sound off (Red Sox), have a second on ESPN Gamecast on the computer (Rangers), put a third on the radio in my bedroom (Mets), and then there’s a fourth playing on the radio in my living room (Yankees). This way I can walk around my apartment and follow four games pretty much simultaneously. Your record might be OK, but did you ever follow four games simultaneously, Butthole Surfers?
(???, 198?)This is a mysterious record. In 1989, Killdozer released a 5x7” version of their For Ladies Only album on Touch & Go, catalog number TG-39. Attractive not only for its extravagant (and funny) packaging, that set is worth finding because it has an extra song – “Mr. Soul” – that doesn’t show up on the LP or CD. The 7” in question here was advertised on eBay last fall as a test pressing of one of the 45s from that edition, and I purchased it, hoping it’d be the disc with the bonus track. If it turned out to be one of the other discs, well, I’d just have a nifty Killdozer collectable and wouldn’t be too sad about that. It all seemed reasonable enough: First, the guy was selling many other Touch & Go test pressings from the same era. Second, it had the appearance of a legitimate test pressing – generic pressing-plant label (Electrosound Group) with a catalog number (TG-39) handwritten on it. So imagine my bafflement when I put this record on my turntable and had my ears caressed not by the sweet sounds of Killdozer but by the noisome nastiness of the Butthole Surfers. Whaaaa?!
Putting on my Sherlock cap, I did some research and eventually learned that the music on this was identical to the well-known “Texas Chainsaw Massacre” bootleg 45, meaning live versions of “Cherub” and “Come Together” from 1986 and 1985, respectively (thanks, internet!). Still, why the test labels and the Touch & Go catalog number? I suppose there are three possibilities here. (1) Touch & Go intended to release a live Butthole Surfers 7” as TG-39 but scrapped it after the test-press phase for some reason and reassigned the catalog number to For Ladies Only. (2) This is a test pressing for the bootleg, and the bootleggers chose the “TG” prefix as a joke. (3) Some copies of the actual bootleg look like this and I just bought a sleeveless one... although every copy I’ve seen has featured plain green labels. Does anyone have any info for me? Touch & Go ignored my polite inquiry, so here I sit, all a-blubber, dying to know the Truth. Won’t you help?
The music itself, I’m afraid, isn’t as interesting as the mystery (and, uh, is the mystery itself all that interesting??). “Cherub” is a fairly limp performance, hampered further by a lousy recording that flattens the drums and bass into a shapeless mass of low-end that dominates the track. Gibby is singing through the megaphone and doesn’t sound particularly engaged, nor does his voice blend well with the band’s playing. The whole thing’s sloppy, and not in an entertaining or exciting way. Zzzz. The snares do crunch more on “Come Together,” which sticks pretty close to the Beatles’ original when it isn’t blasting off into frantic bursts of guitar squall, but still… the ultimate impression this record leaves, even in its best moments, is, “Huh, guess I hadta be there.”
(Bulb, 1993)Layered guitar-avalanche plus some unsatisfying drum clatter kicks off this short single, an early anti-hit puked forth by Bulb Records (now available on the Bulb Singles #1 CD). There are some divebombing scud attacks on the B that blast us back to medieval times and said era’s aggressive anvil pounding + threat of violence… not that it really goes anywhere or builds to anything. Still, a reasonable amount of start-n-stop and open space on this one, as opposed to just going for the all-out assault, and it’s a mildly interesting (to be generous) change of pace. In the end, the black waves of shitnoise work well, but why don’t these bands give the percussion the same care and attention they give the amps and effects pedals? Ringo’s crying.
(Slumberland, 2000)My oh my, this fi is lo. Ha ha ha ha ha ha!! …Ha? Well it is! And that’s OK, because these three songs are rough mixes of the entire recorded output (1992) of Bright Coloured Lights. BCL consisted of two ex-members of Black Tambourine, plus a few folks from fellow Slumberlanders Lorelei. Perhaps predictably, given the presence of the lead vocalist (Pam Berry) and lead guitarist (Mike Schulman), this record indeed sounds an awful lot like fuzz-faves Black Tambourine: dark poprock with near-icy reverb-heavy girl vox wrapped in driving fuzz guitar, all of it underpinned by a no-frills rhythm section. You know what you’re getting into with this stuff, and if you like that kind of thing, you’re obv gonna love Bright Coloured Lights just fine. Some highlights: The doomy churchbell-style bass blasts giving the top-shelf “Count the Raindrops” a heavier feel than any other BCL or Black Tambourine songs. The vocals. The weird sawing guitar drone in the background of “Open Your Eyes.” Heck, all of the guitarwork on here is excellent. Just drop $3.50 on it and hear for yourself, moneybags.
(Limited Addition, 2003)There was a lot of action in the seven years between this and the group’s previous 7” in 1996: Five albums, two mini albums, four 12”s, two CD EPs, a few record labels, and a busload of band members hired and fired. The BJM seemed tired and directionless on its first post-TVT album, Bravery Repetition and Noise, and the poorly-attended shows I saw around that time had me wondering if the end was nigh. So maybe my expectations had been lowered, but I was genuinely excited by this single when it came out – seemed like a real comeback. And heck, it still sounds fantastic six years later, the music energized and carefully assembled. “Prozac vs. Heroin” is a moody, surprisingly stately mini-epic, its echo-y backing vocals and beautifully layered guitars giving it a denser, richer sound than most prior Brian Jonestown material. The B-side, “Nailing Honey to the Bee,” is even better, a return to the driving Between the Buttons-style rock of Give It Back!, but with tighter playing and more attention to loud-soft dynamics. One of their catchiest songs, and a decent approximation of the BJM’s live sound in those days. There’s a cutesy vinyl surprise here as well, as the B is a double groove that also features “The Pregnancy Test,” a gently spaced-out keyboard-loop instrumental quite different from the band’s usual attack. Really: a great single then, and a great single now – this lineup very much had it together, and the concerts and album (…And This is Our Music, which repeats “Prozac” and “The Pregnancy Test”) that followed were supremely enjoyable. Yeah, it fell apart soon after with the release of the Dig movie and Newcombe’s annoying descent into total onstage self-parody – not to mention a couple of sub-par records – but this is one of their best, and is as “must-hear” as anything in the group’s intimidatingly-large catalog.
(Stanton Park/Tangible, 1996)If you’ve ever read my unwritten autobiography, Forty Years of Beard, you know that the lone source of joy in my otherwise disappointing life is baseball. And sometimes that gets in the way of my listening to and writing about all these crazy records. Like last night, when I went out to Yankee Stadium to see the Blue Jays lose instead of staying in and reviewing the Brian Jonestown Massacre. Or right now, when I’m following the end of a crucial Padres-Dodgers game instead of giving my full attention to “Never Ever.” Oh, wait; the Dodgers just won. Good news, I guess. Excellent job by Hiroki Kuroda. Now, this BJM single is certainly no seven-inning, three-hit, one-earned-run performance (I knew you could do it, Hiroki), but it’s still mighty fine. Middle of the rotation stuff for sure, maybe better. It’s a minimal, Spacemen 3-esque primal psych-guitar workout on “Never Ever” (which was previously released in a far different version – I’m on the fence about whether or not to consider it the same song at all – under the name Acid in 1993); imagine “Heroin,” musically, if it never built to any climax. A lovely womblike atmosphere. Very warm-sounding. “Feelers” is lo-fi raga-rock, moaning vocals and sitar giving it the oomph it needs to come off a success instead of just a silly toe-dip into mystical trippiness. Even if neither song is especially tight or brilliantly constructed, this record creates the most consistently satisfying and overtly psychedelic mood of any Brian Jonestown single, and I’m tempted to consider it more Tim Hudson than Jamie Moyer.You collectors in the crowd should know that “Never Ever” is included on the CD version of Spacegirl, and “Feelers” is on Their Satanic Majesties’ Second Request (in an extended alternate version; I actually prefer the single, which has a great droning keyboard part that isn’t present on the LP), so don’t sweat it too hard if you can’t find the 7”. Instead, sweat the fact that Kaz Matsui is on the disabled list with an anal fissure. Have you heard about life? It’s not so fair.
(Candy Floss/Tangible, 1995)Hey, here it is! The big fruggin’ leap forward! The Brian Jonestown Massacre that some of the world sorta knows and maybe kinda loves! That cannily copped Stones-y menace really shows up here on “Cold to the Touch” for the first time in the sleazy, breathy vocals and dirty, trebly guitar. Plus Joel Gion’s famously-hot tambourine slappy-slap! It’s the sort of ragged, psych-tinged r’n’r that has remained the BJM’s bread and butter for over a decade, and heck, they had it perfected from the get-go. The even-more-wonderful “Anemone” has femme-vox and successfully goes for a groovy, hypnotic, head-nodding effect as opposed to the stoned rockin’ of “Cold…,” but it’s clearly from the same backwards-lookin’ brainspace as the A and makes for a nice flip. So yeah, this is a single that pretty much kicks your pants down the street bigtime, EXCEPT!!!! EXCEPT!!!! EXCEPT!!!! Except both songs appear in almost identical versions on Their Satanic Majesties’ Second Request (“Anemone” is slightly different)! Which means that this pre-album taster surely got millions of wallets ready to spend back in those sexy days of 1995, but it’s kinda, uh, pointless now. Just buy the LP.…or buy my 7” for BIG BUXxX on eBay. Come on, friend!
(Candy Floss/Tangible, 1994)It’s back to that dense shoegazey sound on “Hide & Seek,” this time with more fast-paced dreamrock action than we’ve heard previously. Great tom-heavy drumming and feedback-laced guitar, and, finally, there’s appropriate emphasis on the vocals. With that catchy lead-gtr part and vocal line, “Hide & Seek” is among the best of the early BJM songs, and you can count your lucky whatevers that it’s now widely available in HOT-POOP fidelity on the CD reissue of Spacegirl and Other Favorites, though that seems to be a radically different (and inferior!) mix – if not a totally different take. Gimme the CD’s clarity and the single’s mix... who can do that for me? WHO?Next up is a live recording of “Methodrone” (NOT included on the Methodrone album; go figger), a song that has a lot in common with the era’s crop of blissed-out spacerockers in its delicate, guitars-only beginning that eventually builds to a pounding, repetitive, fuzz-laden climax. There is, however, a humorous, mood-puncturing curveball at the end as the whole thing dissolves into lounge piano – well done. Top-notch single overall, and the first hands-down winner of a disc in the BJM catalog. Hard to find a copy these days, but you could do worse than paying a few extra bucks to have one of these handy.
(Bomp/Tangible, 1993)Unlike the early-’90s Britishisms of the band’s first single, the snaky guitars and rhythms of “Convertible” hint at an Eastern influence, something that was to become far more prominent on later records as Newcombe refined his technique and expanded his arsenal of instruments. Here, however, we have mid-’90s Brian Jonestown Massacre in embryonic form, releasing what sounds like a rough run-through for a demo, its fine vocal unfortunately buried. The song is similar in feel to the Acid 45 that was included in the same 6x7” set (“The Tangible Box”), and, as with that single, “Convertible” opens with a silent lockgroove cut into the vinyl. On the other side, “Their Satanic Majesties 2nd Request (Enrique’s Dream)” is a druggy guitar-effects collage with samples of a hellfire preacher laid atop it. Entertaining to hear once, but it’s mostly of interest for lending its title to a BJM album three years down the road.Bomp used to sell “Convertible” both individually and as part of the complete set, and around 2002 or 2003, as stock dwindled, they were hawking copies signed by Anton Newcombe.
(Bomp/Tangible, 1992)The debut single from a very young Brian Jonestown Massacre. Like Ride and early Blur, this record sees the BJM working at the intersection of shoegaze and pop, particularly on “She Made Me” (which is also titled “She Moves Me” on the label): the shimmering waves of guitar are present, but there’s a standard verse-chorus-verse structure and a definite emphasis on the beat, as the borderline-baggy drums are right up front in the mix – the slower, less percussive recording heard on the Methodrone album is comparatively lifeless. “Evergreen,” which also shows up on Methodrone in more polished, finished-sounding form, is looser, spaced-out psychedelia that gets lost in its own echo-laden dreaminess and simply doesn’t have the A-side’s kick... stick with the LP version of this one. It’s interesting – and a little surprising – to hear these early Brian Jonestown songs, where the music is driven by atmosphere rather than attitude, and the lyrics and frontman are of little or no importance. Interesting, yes, but not necessarily better, as this style doesn’t seem as well suited to Newcombe’s songwriting strengths or his undeniable talent for loudmouthed rabble-rousing. Still, it’s a pleasant genre exercise, and a successful enough imitation of then-current British styles.
(Homestead, 1992)As far as punk primitivism, it doesn’t get much primitive-er than this. It’s disjointed, tentative, and skeletal, with an energy level a notch above comatose. The gal on vox sounds bored outta her very skull, and the rest of the band – drums + guitar – generally sounds like it’d rather be somewhere else. Anywhere. Watching TV or sumpin, dunno. Strange… the brain can easily hear what these songs would sound like in the hands of a zillion other groups, but Bratmobile makes them distinctive by stripping the music down to the most basic elements – just the notes themselves, really – and ignoring frills like dynamics and overdubs and anything even resembling rock/punk posturing. The disc is aggressive in its amateurishness, and, while nothing spectacular, is still oddly appealing for it.
(Touch & Go, 1995)Time for bitterness! Piece of shit trust-fund junkie named Jeff who I used to know in New Haven considered these guys his all-time faves. I’ll be fair here, even though that should be three strikes right there (hope those trackmarks are gangrenous by now, Jeff!). “Go Freaks Go” is mathy electro screech, flirts with being dancetastic but never gets there… dudes are paving the way stylistically for !!!, I suppose, just with less funk (in the drums for sure) and less instrumental finesse. It’s all about tension rather than release with Brainiac, and it’s hard to buy the action they’re selling; never BLOWS UP like it oughta, and there’s the nagging sense that you could give any group of bored hardcore kids a synth and eventually hear them churn out something of equal/greater merit. The B is a wavery, watery, percussion-less piece called “Silver Iodine” that simply floats past without distinguishing itself beyond its effects-pedal navelgaze. Much like spinoff group Enon, Brainiac has measure-long flashes of genius but never delivers on its own promise in the long run. Shrug shrug shrug and a-rooty-toot-toot.
(Impresario, 2001)Brain Donor is, of all things, Julian Cope and two members of Spiritualized fusing the whole of their hard-rock and heavy metal influences into a single beast. Double-necked guitars, full makeup, platform boots, picture discs… nothing halfway about it. It’s a curveball coming from these guys, but still, when the musical game plan is laid out on paper, it all sounds like it should be so, so right – Cope is a smart feller with notoriously good taste, the band members know their stuff, and I too love the early heroes of guitar trash (although, and this isn’t going to win me any friends, I am in fact a Creatures of the Night man when it comes to Kiss). The bigger shock might be that the whole thing actually comes together so well on record. This is fun, dirty r’n’r, no fucking around. “She Saw Me Coming” is an amphetamine kick, a convincing approximation of late-period Stooges, totally mean and streamlined, with Cope doing his best Iggy. The dual-channel solos show more technical precision than any Stooge, but the flash adds excitement rather than flab. On the other side, there’s a stoner feel to the rolling “Shaman U.F.O.,” and here the strained vocals are a minor nuisance in what would otherwise be a fine acid-stomp instrumental. Any small complaints aside, though, none of this record feels forced or faked; it’s just rough and raw sleaze rawk done the way it should be. Brain Donor could have – should have? – been an embarrassing bellyflop, but on this first single, at least, they have it down cold.
(Slumberland, 1993)Interesting dynamic at play on this Boyracer single. Even if the vocals are pure indieboy (swinging from twee to punky snottiness), there’s some real crunch in the guitars and drums. All in all not terribly dissimilar to labelmates Black Tambourine, but these five short songs are tighter and more pissed than those happy noisepopsters… call it shoegaze as played by a misanthropic hard-rock garage band, perhaps??
(A&M, 1969)Oh, this is rich. A song arguing for what would be, in 1971, the Twenty-sixth Amendment, “L.U.V.” demands that the United States LET US VOTE. “Us” being, of course, those under 21… presumably the bulk of Boyce & Hart’s audience. Increasingly “with-it,” the duo was trying to tap into the times by recording a would-be musical rallying cry for all those folks who were young enough to be drafted and who were also quite reasonably asking for the right to vote. The single stiffed at the time, and, almost 40 years later, this clunker is hopelessly campy, from the sleeve’s clearly staged “L.U.V. rally” photos, to its starry-eyed lyrics (“A way to change things peacefully / And live together in harmony”), to its patriotic drums-n-fife intro. The thematically-fitting sapfest “I Wanna Be Free” – a hit in 1966 for the Monkees – even gets resurrected for the B-side. Overall, an amusing time capsule, little more. And hey: You guys supposedly “won” in 1971, so why did you promptly screw it all up and let Nixon get installed for a second term in ’72? Nice work, youth of America. Gimme McGovern!
(A&M, 1968)“We’re All Going to the Same Place” is a good example of the socially-aware bubblegum that makes Boyce & Hart’s third record, It’s All Happening On the Inside, such an odd listen. On its face, such an idea is an interesting and admirable one, even if there isn’t much deep thinking in evidence (“We’re all going to the same place / We’re running together in the same race / Only positive / Nothing negative”). It’s also helpful that the duo largely remembers the importance of writing a catchy, intricate single, this time featuring an ominous arrangement of pounding percussion and ticking-clock piano-bashing before the more upbeat choruses’ pleas for togetherness. Vocals remain a strength, the lead displaying more dramatic urgency than any prior Boyce & Hart 45. So what’s wrong? Simply put, the message-driven seriousness of the lyrics and arrangement drain the song of the sheer fun that makes the best B&H records so effective. It’s catchy, yes, but it’s also sort of a drag, feeling forced in its relative weightiness. I’ll give it an A for effort, a B- for execution.Exciting note: My copy happens to be a promo, so it includes the title song on both sides. The standard commercial version has “Six + Six” on the B, a non-album track that shows up on Rev-Ola’s recent best-of compilation.
(A&M, 1967)Heya sucker. SHIT. I’m in a lousy mood and wanted bigtime to dump on this record for kicks, but dammit it’s a definite GOOD’UN and I am thus unable. Goshdarn Boyce & Hart. Argh! You’ve wholly thwarted my crapmood, doodz. “Sometimes She’s a Little Girl” is dominated by admittedly awesome mid-period Beatle-esque guitar pickin’ and is a shoulda-been Monkees’ hit (shades of “Last Train to Clarksville”). Uncharacteristically, the chorus turns sappy instead of rockin’, but it’s a fine reversal for these savvy smartfucks and even ends in an orgy of strings. And “Love Every Day”?! A delicate, safely psychedelic ballad – melodicism up the arse – with wavery, almost-falsetto choruses… what kind of JERK would hate on this one?? Not this jerk, no sir! There’s even some rhythmic triplet fun ala “Strutter” that further boosts the quality-meter. Both songs rule rump through the night, and I’ll hear no argument from the wealthy, internet-using cashew gallery. WHY ALWAYS SO GOOD AND SO CLEVER, BOYCE N HART? WHY?! Look no further for your uberpoppers, people. A paragraph later, my mood is fixed; this record sorta rules.
(A&M, 1967)Fresh back from a weeklong fact-finding mission to the West coast, and I’m happy to report that the trip was a success, as I did indeed find many facts. Even at this distance I can hear your eyebrows arching in a questioning manner, so let me present a sampling that will prove my investigatory prowess. FACT: You can assemble a strong Moody Blues collection for under $10. FACT: People in San Francisco wear what seem to be fashionable hats. FACT: Gothy drag queens do not always provide funny commentary to Death Wish 3. FACT: Third-story house-fires spread horizontally (to the third floors of adjacent buildings) rather than downward. FACT: Sometimes passersby without warning punch a bacon-wrapped hot dog that you’re holding for another member of your party. See? Those are just five of the many, many truths that I gathered over the course of my research on that crazy side of the country, and I’m sure we’ll discuss those and more at great length in the weeks to come, so “stay tuned,” as they say. Right now, however, it’s time to have a frank one-on-one about Boyce & Hart, two guys I first became aware of while watching a Bewitched rerun on a high-school sick-day years ago. The episode in question is cornier than the corniest corn you’ve ever shucked, but it led me to a song – “I Wonder What She’s Doing Tonight” – that I’ll forever swear is one of the best bubblegum-pop records of all time. Unforgettable. Perfect, even. And while I can’t look the internet in the eye and claim that they ever bettered that masterpiece, there are more than enough goodies in their discography to warrant a little digging: not only did Boyce & Hart write many of the Monkees’ best hits, they also put out a handful of gold-medal singles and a few fun-timey albums (except that last one, which has all the “serious” material on it). Take this single, for example. Cocksure, bass-driven verses build to peppier shouted choruses (“Out and about!!”) after a thumping drum bridge that’d do those badasses the Dave Clark Five proud. The arrangement is near genius, with those tension-building bursts of rhythm guitar, layered backing vocals, and sawing violins all surfacing, reappearing, and overlapping in the most effective ways possible in order to deliver a simple message of teen boredom and freedom. Turning the record over, “My Little Chickadee” is the sort of drippy, Tin Pan Alley goofiness that Davy Jones would warble on a Monkee album, but it at least displays a certain level of jokey self-awareness in its Jimmy Durante-style spoken bits. Still, forget about it; “Out and About” is king here, and it’s solid evidence of these guys’ brilliance. Pop fans oughta hear ’em or be sorry. FACT!
(EMI, 1984)Awful. AWFUL. Like Let’s Dance, but worse. Not only is a shockingly complacent Bowie sticking with that sterile saxes-n-synths sound, his pop songwriting has also seriously nosedived on the wannabe-hit “Blue Jean”; when a braindead failure like this is your album’s lead single, there’s trouble afoot. “Dancing With the Big Boys” sinks even lower, with nadir-scraping lyrics and jaw-dropping bloat (female backing vocals? Silly “deep voice” effect?! STOP IT PLEASE.). This stuff is so forgettable and without merit that it manages to defy lengthy comment. Grasping for very, very small comforts, at least we can be happy that the drums on “Blue Jean” sound halfway natural. Uh… congrats?
(Scoop, 1983)
