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(Virgin, 1979)Semi-refining the glacial toy-store give-a-shitisms of “Summertime Blues,” the Flying Lizards continue their entertaining traipse into the novelty noise-fuckery cul-de-sac with yet another r’n’r remake. This one at least contains more “out” soundz guitar-/synth-wise, and the B is a suitably clanky dub version, but just how many deconstructionist covers do we actually need? Certainly not multiple albums worth… go ahead and pick out a Flying Lizards LP (or single!) at random, then sleep soundly knowing that you’ve heard all you’ll ever need to hear from these goofballs.
(Virgin, 1978)The Flying Lizards’ version of Cochran’s mass-mind standard “Summertime Blues” stutters and lurches in the opposite direction from Blue Cheer’s guitar-freakout blat-cover of same with no longing looks back. Total mechanized harshness with aggressively icy femme mumbling – rebellion is boring, so is the rawk formula by ’78. Kraftwerk and Bowie had worked at times in a roughly similar realm, but those guys had at least some finesse and grace on display in what they did… the Flying Lizards are clunky, clang-clang-clang industro-crud with about zero concessions made to HUMANITY and FEELING; “petulant minimalism,” sez an insightful sleevenote. B-side “All Guitars” (a group original) is similarly alien soundtrack/instro stuff, a more rudimentary Tubeway Army, mebbe. Interesting and unsettling all around. These folks ran in the same circles as fellow pop-destructocons Family Fodder, appropriately enough, and if you imagined the stripping of that band of all energy and emotion, you’re mentally moping in Lizard League, see. Picture = got.
(Virgin, 2001)These guys often have their biographical wagon hitched to the Brian Jonestown Massacre, since Peter Hayes was apparently a BJM member at some point. But while both bands are image-conscious leather-jacket types mining similar guitar-rock eras, Brian Jonestown at least had and has the strong material to back it all up. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, unfortunately, comes off as a bunch of lunkheaded (though rather likeably lunkheaded, I’ll admit) styloids more interested in being IN a rock band than actually being a GOOD rock band. It’s pretty paint-by-numbers: the vocals are JAMC cool, the dum-dum lyrics go for a vaguely druggy intensity, the guitars crunch when you expect them to crunch and swirl when you expect them to swirl. This 2x7” even contains a double-shot bid for soulful authenticity with “Down Here” – which, yes, features bluesy harmonica – and the sub-Spiritualized-isms of “Salvation” (“So Jesus left you lonely…”). I suppose BRMC was filling a void in the big so-called “garage revival” earlier this decade, standing in as the dangerous, psychedelically-inclined rawkers, and there’s no reason to begrudge them that; they’re not BAD, after all. The shtick is ultimately inoffensive, and it’s undeniable they do cause a toe to tap (“Love Burns”) or a head to nod (“Salvation”) every now and then, but could anyone actually love this band?
(Virgin, 1979)
