By Null
“Is anybody listening? Testing, one, two, three.”—“Partners in Crime” by Social Distortion.
When I first laid eyes on the cover of the new Social Distortion record, I thought, “Well, it’s another Survivor’s Greatest Hits collection featuring ‘Eye of the Tiger.’”
Then, as the yellows and fluorescent pinks soaked into my retina, I realized that the cover looked like the logo for a new Jane Fonda line of athletic wear with the tagline: Ferocious Cougar—The Jane Fonda Collection.
I come from a time when album art was important, especially concerning punk rock. An album cover was a big part of the overall message. Inside were lyric sheets and info, a connection to other humans. I hate streaming music; I like to hold it in my hand. The cover of this album was different. Missing were the classic cars, leather jackets, 1950s pin-ups, tattoos, and alters built to old guitars, which have adorned Social D album art since their conversion to more mainstream and traditional rock ‘n’ roll following Mommy’s Little Monster and Prison Bound.
Something about this was new.
Social D is solid, like a rock. The nuances between albums are only evident to close listeners who have traveled the Social D road many times. These listeners know the terrain well. What rises above the surface and keeps fans coming back is, not only an emotional connection to the lyrics, but also the hooks and subtleties of textures. Thus, to have this for an album cover was not very subtle.
It was kind of exciting.
Despite emotional links to the past, I hadn’t been excited about listening to Social D in quite a while. This isn’t because they don’t mean anything to me anymore, or because their albums weren’t good. It was more a falling off due to general familiarity. Social D isn’t math rock. They are more about guitar tones and are a “light a cigarette, turn your back to the wind, while giving a despondent side-eye to the world at large” kind of band. They’re not Crass or the Dead Kennedys, but they have their place.
For me, they are the comfort food of punk rock. I mean, they are “punk rock” because of their history; but they are really a band emersed in traditional rock ‘n’ roll and country, in the most general way. When I put on Social D, I like that fact that I already know what I’m getting. That’s where the comfort comes in; I want catchy melodies with familiar tropes. I want guitar solos that are relatively simple and don’t stray from the melody. I want to know what’s going to happen next. Like a well-balanced Mozart, you can feel the change coming.
If Social D is boring, it’s because I’m not in the mood. I’ll grab a Miles Davis Quintet or Iron Maiden album instead. The problem isn’t Social D. It’s me.
Social D is nostalgic, sentimental, romantic, and traditional in the best ways. Consistently.
I put the needle on the new record, Born to Kill, and didn’t stop listening for a week. The first thing I hear is a beautifully distorted guitar bursting with manic energy. It was glorious. I was playing air guitar before any other instruments even kicked it. It’s pretty fuckin’ punk rock. The title track burns the house down. I knew this was going to be a great album.
I wasn’t wrong.
The album slows down a bit but is still filled with rock ‘n’ roll energy. Mike Ness pontificates about feeling trapped. He waxes poetically about times that used to be, and, in doing so, he sounds like an old man. With full self-awareness, I nostalgically agree with every word. Just because something is cliché, doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Allow me this sentimentality because I’m old enough that my parents and friends are dying.
The song “Tonight” is the most stereotypical Social D song on the album, but it also quickly became my favorite. My beloved Saint Bernard dog died suddenly right around the time I picked up this record. The song became my goodbye song to him. I did not see this coming. I listened to it on the way to work for the following two weeks after my dog’s death and shed a tear every single morning as the sun rose over the Rocky Mountains. This is what a typical Social D album can do. It provides time-tested songs to time-tested human emotions. I’m not the first guy in the world to lose a dog he loved, and this isn’t the first time Social D wrote a song that sounds like this one. It doesn’t matter. In the moment, it feels distinct and unique.
The album then takes a startling turn into a paint-by-numbers country song, “Crazy Dreamer.” At first, it comes off as a little boring, but it is no different than any classic, short Tammy Wynette or early Loretta Lynn song. It’s not actually boring, it’s just Social D having a fever dream at the Grand Ole Opry. It provides a nice segway to the second half of the album, an intermission, if you will. “Crazy Dreamer” also sets up the next song perfectly: a cover of Chris Issak’s “Wicked Game.”
Wait. What? I wasn’t sure what to think of this when I saw this song on the track list. It’s going to be awful. No, it is perfect. It’s the kind of song Mike Ness wishes to write. Luckily, the latter was on point. Social D does to Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Game” what Johnny Cash did to NIN’s “Hurt.” Social D owns it. It fits like a glove. For me, it is the official version of “Wicked Game.”
From here, the album just delivers one great song after another. It’s a damn near perfect record.
If you like Social D, you’ll love it. If you don’t like Social D, you’ll hate it. Social D are like the Ramones, Les Thugs, Neil Young and Crazy Horse, or even Oasis. They’re not here to reinvent the wheel. Love them or hate them, they are here for the four taps, a few tears, and a bit of connection and release. Mike Ness isn’t a sage or a revolutionary. He’s a guy who is trying to stay sober who ran out of places for new tattoos. Social D is a respite, but not an escape. That’s OK; we still have our Crucifucks and Conflict.
I became obsessed with this record, which brings us back to the cover. It’s perfect. The colors of the tiger really pop. They are vibrant with a touch 1980s ridiculousness. Ridiculous like a roller-skating rink in 1984 and, underneath, just as sad. The textures and guitar solos, in particular, pop out. Some are psychedelic, while some are dreamy. Some add tears and emotion, while others set the amps on fire. The album, Born to Kill, feels more colorful and alive than the Social D I remember. Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s because I watched a short video of Mike Ness talking about surviving cancer and feeling a new gratitude for the limited days we old fuckers have on Earth. I feel that. I can’t separate it from this album.
Speaking of the 1980s, I think Social Distortion should make a Trapper Keeper with this album cover on it. I’d get one to house the obituaries of my loved ones.
No comments:
Post a Comment