Gaslight Anthem, The ‘59 Sound (OneSideDummy, 2008)

By SoDak

Thoughts of death are often on my mind. They have been since I was a very young child. As a result, I am obsessed with time and try to make the most of each day. Of course, I often fail, given the grind of daily life, mounting responsibilities, and ever proliferating distractions. I readily realize the ways that I fall short as a husband, friend, and human being. It is all too apparent how quickly life passes. I love this constant tension, as it is part of what motivates me to share so much time with loved ones. It is central to getting on with life, creating history and new memories. It is part of what has influenced decisions regarding work and where I live.

Music has been a constant presence, woven with the aforementioned thoughts and relationships. I spend countless hours listening to music. Perhaps this is a waste of time; however, music primarily enriches my life. It stimulates memories and stirs up emotions. I marvel at musical abilities, appreciate the words, and love stories. Music keeps questions regarding time at the forefront of my concerns. Every now and then, a record does all of these things at the same time. For me, Gaslight Anthem’s The ’59 Sound does just this. And quite frankly, I need to hear this record on a regular basis. It is filled with accounts of people who are struggling, who are striving to accomplish their dreams, who make poor decisions, and who are heartbroken. There are plenty of references to Bruce Springsteen throughout the record, as folks strive to forge meaningful lives despite the odds that are against them. Gaslight Anthem are a pure rock’n’roll band. They have a punk rock swagger and drive that amps up the ‘70s rock and ‘80s college radio influences.

This record, given the music and lyrics, makes me feel like I am teenager again. I imagine dancing under the moon, as the music envelops me, spinning me around and around, as I howl in delight. I throw my arms around a girlfriend, squeezing her tight until the song ends. I remember countless nights hanging out at concerts and in parking lots, exchanging tales with friends. We wanted nights to never end. Romanticism and realism are mixed on this record. Hope and disappointment coexist, making each day significant. Smiles and tears are part of creating meaning. This point is exemplified on the song, “The ’59 Sound,” which reflects on the awareness that death is ever present and the loss of a dear friend who died too young. This song seems to yell that we better make life count.

The ’59 Sound overwhelms me emotionally. When listening to it alone, I often weep. I am not even sure where all the heaviness comes from, but I appreciate that the songs fill me with such intense feelings. When my wife and I listen to the record, I love watching her rock out to the songs, as she dances around the house, playing air drums and singing the lyrics. I treasure all of these moments and want them to last longer, so I let the record play another time.

Koko Taylor, From the Heart of a Woman (Alligator, 1989)

By Kloghole

Here’s a question for all you fuckin’ taint ticklers out there: who is your favorite vocalist? Who can really move you with their voice? I am not sure where you think I am going with this, but I have to say my absolute favorite voice out there is Koko Taylor. If you have never heard “Wang Dang Doodle,” do yourself a favor and google that motherfucker. If you don’t dig it, you are an absolute fucking jackass.

Over the past few years, my intolerance of intolerance has gotten me into quite the pickle. I work with an absolute fucking, pussy (as in infected wound) cunt (and I do not throw that term around lightly - I fucking hate it’s dehumanizing sexism, but it communicates the depth of this person’s bigotry). She has referred to one of our students as “the sick one” because she has an ongoing health problem. She told a student with disabilities, “Stop doing that. You’re creeping me out!” in a Mental Health course. In a search committee meeting, she joked, “if we cannot pronounce their names, we should throw them out of the pool.” My friend told me that she cautioned him not to hang out with the black people on campus. Her Latin American racial hierarchy brand of racism speaks loud and clear in her words and action. Not to limit her unethical behavior to bigotry, she claimed credit for a course I created in order to pad her promotion case.

You probably have two thoughts going through your head right now. Wow, what a fucking useless piece of shit, and what the fuck does this have to do with Koko Taylor? I’m getting there, just keep your fucking pants on — or not, this is Tickle Your Taint, you know. This fucking pussy cunt is good friends with people who make the decisions in our department and people in the administration. She is so tight with the powers that be that when she dumped her assistant for having a baby (illegal, by the way), it was chalked up to “cultural differences.” The fucking shit-stain shouldn’t be teaching in a subway toilet, let alone an institute of higher learning. Well, when you bring to light the actions of this individual as well as others (apparently, it is ok to make shit up to eliminate people of color from a hiring search), the folks in positions of power do not like being outed for their racism, sexism, and ableism. I have since been the target of a systematic program of harassment and retaliation - part of the reason my contributions have been pretty slim lately.

I have had more than my share of bad days over the past few years. Now, I understand that “bad days” is relative (during this period, my brother’s house burned down - see my October 2013 Lynyrd Skynyrd review, and one of my colleagues, lost his wife to a car accident), but each attack and bullshit racist incident is like a fucking punt to the gonads. So, I was in one of those moods as a result of the crap going on, but I made one of my increasingly rare stops at the record shop. Koko Taylor tends to be an exceptional find at most record stores in my area. The blues section is limited to B.B. King and Stevie Ray Vaughan. I happened across a Koko Taylor cd I did not recognize, From the Heart of a Woman. The first song kicked off as we left the parking lot. It took a few beats for me to ratchet up the volume on the stereo. Mmm, mmm, mmm. Mother fucker.

“Something Strange is Going On” does not have any direct connection to my own experience, but that first howl just sends shivers down my spine. The beat and the intensity of that voice just resonated with the anger and disgust I was feeling for the way things were going down. Koko was fucking killing it. Funky as shit. “I never heard a whispering cat.... I am going to play big bad bulldog, catch that two-legged cat.” Son-of-a-bitch. It has been a while since I played a song over and over and over and over again. This was one of those. Fuck yea, Koko. Kill that mother fucker.

What really troubles me about Koko Taylor is that fact that she has so few albums over her career, and she seems so under-appreciated. She really should be as well known as B.B., Muddy, Howling, or John Lee. I would understand it if she had a lackluster band backing her, or she only really delivered on one or two songs on her albums. Not the case at all. Her band fits her raucous style. From the Heart of a Woman is pretty indicative of her range. Her songs are heartfelt ballads and boogie woogie attacks on your booty. She inserts her visceral vocal rattle at that crucial emotional moment in the song. I listen to a Koko album, and I am ready to conquer the world. All the shit I have had to endure during the week transforms from shotgun-sucking depression to fuel for a fire-breathing assault on the powers that be.

From the Heart of a Woman is a foot-tappin,’ finger snappin’ mother fucker. I am not sure if it is her best album overall, but my head is shaking to the time of “It Took a Long Time.” I need to get to bed so that I can get my ass up tomorrow morning, but Koko made me run back to the fridge for a beer to enjoy just a little more of her wailing, bluesy goodness.

All the shit going down has really fucked with my shit. I sat in my kitchen with a friend of mine trying to explain to him that he was not going to get hired by my department, not because he was not qualified, but because he was too good at mentoring students, especially students of color. He questioned his own ability. This is someone who I recognize as, easily, a better teacher and communicator than myself, and I am known campus-wide for my courses (humility is not my strong suit). He was recognized in a year what took me half a decade to develop as a reputation. The fact that these racist fucks, from useless fucking faculty who hand out grades with whoopie-cushion content to administrators promoted above their level of incompetence, make this superior teacher question himself makes me physically ill.

Each injustice and bullshit “ism” have moved me from general thoughts of suicide to concrete contemplations of the least traumatic ways to leave my body for those who will find it. The best I have felt recently was in a dream where I was handed a gas mask that would dispense a life-ending gas. I breathed heavily as a feeling a peace washed over me. I can’t even explain how exquisite this feeling was. It would soon be over. All the shit was behind me, and then I realized all the obligations that I had to others - what financial and other suffering would be imposed by my loss. I removed the mask, and the stress and angst returned as I was jolted awake from the dream.

Koko Taylor is a bit of defense against tide of ignorance and hate that is my workplace. We all have demons, some self-imposed and some from those around us. Music is the palliative against the worst vagaries of the brutality of our world. She delivers a blues that, instead of sinking in self-wallowing pity, is a punch in the throat against the barriers that are thrown in our way. A recent fortune cookie advised, “Fall down seven times, get up eight.” This review is for all you mother fuckers who have gotten up eight, nine, ten, fifteen, twenty, two hundred fuckin’ times. Keep getting up. If you have some trouble, put in some Koko Taylor. I will try to get up right along side you.

Koko’s From the Heart of a Woman gets three sweet sticky balls.

Sweet dreams mother fuckers,
Kloghole

PEARS, Go To Prison LP

By Beert

*Note: This album is played on 45, not 33. Although, Go To Prison is pretty heavy when you play it at 33.3 rpm.

I had heard this band before. This LP was put out by the Anxious and Angry podcast, and Pears are played with some regularity. So, in my mind, I had an idea of what to expect, if you consider listening to a podcast through cheap earbuds while a letter-sorting machine is roaring at you at 3am as a form of hearing this band.

The first song, “You’re Boring,” is blazing. I hate to compare bands to other bands, but I can hear a mix of Behead The Prophet No Lord Shall Live with some of NoMeansNo’s kookier off-tempo-ness, and a big hit of Propagandhi. “You’re Boring” is a good blend and unexpected. But, before you know it, you’re moving on to the second song, “Victim To Be,” which is very anthemic. I can see huge circle pits during this song. Fast verses and sing-along-choruses. While “You’re Boring” screams by at under a minute, “Victim To Be” stretches out to about two and a half minutes. It is enough to make you like the song, but not too long so you wish it was over. The speed, energy, and changes keep rolling throughout Go To Prison.

The song, “Terrible,” on side two, is a mix of screaming from the throat and then a quick turn into a melody. It is akin to the old cartoons when a plane is doing a nosedive out of control, and the airbrake lever is pulled which stops the plane in midair. It is fulfilling. Also on side two is a fun cover of “Judy Is A Punk” by the Ramones. I love when bands cover songs, but make it their own. This isn’t the best cover of this song, by any means, but it is enjoyable. “Grime Spree,” the song that finishes off Go To Prison, has me conflicted. It’s an okay song, but doesn’t seem to be a song that should end this album. Yet, the final line, “I Want To Lie Down,” and the way that the music has slowed to almost a sludge/doom sound make that the perfect way to end it.

This album lets you know that this band will come straight at you, right from the start. Pears’s style is a mix of many good elements—fast, screamy punk, with some off-tempo bits thrown in, and some decent singing. Pears come across as a modernized version of 1980s punk and hardcore. They have the same intensity and emotion, and the music is an updated sound that retains the razor’s edge that was 80s hardcore. This is one of the few, current punk bands that I enjoy. So many bands are filtered into so many sub-genres, while Pears is just a furious punk band. They take me back to the days when I could circle pit without losing my breath after one time around. The lyrics are well written. They are teeming with references to inner-self issues. But the writer is also self-aware enough to recognize emotion and conflict within. They are able to bring this out in a somewhat goofy way, while being reflective and sincere at the same time. The record makes you smile and feel compassionate at the same time.

It is a rare occurrence to find a band that is able to capture their live energy in a recording. And, I have never had the opportunity to see Pears, but Go To Prison has captured that presence and makes me want to see them.

Do I recommend Go To Prison? Definitely.

Would I see Pears live, if given the chance? Hell Yes.

An ideal pairing (pearing?) for a live show? I would love to see Pears and The Fleshies on the same bill.

Cheers!

Second pressing of this vinyl is available at www.anxiousandangry.com/products.

ROMERO, Take The Potion (Grindcore Karaoke Records)

By Beert

Disclaimer: I was way into this band prior to this album coming out. I had the privilege of playing a show with them in a small venue in my hometown, and drooled incessantly for this release to come out. The record will be 2 years old this year, but it is a vital part of my collection.

Romero plays a heavy/doom/stoner style of music, if it must be classified. Not only did I know I was going to enjoy this record from hearing their previous 7-inch release Solitaire (Triceratrax Records), but upon pulling the beautiful red vinyl from the album sleeve, it was encased in a black inner sleeve. This individuality was truly appreciated—no white inner sleeve like everyone else. This was going to be something special. And I wasn’t disappointed.

Right from the start of “Compliments & Cocktails,” you can’t help but start to bang your head, and feel butterflies in your stomach. The music starts a little fast and chaotic, and settles into some super catchy riffage. The tribal drums only add to this. And the vocals aren’t the typical guttural growling/screaming associated with this style of music. Jeff Mundt can sing. And his voice fits so well over the guitars and drums, it comes across as almost another instrument in the band. Not to disappoint, drummer Ben Brooks adds a deeper, gruffer vocal style, which fits together with Mundt’s singing.

The album continues on with so many hooks and catches, you can’t help but to immerse yourself in it. “Couch Lock,” the second song, starts off mellow, bringing your heart rate to a reasonable pace. It slowly builds into a heavy fucking song. Both vocalists screaming over each other, the music pummels you into loving this. “Couch Lock” then brings a well-tempoed guitar barrage that leads into one of the biggest hooks on the album.

Heavier and heavier as it moves, without resorting to super sludginess or extreme repetitiveness, Take The Potion should have you fully embraced and unaware of anything other than the music.

“Wheeling Dervish,” on side 2, has a nice psychedelic interlude, and then rebuilds into a monolith of audio. Definitely not taking away from the break in the marching of the monster that Romero brings, the slower and lighter breaks mid-song bring you back to the surface of your senses for a moment before you are once again immersed into heavy guitars and a rhythm section that drives you like a cruel boss heading up a prison chain-gang…yet you still beg for it.

Finishing up with “In The Heather” is brilliant. Again, heavy hooks abound. Like a rock ‘n’ roll meat locker. The vocal “Whoas” belted out by Mundt add what you didn’t know was missing. The song would be great without them, but once you hear them, “In The Heather” cannot exist without it.

This album continues to provide great songwriting and heart as it carries on. The layers that are built, song to song, are incredible. All members of Romero are very talented masters of their craft. I really cannot list one issue with this album to complain about.

Upon completion of Romero’s Take The Potion, I feel like taking a road trip in a fully loaded semi—a modern day incarnation of Jerry Reed’s “Snowman” from Smokey & The Bandit, with a “come along for the ride or get the fuck out of my way” attitude. Romero should be the theme music for Galactus, wherever he roams to devour planets.

If you weren’t a Romero fan from the start, Take The Potion will lead you down the path of righteousness and you will appreciate the heavy.

Merchandise, including the album reviewed, can be purchased at:

www.romeroisloud.com

Animal R&R, Parallax (2014)

By Jimmy “Explosive Diarrhea” B.

I recently went to see a couple of local Portland bands, Satan Spelled Backwards and Animal R&R. During their set, Animal R&R, announced they had CDs available for a price, but hugs were free. I, a paying customer, waited around for a few minutes after their set for the Lutskovsky brothers (guitars and vocals) to finish hugging all the cheap non-CD buying fuckers, and obtained a couple CDs.

The first thing I noticed about Parallax is the CD’s production. It’s a little bright for my taste, but it is still impressively good. It may be a personal problem, but I generally think less of a band if they produce a good record with bad production. With modern technology, there is no reason for a CD to ever have muddy sound (unless it is some black metal wankers doing it on purpose – fuckers!). Sorry for the angry, Kloghole like digression, now back to Parallax.

If I had to choose a couple of bands with similar styles, I would look to El Ten Eleven and Caspian, but these are not perfect comparisons. The sound of Animal R&R is familiar, but not easy to classify; I hear shoegaze, postrock, and indie rock. The band themselves claim emo, and postrock as major influences. But the distinction isn’t important. What matters is that they do their thing, whatever it is, quite well. The musicianship is superb. I particularly like the drums, but I am partial to drummers and bass players (What Rush fan isn’t?).

I find the drumming on Parallax to be not only exemplary, but also very interesting. The drummer is in constant motion; he is hitting something, usually a cymbal, at all times – he reminds me of a jazz drummer. In other words, there is one drum fill after another. However this does not translate into fast tempo songs. The songs on Parallax range from slow to mid tempo (generally in the same song). I don’t mean slow like Sleep or Low, but they are slower than your typical rock song. Most of the tracks on Parallax have a traditional structure. There are three parts, a slowish introduction, the crescendo, and a slower coda. This structure makes the songs somewhat predictable, but it is also necessary to create the emotional vibe or mood the band is going for. Also, contributing to the vibe on Parallax is an abundance of minor chords. The band may switch back and forth between major and minor, but those depressing minor chords are ever present. The feeling brought forth on Parallax is emotional and haunting rather than depressing. This is introspective music.

I was impressed enough with Animal R&R to approach them after the Portland show to ask if they minded me reviewing Parallax, something I have never done before. I was impressed by their musicianship and of course their offer of free hugs

If you desire a CD, contact the band at animalr&rband@animalrr.com or, pick one up at a show in the Portland, Oregon area – be sure to get your free hug as well.

For you digital downloaders,  get your Animal R&R digital fix at http://animalrr.bandcamp.com/album/parallax.

Amy Grant, The Collection (1986)

From time to time, the taint ticklers like to experiment, to step outside our normal listening realm. Each of the reviewers agreed to review a religious record. What follows is the first of such reviews.

By Class Warrior

Gentle reader: I have never listened to this album before last month. I had few preconceptions about the quality of the music. While I have some strong opinions about Grant’s general lyrical topic of choice, I was willing to give it a chance.

Before we get to the actual music, there are a couple of things that intrigue me about Amy Grant. The biggest item is her large gay following. I confess that I don’t understand. Why would a group persecuted by conservative Christians be fans of one of the most visible and popular musicians from this sect? The music is nothing special (but more on that in a bit...), so I am not sure. Now that I think of it, a friend of mine from college was a fan. He was a much bigger follower of Elton John, so, when combined with other information I won’t describe here, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was gay but living in the closet. Well, I never claimed to be a genius.... Looking back on it, I realize now that he had a big ol’ thing for me. Unrequited love combined with severe depression and being gay in an unaccepting social structure can do rotten things to a person’s state of mind, so eventually I had to break off all contact with him to preserve my own sanity. His threats of suicide unless I agreed to spend some time with him got pretty old after a while. Ah, the melodramas of college life. I have much more sympathy for him now than I did at the time. I hope he’s doing well, wherever he may be. I’m glad I’m not twenty years old anymore, though.

The above is the first thing that enters my mind when I think of Amy Grant—or Elton John, for that matter.

The second intriguing aspect is that I can’t help comparing Grant’s music to that of her eighties contemporary, Madonna. I’ve been on a Madonna kick for the last couple of months (the early albums only—I do have some standards, minimal as they may be), so the comparison is easy to make. Here are the results of the comparison: Madonna blows Amy Grant out of the water in every single category one would care to measure. It is not close. Madonna has a better, more expressive voice with a much greater vocal range. She can sing low alto up to low soprano (don’t quote me on this), while Grant sticks to the middle octaves exclusively. Madonna’s songs are more memorable. The lyrics...well. Madonna’s lyrics are creative, at least. “Material Girl” is a disgusting bit of rhyme glorifying capitalist excess, but a) that’s lyrically the worst of the bunch; b) I would much rather listen to “Material Girl” than any of Amy Grant’s religious crap. I cannot say that Madonna’s music is objectively better than Grant’s—I’m willing to allow for taste—but it comes as close to being an objective fact as is possible, if that makes any sense. But you don’t have to take my word for it—listen to the Like a Virgin album, the album we’re discussing here, and see what you think. Or, better yet, skip Amy Grant....

On to Grant’s music!

The Collection begins with four of her (I assume) early attempts at mainstreaming her sound. They are straightforward eighties pop songs without any overt Christian sentiment. They are the most listenable songs on the album. Bland, inoffensive, tolerable, but nothing special. If this were the only style of music she had ever done, we would have all forgotten about her by now, much as we have consigned so many 1980s one-hit wonder bands to the dustbin (deservedly or not). There is absolutely nothing in these four songs that stands out. She would not have gotten the chance to put out the “Heart in Motion” album later with her big hit “Baby Baby.” (Now I have that damn song in my head! Curse everything! The only way I can drive out songs from my brain is to think of the most annoying tune ever, which is “Love Shack” by the B-52s.) These songs wouldn’t be acceptable as the soundtrack to a Huggies commercial because they’re just not memorable enough. There’s nothing for the baby piss to soak into, so to speak. It just ends up running down the infant’s leg (and taint), soaking the kid’s pajamas and getting the sheets all wet and stinky.

The Collection takes on a different tone from the fifth song until the end. Much like a fisher (of men) who has to “play” the fish before reeling it in, she tries to draw in the listener with pop songs, then shift to the Message when the moment is right. At this point Grant breaks out the bible (evangelical version—King James, right? [or King Jimmy “Explosive Diarrhea” B]) and gets down with Jesus. I can handle an occasional Christian-themed lyric, if it’s done well. Think Jimmy Cliff performing “The Harder They Come.” Cliff’s version of Christianity is something that I would be able to support—religious sentiment becomes a way to put social harm in perspective, to forgive transgressions, and to strive to change the world in positive ways. There is a long history of Christian work along these lines. The Catholic Worker movement is the first thing that pops into my mind, but it’s only one example. (Go read Dorothy Day’s autobiography The Long Loneliness and you’ll see what I mean. Seriously, read it.) There is nothing socially conscious about Grant’s songs—they’re all about establishing a personal relationship with the Savior and staying within that relationship. This is the most unproductive response to oppressive social conditions that I can imagine. Forget about all the shit going on and how it affects you. Never mind that capitalist industry is using up your planet, its creatures, and your neighbors like a vampiric inferno. Turn inward, turn to Jesass and the Lard, and you will secure your ticket to the good life for all eternity. Put aside the “vale of tears,” the harshness and cruelty of your world, and try to get by until you are Called. It’s certainly easier to take this approach, but if I may, I’d like to call you away from the church and back to the real world. We need you here in the struggle to make this place better, not with your head in the clouds (or, less charitably, up your ass).

I have a feeling that Grant owes most of her popularity to what she’s singing (and to her “wholesome” good looks, whatever that means), not how she sang it. Again, there is nothing to report as far as interesting music is concerned, regardless of whether it falls under the pop or Christian category. If she tried, from the beginning of her career, to make a go of it as a mainstream pop singer, I don’t think there’s any way she would have made it.

I wish I could say something positive about Amy Grant’s music. I was hoping that this album would end up being a guilty pleasure. It appears to me, though, that she is encouraging the most irresponsible sort of behavior possible. She is a propagandist peddling the worst kind of escapism to hordes of working-class people looking for an answer to why they feel so much pain. Not recommended on any level—not musically, and certainly not lyrically. You’re better off listening to just about anything else. If you want specifically Christian music (which would surprise the hell out of me, dear Tickle Your Taint devotee), you could dig up something much more meaningful and interesting, I’m sure.