Samiam, Stowaway (Pure Noise, 2023)

By Null

I was never a fan of Samiam in the past, primarily because I was never really exposed to them. They simply fell under my radar. Years ago, SoDak, used to send me compilations that he put together. One of those CDs contained the Samiam song “Sunshine,” which is a perfect punk rock song. The lyrics were great and the music made me want to pogo out the fucking window. Around this time, I learned that several people I know loved Samiam. I picked up the album Astray, which opened with the track “Sunshine” and thought it was quite good, but it did not leave a lasting impression on me.

Over the next several years, I happened to see Samiam in concert many times with very enthusiastic friends. I thought they were a great live band and even enjoyed spending time talking with some band members after the shows. Over the years, I picked up a few more of their albums and enjoyed listening to them from time to time.

This year, Samiam released a new album Stowaway and everything changed for me. The record is an absolute barnburner. It has a wonderful emotional intensity, constant propulsion, and endless hooks. The lyrics hit me in the chest. The band still has their fairly subjective lyrical content, but something seemed different. It articulates many of my feeling about getting older, coming to terms with loss, and even the ever-present awareness of a changing global climate and the forthcoming shitstorm. 

The song, “Monterey Canyon” with its repeated refrain, “I leave my body there for you / No longer resisting the tide / And as I float away, I wonder why / I’m not afraid to say goodbye,” made me want to openly weep while at the same time jumping around my living room rockin’ the fuck out. I read in the album credits that a few members of the band had lost their fathers. This made me wonder if “Monterey Canyon” is about a father finally giving up his battle to live and finally letting go, or if it is the son that finally embraces his loving detachment to a cruel world and lets his father go. Either way, the same lesson is learned. One must just try to enjoy each day. Life is for the living, who one day will have to also let go. It seems that as I age, I experience the things I love slowly drifting away from me. It is the way of the world, and it is somehow condensed into these two minutes and forty-three seconds. This song is filled with exuberance and life, while the lyrics are a mediation on losing it. Brilliant.

The whole album seems to convey this feeling—from beginning to end.

Likewise, “Natural Disasters” places one’s daily life and circumstances in the midst of global climate change. The song’s chorus is about being stranded with the narrator, simple enough, but the verses describe the harrowing environmental reason it occurred: “It’s too late to leave now / We’ve waited too long / Firestorms and atmospheric rivers / Flood waters carry sewage and debris / A garbage dump right outside your doorstep / Have left you stranded here with me.” I have never experienced Samiam as an overtly political band, which is why it is so powerful when they articulate so well the cries have been ignored for decades, which are those of the poor, working-class, and average folks who will carry the burden, and the death toll, of global climate change.

It is great to hear a band like Samiam, who have been making records since 1990, release an album that feels so urgent, fresh, and timely. Do not underestimate these old guys. They bring a lot to the table, both musically and lyrically. They are singing the present.

Given how great Stowaway is, I started to wonder: Were Samiam always this good? Over that last several weeks, I have fallen in love with the albums Trips and Whatever’s Got You Down. At some point I will go back and revisit the albums I bought years ago. I have a feeling I may hear them differently now.

Revisiting the 80s

 By Jimmy “Explosive Diarrhea B”

Mrs. "Diarrhea B" was recently invited to a 1980s themed party. As someone who came of age in the 80s, I get annoyed by this kind of thing. Sure, the 80s were ridiculous with the big hair, shoulder pads, and music loaded to the brim with misogyny and cheese. This is the shit that people associate with the 80s, as if it was simply a lot of nothingness. It is important to note that there was a lot more. We went through every day wondering if this was the day that our senile president was going to push the button and erase humanity from the face of the planet. There was an increased push to deregulate; labor union power, which had been decreasing for decades, declined even further; the globalization of the economy reached new levels; and the change from high-paying manufacturing jobs to the service industry resulted in the further marginalization of the working class, and this trend began touching almost everyone by the end of the 80s. Oh, and let’s not forget about the death sentence known as AIDS. My friends and I drank to excess to deal with the shit of our quickly changing everyday lives. We needed rock and roll music, which the bands of the time attempted to give us. Ultimately, many of them sold their figurative souls to record power ballads, more on that below.

Nearly everyone, including people who lived through the decade of Reagan, like to make fun of 80s pseudo-metal. We call it butt-rock, butt-rawk, hair metal, glam metal, etc. All of these names are used for the same thing, and they have one common goal—to delegitimize the music of an era. I fully agree that much of it was garbage. But some of the bands that fall under this label were able to put out some good music before the major label record companies began molding the bands and their sound to make them all look and sound the same way. Below I submit a series of videos from YouTube to demonstrate my point. You may not like the music, but my hope is that you will recognize that many bands did not necessarily choose the path they took. The cheese-ball music we call hair metal is an invention of record label executives.

Ratt, "You Think You're Tough."

 

Great White, “Street Killer.”

 

220 Volt, “Firefall.”

 

Y&T, “Mean Streak.”

Mötley Crüe, “Too Fast for Love.”

 

Twisted Sister, “Under the Blade.”

 

Night Ranger, “Don’t Tell Me You Love Me.”

 

I completely understand why people make fun of things they think are ridiculous. When it comes to music, I struggle not to completely dismiss and giggle at hip hop, popular country music, rap, and recent pop. When I allow myself to have an open mind, I occasionally find something I appreciate. I urge you not to completely dismiss the 80s. The next time you tease your hair and don a denim shirt with shoulder pads on a party night, keep in mind that you are not representing the entirety of 80s culture or history.

 

The Death of Sinead O’Connor

 

By Null and SoDak

Not to be too dark, but we wondered how long Sinead O’Connor would be around following her seventeen-year-old son’s suicide in 2022. She was always quite open regarding her own health struggles. She battled deep and dark demons in front of the whole world, which was sad and tragic. This week, when the news of her death was shared, we welled up and shed some tears. 

The Lion and the Cobra (1987) was released when we were in high school. With every listen, chills would run up and down our bodies. Sinead had such a powerful and beautiful voice. She demanded attention. The full range of emotions were present on her albums. She was punk rock. Sinead had truckloads of courage in the face of lesser and more powerful entities. Famously, on Saturday Night Live, she torn up a picture of the pope in protest of the child abuse perpetuated and covered up by the Catholic Church. Her actions caused an uproar, as this issue was not being discussed in the news or by the public at the time. Shortly after this event, she attended a tribute concert to celebrate Bob Dylan. Upon being introduced, the weak-kneed reactionaries in the audience proceeded to boo her. Sinead stood there staring at the audience. Kris Kristofferson walked on stage telling her, “Don’t let the bastards get you down.” Rather than singing the planned Dylan song, Sinead had the volume turned up on the microphone, and she sang an a cappella version of Bob Marley’s “War.” She was defiant in the best possible way. Sinead was a comrade in arms. 

While we did not follow her entire career, both of us have many of her albums. These records are beautifully inspiring and absolutely heartbreaking—in particular, The Lion and the Cobra, I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got (1990), and Faith and Courage (2000). She recorded so many songs that bring tears to our eyes—“Jackie,” “Troy,” “The Last Day of Our Acquaintance,” and “Nothing Compares 2 U.” The list goes on and on. Her version of “Rebel Song” is incredibly moving. In “Black Boys on Mopeds,” she exposes the racism and hypocrisy of Margaret Thatcher and the British government. She sings:

England’s not the mythical land of Madame George and roses

It’s the home of police who kill black boys on mopeds

And I love my boy and that’s why I'm leaving

I don’t want him to be aware that there’s

Any such thing as grieving

Young mother down at Smithfield

Five a.m., looking for food for her kids

In her arms she holds three cold babies

And the first word that they learned was please. 

Sinead was a fucking warrior. She was tough as leather and tender as a flower. Sometimes the cruel world eats you up. In 1994, Sinead wrote a simple, direct song, called “Thank You for Hearing Me,” extending love and appreciation. We still need artists, human beings, like Sinead to stand in defiance against the bullies and fascists. At this point, we simply say thanks. 

Willi Carlisle, “Tulsa’s Last Magician”—A Tale of Three “Willis”

By Jonnie Dames Rio and SoDak

What does it mean to tell a story? To entertain? Especially in a world in which craftsmanship is disappearing? This is the position of a self-described “cowboy in drag,” a cobbler, a mechanic, a potter, a painter, just about anyone, living in an age where they are not appreciated. Here stands Willi Carlisle, a sincere musician, a traveling poet, a romantic with a radical acceptance of other human beings for who they are. With guitar held high, almost as if it is part of his voice, he tours the country to share songs about those who are lost, who are struggling, who strive to foster love in a cold world where crude economic logic dominates and determines worth. Willi cuts through the bullshit, presenting what is real, what is immediately before us, and what we often ignore or miss. In doing so, he carries on a tradition of thought and sentiment passed down through other significant “Willis”—such as William Faulkner and William Morris. Carlisle’s song, “Tulsa’s Last Magician,” is a reminder that the past, which, as Faulkner observed, is never dead, and, as Morris noted, is a reminder of elements of humanity that have been lost over time, serves as an inspiration for what we can become again.

“Tulsa’s Last Magician” presents the disenchantment of the world where “making numbers that sing” is valued at the expense of skill and guile. When hearing Willi contrast the experience of the magician performing in Tampa, blowing everybody’s mind, to working with computers and impressing his boss with numbers, he evokes something that we all experience, whether we realize it or not. Who among us has taken the time, dedicated ourselves to learning the art of labor, only to be met with lack of interest and appreciation? Yet, when we go to our jobs, satisfy arbitrary quotas through a process we have no real control over, we are celebrated. This is the inverted world of capitalism, where our dehumanization is the source of profit. Our world is seemingly one where craftsmanship, our creative endeavors that enrich our lives, does not count for much anymore. However, as Willi sings, that does not mean what you do isn’t meaningful: 

So friend if you’re the kind that thinks

No one quite gets quite what you are

Like you’re cobbler or mechanic in this age of flying cars

If you think that you see right behind what’s right before our eyes

You might be a small town’s last magician in disguise.

Willi’s sense of class and class consciousness is greatly illuminating, as he depicts the challenges of the young magician struggling to scratch together resources to learn card tricks. As an adult, the magician moved from city to city, performing for drunks and tourists. His skills, knowledge, and craft were treasures that held meaning, expanded his capacity, and generated awe. Nevertheless, these pursuits were often seen as quaint in the modern world. They ended up being the mere means of survival, as the magician struggled to make do on tips, gifts, and the generosity of strangers. One person after another demanded explanations ignoring the magician’s abilities. Willi remarkably captures the power and beauty of a craft, while at the same time revealing the hardship and disappointment where such skills are readily deemed relics of another age. The constant tensions of this life are depicted in the following lines: “he’d practice all his worst mistakes in a dirty bathroom mirror. And when his mother drank, he learned to disappear”; “but he had this grand finale they refused to understand, it’s hard to tell the whole truth of a family sawed in half, and that’s why Tulsa’s last magician left his home so fast”; “turnin’ tricks on Los Sueñeros out in the Californ-i-ay, they pushed him up against a wall, said buddy get a grip, so he learned to set himself on fire on the Las Vegas strip.” 

Although perhaps not intentional, to us, Willi presents an understanding of the world similar to another “Willi” from more than 100 years ago—William Morris. As a political radical with Romantic sensibilities, Morris brought a revolutionary and historical approach to art and labor. Similar to Willi Carlisle, Morris observed, in his lecture “Arts and Its Producers,” a related dynamic of alienation, calling out the changes of our world today, whereby “life is divorced from the subject-matter of his labor…. Work has become ‘employment,’ that is, merely the opportunity of earning a livelihood at the will of someone else. Whatever interest still clings to the production of wares under this system has wholly left the ordinary workman, and attaches only to the organizers of his labor; and that interest commonly has little to do with the production of wares, as things to be handled, looked at…used in short, but simply as counters in the great game of the world market.” Here, there is an insightful recognition of something being lost, when craftsmanship becomes alienated in the wage-labor system of capitalism and our work no longer serves as the basis that determines our needs and the means for fulfillment. This same lament is present all throughout “Tulsa’s Last Magician.” 

And the crowd all thought him funny, and good at sleight of hand

But he had this grand finale they refused to understand

They demanded explanation when the card pulled was their own

And that’s why Tulsa’s last magician lost his faith and headed home.

In time, the magician gave up the performance, and applied his skills to computers and investments. All the “rabbits that were livin’ in his hat” became “free-range,” while he worked his magic making “the numbers sing” as decades of his life disappeared yelling at the news and punching a time clock. 

William Faulkner’s sentiment that “the past is never dead, it’s not even past” runs throughout Carlisle’s song. It is fascinating how these three Willis are entangled. For Morris, workers, craftspeople, were “continuers of history.” The “lost” arts and knowledge of artisans should not become some bygone relic, a reminder of a way of life that is no longer lived. Morris insisted that “what romance means is the capacity for a true conception of history, a power of making the past part of the present.” All of the Willis are romantics, striving to create meaning and connection in an inverted world. These dying arts demonstrate the qualities of humans beyond producing economic value. They are inspirations as to what we can be, a hope for the future. In a lecture, delivered in 1882, Morris invoked a sentiment captured by Carlisle, “If we have no hope for the future, I do not see how we can look back on the past with pleasure. If we are to be less than men in time to come, let us forget that we have ever been men.” 

Willi Carlisle presents a fantastical story, focused on a magician who seems out of step, yet we quickly realize that we are also trapped in this situation, where the years are flying by working dehumanizing jobs, wishing we had time for our passions. The parallels between a magician and traveling musician are also evident. Willi captures our attention, presenting powerful stories that connect us to each other. He is a revolutionary, sharing potent songs that hold up a mirror to the world. Let us never forget that we have ever been human. 

“Tulsa’s Last Magician” appears on Willi’s second record Peculiar, Missouri (2022).

https://www.willicarlisle.com/

A Spot in Time: Jimmy "Explosive Diarrhea B." reflects on the passing of Glen Lockett on March 4th, 2023

 

I considered calling this tribute “A Spot in Time” or “Spot on the Spot.” Obviously, the former won the contest. Either would have worked because Spot, also known as Glenn Michael Lockett, became part of underground music history at a specific point in time and he was the right person at the right place. If you bought punk, metal, or other underground records in the 80s, there is a good chance you know the work of the man known as Spot. The first time I came across the name was when I purchased Saint Vitus records in the 80s. Later on, I purchased other records produced by Spot such as Up On the Sun and Meat Puppets II by the Meat Puppets, Husker Du’s Zen Arcade, and Saccharine Trusts Paganicons. To many the name Spot is as much a part of SST Records as Raymond Pettibone and Gregg Ginn.

 It is true that many of the early SST releases had lackluster production. It is hard to blame Spot for this. I recently read Jim Ruland’s book, “Corporate Rock Sucks,” about SST records. Ruland relates that a producer was asked to produce a record for one of the bands (I cannot recall which band). Greg Ginn offered him $4500 to make it happen. The exasperated producer asked if this was for a single song. Ginn’s response was that the cash was for the entire album since that is how SST did things. Spot was dealing with one of two things or perhaps a mixture of them, a label with limited resources, or a label owner unwilling to spend money. This forced the producer and the bands to record at the cheapest time possible, the graveyard shift. The albums were recorded in just a couple of nights. Considering the budget and the marathon recording sessions, it is astounding that the albums didn't sound much much worse; some, like the Meat puppets, Up on the Sun, sound pretty good.

Spot’s production was raw, and with minimal sound effects, loops, and other foreign noises. Spot worked with the bands in a collaborative way and captured their live sound. If the band had warts, those warts are on the records.

The production of 80s punk rock and metal records, and the willingness of small labels to let the bands be themselves made those bands sound unique. I adore the sound of the early Saint Vitus records. I believe that having the vocals prominent in the mix and the muddy melding of the bass and guitar created a doom sound that hasn't been reproduced by any other band. When Dave Chandler would break free of the groove and solo, it was jarring and very evil sounding – it was quite awesome. I believe that Saint Vitus themselves, on later records, were not able to capture the haunting doom sound of the Spot produced records. 

Spot tickled my pristine teenage taint, and some of his work continues to tickle my nasty and abused middle-age taint.

Cruel Curses, We All Get Lost Along the Way (2023)

By Beert

https://cruelcurses.bandcamp.com

Hailing from Pinellas, Florida, Cruel Curses gave me the pleasure of previewing their upcoming EP, We All Get Lost Along the Way. While they bill themselves simply as a rock band, they have many more layers. There is a definite prog influence that will give you a Rush/Removal/Crown Lands feel (strange that all three of these bands are Canadian, but you’ll see what I mean). The guitar seems to soar over the top of the changing, yet on point, rhythm section. The vocals come from behind it all, adding another piece of instrumentation. More than just lyrics, the vocals give an added dimension to the songs. The bass playing is technical without overdoing it. It is a definite driver of the songs, keeping everyone grounded while not being boring. The drumming is superb. This drummer should be shown as an example that you don’t need a million-piece set to play well and sound fantastic. All of this is on a 3-piece set. If you don’t need more drums, don’t get more. 

“You Will Vanquish Me” starts with a brief pounding, almost, dirge. If this song started unexpectedly, it would surely grab your attention. It does so, even if you are the one to hit “play.” Cruel Curses quickly fall into a groove, yet refuse to commit to a single time signature. It gives the feel of playing by feel, while everyone shares the same musical thought. I love when a band can pull this off. Once the vocals come in, the rest of the band backs off just a bit to let the singing come at you as an equal member. With the voice, the entirety of the band hits you. With 6:43 of goodness you will furrow your brow, enraptured in what Cruel Curses are giving you.

“Blood-Honey” forces a Dale Crover-esque intro upon you, in a similar way that your nose gets attacked by the enticing aromas of a local bakery as you walk past on an early morning. You don’t realize that you needed it, until it’s all over you. While the initial drum intro puts you in the mood for a heavy attack (I did mention Dale Crover, yes?), once the guitar enters, the song mellows while the drums continue with what they started. There is a good reverb on the guitar, and a bass rhythm almost melts into it all. The incoming vocals have you leaning back and relaxing into what Cruel Curses is creating. That’s when they jump. “Blood-Honey” gets into a little more of a fury, pulling you out of that eyes-closed for a few seconds, and then falls back into it. The tempo ebbs and flows in waves, keeping you guessing on where they’re going, but making you want to surf the entire song.

“Desperate Escape” has so much going on from the start. Syncopated rhythms, solid instrumentation, vocals from the diaphragm, and just good songwriting. I’ll let you take this one in for yourself.

“Penitent One” presents, at least to this reviewer, like a distant siren’s song. You have something passing by your ear that causes you to cock your head and wonder. What is this minimal jumble expertly under control. As it builds, you search desperately for the source. If you were aboard a ship on the sea, you would set a course for wherever this sound is emanating. Cruel Curses is the siren here, and they have you yearning for all the parts to come together. “Penitent One” builds, teasing you while you wait for a crescendo, and then the song drops like sand through your fingers. “I had it!” you exclaim. You held the embodiment of the song in your hands, and your anxiety overwhelms you as it is taken away when you least expect it. Just as you wonder what happened, the song comes back with a ghostly hand, beckoning you with the curl of a finger. The siren won’t let you lose so easily. The layers of the song begin to build back up, coming together as one at times, and seemingly separate at others, all rising from the same foundation. Then, about a third of the way through, you spot that island that calls for you. Cruel Curses has you right where they want you. No matter how much you think you should resist and turn back, you can’t help but sail straight towards the source.

The song continues at a more furious pace, much like your heart, as you gain speed on your ship, unable to get to where you are going fast enough. Excitement definitely builds. Cruel Curses toss their net around you, and now you cannot turn back even if you want. The beautiful, welcoming faces of these sirens turn to a teeth-baring snarl, and they howl while they crash your ship into the rocks. They can only laugh at you, as they know they have still not satiated what you need, yet there is no more. And it’s the waiting for a new release that eats away at you.

All-in-all, I am very pleased to have been asked to check this out. In fact, I feel somewhat honored that they would share this EP before its release date with someone they haven’t met. 

This EP will be digital only, for now. I do hope that someone will agree to release this on vinyl, as it certainly belongs on there as well. Digital releases are handy, but some music just calls for it to played on a turntable at full volume on a home stereo. And this reviewer feels this is one of those releases.

Cheers to you, Cruel Curses! Can’t wait to see what’s next.