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We all forget about the older stuff from time to time, in our quest to stay up to speed with the latest and greatest. But one should always respect their elders. So don’t forget about them, y’hear?
Of all the bands I’ve ever loved like fury and lost, Mclusky is one of the ones I miss the most. Ok, so they’re not really all that “old”, but they’ve been defunct for a little while now so I’m throwing ‘em into the Rediscovery circus. Sure, Andy Falkous is busy these days with the phenomenal Future Of The Left, but it’s not quite the same. Mclusky was a really special band to me. It was a perfect storm of savagery, each of the three members bring their own special brand of spitfire to the band to create a truly severe, raging sound. Falkous was the driving force with his teeth-baring voice, the kind that could peel paint with its vitriol and the kind of voice that just screams spittle, not to mention that whole Frank Black comparison thing. Coupled with his sawtooth, razor-sharp guitar, Falkous in Mclusky was unstoppable. Bassist Jon Chapple brought an unbalanced, unstable fire, with backing vocals as bratty as the day is long to compliment the fearsome snarl of Falco. And then there were the drums. Mat Harding, original drummer for Mclusky, not only got his kicks beating the living daylights out of his poor drums, but was also responsible for my love of drummers. The first song I ever heard was called “Lightsabre Cocksucking Blues”, and it just got better from there.
Mcluskyism, the 3-disc retrospective of the band’s repertoire, is a great little compendium of the Mclusky sound and perfect for a neophyte. You of course should already own the band’s full-length records, covered by the A-sides on the first disc. However, the B-sides disc has a wealth of gems, filthy and furious and fantastic. The C-sides disc is all live, all the time, and gives just a hint of the intense hellfire rage of the Mclusky live experience. I was lucky enough to see the band three times, and I can definitely tell you that this band was one of the best I’ve ever seen in the flesh. In person and on record, they had It.
Mclusky, may they rest in peace, had bite. Lots and lots of bite. Their songs were searingly clever, shatteringly loud, and incandescently killer. And I miss them like crazy.
mp3: whiteliberalonwhiteliberalaction (Mclusky from Mcluskyism)
mp3: No Covers (Mclusky from Mcluskyism)
mp3: The Salt Water Solution (Mclusky from Mcluskyism)
For you new kids on the block, yours truly is well and truly enamored with The Verve. They're one of my favorite bands of ever, and in my humble opinion they're one of the best English bands of the last twenty years (technically the last twenty-one, since they've been together since 1989). If you already know and love them, good for you. If not, well, the sooner you listen to them the sooner you'll be forgiven.
I'm perpetually in thrall with the earlier songs of the band, the hazy, heady, heavily shoegazing songs of The Verve EP and A Storm in Heaven. Everything about this era in The Verve's history smacks of Romantic poets (as does the Northern Soul record, wherein Richard Ashcroft apes heftily from the William Blake poem "London", though that's a matter for another post entirely), mysticism and magic, and dissatisfaction with modern life. The songs on those two recordings are some of the best songs I've ever heard in my life, both lyrically and musically. One of my biggest regrets in life is not getting into The Verve early enough to see them touring any of the early records over here. But happily, dear, dear friends, there exists a crucial part of the band's mystique, a little slice of heaven known as Voyager 1.
Recorded in both the US and the UK, Voyager 1 shows a band in full command of their powers, even fairly early in their career. Listening to it is a bit like stepping back in time, back to the dawn of the 90s, and being immersed in a powerful wave of incandescence that must have been quite remarkable to behold. Listening to V1, I can almost see Richard Ashcroft, long-haired and gaunt in full Mad Richard mode, undulating as if possessed by some unholy spirit, while Nick McCabe drones and shreds his guitar, existing in a world alone with his instrument. The seven-song recording is one of the best live records I've heard, bar none. The textures and the scope of the band's music is perfectly captured, warts and all, from the throbbing, telltale bass of "Slide Away" to the seductive swirl of "Already There".
It's a wonder to behold, and even more special than the content belies, thanks to the relative rarity of this particular recording. Copies of Voyager 1 are hard to come by, and pricey to get a hold of. They also make the perfect birthday present, for the Verve-loving blogger who has a birthday coming up next month (hint hint).
mp3: Slide Away (The Verve from Voyager 1)
Sure, it's not that old. But Levy's 2005 album Rotten Love never got as much adulation as I feel it so richly deserved, and I'd like to call your attention to it this very minute. Because like they say, better late than never. And you'll thank me as soon as you give it a listen.
The first time I heard Rotten Love, I had a nagging feeling that it reminded me of something. Some other really good band. It was the heir apparent to someone, but whom?! The answer finally struck me, and what a noble lineage it turned out to be indeed: Levy struck me as the second coming of my beloved Magnetic Fields. For you see, Levy is the young kids' equivalent to Stephin Merritt's group of melancholy mopesters.
Mouthpiece James Levy recalls the very tone of Merritt, all self-deprecating and cynical towards the kooky thing we call love. But as with the Magnetic Fields, part of Levy's charm lies in the mixing of bittersweet sentiment with perky, poppy, pain-killingly pleasant music. The overall message might be that love sucks, but this is transmitted in the sweetest, most charming ways possible. The ten songs on Rotten Love are urban relationship snapshots, featuring everyone from cheaters to unrequited lovers, Levy touches them all. Invariably, each song is exquisitely crafted, slightly fuzzy in production, and extremely relateable.
Rotten Love is a very New York album, though the band has subsequently relocated to Texas. But close your eyes and you'll hear the Big Apple all over.
Every song on the album has been my favorite at one point in time, but tonight it's the wistful regrets of "On the Dance Floor." I hope you love it as much as I do.
We all forget about the older stuff from time to time, in our quest to stay up to speed with the latest and greatest. But one should always respect their elders. So don’t forget about them! Here’s one of my Desert Island, Top-5 records of all time.
Imagine for a moment that it’s 1992. You’re young, bored, and disaffected, desperate to penetrate this abject grayness of the world surrounding you with something beautiful. Now imagine that what you end up creating is not only beautiful, but staggeringly, mind-blowingly so. What you’ve made is an EP, one you give the same name as your fledgling band: you’ve made the Verve EP.
As much as I love the Verve, and bear in mind that they were and quite possibly still are my favorite band, I often think that this self-titled EP is the closest to perfection they ever came. It is but five songs, but that old adage about quality versus quantity rings ever so true in this case. A certain someone I know refers to the Verve EP as “mood music.” Arguably, this is true. All five tracks have an underlying seduction in their pulsating, psychedelic swirl that gives them a drunken, heady vibe. Just switch off the lights and there you are: it’s flat-out intoxicating. It’s as if the EP has a life of its own.
From the first time I heard the opening bassline of “Gravity Grave,” I knew the EP was going to be one hell of a ride. Right away Ashcroft gives you an idea of his porcelain-fragile yet deadly lyrical ability, with lines like, “To me you’re like the setting sun/you rise then you’re gone.” The instrumentation builds and builds until it can’t go any further, and all comes crashing down near the fade-out at the end of the track. Track two is not as frenzied, but “A Man Called Sun” is no less worthy of attention. The song even inspired a band name (Mansun, from Chester, who were originally called Man Called Sun). It’s spacey and hazy and utterly splendid. “She’s a Superstar” was at one time my favorite song ever written, and shows off the unparalleled skill of guitarist Nick McCabe to devastating effect, which combined with the vocals of Ashcroft spouting “she bought the world/I paid the bills” proves spine-tingling. It’s as epic as an EP can hope to be, sweeping and climactic and majestic. Magic. Until recently, I never fully appreciated “Endless Life,” with its’ languid build and slow burn that leads to a fiery end. But now, the song holds equal footing in my estimation. The final track, “Feel,” is nearly eleven minutes long. But I think you’ll find that it goes by in a flash. More guitar tricks and treats from McCabe leads the way, along with more gems from Ashcroft (“I pulled the guilt right over my eyes/as I rose to meet/to greet the sky”). What we have here is Richard Ashcroft’s labor of frustrated love, his realization of transcendence that has just a hint of youthful innocence, making it all the more captivating.
When I first began to listen to the Verve, I was 18 and in my first year of college, far from home. I identified more with the more aggressive, yet still gorgeous, songs found on the Verve’s second album, A Northern Soul. Now, ten years later, I find myself more and more enthralled with the early Verve sound. Perhaps I can finally appreciate the subtle nuances, or perhaps I just feel more in tune with the overwhelming sense of escapism that seems to find me in older Verve material. Either way, if you’ve never really given the Verve a chance, there’s no better time than right this minute, and no better introduction than the Verve EP.
