Love Minus Zeros.

I’m not much for love songs at the moment (I’m more into the monster songs, to use Jad Fair’s dichotomy), but as a reluctant recognition-nod to valentine’s day, here’s one I really like.

As I understand it, this is from the last set of recording that the first incarnation of The Zeros did, in 1980ish. It’s track eleven on the Bomp! compilation of their stuff, and sequenced as it is behind ten grade A punk/power-pop blasters, it’s more subtle charms may take a few (hundred, in my case) listens to sink in.

The other songs The Zeros recorded for this session (“Getting Nowhere Fast”, “They Say That Everything’s Alright”) speak in plain terms of disillusionment with the low-reward grind of life in a rock band, prefiguring their subsequent decision to pack it in. But in “Girl On The Block”, Javier Escovedo puts a more positive spin on his return to ‘normal’ life, giving us a sweet picture of bored-yet-blissful existence with the hometown girl he’d probably have been knocking around with if he’d never started a punk band and headed for Hollywood. Like a grizzled cowboy returning to his homestead after unknown adventures in the movies, Javier is abandoning the fantasies(?) of swastika-clad blondes and mascara-smeared man-eaters who inhabit his earlier songs, returning instead to where his heart truly lies.

It’s mature and sensitive and shit – you can tell from the way they’ve got an overdubbed acoustic mixed in there somewhere.

In the hands of an older, sleazier rocker, a song like this could easily take on a pretty entitled and ugly tone, but Javier as ever is right on the money – teary-eyed and full of respect-bordering-on-awe for the sense of belonging he finds at home with his gal; “she takes me but she don’t need no one at all / when I go I know that she won’t fall”.

Like all Zeros songs, “Girl On The Block” has a chugging mid-tempo swing that is just to die for, and a boilerplate sense of pop-melody that is just unfuckable-with in it’s simple, utilitarian perfection. Listen to that star-gazing chord progression as he sings “ain’t no beer left / so I guess I’m going out” – a vision of aimless, prospectless life transformed into paradise by the presence of the kind of unconditional warmth and companionship so distant from the neon-punk ideal he dropped out of school and left home to pursue a few years earlier.

Earlier Zeros songs were driven by a sort of breathless fantasy of urban decadence, but that’s all gone now – what’s left is some straight dope on how to live a good life in imperfect conditions, and it’s pretty f-ing beautiful.

Labels: punk rock, song reviews, The Zeros, Valentine's Day

Brendan Mullen, The Masque and LA Punk ‘77

A few weeks ago, I happened to pop into that shop on Charing Cross Road that sells fancy art books for knock-down prices, and was delighted to find a copy of Live at the Masque: Nightmare on Punk Alley, a huge hardback tome showcasing photographs and ephemera from the heyday of seminal LA punk club The Masque circa ’77-’79 that’s been on my xmas list since I learned of it, for about one third of the RRP.

Thus, it can now claim the honour of being the one fancy hardback photograph book that I own. And well worth owning it is too. For all of its legendary baggage, LA punk has kept a surprisingly low profile within popular culture, and as such practically every page of the book is dynamite from both an informational and aesthetic point of view, an absolute motherlode for anyone who shares an interest in the history of punk, rock n’ roll and American youth culture.

It wasn’t until this week however that I learned that Brendan Mullen, founder and manager of The Masque who edited and provided the text for the book, died of a heart attack earlier this month at the age of sixty.

I’d been vaguely meaning to do a blogpost based on the book, with some scanned pictures and mp3s etc, but in tribute to Mullen I thought I’d move that intention way up my priority list for a combined deathblog/photos/music tribute post.


By all accounts Mullen was far, far more than just a club manager – he was an instigator of, participant in and spokesperson for the punk scene, and The Masque stands out as the definitive early example of a DIY “by the fans, for the fans” music venue/rehearsal room/community space of the kind that’s become such a vital part of the American music scene in recent years (far less so in the UK sadly, but thems the breaks), and Mullen, rather than some impresario looking to turn a quick buck, was a late-twenties punk fan himself at the time – just one with the drive and know-how to find a space and make it happen.

Subsequently, he has authored two books on LA punk, We Got The Neutron Bomb (about the scene in general) and Lexicon Devil (about The Germs), both of which are sure to be great reads, if the smart and charismatic prose he contributed to the photo book is any indication.


One of the things I’ve found most remarkable about reading/looking at “Live at the Masque” is the drastically different picture of the time/place it paints to my other major source of LA punk documentation, Penelope Spheeris’ film “The Decline of Western Civilisation” (which you can watch in a series of handy chunks on Youtube, beginning here).

Whilst “Decline..” (which opens with an interview with Mullen) is an amazing and exhilarating documentary, capturing a cultural milieu that might otherwise have come and gone leaving little in the way of visual evidence, I’ve always been irked by the feeling that Spheeris was chasing controversy when putting it together, deliberately choosing the most violent concert footage, interviewing the most troubled/fucked up fans and musicians etc…. not to mention ending the film with an absolutely torturous sequence on the aptly named Fear, whose ugly, audience-baiting jibes and homophobic/sexist bullying closes proceedings on a colossal downer – enough to put the casual viewer off investigating punk rock for life. In short, I get the impression that Spheeris came up with her apocalyptic concept first and set about assembling footage to justify it.

“Live At The Masque” manages to tell a completely different story, presenting evidence of a far more positive and cohesive underground community. The self-made mythology of ‘70s punk may centre on tales of drugs, squalor, nihilism and bodily abuse, but the kids in the crowd (and in the bands) here just look happy and friendly and excitable, each trying to outdo each other with their kick-ass NY/London influenced sartorial style. Flyers, newsletters and notes pinned to the doors are funny and self-deprecating to a fault, full of scene in-jokes, breathless announcements of which bands “might be playing, if they can get it together”, and hand-written summaries of local and international ‘punk news’. Even the graffiti that covers every surface is largely pretty good natured.


The negative vibes chronicled by Spheeris are hard to find anywhere in these photos, and even the self-destructive ‘no future’ ethos that goes hand-in-hand with early punk is undermined by the presence on the scene of cats like Greg Shaw, Kristine McKenna, John Doe, Exene Cervenka and Mullen himself, all providing the kids with serviceable models for how to grow up punk without fading away or selling out. Photos of some of the lesser known bands on the scene reveal a healthy compliment of women and non-whites taking a creative role in proceedings, and, in short, it’s difficult to flick through the book without feeling a pang of regret that you weren’t there to take part in such an awesome explosion of teenage creativity and self-definition.

In fairness, “Decline..” was filmed a couple of years after the heyday of The Masque, when the action seemed to have shifted to bigger, more barn-like venues with cynical managers and security guards, and when the native suburban hardcore pioneered by Black Flag and The Circlejerks was in the ascendant, as opposed to the more urban, relatively arty Pistols/Heartbreakers influenced combos that characterized the Masque scene. But still, the discrepancy between the book and the film is startling. As usual with these things, I guess the truth probably lies somewhere between the two.



Obviously the more artistically striking bands associated with The Masque – Screamers, Germs, X, Flesh Eaters, Dickies, The Dils and the much-underrated Bags – are the stuff of legend, and both The Weirdos, Plugz and my favourite ever Californian punks The Zeros (who played a coupla times) have achieved cult immortality by infusing their racket with a razor-sharp pop sensibility. Late period scene upstarts like The Go Gos and Holly & The Italians may have gone on to varying degree of Hollywood New Wave fame, and the book also has great pictures of awesome out-of-town headliners like Crime, The Cramps, Dead Boys, Avengers etc., but much of the fun of flicking through “Live At The Masque” comes from checking out the legions of less distinguished and/or completely forgotten groups.

The Skulls, Controllers, Flyboys, Backstage Pass, The Eyes, Simpletones, The LA Shakers, Deadbeats, Alleycats, Mutants, Schizos, F-Word, The Nuns…? Oh, if only these photos came with in-built sound.




So without further ado, here’s some choice mp3s, some from the “Live at the Masque ‘77” benefit LP, some from elsewhere, presented in tribute to Brenden Mullen, who saw these people and this culture sprouting up from nowhere around him, and did what it took to put the pieces together.

The Weirdos – Life of Crime
The Zeros – Cosmetic Couple

The Bags – Violent Girl (live)
The Germs – Let’s Pretend (live)

X- Los Angeles
Screamers - In a Better World

Labels: books, deathblog, Germs, LA, photos, punk, punk rock, Screamers, The Bags, The Zeros, Weirdos, X

I Like All This Stuff! Part # 2

Super Vacations

Definitely one of the more ambitious and mysterioso bands of this run-down, Super Vacations provide a perfect example of a group turning the limitations of home-recording to their advantage, assembling a beguiling psyche-rock sound from the palette of slightly warped rock n’ pop elements at their disposal. Their debut album burns through sixteen songs in about twenty five minutes, each of them a swirling wonder of crisply recorded hi-hat n’ snare grooves, twangin’, FX heavy surf guitar, hazy layers of psychedelic jangle, occasional bursts of chaotic space-fuzz washout and ultra-compressed vocal tracks that range from pristine, chanted harmonies to distorted answering machine skree.

Recalling the spirit of classic-era Guided By Voices records, these one-to-two minutes cuts are veritable bonsai trees of weird beauty that make their point and then disappear into the void, providing tantalising glimpses into what we assume to be a whole universe of unguessed at four-track wonderment. Inevitably, Super Vacations’ songwriting is sketchy and indistinct in comparison to the heights scaled on a daily basis by Ohio’s finest in the mid-‘90s, but nonetheless, they’ve got a good handle on the kind of sound they’re going for, and the material at hand is up to the task, allowing them to stand proud alongside the very best of the ‘90s neo-psych-pop mob (Lilies, The Swirlies, pre-ego meltdown Brain Jonestown Massacre etc.) without ever having to venture beyond their basement. (I'd like to think this band's stuff was recorded in a basement. It... has that kinda feel to it. I'd be disillusioned to discover actual sunlight was involved at any stage.)

Then, about halfway through the album they seem to get bored of all the dreamy, haunted psyche and throw down some of the truly groovin’ surf instrumentals that the lead guitar & drums have been hinting at throughout, sidestepping the pitfalls of redundant Dick Dale pastiche and instead recalling garage-racket oddities like The Nick & The Jaguars’ “Ichi-Bon No#1”, with a gleeful mix of rough-hewn rockin’ and out-of-control tremolo, and a lovely sense of Ventures-esque melodic purpose. Fab gear!

Add a propensity for “let’s turn this fader all the way up and see what happens” type mixing desk experiments and more alien-planet reverb than the devil’s own bathtub, and Super Vacations start to sound eerily like they're channelling the last cloud of psychic detritus to escape through Joe Meek’s fireplace before the forces of darkness closed in. One of the most beguiling and effortlessly enjoyable albums I’ve heard since…. hang on, what year is it again…? No way, you're kidding me!

http://www.myspace.com/meetthevacations


Brilliant Colors

Pushed by the strange whims of the interweb from first-on-the-bill anonymity to next-big-thing notoriety within – literally - a couple of weeks, here’s San Francisco’s Brilliant Colors for ya, with two 7”s and a handful of shows under their belt. Everett True says “I have a New New Favourite Band – OFFICIAL”. Doug Mosurock says band leader Jess Scott has “Rose Melberg’s sing-songy voice, the guitar skills of a beginner, and only a haphazard idea of how to write memorable songs”. What do you say? I say that they sound pretty much like the generic Band I’d Probably Like. Sweet, minimal, energetic, fuzzy, girly punk rock with a venerable K Records kinda shambletopia edge to it, no more no less. Wearing shades, drinking gin & lemonade and breaking amps from here to eternity. And to hate on ‘em for that would be like hating on The Alarm Clocks cos they didn’t write “Forever Changes” or turn into The Magic Band. Plus, “Should I Tell You” off their EP is sweet as sin, and probably twice as healthy – a readymade classic. Sometime in the future, there’ll be a blockbusting Nuggets-style compendium chronicling the current era, and Brilliant Colors will be present and correct whilst Grizzly Bear or whoever are gathering dust in some digital bargain bin, so fuck art, let’s rock.

http://www.myspace.com/brilliantcolorssanfrancisco


The Cave Weddings

I’ll admit, I just discovered these guys last week, following a link from Trev’s Oddbox blog. They’re… I mean…. uh… I just love ‘em. I guess these little band write-ups probably haven’t been amongst the more incisive critical broadsides you’ve read from the online music community recently, and, um, here’s where words fail altogether I guess. Like so many of these bands I like, these guys are just playing good-natured modern day garage rock, and why not? Done this well, it never gets old for me. Their song “The Last Time” is so good I nearly cried. They’ve got two guitars and no bass, and they’ve got “bah bah bah”s, and kick-ass little lead riffs and their songs are sad and funny, and…. well, they’re called THE CAVE WEDDINGS, for goodness sake! They are the sound of all things being right with the world. It’s enough to make me wanna get married in a cave. I’ll marry the coloured vinyl version of their 7” single, because it’s so darn pretty and unobtainable, and they can provide the soundtrack, and everyone will dance and cry.

http://www.myspace.com/thecaveweddings


Jungle Fever

Another super-fresh discovery, I found these guys – or perhaps ‘this girl’, I guess – when I was searching for stuff by Wild Weekend, San Diego’s all-girl tribute to one of my favourite punk bands of all times (and one of yours too by the time you’ve watched the linked video), The Zeros. Sadly, Wild Weekend have split up, presumably due to the world not being awesome enough to accommodate a concept such as theirs for long, but Kelly from the band is rocking solo (I think) as Jungle Fever, and her singing/fuzz guitar/drum machine tunes are making me even more happy than listening to the Zeros retrospective CD on Bomp for the 578th time. The overall effect is akin to a cleaner, friendlier Dum Dum Girls, with some great, wry, snarling Girls in the Garage inspired pop-punk nuggets standing in for all the shoegazery. Totally, totally super-wonderful stuff throughout… I think “I Won’t Tell You Wife” is the greatest song I’ve heard all week, and I’ve heard a fuckload of songs this week. “Little Yoko” and “Two Zero One Two” are second and third best. The latter is a particularly lovely number based on the good old Mayan calender end - a bittersweet ode to sitting alone for want of someone to kiss as the world explodes. Swoon. So, uh, yeah, personally I might have set the drum a few BPMs higher in places on these, but such a complaint is petty in the extreme in the face of such perfection.

http://www.myspace.com/junglefeverxo

Labels: Brilliant Colors, I like, Jungle Fever, Super Vacations, The Cave Weddings, The Zeros