THE BRIAN JONESTOWN MASSACRE: TAKE IT FROM THE MAN! (1996)
1) Vacuum Boots; 2) Who?; 3)
Oh Lord; 4) Caress; 5) (David Bowie I Love You) Since I Was Six; 6) Straight Up
And Down; 7) Monster; 8) Take It From The Man; 9) B.S.A.; 10) Mary, Please; 11)
Monkey Puzzle; 12) Fucker; 13) Dawn; 14) Cabin Fever; 15) In My Life; 16) The
Be Song; 17) My Man Syd; 18) Straight Up And Down.
In 1996 alone, The Brian Jonestown Massacre
released three LPs — one in May, one
in June, and one in October. Avantgarde schizos and jazz wankers aside, the
last time I can remember a thing like that was Creedence Clearwater Revival in
1969, and even then the albums were shorter and the intervals were longer. So
does this mean that Anton Newcombe is the Miracle Man and the Creative
Superboss of the decade?
Well... see, the trick is that the man takes
really good care of each musical idea he comes up with. Where a «traditional»
pop-rock songwriter, were he diligent enough, would make three-minute long
songs where he would have to have at least one melody for the verse/chorus and
one for the bridge section, Newcombe makes four-minute long songs that have one
melody for everything, then slightly tweaks it around to create two or three more melodies out of it, which are then
reused for three or four other songs. As for the lengths, it is usually no
problem to take care of these since the typical tempo for Brian Jonestown
Massacre is «slow trot», almost literally so because the rhythm guitars are
strummed over one or two chords, giving you the feel of a leisurely carriage
ride through some endless English valley. Optionally — with Brian Jones himself
in his fur coat riding in the back.
The album itself is as much influenced by the
Stones as it is by the Beatles, or the Byrds, or any other mid-Sixties band
with a penchant for folk, drone, jangle, and psychedelia. Produced by Larry
Thrasher of Psychic TV and featuring now no less than four different guitar players, it completely dispenses with the
funky dance influences of Methodrone
and almost completely dispenses with
the band's shoegazing past, leaving only the «repetitiveness» principle as a
key stratagem to follow. In the meantime, Newcombe is trying to develop a
garage sneer for his singing voice, which is somewhat hard for him to do — he
does not look like a natural barker, snarler, or screamer, just a regular smart
guy who is either incapable of or afraid of «pushing too hard».
The one song from here that many people may be
aware of without knowing it is ʽStraight Up And Downʼ, which was chosen by
Terence Winter as the main theme track for Boardwalk
Empire — cutting out the vocal part and just retaining the intro, the
guitar solo, and the coda. As far as patterns go, it is tremendously typical of
the classic BJM sound — the jangle, the drone, the slow trot, the sparseness of
ideas, the Sixties-style guitar tones, the little feedback howl that puts an
end to the tune. But, as most of the classic BJM tunes, it is not particularly
mind-blowing: just a nice, slightly manneristic, exercise in jangling that does
not seem to demand any strong emotional reaction — or if it does, I'm not sure
which one to choose.
If I were to choose one verse that summarizes
the spirit of the album, I'd currently go with this one: "I know the
difference between right and wrong / I pooled them all together and I made this
song / I know the difference between night and day / Doesn't really matter what
I think or say" (ʽCaressʼ). Incidentally, ʽCaressʼ is the fastest song (the
only fast song) on the album, with a
nervous tempo and freak-out blues guitar solos that remind one of Dylan's early
electric sound circa Bringing It All
Back Home, and the lyrics and music convey well enough the chief mood of
Newcombe and BJM — confusion in the
face of an alien world that is impossible to understand, decipher, or adapt to.
There may be yet another link with Brian Jones here, regarding Newcombe's own
history of drug intake, but where drugs had destroyed Brian's originally strong
(if not entirely sane) mind, in Anton's case, they seem to be just sort of a
natural friend to an already deranged, or at least disoriented and heavily warped
conscience.
Three themes, or, rather, three questions are
running rampant through the record — (a) "Who the fuck am I?", (b)
"What the heck have they done to me?", and (c) "gee, you're like
beautiful or something, but aren't we both too batshit crazy to behave like two
normal people in love?". Each of the songs addresses at least one of these
questions, but sometimes two or even all three at the same time. You will very
quickly get used to that and judge the songs not by their message, but by whether
they have a cherry on top, in the form of a distinguishable hook — like the
rather ridiculous, but memorable falsetto holler of the title of ʽWho?ʼ, maybe
the best song the actual Who never wrote, though it does ask the same question
that they did. Or the gruff twangy resolution of ʽCaressʼ. Or the swampy blues
vamp of the title track — which is probably the single most convincingly
Stonesiest song on the album.
The not-so-sly references to additional heroes,
usually wedged in the titles rather than the lyrics, may be an additional bait
for reviewers, but do not think too much of them — ʽMy Man Sydʼ does have a few
vocal lines that are reminiscent of Barrett, yet the song is way too «normal»
for a genuine Barrett tribute, and ʽ(David Bowie I Love You) Since I Was Sixʼ
does borrow the verse melody from ʽSpace Oddityʼ ("does she love you, you
suppose..." = "ground control to Major Tom..."), but that's about
all it does, in toto (remember about
the sparseness of ideas — having two different chord sequences in the same song
to Newcombe is the epitome of extravagance). It is, however, important to be
able to call out all these spirits from the past, since both Bowie in his Major
Tom days and Barrett in his fruitcake days are like natural brothers to Mr. Newcombe.
Likewise, there is no better way to prove his "pool
them all together" approach in action than to offer a coda for the second,
much longer and much limper version of ʽStraight Up And Downʼ, in which the man
superimposes the "whoo-hoo's!" of ʽSympathy For The Devilʼ on top of
the "da, da, da-da da-da da's" of ʽHey Judeʼ. Outside of context,
this makes no sense, but as a symbolic gesture, it's kinda cool — a forceful,
but rational merger of «good» and «evil» where one may not properly exist
without the other (as well as, perhaps, an ironic answer to the stupid «Beatles
or Stones?» debate in popular culture).
Like all BJM albums, this one, too, may have
been more efficient, had it been sensibly trimmed down — after a while, the
songs start to get way too repetitive not only in mood, but also in melody (I
originally mistook ʽThe Be Songʼ for yet another take on ʽStraight Up And
Downʼ, for instance, and it does not help that the laid-back, druggy-hazy
tempos of the songs make your brains a little mushy after the first thirty or
forty minutes). But taken on the level of «wholesome experience» rather than
individual songs, it succeeds in letting you in on this ragged, confused vision;
most importantly, no matter how transparent all the influences are, it is
clearly seen that Newcombe is his own master, and that he merely uses «ancient»
forms to express his own problems — ultimately, they may be the same problems
that Brian Jones used to have, but the trick is that Brian Jones never had the
time or the capacity to express them himself. In any case, Brian Jones is more
like a «spearhead» figure here, a tribal mascot, a lost twin soul, rather than
a source for meaningless copy-cat activity, and this adds enough extra intrigue
and suspense to a flawed, but interesting record to guarantee a thumbs up.
PS. I do have to add this, though: style-wise, this
and the following two albums have some of the most ugly, cringeworthy covers I
have ever had the misfortune of seeing — largely because of the Godawful ugly
font work. I mean, what the heck is this, Microsoft Office '95 or something? Was
Bomp! Records so utterly broke they couldn't hire these guys a half-decent
artist?
"the last time I can remember a thing like that was Creedence Clearwater Revival in 1969"
ReplyDeleteAha! You forget your favourite band when it comes to bashing!
Proud Words on a Dusty Shelf first months of 1973
Uriah Heep Live April 1973
Sweet Freedom September 1973
No way. A solo album and a live album don't count.
DeleteWell Kerslake and Thain play on the solo album, and Hensley did a fair share of the writing for the Heep, which I still think you unjustifiably bash; I find nothing pretentious about it, only amusingly and humorously bombastic (and the guys themselves claim their music was never really serious) with some good riffs and fun vocals from time to time. Kansas, on the other hand, just had a cool violin player. And Kiss... don't get me started.
DeleteFAR better than "Methodrone."
ReplyDeleteAnd I agree that the font choices here (and on "Thank God For Mental Illness") are hideous in a way that no amount of "intentionally retro/indie" styling renders forgivable.
Their Satanic Majesties' Second Request is somehow far worse than both. YELLOW drop shadow!
Delete"Fucker" has the most nonchalantly-sung curse words since "Baby Bitch"
ReplyDelete