BUTTHOLE SURFERS: ELECTRICLARRYLAND (1996)
1) Birds; 2) Cough Syrup; 3)
Pepper; 4) Thermador; 5) Ulcer Breakout; 6) Jingle Of A Dog's Collar; 7) TV
Star; 8) My Brother's Wife; 9) Ah Ha; 10) The Lord Is A Monkey; 11) Let's Talk
About Cars; 12) LA; 13) Space.
Okay, so we are not going to play it hip here
and declare that the Butthole Surfers' brightest moment of commercial glory
was a proverbial pile of shit — but let us also face the inevitable: despite
the gory album cover and the Hendrix pun of the title, Electriclarryland is simply not even close to Independent Worm Saloon when it comes to good music. It may have
been the toning down of the ferociousness of their sound that was responsible
for the album climbing up the charts, or it may have been the factor of
prolonged exposure and publicity, or perhaps the world at large was a little
more adventurous in 1996 before Britney Spears swept it all away, but the fact
is, Electriclarryland is decent, but
not very good.
With Jeff Pinkus out of the group and Leary
taking over bass duties (occasionally shared with Andrew Weiss of the Rollins
Band), the Surfers make one more step towards «being normal», and this time, they
overstep it, because in the place of aggressive snarling rock'n'roll, fueled by
Leary's guitar-god performance, what we get is a bunch of mid-tempo «alt-rock»
songs, heavily dependent on lyrics and vocals rather than captivating
instrumental work and also influenced by some of the more modern developments
in music, such as trip-hop. It seems that the band, either of its own will or,
perhaps, pushed by outside provocators, is trying to adapt to contemporary
trends — big, big mistake, since for all their revolutionary mind-blowing
prowess, the Butthole Surfers were always at their best when guided by their past, not present influences (note: this judgement certainly does not apply
to any artist, but it seems oh so
true for these guys).
The result is stuff like ʽPepperʼ, a song that
got them into the Top 40 on the singles market — a miraculous feat, I guess,
but the irony of the situation is that ʽPepperʼ, at most, is just listenable when it comes to separating
the band's great stuff from the band's passable stuff. Leary still does his
best to get a good psychedelic lead tone going on this slow trip-hoppy cruise,
but the solo seems strictly confined to a single melodic pattern, the vocals,
whether it's the rapped verses or the sung chorus, are somnambulant in a prison
courtyard, and the gruesome story told through the lyrics only seems there to
somehow introduce an element of belated shock into the commercially intended
performance. No, actually, the groove is still worthwhile — closing your eyes
to it and settling into a slow rhythmic wobble can be relaxing — but in the
end, this... well, sounds more like the Brian Jonestown Massacre than the
Butthole Surfers. And how on Earth this
got into the Top 40 in 1996, I'll never know. Did people confuse this with a new
Tricky single or what?
Echoes of Worm
Saloon's rocky explosions are still felt throughout — even the album opener
ʽBirdsʼ has a fast-'n'-furious rock'n'roll punch, although it adds little to
the vibe already explored on ʽWho Was In My Room?ʼ and ʽDust Devilʼ. Another
fast tempo number, ʽAh Haʼ, prefers to replace distorted hard rock guitars with
jangly folk rock guitars, so that they sound like a homeless, toothless
version of R.E.M.; and there is at least one bona fide hardcore punk number,
ʽUlcer Breakoutʼ, with the good old chainsaw and dog bark and racecar drumming.
But either it is the overall context in which they are lodged, or the lack of
their own individuality, yet none of these songs suffice to turn the tide in
favor of the record.
Oddly enough, when you look at all this with
just a formal look, the album remains pretty weird. There is ʽJingle Of A Dog's
Collarʼ, a dark folk-pop ballad that seems to have been written from the
perspective of a canine character (and ends with some genuine sniffing).
There's the risqué ʽMy Brother's
Wifeʼ, with heavy use of vocal sampling, loads of white noise, and extra
overdubs to reflect the psychosexual commotion of the title character. There's
ʽThe Lord Is A Monkeyʼ, a technically successful stab at psychedelic hip-hop
with cartoonishly evil rapped vocals and ruthless wah-wah solos. There's ʽLet's
Talk About Carsʼ, featuring a classy pop riff over which people seductively
speak French for a few minutes. In short, there's all it usually takes to get a
classy, involving, unpredictable pop album.
But somehow, in the end, it just doesn't want
to click. Where the mix between «normalcy» and «madness» on Worm Saloon seemed just perfect, here
it is as if «normal» and «weird» keep segregated to two different channels and
do not mix at all. So I keep getting torn between the total sensual puzzle of
ʽLet's Talk About Carsʼ — and the total openness and even genericity of something
like ʽTV Starʼ (a ballad whose chorus goes "Christina, la-la-la, I love
you so", if you can believe it). None of the individual songs are awful,
but together, they do not amount to an impressive performance. Not that I would
imply that «mainstream involvement» ended up eating away the band's essence —
rather, they just tried to do something different here, and could not play up
to their usual strengths in the process. The record is still well worth a look,
but it not only seems weak and lagging next to the band's high standards of
quality, it also seems kind of dated to its time period, and Butthole Surfers
feel so much greater when they are not attached to any particular time period —
not so blatantly, at least.
I agree. Decent, not great. I really like "Dog's Collar" and "TV Star," but it's not far out, like the buttholes should be. Also cool to learn about Andrew Weiss being on this! I think he played on the Pod by Ween.
ReplyDeleteAround this time the Surfers had a side project called the Jackofficers, which is slightly druggy electronic music. I think Gibby was really into dance, not just following a trend.
I think they just had said all they had to say (whatever that message was, well....) and still had to fulfill their contract to Capitol.
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