Yes fans, self-concious, avant-garde pop begins here. Don't let anybody tell you differently. The lyrics may be reflect drippy puppy-love concerns, but they were the honest puppy-love concerns of their creator. The words are a reflection of a man at a certain stage of his life. This album wins the best-of stakes because of its great consistency and better sound. There aren't any embarrassments on this record, something that Pepper can't claim.
It is here that Brian Wilson masters and adds to the Wall of Sound of his idol, Phil Spector. Where Spector's records were booming walls of chaos (not necessarily a bad thing), Pet Sounds' clear vision and sound simply astonishes to this day. For those of you who are considering diving into the Beach Boy's catalogue, remember that this album's greatness rests on the beauty of its ballads, not the chugging rock of the early hits or the freak-out experimentation that would come next ("Good Vibrations"). "Wouldn't It Be Nice", "God Only Knows", "I Just Wasn't Made for These Times", and "Caroline No" are some of the most lovely songs ever committed to tape. There's no better examples of adolescent frustration, love, and dreams than in these mini-symphonies.
Where as time has been cruel to some of the 60's other "masterpieces", the brilliance of Pet Sounds becomes more evident every day. There's no need to explain why this record is revolutionary or how it ranks as one of the greats. You just have to set back and listen.
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So I was a bit suprised a few months later to see a copy of their first ablum, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, in a record store-on a major label (Virgin). But don't think this is some smoothed-over indie band that sold its sound to the devil for an opportunity to make a few bucks. No, this disc was produced and mixed by the band, and it retains the loud, rough sound of their live show. The overdubs added to the tunes show this is a band that understands what it needs to do to achieve greatness, fleshing out the sound of an already powerful trio.
Like their live show, the album opens with "Love Burns". The song is a great introduction to what the band has to offer. The drums are loud, thuddy and raw. They remind me of the drums on Exile on Main Street with their to-hell-with-nice thump. Their guitars fuzz and echo all over the sonic spectrum like a bastard hydrid of the Reid brothers and the Verve's Nick McCabe. Peter Hayes singing recalls the voice-as-texture majesty of early Verve Richard Ashcroft.
Unlike the aforementioned Verve, B.R.M.C. has the ability to punch out nasty, uptempo thrash. Just check out "What Ever Happened To My Rock 'N' Roll (punk song), which moves along like the a glammier Stooges. And unlike later Verve, B.R.M.C. hasn't caught the disease in which they try the silly singer-songwriter trip. No, songs like "Red Eyes and Tears" and "Awake" have the best wall of sound (noise) textures since the shoegazers of the early 90's, with the voice mixed nicely at the instrument level. For me, the highlight of the disc is the powerhouse "White Palms". The song builds to a towering climax, then delivers the most savage fuzz bass breaks on the planet (Once again, these guys are a must-see live, those fuzz breaks nearly nocked me down with their violence).
If the record has a flaw, it seems to run out of steam a little bit in the latter half. But by that time, you don't really care. You can just float along in dreamy wonder with little gems like "Too Real" and "Salvation".
If a lot of this article sound like hyperbole, it may be. But these are crucial times for rock. There has never been a time when the corporations have had a firmer grip on music (and yes, these guys are part of one of these corporations, but on their own terms). I have a feeling that rock has one more shot left in it, and bands like B.R.M.C., the Strokes, Brian Jonestown Massacre and several other bands on the fuzz-garage edge are gonna be its last hope. This record is as good as anything that has been released in the last five to ten years, so go out and grab it before Virgin figures out it has something dangerous on its hands.
For the most up to date news on B.R.M.C. go to www.BlackRebelMotorcycleClub.com
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The Boss Martians-Move (Dionysus)
The Boss Martians play Fender guitars and amps. And, by God, they’re gonna use them. A combination of early 60’s northwestern garage and surf, this disc is a reverb fan’s wet dream.
I get the
feeling that these boys don’t take themselves too seriously. You can almost hear the band winking as they
rip through yet another ode to cars and crashing waves. “Introducing-The 1971 Dodge Super Bee” and
“Bad Ass Dodge ’71 Super Bee get too close to silly for comfort.
Things get
off to a promising enough start. “She’s
In, You’re Gone” and “I Want More” are classic boys in the garage angst
anthems, with ripping guitars and pissed off vox. It just seems that these boys don’t mean it. They remind me of many of the bands of the first
neo-garage revolution of the eighties who had the right gear, the right
clothes, and the right haircuts, but couldn’t translate the enthusiastic glee
and joyous roar of the originals onto disc.
The Boss
Martians aren’t too bad. If faced with
the option of this or some emo bullshit, pick this every time. But with all the great reissues of vintage
garage and with the crop of new garage bands that are spitting out something
new and meaningful, I can’t see spending your hard-earned bucks for Move!
(for more Boss Martians info visit www.bossmartians.com)
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