Track of the Week: The Ramones: I Don't Care (1977)

The Ramones: the denim-clad, leather jacketed saviours of Rock 'N' Roll, or a bunch of goons with barely an I.Q. point between them playing a limited repertoire of sped up surf songs long after they should have been old enough to know better? (Is there any difference?) For the most part, the bruvvers were simply too rock to subscribe fully to the bracing nihilism that defined much of the punk era. And on one hand, 'I Don't Care' is typical Ramones-patented cartoon rebellion, saying no simply because you want to. With their typical tongue-in-cheek humour, and a sound understanding of the mechanics of pop music, the lyrics start off as an anti-love song, but of course, as Joey sings 'I don't care about that girl,' we all know that he really does, and no amount of nihilistic posturing can get him out of it. But, are our heroes really so stoopid? There is something wilfully nasty about 'I Don't Care'. It only has three chords, like pretty much every other Ramones song, but it is somehow a far cry from the bubble-gum pop of 'Rockaway Beach', say. Dee Dee's bass and Johnny's guitar merge together to form a particularly thick, grungy wall of noise, and the agitated repetition of the song's chords, claustrophobically close together, sound particularly nagging and intense. Then, in the next verse (not quite the same as the first), Joey turns it all round again by dropping the line about the girl and sneering 'I don't care about these words' instead. Now that's nihilism - he doesn't even give a hoot about the song he's singing. Screw the music, we don't care. Now that's punk. But is he being 100% serious? As the bridge descends into endless repetition of 'I don't care / I don't care / I don't care / I DON'T CARE!', you wonder if you can imagine a slight smirk beneath Joey's fantastic sneer. By contrasting the reference to the girl with the line about the song itself, is he drawing a line between pent up teenage sexual repression and nihilism itself? Or is the song just good, clean, stoopid fun? But of course, you don't have time to think about this, do you, because the whole song is over in one minute and thirty-nine seconds, giving you only a split second of silence before the Ramones race through the perfect pop of 'Sheena Is A Punk Rocker'. Interestingly enough, 'I Don't Care' was one of the first songs The Ramones wrote. In just over 90 seconds in encapsulates everything that is great about the band, but also sums up quite neatly all their limitations. All of their classic songs are more or less variations on this theme, ranging from the anthemic straight rewrite 'I Wanna Be Sedated' to other cartoony-and-not-as-dumb-as-you-think classics such as 'Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue'. But unfortunately, The Ramones never managed to find a satisfactory way to expand their sound, and once they'd squeezed all they possibly could from their original formula - i.e.' half way through making 'Road To Ruin' if you want to be generous - they could only become hollow parodies of their former selves. From 'stoopid' to stupid in the space of two years, not bad. Still, this article was going to be far less complementary to the band then it has wound up being. It has been a while since I have felt the need to listen to The Ramones, and certainly I don't really feel like sitting through a whole album, but every now and then, nothing quite sums up the way I feel better then 'I Don't Care' or 'I'm Against It' - perhaps the shrewdest dissection of modern youth's attitude towards politics yet written. All together now: ONETWOTHREEFOUR!!!!!

Track of the Week: Teenage Fanclub: Sparky's Dream (1995)

One of Glasgow's many great pop bands, Teenage Fanclub were borne out of the tail-end of the C86 movement, but showed the ambition and musical chops to move beyond the straight-jacket of that scene. Drawing on The Byrds, The Beach Boys and especially Big Star, the Fannies could easily be accused of being just another retro band grave-robbing the 60s if it weren't for the sheer strength of song-writing shown by Norman Blake, Gerard Love and Raymond McGinley. Few bands are lucky enough to be blessed with three such gifted song-writers. 'Grand Prix' came out in 1995 on Creation at the height of Britpop and showed up most other bands of the genre simply by virtue of its great songs. And Love's 'Sparky's Dream' is one of the best songs on this exceptional album. Kicking off with muted guitar and drums before the whole band come crashing in, it immediately shows a dynamic control at odds with many of their contemporaries. In many ways the song is typical Teenage Fanclub, drawing heavily from Big Star's power pop, but in these guys' hands this is no bad thing. The song is immediately catchy and memorable, with its strong melody and the boys' trademark Beach Boys harmonies over the soaring chorus, but its structure is more complex then it seems at first. The song is tied together quite neatly with an instrumental hook that appears between the first verse and first chorus, and again linking the last two choruses. Its irregular appearance gives the song an unusual shape, putting off the glorious sugar rush of the chorus at crucial points to drag out your expectations before hitting you in the face with exactly what you want to hear. The simple yet melodic guitar solo in the bridge adds to the fun without outstaying its welcome. Love's spaced out lyrics deal, as with so many great pop songs, with the girl who got away. They achieve a touching simplicity without sounding crass or stupid, or having to rely on the Bumper Gallagher Book Of Easy Rhymes (pain/rain, time/Sheeiiine etc.). Interestingly enough, and despite the occasionally erratic nature of some of their output, as the dust settles on the Britpop era, Teenage Fanclub are one of the few bands to have survived entirely on their own terms and with their artistic credibility in tact. It is a tribute to the Fannies that, although they are doing something that many have done many times before, much of their music still manages to sound fresh and vital to this day.

Track of the Week: McCarthy: Should The Bible Be Banned (1988)

The 'C86' bands weren't renowned for their political dedication, but there's always an exception to the rule. A group of dedicated socialists led by lyricist and singer Malcolm Eden and guitarist Tim Gane, McCarthy - ironically named after the right-wing American politician - combined jangly indie pop with socialist politics. Malcolm Eden's lyrics are written from the point of view of various characters, and often seek to make a point of view look ridiculous by exposing the errors in the characters' thinking. Tim Gane's delicate guitar arpeggios often add another dimension of irony to these quite passionate songs. These elements give McCarthy's songs a subtlety that they would lack had Eden decided to merely fanatically espouse his own view points over storming punk rock. 'Should The Bible Be Banned' is an excellent song and a prime example of how McCarthy worked at their best. Rather then a direct attack on religion, the song is protesting about the religious right's censorship against freedom of expression on the grounds that songs, books or films that deal with violence are encouraging violence in children and are so corrupting our youth. The song opens with Eden assuming the persona of Dave, a young miscreant who has murdered his brother. In a neat rhetorical trick, as the song progresses it transpires that Dave was inspired to kill his hated brother not by violent video games or satanic death metal but by the story of Cain and Abel in the Bible. As a result, people start protesting in order to get the government to ban the Bible. The song closes with Dave revealing that the Home Secretary is investigating the possibilities of 'A copycat killer copying the Book of Genesis'. This obviously humorous image underlines the hypocrisy of religious groups seeking to ban violent forms of art - the Bible is full of violence, it is a natural part of human nature. And as the Christian fundamentalists' sacred text is on the receiving end of the banning, the song's target is doubly made the butt of the joke. The song also makes a more serious point - while Dave is inspired to kill his brother by the Bible, the real reason for his deranged hatred for his brother his revealed in the song to be due to the other son being the father's favourite - to the extent that Dave believes 'My father hated me'. By banning the Bible, the Home Secretary is taking the populist approach to blame a convenient scapegoat to keep voters happy rather then trying to deal with the real social conditions that caused the problem in the first place. The lyrics don't give you all of this on a plate though; Malcolm Eden wanted people to think for themselves about these issues rather then being force-fed other people's opinions.
Not that the song is merely a great set of lyrics; Tim Gane's shimmering guitars and Eden's pure, choirboy voice make the song instantly catchy and likeable. Upon McCarthy's 1990 split, Tim Gane would go on to form Stereolab and invent a truly individual melding of Krautrock motorik and 60s pop, and you can hear the germs of these experiments in McCarthy's songs, in the way that the guitar blurs into a heady rush. The rhythm section is endearingly shambolic though. After McCarthy's demise, Malcolm Eden would retire from music, claiming to be no longer interested. This is a shame, as he was a truly individual and perceptive lyricist who never patronised his audience. Fortunately though, Tim Gane formed Stereolab and became one of the greatest bands of the 90's, building on the promise of this sadly forgotten band.

Album of the Month: Wolf Eyes: Human Animal (2006)

One of the biggest and most pleasant surprises of 2004 was Wolf Eyes, the wild, feral, beer-guzzling, frat-boy Beavis and Butthead of noise music, signing to Sub Pop and releasing one of the albums of the year to not only rapturous reception of the music press but to not inconsiderable sales. By combining the full-on, bleeding ears approach of Whitehouse and Merzbow but combining it with a goofy, good-times Spinal Tap-esque approach, Wolf Eyes managed the unthinkable: they made noise music fun, attracting disillusioned metalheads, adventurous indie kids and avant guarde enthusiasts in equal measure, without diluting the substance or ferocity of their music. As a result, the band brought the underground noise scene as close as it's likely to get to the mainstream, whilst simultaneously injecting life into it: witness the host of contempory noise acts whose profile has risen since 2004. The only question was, how could they possibly follow this? Like all noise groups, Wolf Eyes release a constant deluge of material, forever developing, exploring and expanding their sound across limited edition CDRs, tapes and vinyl. Thus keeping up with the band's releases is something of a Herculean struggle. However, whilst Wolf Eyes' constant release of material serves to negate the idea of an album release as a great event, there is a genuine sense of event for all their official Sub Pop releases. Essentially, the band get to have their cake and eat it: the never ending minor label releases allow them to perfect, experiment with and develop their sound with perfect freedom, which allows their Sub Pop albums to arrive as finished products: benefiting from all the time in the wilderness but without any of the inconsistencies that creep into their minor releases.
So, to the album. The cover of 'Human Animal' features a horrific corpse which bears an uncanny resemblance to the molten-faced zombie in Fulci's B-movie classic 'The Beyond'. In many ways this is appropriate: Wolf Eyes are no strangers to schlock horror, and their new album unfolds like a really good horror film. Opener 'A Million Years' is all sinister clanking, disembodied hollows of feedback and atonal improvised saw-skronk. But, like all good horror movies, there is something more then hair-raising terror going on here: the band are attempting to take noise music beyond mere ear-shredding. The first half of this album is all tension and no release, from the eerie hissing of 'Lake Of Roaches' to vocalist Nate Young's chilling monologue, spoken rather then shouted, on 'Rationed Rot'. The album moves into areas of free improvisation, with the band proving themselves deft controllers of dynamics and tone. Not that they've gone soft. When it comes, the dual attack of the title track and 'Rusted Mange' are among the most extreme sonic attacks the band have ever done, and 'The Driller' overtakes 'Burned Mind''s 'Black Vomit' as Wolf Eyes' most tinnitus-inducing audio gore-fest. These outbursts are all the more impressive and exhilarating coming next to the earlier, more subtle (well, relatively speaking) pieces. The album ends with a cover of 'Noise, Not Music', which Wolf Eyes turn into their own 'Living on a Prayer', a defining anthem and statement of intent. 'WE MAKE NOISE, NOT MUSIC!' you can just about hear Young bellowing before he gets finally swallowed by the feedback. Well, yes and no. Whatever you want to call it though, Wolf Eyes have once again exceeded all expectations and made one of the albums of the year. Look out behind you!

Track of the Week: Eyeless In Gaza: Lights of April (1982)

"All our songs say one thing; say I want to understand, say I want to find reason to everything..." Martyn Bates

Often the price of being years ahead of your time is that you are ignored in your own time. Eyeless In Gaza sound absolutely stunning today, but they must have made very little sense when Martyn Bates and Peter Becker first got together in 1980. Consequently their record sales hardly set the world alight, and these days they are all but forgotten. Which is a shame, as if you have had the good fortune to stumble upon their music, you will find a startlingly original and emotionally rich musical world that seems to exist in its own little bubble, out of place and out of time. Certainly, peak period Eyeless In Gaza sounds like very little else in popular music, echoing choral and folk music whilst anticipating the glacial post rock of Sigur Ros and the icy electronica of Aphex Twin's ambient work. Somewhere along the line they picked up the label 'avant-folk', which may give you some idea of their sound, but doesn't quite capture the band's knack, at their best, of making music that is inventive, experimental but open and accessible.
'Lights of April' is one of the many highlights from their quietly wonderful 1982 album 'Drumming the Beating Heart'. The song is a beautiful, delicate soundscape, all sweeping organ and echoing bells, but with a determined starkness that only serves to highlight the song's beautiful melody. It is not unlike Sigur Ros, but with that band's epic aurora replaced with quiet introspection. Martyn Bates has an absolutely fantastic and very unusual voice, his thick accent giving his choir-boy singing an unusual twist. The melody is in a folky mode rather then your usual minor/major keys, giving the tune an archaic feel, harking back to something long-forgotten yet ultimately timeless that resides in us all. Which is appropriate, given the song's gorgeous lyrics - a simple yet poetic look at lost love and nostalgia, wrapped up with an indefinable longing. 'Idly tracing her face with her finger...' just beautiful. The song moves at a sedate pace, calm and dignified, but never degenerates into banal chillout. It is sad and reflective, but unlike many of their doom-mongering contempories, Eyeless In Gaza acknowledge life's brighter side: this is not an exercise in existential despair, but a fond remembrance of times past, and a reflection on the transient nature of our existence. The end result is starkly emotional and wonderfully uplifting. In today's post-rock climate, Eyeless In Gaza make fantastic sense, but back in 1982 they fitted contextually with very little else. Cruelly ignored by the public, they ploughed their own very individual furrow, constantly evolving and experimenting, and always open to new ideas. Perhaps, at some point, their music will be appreciated for how ahead of its time it truly was, but until then, all I can do is urge you to seek out this music; you'll be glad you did.

RIP Nancy Arlen 1942-2006

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mars_(band)

Nancy Arlen, who was the drummer for No Wave pioneers Mars, has passed away following heart surgery in September. Very sad news, Sumner Crane (vocals, guitar) died in 2003. Basically, Mars were fantastic and you should rush out and buy, beg, borrow or steal a copy of '78+', which contains all their recorded work. Thoughts go out to her family and friends, and a huge thanks from someone whose very definition of music you guys shook to the core.