Every so often an album comes along that infuses me
with a new charge of energy. I’ll never
forget the thrill I felt the first time I heard The Primitives “Crash”
while in High School. It’s been a love
affair with indie pop ever since! That
vivacious burst of fresh air made me feel inspired and alive and a major reason
I became a music junkie. I’ve written
before about how Swedish indie-pop band Popsicle turned my attitude from
lethargic and hopeless to excited and optimistic with their stellar debut album
Lacquer (see write up here).
In 2005, I recall being struck like lightning by Maxïmo Park and their frenetic jolt of an album A
Certain Trigger. Then there was that
Halloween when I saw The Pipettes doo wop their way a Capella style at
an in-store performance at the record store Music Millennium, which led
me to buy their CD on the spot and follow them to Wonder Ballroom for
their concert later that evening in 2007.
That CD did not leave my car player for months, and only left when thieves
busted my car window and stole my stereo with the CD inside. By the way Gwenno, my marriage
proposal still stands. Man, did that
whoosh of music carry me on a tidal wave of good vibes! Don’t get me wrong, every time I hear a new
song that appeals to me I get a shot of adrenalin and probably all kinds of
narcotic endorphins. I guess that’s why,
despite having more great music I love than I can ever re-listen to again, I
still hungrily search out new music, or new to me music.
Even though, I do not speak Spanish, I
have found myself in love with many musical acts from Spain in recent
years. In 2016, Linda Guilala
released a massive twenty song opus namedPsiconáutica, which definitely set my imagination ablaze! This was delivered via the long-time and most
excellent Spanish indie label Elefant Records, whom I first learned
about via Camera Obscura. Elefant
Records has introduced me to numerous pop bands since the turn of the century
and is unsurprisingly now the home of the afore-mentioned Primitives. Most recently, Elefant has introduced me to
this spitfire of a foursome from Valencia: LISASINSON.
This is LISASINSON’s third album since 2020, so I am
late to the game and have some catching up to do. I was first introduced to them via their
defiant sounding 2023 single “Chuchillos,” which is absolutely a stunner. I’m not sure how I let their second LP get by
me at that point. Though that single led
me to tracking down the string of incredible digital singles over the past year
or so leading up to this new album: Desde
Cuándo Todo. I’ll be honest, despite
growing up with German electronic music pioneers Kraftwerk as part of my
young childhood soundtrack, vocals in a different language have often been a
barrier for me. However, with
LISASINSON, I am finding that not knowing the language has freed me up to
really let go and enjoy the music and not get so hung up on the words and their
meaning. Or, likely more accurately, I’m
talking out of my ass, and their music is simply so infectious that I cannot
resist it.
The album opens with the mid-tempo builder “Salgo A La Calle,” which bounces
along a buoyant clean bass-line and explodes with color and intensity as the
chorus hits. Their indie pop or “punky
pop” thrives in that 2-3 minute sweet spot and each song leaves me wanting to
hear more. Their use of noisy guitar fuzz combined with bright simple keyboards
as emphasis remind me of recent music from Australia’s rocket rules (their new collection Dearden’s Number is also highly recommended for a great musical
start to 2026!), or MaxïmoParkwhen
keyboardist Lukas Wooller was a big part of their sound, and of course
there’s a massive influence of Spanish pioneers Linda Guilala (check out their
2014 song “Verano” for a head-spinning shot to the system).
“Quiero Que Perdamos La Cabeza (Otra Vez)”
comes on like a festive gang busking out the chorus at an open market, which
becomes a through line for the entire two-plus minutes as it builds into a
stomping banger that makes me feel like jumping around. The exciting dance remix (also included here)
is a nice bonus, as it smartly emphasizes the song’s frenetic and fun feel.
There are so
many songs that are also fueled by pure adrenaline like the buzzing “Quiero Que
Perdamos La Cabeza (Otra Vez)” and the truly punk drive of “Decidí Desaparecer,’ and the Heavenly-esque “No Quiero Envejecer,” and I cannot forget the power
chord driven closer (before two remix tracks) “Si Todo Se Tuerce.”
However, I’m
finding a huge draw to the more spacious and serious sounding bursts like the
determined sounding “Desde Cuándo” and the brilliant “Si Me Pierdo,” whose
contrasting verse and chorus brings back that good ole ‘LOUD/quiet/LOUD’
dynamic of early 90s indie-rock. My
favorite song here though is the dramatic “Me Acostumbré” and its powerful
idling engine bass-line that climbs to a cymbal crashing chorus. Much like the opening track “Salgo A La
Calle,” this song builds with intensity and when that second vocal
comes in late, shouting along with the original chorus vocal, it feels like a
desperate heartbreaker. Wow, what a
song! And what an album!
Whatever the
remainder of 2026 holds, I will always remember LISASINSON and how they helped
pull me from an extended period of doldrums on the music front. For that I am thankful. If I’m not feeling a lot from music, then I’m
not right. Period. Now, pardon me, while I go and listen to
their earlier albums. Meanwhile, I hope
you are inspired to give their music a chance!
My friend Jeff and I used to escape the campus of Pacific University in Forest Grove, Oregon by walking to the bus
stop for Tri-Met line 57. It was the final stop about 25 miles west of
Portland. We’d grab as much change as we
could and try to get to Portland to visit cool record stores and such, despite
the hour and a half trip each way. If we
had less time, or patience, we’d ride the 16 or so miles into Beaverton and go
to Tower Records. We needed to feel civilization. Being on a small college campus in an
isolated town that didn’t want to have anything to do with the college students
back in 1989/90 was a little claustrophobic.
There was little to do, so we invented our own fun, and minor
escapes. During our treks to the bus
stop near the mini mart and the Vac
& Sew storefront, we generally sang exaggerated versions of songs that
would pop into our heads.
One of those songs was The Cure’s
“Lullaby.” It was never a huge favorite
of mine from their catalogue, but our overly breathy version was, well, it was
a thing. The combination of the
exaggerated gasping whispers and the attempts to stifle our laughter while
performing this song for our own entertainment would lead to near
hyperventilation. If it wasn’t
“Lullaby,” it might’ve been “Fire in Cairo,” or “Party
of the First Part,” or “Debaser,” or “Cuts You Up,” for which I was convinced I
had perfected the Peter Murphy croon,
but I’m sure in reality I sounded more like a dying harbor seal barking out my
misery. Then there was the Jesus and Mary Chain’s “Sidewalking,”
which included our repeating howls of “chilled to the bone” and an impossible
contorted stroll that can only be described as a silly walk – Monty Python-style. I would say, “You had to be there,” but it
still likely would not have made any sense.
None of it ever made sense, but I will never forget those mini adventures
and the laughs.
I woke up from a short fit of sleep recently
having dreamt of spider webs. They were
everywhere. Thick and sticky. In my eyes and mouth. Surrounding me enough to make me believe that
a giant spider or a gang of ambitious regular sized spiders were hunting me. I could feel the webs in my mouth and
sticking to every part of my body as I tried to force my way through them. There were layers and layers.
Legend has it that one of Robert Smith’s uncles would tell him
nightmarish bed time stories about a spiderman that would eat sleeping
children. Was the “Spiderman” from
“Lullaby” coming for me after all these years for making fun of the song?
“On candy stripe legs the spiderman comes
Softly through the shadow of the evening sun
Stealing past the windows of the blissfully dead
Looking for the victim shivering in bed
Searching out fear in the gathering gloom and
Suddenly a movement in the corner of the room
And there is nothing I can do
When I realize with fright
That the spiderman is having me for dinner tonight”
I look back at those days with
bewilderment. I was fairly healthy and
one of my biggest fears at that time was sleeping through my 8:30 am classes at
college. Sure, life wasn’t always fun
and games, but a lot of my needs were met, I had new friends, my small insular
world was expanding, and there wasn’t a lot of outside pressure.
Generally, I’m not one to read a lot
into dreams. If I’m dreaming about
looking for a bathroom then, yes, I likely need to pee in real life and should
wake up. In this case though, the
imagery is not lost on me. I’m pretty
sure that those webs represent my own inhibitions and shields that I’ve
continued to build and maintain throughout my life.
I’ve always been slow to trust and
very wary of trying new things, especially if there’s potential danger. And by danger, I mean everything from falling
from a tree fort, or flying off jumps on my first dirt bike, to opening myself
up for emotional damage from failed relationships. For the most part, I’ve kept to myself, which
has always felt safer and frankly, comfortable.
It can get lonely sometimes, but I’m not so bad at keeping myself
company most of the time. As a kid, I
never fully embraced being away from home.
Never felt comfortable sleeping over anywhere. I preferred spending time with friends and
then going home. I’m still that way.
After years of medical issues that
have caused a lot of damage, I am feeling like I’ve isolated myself into a
deep, dark hole full of those sticky webs that will not allow me to
escape. It’s frustrating, because I’ve
been this way for so long, that I am not sure how to remedy this
self-entrapment. The older and
unhealthier I get, the more I realize that I cannot do this alone anymore. I need help, but I don’t know specifically
what help I need or how to ask. I feel
like I’ve alienated a lot of friends who have offered help, by declining, but I
do not know how to relinquish control of every aspect of my being, or what to
ask for, and I don’t know how accept the idea that I’m anything but a nuisance
or burden, if I reach out for help. Pride
is a bitch.
Self-hatred would likely have
happened anyway, but it took a dark turn after having a few serious abdominal
surgeries before I turned 20. I do not
feel proud of my scars like well-adjusted people do for having toughed things
out. I feel mutilated like some sort of Frankenstein’s Monster. Back then though, I suppose I had enough
belief that eventually I’d pull myself free of my self-imposed shackles and not
be ashamed of my physical being. It has
never happened. Shame and embarrassment
has only expanded with age and numerous hardcore medications. Steroids, chemo drugs, immune suppressants,
and numerous cholesterol and blood pressure medications have helped me morph
into some kind of pale doughy crippled Sasquatch. I feel humiliated. Ashamed.
I could go on and on.
Shit.
This got dark real quick.
What I’m trying to say is that I
think this dream led me to some self-reflection and a full honest realization
of how I’ve sabotaged myself over the years as part of my unfortunate lifelong
unhealthy journey. Emotionally, I do not
know how to handle it anymore. My poor
social skills have caught up with me leading to isolation and difficulty
navigating some of the few friendships I have remaining. I spend so much time with medical professionals
that they have essentially become my social circle, which is incredibly
unhealthy. When I move on from a
physical therapist or a specialist having completed some kind of arbitrarily
sanctioned insurance coverage. I get
incredibly sad, because these people are no longer part of my life.
As I mentioned above, I seem to
reject offers of help. I do not know
what to ask for, and by the time I do have a specific need, I struggle to send
out a request, nor do I want to give up control and my privacy. The nature of my health issues stems from a
genetic disorder that never seems to end, as long as I keep surviving. So, the same things that were making my life
hell in 1991, are still affecting me – only it’s expanded and become more all-encompassing. I feel embarrassed and reluctant to keep
complaining to those I love about the same old shit. Nothing has changed. The disorder is unrelenting. I often get “what now?” reactions when I
attempt to communicate my problems to others.
How do I make it clear that I live with this stuff every day and have
most of my life? It doesn’t go
away. It is a part of who I am.
What’s funny is that intellectually I
recognize that I self-shame myself into oblivion. I am proud of my survival on a certain
level. Not a level that’s high enough
for me to prevent me from feeling like a waste and a failure. I can recognize this kind of defeatist
attitude in others when they manifest it and I can come up with compelling
arguments as to why they shouldn’t punish themselves that way. Apparently, these arguments do not apply to
me. Is it possible to turn things
around? Is it possible to undo a
lifetime of mental sabotage? Is it
possible to fend off the spiderman? Do I
want to fend off the spiderman, or do I want to give up?
Apologies in advance for this
self-indulgent opening. My introduction to Jeffrey Runnings’ music happened
late in 1990 via his incredible US postpunk band For Against. Runnings was
their vocalist and bassist and their only consistent member from
1984-2009. I had heard of For Against,
but had not heard them. I remember
reading a brief write up about a 10” EP release that was hyper limited. Everything about it intrigued me, but I kind
of assumed I would never run across it due to its limited nature. Lucky that we had Ooze Records – a small record shop just off Burnside in SW
Portland. It was an amazing store that
looked like it had been a former one chair barber shop. At that time they seemed to carry everything
that I could ever be interested in. They
had that For Against In the Marshes 10”
EP. It stood out. The cover had a green image looking up
through trees. It had a similar quiet
beauty that I loved about New Order’s
album art – a band I purchased originally unheard and based on record sleeve
design alone, before discovering their prior incarnation as Joy Division and their even better
cover designs. In other words, the
packaging evoked the same kind of artistic spirit as UK record labels such as 4AD and Factory, both of whom I essentially worshipped. This was different though. I was in love with the otherworldly aesthetic
that these labels put into their designs, and this was on an LA based label: Independent Project Records. That otherworldly aspect was not just the
beautiful design and packaging. The six
songs on the EP were incredibly special.
Upon first listen, I felt completely transported. There were postpunk songs like “Amnesia” and
“Amen Yves” that captured both a pop sensibility and a certain dark and
mysterious intensity kind of like Movement
era New Order. However, it was the
more experimental mostly instrumental tracks that struck me the most. “Tibet” and “The Purgatory Salesman” had an
atmosphere that melted into my psyche and transported me to the nether regions
of my imagination. It reminded me of
4AD’s Dif Juz, but better and more
impactful. I played this combination of
songs over and over again!
In the
Marshes was a total music game changer for me. This release was the first entry into
Independent Project’s Archive Series. The Archive
Series was to be a monthly subscription of releases collecting previously
unheard recordings by IPR related artists - none of whom I was familiar
with. These records would all be
immaculately packaged in limited number editions with artistic sleeves on 10”
colored vinyl. This not only enticed my
ever-expanding search for great under heard music, but my collector nerd
desires. I immediately and impatiently
subscribed and was assigned my own number for each release (0340). All of the Archive Series releases that ensued over the following few years
are priceless treasures both as visual art pieces, but as mind expanding
music! Those records are very personal
to me, and they introduced me to artists that I still treasure to this
day. These transactions only intensified
my desire and interest in music. It was
through this new connection learned about the incredible NY band Springhouse (IPR’s founder Bruce Licher designed their debut album’s
cover art), which then led me to their drummer’s long time music fanzine The Big Takeover, whose bi-annual epic
tomes still inform my musical journey in 2025.
When I say this was a game changer, I mean it. That curious purchase of In the Marshes planted a seed that truly expanded my horizons for
good.
Piqued is
Jeffrey Runnings’ second solo effort and sadly his last. Runnings passed away earlier this year and
this album is a posthumous release and an amazing tribute to his impressive legacy. For Against, out of Nebraska, were an
oddity. A rare UK inspired postpunk band
who created dense tension filled emotive songs that masterfully encapsulated a
dream pop accessibility and an experimental melancholy that rivaled anything
their influences doled out. Their eight
albums were all incredible, and in my opinion, their final two (Shade Side Sunny Side 2008; Never Been 2009) proved to be among
their best. Runnings reappeared with his
first solo effort in 2016 with Primitives
and Smalls, an album that never worked for me. There’s definitely promise in those songs,
but the recordings felt like they needed his band to flesh them out and give
them depth. To be honest it was an
unsatisfying LP coming from an artist I had admired for so long.
That’s part of why Piqued is such a bittersweet album. It’s as if Runnings had found his footing
again as an artist after giving up his musical ambitions and recording songs at
home for himself. The wonderful tribute
essay by Camilla Aisa included in
this stunning IPR letterpress package details how Runnings had been on a life
long journey to find certain simple sounds that evoke the most feeling. This is what drew me so strongly to the
esoteric side of In the Marshes. I feel a kinship with his sound goals, as a
listener. Runnings employs older
recording equipment here and the result sounds completely unique in the best of
ways. This mostly instrumental
collection is captivating. The songs
sound well-worn and dusty, instead of sounding crisp, clean and pristine like
so many instrumental recordings, these songs sound well-worn, disheveled, and
even murky at times. It all sounds so
human. This aesthetic boosts these
tracks with character, mystery, and depth.
They make me want to know more.
As I mentioned above, they capture my imagination, drawing me into their
unspoken stories.
“Batman Forever” was the first song
presented after Runnings’ passing, and to be honest, I was a little wary –
worried that it would sound incomplete.
However, instead it is a quiet statement of love and trust as he repeats
“You’re the one I want to be there.”
It’s quite touching and listening to it now is bringing a lot of heavy
emotions to the surface. The other vocal
song “Heretofore” is one of his great For Against style songs that is both
catchy and deeply evocative.
My favorites of the instrumentals are
“Threadbare” and its dirty sounding drum machine beat underneath washes of
uncomfortable sounds; and “Failed Rescue Attempt,” which has a quiet intensity
that is disconcerting, yet endlessly intriguing. I enjoy his use of piano throughout, as his
mournful keystrokes provide a powerful mystique to songs like “Glorious Grey”
and “Elegy.”
This is not your usual instrumental
style album. Piqued is unique. To some it
may sound rough, but to me it sounds like adventure, exotic locations, and
interesting dreams. I feel close to
these songs, because they feel like they are what I would want to create, if I
had even a smidgeon of talent. Plus I
feel a heavy nostalgia thinking back to that discovery of For Against nearly 35
years ago and how important that mind and life expanding charge that followed
really was.
Bauhaus, the
1979-1983 UK post punk band is largely credited with being one of the founders
of the Gothic Rock movement. Their 1979
debut single, “Bela Lugosi’s Dead,” is likely the main reason. This nine-plus minute epic of dark low end
bass strikes and Peter Murphy’s
haunting repetitive chants of “oh Bela” and “undead” provided the groundwork
for some creepy shit. It’s funny to me
that though they can easily be seen as forefathers of the Gothic Rock movement,
I’ve not really ever thought of them in those terms. It reminds me of a portion of writer Chuck Klosterman’s 2016 non-fiction
book But What if We’re Wrong? Forgive me if I misrepresent this, since
it’s been nine years since I’ve read the book, but I seem to remember a section
discussing the way history can be interpreted in different ways. How things get condensed. Who will be remembered most from 20th
century rock-n-roll? The Beatles? Elvis
Presley? The Rolling Stones? What
about the other several thousand artists that made massive cultural impacts? Who might be most remembered forty years from
now, as time and perspectives change and fade?
I’ve noticed the phenomenon for years, once the oldies, classic rock,
and 70s & 80s radio formats began popping up on the AM/FM dials, and even
now over streaming services. For
example, 80s new wave band the Thompson
Twins had seven top 40 hits in the US.
Once the 80s became a genre, that band was reduced to only one hit:
“Hold Me Now.” I bring this up, because
recently I put Bauhaus’ 1989 collection of BBC
Radio recordings (Swing the Heartache)
into my listening pile, and I find that it still sounds fresh, creative, and
exciting. Bauhaus were not a band to be
pigeon-holed to the point of cliché. I’m
not going to argue that they were not Goth Rock founders. They definitely embraced the sound, visuals, and
aesthetic of the macabre and the occult.
The wonderful album cover for Swing
the Heartache: The BBC Sessions, looks up at an old spiral staircase surrounded
by peeling painted walls with a ghostly figure ascending the stairs, which
evokes their ghostly debut single.
However, the music and performances inside show a highly varied creative
band who were willing to have fun and experiment and take chances.
My introduction to Bauhaus was via my
long time friend Wil. I think it was
1985, and I was staying over at his family’s place. We were a couple of 14 year olds chatting
about our burgeoning musical discoveries late at night in his basement
bedroom. Wil put on his recently secured
12” single by Bauhaus named “She’s in Parties” on the turntable. I had never heard of them, and Wil pronounced
their name as “The Bajas” – as in Baja,
California. “She’s in Parties” was
mildly intriguing. To be honest, I
wasn’t really sure what I felt about it at first listen. It was different from that stuff from the
predominantly hit radio I was used to.
Yet, when he excitedly flipped the record over to the B-side, I heard
what sounded like a ping pong ball bouncing as a beat (or water dripping from a
faucet into a tub), a walking bass-line and a British accented voice mumbling a
surreal story and it was captivating!
This strange song was creepy and fun, and different than anything that I
had ever heard and yet I identified with it.
The line “even the wallpaper had become sinister to him” crept into my
psyche, because I had always been very emotionally effected by my surroundings,
and had often contemplated why certain colors have made me uncomfortable.
A few years later, I learned more
about the band, and how to pronounce their name, and how they took their
moniker from an early 20th century German architectural
school/movement. I finally purchased a
new CD single re-release of their first single “Bela Lugosi’s Dead.” I loved it, but honestly its length was
daunting. Its atmosphere was heavy, so I
understood where the “I fart bats” Gothic reputation had come from. At the same time, I recognized it as a
twisted type of Dub. The delay and echo
reminded more of sunshiny beaches of Jamaica, than towering castles and bat
caves. Still, I wanted to hear more.
It wasn’t until the summer of 1989
that I finally purchased one of Bauhaus’ full length CDs. It was Swing
the Heartache: The BBC Sessions, which is a compilation and not one of
their proper planned albums. By that
time, I was already fully immersed and fascinated by BBC Radio sessions. Certain BBC Radio DJ’s would commission bands
to record songs especially for their radio shows. These sessions were done quickly, so they are
a perfect balance between hearing a band live with the sonic clarity of a
studio recording, so they are often illuminating and livelier than the more
well-known versions from albums. Bauhaus
chose to use these sessions to record covers of other artist’s songs,
experiment, and stretch their creativity.
I purchased this CD, because it had their cover of David Bowie’s “Ziggy Stardust” and that weird “Departure.” I cannot emphasize enough how often I’ve listened
to this collection that summer. It
wasn’t long before I knew every nuance of every song and repeatedly found myself
driving off the road as I blasted “Ziggy” while air drumming. It wasn’t long before I secured the band’s
four albums (at that time). Though, I
enjoy all of those albums (especially The
Sky’s Gone Out, 1982), they never hit me like this collection.
By late August of that year, I found
myself in a dorm room at a small town college I had almost randomly chosen at
the last moment. I had only a few of my
of couple hundred CD collection with me.
I had little in common with my new roommates, it was uncomfortably hot
and smelled like a cow pasture everywhere I went. I was lying on my back reading a heavy,
outrageously expensive science textbook for a class that was required, yet had
no interest in. A high school teacher
had taught me to read lying on my back, because if I start to get sleepy, the
book will fall on my face as I drift off.
Let’s just say that I was getting beat up pretty good. Suddenly, I heard the opening notes of
Bauhaus’ “God in an Alcove” come drifting through my dorm room wall. At first I only recognized it as a welcome
diversion to the monotony, until I realized that someone I didn’t know was
playing a song that I had been obsessed with for the past several weeks.
“God in an Alcove” from Bauhaus’
embryonic BBC recording for legendary DJ John Peel is so alive with energy and
mystery. Daniel Ash’s spindly guitar and the brothers Haskins’ (David J bass and Kevin Haskins drums) unveiling rhythm flows into Peter Murphy’s
rich dual vocals, which bounce around at you from all angles, as two different
narrators. I dare you not to be drawn in
by the insanity as Murphy repeats “I feel silly” in various voices. The song rocks with that blistering guitar in
the bridge that explodes from the meandering build up. What a masterfully dramatically structured
song! It was the first time that I ever
thought of them as a regular rock band.
This is from their first radio session in 1980, which also includes a
cover of T. Rex’s “Telegram Sam,”
which expertly alters the guitar riff that T Rex had recycled from his hit
“Bang a Gong (Get it On)” and Bauhaus puts the song into overdrive. There are four covers in this five session 18
song collection. The afore mentioned
cover of Bowie’s “Ziggy Stardust” is likewise injected with some punk
energy. Providing a very accurate cover
with more urgency and spunk and a top 20 UK chart single. Apparently at the time, critics accused
Bauhaus of mining some of glam rock’s greats, so they embraced it and steered
into the curve and covered these essential classics. Bauhaus’s “Third Uncle” cover may not be as
edgy and obtuse as Brian Eno’s
original, but it has a frenetic energy that takes it to another level. The final cover is “Night Time” by The Strangeloves a mid-60.s fake pop
band, who also hit with “I Want Candy” later made famous by Bow Wow Wow in the early 80s. This cover is very faithful to the original,
and has never captured my attention in any way.
I feel like I knew of the song prior via a TV beer commercial when I was
a toddler.
When I heard “A God in an Alcove” through my
dorm room wall, I moved unconsciously like a cobra being drawn to sway by a
snake charmer. I wandered to my neighbor’s
door and knocked. Turns out it was
Jeff. We had met via the University’s
strange summer camp inspired freshman orientation week. We were both in the same group of roughly
eight students each all named after animals.
We were the turkeys, and we took on the identity of the loser
group. We weren’t the lions, or the
gorillas, we were awkward birds that can drown by rain. Jeff and I are still friends after all of
these years. We bonded through our music
tastes and a shared sense of absurdity.
Speaking of absurd, “Departure” and its strange narrative is paired with
“Party of the First Part,” which Jeff and I still quote to this day. The swing jazz background music sets the
stage for another age old cautionary tale for someone selling their soul to the
devil for personal gain in the short-term.
This tale is courtesy of the 30 minute Canadian children’s cartoon “The Devil & Danial Mouse.” The story lays out perfectly with the
over-the-top Devil voice. It’s like the
band were watching this cartoon in the studio, while adding the laid back
instrumental, and funny tongue-in-cheek sounds like the slide whistle and the “aaaah”
chorus when Jan Mouse says “I trust you” to B.L. Zebub, along with their
general chatter calling it “absurd” and “silly.” Still there’s never a time that I don’t want
to hear this song.
This refreshing
collection also works as a “greatest hits.”
So many of their best known songs are here in their most inspired and
earliest form. This is where their power
as a collective band is at its strongest.
Bauhaus seemed to agree with this, as they sometimes used these radio
session versions on their albums. Peter
Murphy’s vocals throughout are more unhinged and exciting, especially in the
first couple of sessions as in the “I dare you” shouts in “Double Dare” and the
grinding workout of “In the Flat Field.”
Musically as well, this quartet were tight. Everything falls into place, as the guitars squall
and blister atop incredible bass-lines and incredibly creative drumming. The album version of “St. Vitus Dance” sounds
almost cartoonish next to the more alive dissonance of the radio session
version. This collection includes many
of their best known songs such as “Silent Hedges,” “She’s in Parties,” and “Terror
Couple Kill Colonel,” but don’t overlook the waltz of “The Three Shadows Part 2,”
and the high drama of “Swing the Heartache,” which in my opinion is far superior
to the slower LP version. Plus, is it
just me or is the paranoia of “The Spy in the Cab,” especially prescient. Peter Murphy’s performance is not only
astounding, it’s much more relevant now than it was in January of 1980: “A
Twenty four hour unblinking watch / Installed to pry / Installed to cop.”
Whatever the case, it’s
a shame that this Bauhaus collection has fallen mostly out of sight. It isn’t easy to find, yet it might be their
best and most vital release. It displays
their ability to transcend genres and it also feels like they had a blast
recording these songs. The sense of
freedom is palpable. There is no second
guessing here, which infuses these songs with a fun exuberance that is
addictive. There will never be a time
that Swing the Heartache: The BBC
Sessions will not be essential listening.
Earlier this month, Brisbane
Australia’s Fragile Animals released
this wonderful long awaited six song EP.
I say long awaited because I’ve been listening to their 2023 debut album
Slow Motion Burial in my car all
summer so far. That album is so big and
bright and exciting that the anticipation for more has been off the charts.
Their music is incredibly polished and they sound like a veteran band,
though their first release was, I believe, in 2017. I suppose that makes them fairly veteran,
please excuse my old age, where years feel like months. My first conscious exposure to Fragile
Animals was with their 2019 “Waiting” single.
They remind me a band I would’ve flipped over in the early 90s, as they
utilize the LOUD-quiet-LOUD technique of song dynamics, and find a remarkable
balance of edginess and tension versus clarity, anthemic hooks, and catchiness. The massive album closer “Breathe Out and In”
from Slow Motion Burial could’ve fit
seamlessly next to 90s bands like cranberries,
Belly, Radiohead, Whipping Boy
and the like on a really good alternative radio station or mix-tape.
First of all, Tourist, is so perfectly recorded and mixed that it sounds amazing
on any kind of audio player at any volume.
Every instrument is crystal clear and vibrant and balanced. And speaking of that fictional 90s
alternative radio station, Fragile Animals would sound especially dramatic on a
high watt FM broadcast! It’s difficult
for me to imagine that a band this put together is only a minor known blip in
the vast sea of independent artists. They
write sturdy timeless songs that can easily match or exceed a lot of better
known bands. Their music NEEDS to be
heard and shared.
The first single, “Worldview,” from Tourist is actually an older track from
their 2019 EP, the ambitiously titled Only
Shallow/Only More. The urgency of “Worldview”
is palpable, as the persistent beat pulses together with a mid-range
bass-line. While the searing guitars bring
the dissonance. Victoria Jenkins sings about wanting to understand the
picture. The good and the bad or
indifferent sides of humanity – not the curated glimpses of some random
viewpoint of an organization or government.
Or even from an individual standpoint of social media, where people only
posts their good moments, for example.
Fragile Animals "Worldview"
There’s a pretty consistent theme
throughout touching on uncertainty caused by the sheer amount of us out there,
and not knowing what do believe, which can lead to isolation, and more
uncertainty or less understanding. The
opening “People I’ll Never Know” is a minute of quiet music and reflection
whose lyrics read like someone being so overwhelmed that they can no longer go
on. The title track is a glorious
chiming dose of excellent dreampop which finds us looking for a partner, yet
unsure of our instincts in recognizing what’s real and what’s not. The dramatic cymbal crashes throughout make
me wonder how they didn’t shatter or stay upright. “Sending Flares” is another tale about
seeking connection, but the sing-along chorus (“freezing to the bone”) reveals
the truth that one can still feel alone whether with someone or not.
The second half begins with “Into It”
A downtempo reflection lamenting the loss of innocence and how jaded we become
as we get exposed to hate and the ugliness of the world. The crushing finale is “Allergic,” which
tells the conflicting emotions of possibly being a caretaker of a loved
one. Feeling lost. Feeling claustrophic. Nowhere to turn. “I can’t change it!” The music is again urgent, intense, and kind
of perfect.
When I mentioned above about hearing
songs like these on broadcast radio, I realize that’s a dated concept. Most people no longer listen to the
radio. Yet I lament that bands with such
extremely palatable music like this one and last year’s Attic Ocean EP, or the brand new Bleach Lab EP should be relegated to the deep underground. It’s a crime if you ask me. Fragile Animals are continuing to improve with
each release, and that’s an unbelievably difficult feat. Hoping there’s new LP on its way soon. I cannot recommend this enough!
London band These Sleeping Hands released their debut album Only When I Sleep a month a ago and it
quickly became a favorite, but it was a surprise.I first heard their song “Starfall” via
streaming radio stationDKFM (DJ Amber Crain specifically) and I
really liked it.To me, in that blind
moment, it had a classic dream pop sound.I liked it enough to briefly peruse each song on the album via their Bandcamp page.It all sounded good, so I purchased the
download.However, once I actually took
the time to give the album a close listen, it didn’t sound much like the early
impression I had.
“Starfall” is a bright, shiny, catchy
pop tune, but not in the way I first believed.It’s also heavy and dense.The
bass guitar rumbles and a thick fuzz moves the song from verse to chorus with
intensity and purpose.The vocals are
buried in this mix and become more of an atmospheric and melodic element, yet
it’s done in a way that feels exactly right.I’m not sure what I first heard before in those early
introductions.Instead of the sweet
candy tunes of say early Lush that I
imagined, These Sleeping Hands have a lot more in common with Slow Crush without the heavy metal-isms.I would be happy with either direction.It’s a mystery at how much I mischaracterized
them, but it goes to show how easy how easy it is to misjudge a band or artist
by rushing through and not really listening.
“Puddles” is far from a pop tune with
its dark crawling sound that hints at Slowdive
with its broken air compressor sound and comforting warmth.It kind of reminds me of the peace within
noise from Sonic Youth’s
“Providence.”There are three
instrumental tracks here too.The
opening “Longing & Aching” is simply a wash of sound that intensifies for
its minute of duration.However, “Can’t
Stop Now Kid” and “Blissful” are huge triumphs and highlights.The best rock instrumentals have heavy doses
of dramatics and dynamics to insure that we don’t miss the vocals and these two
both bring those in spades.“Can’t Stop
Now Kid” highlights some amazing heavily reverbed almost bluesy e-bowed guitar
passes on top of restless rises and falls of the unrelenting rhythm section,
while “Blissful” comes in with an epic darkness and builds momentum as its
trudging roar slowly increases in volume and density.Both of these songs provide wonderful visuals
for the mind to get lost in.
The LP’s heart lies from “Ruby Had a
Mirror” (track three) to “Beyond” (track six).“Ruby Had a Mirror” has a melancholic unchanging kind of vibe with
unusual feedback howls painting an abstract journey through the song.Then “Starfall” comes in with its soaring
majesty, followed by the stellar “Can’t Stop Now Kid,” which reminds me of one
of my all-time favorite rock instrumentals “Awesome Sky” by postpunk band Moving Targets, and then lastly, is
“Beyond,” which might be the most shoegazey with its Labradford like haze of drone, the burbling bassline, and beautiful
vocals giving the song its melodic direction.Every song is great here.I love
the twin songs “Nighthawks” and “Broken
Hearts Club” that bookend what would be side two providing a unity to the proceedings.
Although I appreciate the brevity of
these songs, many of them beg for more space.Grander finishes.To me, “Beyond”
could go on forever, and there are other moments that feel like they end a bit
abruptly.This is a minor issue
though.When I said before that this
album was not like what I imagined, it was a pleasant surprise.I think that it has a stronger impact than
what my initial impression was.This is
definitely worth one’s time and hopefully a band to follow in the future!
The year was 1986. Having typed that, I immediately envision
myself wearing an Abraham Lincoln
get up and holding a book in the crutch of my arm tightly to my chest. Some details are hazy, but at the time, I was
really getting into music, but still mostly relying on Commercial Hit Radio for
my music discoveries. I was beginning to
seek more into the nooks and crannies that year, yet some hit songs poked
through. Some of my friends and I all
liked the moderate hit song “The Honeythief” by Scottish group Hipsway. I liked the groovy guitar and it was fun to
sing along with, despite the creepy Lolita-esque
lyrics. I wound up purchasing the 12”
single, while my friend Matt bought the full album on cassette. He liked it and loaned it to me, espousing
the song “Long White Car.” I agreed it
was a good song and that the album was alright.
I honestly only remember “The Honeythief” at this point, which was
they’re only hit US single.
The Portland hit radio station Z100 began advertising a concert for
Hipsway in town, where their sponsorship provided really cheap tickets. A bunch of us secured tickets and all piled
into Matt’s father’s van (none of us kids could drive yet) and he drove us from
the Oregon coast to Portland for a day of downtown hijinks and a late evening
concert. In retrospect, I do not know
how our parents put up with this crap:
trucking us morons around for these long distance trips to concerts, yet
I am thankful they did. The concert was
at The Starry Night club off of NW
Burnside. It is now The Roseland Theatre and remains essentially the same, except now
there’s a different entrance full of insane security measures. Then, one only needed to show a ticket (pre-barcode)
to get in the door and walk up those stairs to the second floor into the smoky
venue. An old square venue where the all
ages dancefloor fronted the stage, while above was a balcony for the 21+ crowd. All being fairly new to the live music
experience most of us bolted to the front of the stage eager to see the bands
perform. Bill split off to bum smokes.
The tenuous reason why I am relaying
this story is why this strange top 40 sanctioned show still stands out against
the hundreds of incredible bands I’ve seen over the years since. The crowd was so incredibly diverse and The
Starry Night was packed. Despite being a
Z100 event, the crowd was full of punks and goths – more in one place than I’ve
ever seen since, and I’ve seen a lot of punk and goth shows, which have both
been favorite sub-genres of mine. Of
course there were other teenage white generic nerds like us as well as poofed
hair teen girls in their finest shiny blouses buttoned all the way up with big
oval brooches. There were older looking
guys there who looked mean, like all record store employees at the time. The sheer amount of smoke in the venue was
astonishing. The sweet smell of cloves
was exotic and alluring.
My friend Ryan and I were at the
front of center stage as the opening act, Hypertension,
eased into position and the house lights turned off. Hypertension at that time were an 80s cover
band with some similarly styled originals, who seemed to be the house band for
Z100 events (where was the Z100 mascot: The
Jammin’ Salmon?). I don’t remember
much, except for the repeated in unison kicks the band would employ to
emphasize the songs and their party vibe.
Each time the kicks would happen, I would lean back to avoid a kick to
the face, and blinding lights above would like up the audience. As I fell back from the kicks, I would look
to my right and Ryan was also leaning back and looking back at me with his
hands still clutching the edge of stage.
He had a wide grin on his face that was more of a mystified confusion
than actual joy. Ryan remembers the singer wearing uncomfortably tight acid wash jeans, and that seems right.
Unlike the highly scheduled and
precise timing of so many concerts in these modern times, in the 80s and 90s
concerts ran on their own schedule. An
endless gap between bands back then were absolutely exhausting. At the stage, we could clearly see that
everything was set up, yet the waiting would go on for what seemed like
forever. Even by the time I became more
jaded and would seek out alcohol at the bar between sets, the gap was almost
too much to endure.
Again, my memories are fuzzy
regarding the actual show. Hipsway
played their set, surprisingly sans the 80s staple of a pair of soulful backing
singers. The quartet were dressed in
suits and played their smooth pop and of course, “The Honeythief” drew a huge
positive response from the crowd. What I
do remember is that the vocalist danced around in a fashion that had me
mesmerized: like a marionette puppet whose puppeteer was having a seizure. No that’s unfair, because his dance was
smooth and it fit his olive green suit wearing chic. More like an expertly wielded Jig Doll? That’s seriously all that I remember of the
performances. I know that I enjoyed them
and had a great time. It’s amazing how
my memories are more snapshots than actual reels of action.
Speaking of memories, I do not
remember what happened to the rest of our gang.
I knew that Bill was running amok bumming smokes and trying to “scam
chicks,” yet I do not remember if Ken and Matt were up front with us, or
not. I always suspected that Ken was in
some side room with old fashioned 30s movie style mobsters sniffing blow off of
a hooker’s bare stomach, but this cannot be confirmed. Plus in the days and weeks after he could
expertly mimic the Hipsway singer’s dance.
And Matt? Who knows? Probably ordering chili cheese fries from a
kitchen that no one knew existed. They
were probably right there with Ryan and I, but not nearly as confounded by
Hypertension as we were.
Once the show was over and the house
lights sprang back to life, I remember standing in the middle of the dancefloor
surrounded by all of the people filing their way to the exit stairwell. We were keeping an eye out for Bill, who
popped out of the crowd excitedly shouting at us about all the cool people he
had met and the babes who gave him smokes.
This was when I really began to notice the diversity of the
audience. Being Portland, yes, the
audience was mostly white, but not exclusively.
It was also gender diverse. Not
until the early 2000s did I see I see so many women at concerts. The “alternative” 90s shows had become
testosterone fueled hell pits.
It didn’t fully dawn on me until much
later, but this Hipsway concert was one of the last times that I attended a
concert that drew such a wide swath of people of all kinds of backgrounds happily
co-existing. I’ve always wondered why
that was. I’m still not sure, but I
think it may be because of the changes in media options, or just an unusual anomaly. We went from a society made up of
broadcasting options. That meant limited
options. So many of us had very few
choices, if say we wanted to hear some new music. We listened to one of the few radio stations
that played new music, so we would put up with hearing numerous songs that we
didn’t really care for in order to hear that one song that felt thrilling. Today, obviously, we all choose our own
playlists. We don’t have to listen to stuff we don’t like just to get to the stuff we
do. We can listen to only our good
stuff. I’m not judging this. I do this too. It’s remarkable. That fifteen year old kid would’ve never had
a notion that one day he could listen to a streaming radio station (DKFM) for an hour and only hear one
song that was just okay, while the rest are stunning! Who wouldn’t choose that over listening to an
hour full of commercials, boring ballads, and “Careless Whisper” by Wham! for the 70th time in a day?
What this has done though is it
has limited our exposure to very specific people and things. Not that all crowd diversity is gone, but
over the past two decades, I can predict the make-up of the audience before attending a show. One might experience more of that Hipsway
diversity at these giant stadium concerts, but I am so far down my own rabbit
hole that I didn’t consciously know a Taylor
Swift song until 2023, plus I can no longer afford concerts. Perhaps that alone is part of that Hipsway
audience back in 1986, it was cheap entertainment. It was a night out with something that we could all do. Most of us likely learned about it
from the same source.
I’m no expert in this kind of thing,
but as my old age nostalgia has ramped up lately and I ponder about times like
this random show from the 80s and marvel at seeing a group of Japanese coeds
excitedly leave that show together directly behind a few skate punks wearing DRI and CircleJerks T-Shirts
and a 30-something married couple holding hands (please forgive the
assumptions). Since about 1998, I’ve
been almost guaranteed to see some guy at a concert who could be me. It’s kind of creepy and never fails to make
me question my life choices.
Please don't mistake this as a "back in my day things were better" tirade. Again I'm not judging. Personally, some things then felt better, and many things are better now. Things are definitely different. That cannot be denied. Sometimes I wonder if our
individualized isolationism is why we still struggle so much with understanding
each other. I think as humans we crave
shared experiences, but not as much as we crave satisfying our own interests. Over recent years I’ve witnessed a lot of
excited conversations about certain TV shows on certain streaming
services. People who otherwise don’t
interact. I do not pay for streaming and
I can tell that people are disappointed, but get excited to tell me about the
show that is lighting up their days and nights.
Often times they offer me their login so I can watch said show and be
available for a rundown. The craving for
that shared experience is palpable and yet we’re finding more and more ways to
let it go. I’ve done zero research and
fully realize that I’m talking out of my ass, yet my experiences especially
since social media became such a thing is that I will likely not attend a live
concert ever again that will come anywhere close to the broad spectrum of
people that I used to witness regularly years ago. It’s nice to know now that when I see an
artist perform that most of the people there are, as a whole, much more likely
to be people I have a lot in common with.
However, it’s more forgettable.
Nearly forty years later I still remember Hypertension’s kicks and the
smell of cloves and seeing a couple of black kids dancing uninhibited to a mostly unknown
white band from far away.
