Bass Desires

Yes, I’m an unabashed rock n roll fan. And yes – those twin vices of sex and drugs exist in my world too. I’m not the first to admit that they go real nicely with most rock n roll, especially when wound up into a tight sausage-roll of a loudcrazywild evening, out in the dark & dangerous nightcity, together with your chosen one snuggling up against yr side.

But when it comes to actually rockin’ out . . . NEVER have I thought of myself as somebody unduly preoccupied with the SEX bit. To me, it’s always been: thanks, but I just came to rock. Full-stop.

Ok ok . . . so I once had an major crush on

That was me age 18 or some nonsense. I was young, vulnerable, very impressionable – and Lydia dragged me on stage and kissed me at a gig! Eventually, I aged, matured, and GOT THE FUCK OVER THAT.

Exactly.

But every so often, we must delve a bit deeper into the subconscious, probe the reptilian brain, so to speak. Toward reminding ourselves of our blind spots, our short-comings, our little foibles and our petty weaknesses. Toward BEING FRANK. We owe that much to our fragile selves, right?

And BEING FRANK with myself involves confronting the omni-present reality of

BODACIOUS BASS BABES

This glorious webpage has helped me, the archetypal repressed dumbshit male living out unfulfilled fantasies via an unexamined rock n roll fan lifestyle, put it all in richly-hued bas relief.

Brant Bjork Blown

What’s with doodling sound-board fuckers who can’t even do a half-assed job? Went to see BRANT BJORK & THE BROS play last night and the sound was fucking abysmal, even by Camden Underworld’s questionable standards. Tech problems delayed the kickoff a bit, but once those were resolved – what was the excuse? Sure, I could hear Alfredo Hernández’ drums and Dylan Roche’s bass – in fact THAT WAS ALL I COULD HEAR. No gtr, barely any vocals. I mean, Brant’s thing is already pretty damn minimal, but whatever gtr flourishes/leads there might’ve been (I imagine there were a few) were completely buried in a miasma of bassy thudhum. And if I didn’t know lots of the words already, I wouldn’t have been able to tell if the man was singing in English or not. It was fucking insulting, both to me and them – as THE BROS were obviously amped for a hot, rockin’ show. I/they didn’t really get off. Blah.

That said: I’m still really taken by BB & THE BROS’ Somera Sól CD on Duna Records from earlier this year. It’s no big departure from that Chicano BAND OF GYPSIES trip they’ve been mining for the past few years, but Alfredo’s big drumming gives the sound a boost of jet-engine proportions. Al rocks, grooves, swings, and sambas, and then matches Brant’s easy spirit, smile for smile. And both Capt. Sean Wheeler (he of Salton Sea’s THROW RAG) and the great Mario Lalli (FATSO JETSON, YAWNING MAN, etc.) pop up for neat vocal cameos. Some of you may be put off by Brant’s spoken/sung stonerisms, but listen closer: he’s been gradually expanding his worldview and color palette as of late. He seems genuine in his singing, and for that alone he sits well with me. Not one to be denied.

A way more satisfying night was spent at the RISE ABOVE RECORDS showcase a few weeks back at the same club put together by label-honcho/CATHEDRAL singer Lee Dorrian. Got to see a rebuilt but still mythical LEAF HOUND, whose early 70’s Growers of Mushroom LP remains the single best substitute for Fire & Water-era FREE you’ll ever hear. But also on the bill were THE EARTHLING SOCIETY (prime-era HAWKWIND by way of ernest HÜSKER DÜ), LITMUS (prime-era HAWKWIND by way of an alt. rock QUEENS OF THE STONEAGE) and GENTLEMAN’S PISTOLS as well. The PISTOLS were the best, loudest, and wildest, and one of the few Brit bands going willing to dive headfirst into the nation’s classic tradition of bludgeoning boogie-blues rock. They’ve got a singer with a sense of humour who can actually sing, a talented lead gtr player who looks eerily like the late Paul Kossoff, and a hot new Rise Above CD that catches em in fine form.

But the whole shebang was totally reaffirming. An entire evening of heavy, hard-hitting UK underground rock – in London no less! It just ain’t too easy to come by anymore, in these dark days of BABYSHAMBLES & MAXIMO PARK overblown pop-pabulum. Lee Dorrian, we at Pig State Recon thank you dearly.

Thanks to Oberknoppenfuhrer for the photo of Brant's tattoos

Pulling Paul’s Chain

A buddy of mine once rightly noted that, given the tidal wave of progressive rock that burst forth out of Italy in the 1970’s, it was quite possible that there was a time when every adult Italian male over the age of 15 had participated in the creation of at least one prog rock record. It must’ve been just like Israeli Army conscription! Like, you just hadda serve your time – no exceptions.

PAUL CHAIN didn’t, no sir. Instead he formed the very first “horror music” band – DEATH SS. They were an insane, screamy band of overblown & overwrought teen metal dudes who drooled a bloody form of ALICE COOPER-damaged, SABBATHoid rock that sounded nothing like what LE ORME or PFM were spewing at the time. DEATH SS dressed like monster movie extras, had a literal “cult” following, and released some poorly-recorded but effective 45s & demos in the late 70’s/early 80’s. Their stuff will give most of you residing in developed nations a righteous, stinging nosebleed. After you’re done banging your head, that is.

But then, in 1983, Paul went solo. And IT GOT REALLY, REALLY GOOD.

Paul was one of the few in southern Europe to spend some serious time – it can now be measured in decades – getting to know those slow/mid-tempo rhythmic flows & surges that 70’s dudes used to call heavy rock. In the 80’s, he also spent an equal amount of time exploring all that gothic detritus/minutiae that hangs from the music we know and love (or fucking despise) as METAL. Meaning: he was just as likely to come at you with a MORRICONE-like soundscape of errie bells, chanting, and cackling howls as he was a lean, mean BUDGIE-esque crunch groover. And then, in the 90’s, he’d inexplicably stretch out into a 15 min., minor-key ALLMAN-style gtr jam. I love it all.

What’s particularly mindbending are the phonetic vocalizations on his records. You’ll occasionally hear a word or phrase that sounds “English”, but more often – it’s just Paul hollering DOOM MUSH over the din that somehow matches the chords & notes perfectly. That, plus his copious use of church organ gives his records a special tension/dread that is really something to behold. And there are few in the annals of Heavy Metal, this side of Scott ‘Wino’ Weinrich (SAINT VITUS, THE OBSESSED, THE HIDDEN HAND, etc.) with the kind of dark-hued, grim melodic content this man throws at ya. That’s high praise.

I can’t pretend to know much about Paul’s life & career, except that he’s a man of real spiritual conviction, someone with some very idiosyncratic ideas about how music oughta be put together, and a fucking great gtr player. And a legacy of over 3 dozen records to prove it! At this point, I’ve explored over half of these, and all of em (whether he’s doing spacerock, soundtracky instrumentals, stoner doom, keyboard-based “improv goth”, or freakin’ wild NWOBHM) are stamped hard with that schizo, underworld Mario Bava vibe of his. Which, I guess, is the Paul Chain vibe. Rest assured, it’s like no other.

Where should you start? Well I have a particular fondness for his late 80’s psycho-NWOBHM phase . . . and his HAWKWIND-tribute tribal jams (released by “Paul Chain – The Improvisor”) from the late 90’s/early 2000s . . . not to mention his Park of Reason CD from 2002, a bonified stoner-epic . . . but really, it’s all pretty great and totally fascinating/alien to my California-bred mindset. Where can you buy some of it? Well there’s some Italian guys selling his CDs on ebay, but sending money to Italy has always been a dicy proposition. Aw hell, do it anyway – if PAUL CHAIN ever arrives in your mailbox, you’re gonna thank me! Where can you hear it? Check out the fan MySpace sites below, they’ve got a decent cross-section of Paul’s body of work represented:

Paul Chain

Paul Chain Violate Theatre

And here’s a classic one off of his In The Darkness LP (Minotauro Records, 1986):

Welcome to My Hell

Thanks to Stephano Miraglia for the great portrait of Paul

Gregulation Ginnissues

So it’s all true: the man himself, Greg Ginn, is back on the sonic attack.

He’s got a trio of brand new releases, all brought to you by the revitalized SST Records. Don’t ask me if they’re any good; at this point, I’m so goddamn excited as to be totally unreliable. You’ll wanna check these babies out for yourselves.

GONE

MOJACK

GREG GINN AND THE TEXAS CORRUGATORS

But: the new contact details for SST Records suggest Greg has up and moved to godforsaken TAYLOR, TEXAS. Ack! If it is true, here’s hoping CHUCK DUKOWSKI, JACK BREWER & MIKE WATT will follow him there. These guys need to stay within spitting distance of one another (if only for my piece of mind).