Facts of Destiny

There are facts, and then there are facts. Yes 2 + 2 = 4, and they tell me sunlight can trigger photosynthesis. But then . . . there are those things that might as well be facts, things you’d just be fucking wise to expect. Things like: when you run your fingernails down a chalkboard, someone in the room is gonna end up with goosebumps. Or: separating two burly Englishmen in a Harringay pub punch-up will get you brained with a pint glass. And so forth. Facts and facts.

Now there was once a group of underappreciated SoCal oddballs who called themselves THE CENTIMETERS. They clawed their way out of a cesspool of obscuro mid 90’s aggregations like THE BOYSCOUTS OF ANNIHILATION and the misleadingly named PARKAS, who I’m fairly certain never did any WHO covers. They were young but attracted patronage & musical support from an aging bunch of certified LA nutcases: Joseph Hammer of DINOSAURS WITH HORNS/STEAMING COILS/SOLID EYE, stinky Michael Sheppard of the old 80’s Iridescence label, and of course ex-GERM Don Bolles, who not only sang vociferous CENTIMETER praises back then, but also produced and played on a number of their releases. All of this can be easily verified.

But there were less tangible forces at work too. To my grave I will maintain that repeat exposure to THE CENTIMETERS does trigger certain odd phenomena with disturbing predictability. Like: listening too closely to their single “I’m Not Exercising Enough” has caused me trip and fall on London Underground escalators not once but twice now. Or when I sing along to “Dracula Gary” I invariably develop a temporary case of the hiccups. And after much research I am now confident that it’s CENTIMETER singer Nora Keyes’ voice, and not poor skin care, that has given rise to an itchy rash in my armpit in recent months.

As unique a presence as Nora is, I always reckoned her CENTIMETER musical partner, Max Gomberg, to be an even subtler musical magician. His was a grounding force in this often chaotic soundworld, providing a calm, Dean Martin-like foil to Nora’s unhinged Jerry Lewisisms. Max was more than capable of matching odd, Syd Barrett-inspired chord changes with assbackwards lyrical content in deeply intuitive, painfully funny ways. And his idiosyncratic performances humanize & alienize quite disparate sentiments, weaving it all into one swirling, tapestried singularity.

People often point out the Brechtian inspiration behind THE CENTIMETERS theatricality. And yes, I suppose they did once do a cracked version of Jacque Brel’s “Next” not to mention a chromosomally-challenged take on “Edelweiss” from The Sound of Music. But it’s actually the dank, dislocating shadow of early LA artpunk that they appear to be channelling – MONITOR’s electro seances and JOHANNA WENT’s wraithlike babytalk come to mind. Bolles, himself once a member of NERVOUS GENDER and the similarly art damaged YVONNES, must’ve recognised THE CENTIMETERS were in this grand tradition too.

THE CENTIMETERS left us three unclassifiably weird, full length studio CDs (German Verbs, The Facts of Destiny, and Lifetime Achievement Awards) one EP, and a live CD that may or may not actually exist. Everything I’ve heard by them is totally great, full of sounds and songs that once succeeded in turning the burgeoning 90’s emo esthetic insidefuckingout, with bloody entrails on display for all us rubberneckers to gawk at. They were then sucked right back up into the ether from whence they came, protoplasm-like.

Nora has since released a solo CD and now “rocks” with Bolles in FANCY SPACE PEOPLE; Max plays with a post PHANTOM LIMBS act out of Chicago called LOTO BALL SHOW. But such facts only occlude deeper truths, the sorts of facts you’d be wise to heed.

THE CENTIMETERS – “Help Is On The Way” (from Lifetime Achievement Awards, Space Baby, 2001)

One By One

And oh my: check out this scorching new clip of WOLF PEOPLE performing “Dorney Reach” at the Moseley Folk Festival last month, which I’m now kicking myself for missing. This is as close as you overseas types are gonna come to experiencing their godlike live thing – at least, until their Jagjaguwar Records CD comes out and they go conquer the rest of the world.

Joe & The Blog Narcotic

For those not already aware, Joe Carducci (ex-SST producer/engineer and author of Rock & The Pop Narcotic) can now be found blogging over at The New Vulgate. A weekly digital journal bringing together the writings, photos and artwork of a small coterie of very individual and ornery American artists, THE NEW VULGATE has been going strong since July 2009 and shows no signs of abating. Among a diverse array of topics both musical and non-musical alike, Joe’s already covered such vital matters as the chromosomal similarities between BLACK SABBATH, AMON DÜÜL II, & BLACK FLAG here, hidden SF histories of the unholy NEGATIVE TREND/ FLIPPER/ TOILING MIDGETS triumvirate here, and a 9-Step YouTube Plan Toward Understanding The Evolution of STEPPENWOLF here. No, you really don’t wanna miss out on this stuff.

All Heaven in a Rage

England, Autumn 2009: the temperature has dipped considerably, the sky has faded to the ashen color of a cadaver, and I’ve lost both my voice and the ability to swallow properly due to a nasty, lingering cold. Good enough time as any, I suppose, to suck up my phlegm and explore more of those sounds that helped make this country what it is today:

1. NECROMANDUS – “Orexis of Death” (from Orexis of Death, Audio Archives, 2001) A footnote in the BLACK SABBATH story ca. 1973, since Tony Iommi himself produced and managed these guys for a while back then. But this unreleased Vertigo album shows that aside from a couple of compact heavy rockers, NECROMANDUS mined a much more nimble, hard prog sound – one that was decidely more jazzy than SABBATH ever attempted. While this is a disappointment to some, the agility with which these guys pull it off is mighty impressive. They had a great lead gtrist, a more than capable rhythm section, and they were as comfortable rocking in quieter, introspective fashion as they were ripping proto metal DEEP PURPLEish riffs. No they don’t best SABBATH – who does? – but as runner-ups in the early 70’s UK pagan/downer rock sweepstakes, I say these folks could’ve beat BLACK WIDOW seven days a week. They’ve got another CD on Audio Archives entitled Necrothology that duplicates most of this record – both are great, so either one’s a solid investment.

2. PLUMMET AIRLINES – “The Engine Driver” (from On Stoney Ground, Hedonics, 1981) Apt-named pub rock band active in mid 70’s London who only had a couple 45s to their name during their lifespan, before going down in flames when punk rock changed the face of UK music forevermore. This collection was cobbled together retrospectively from demos, live stuff, & Peel sessions to satisfy their few but rabid fans who swore they absolutely slayed live. While even diehards give this one a mixed review, their stew of mellow BRINSLEY SCHWARZ-like rural rock, earthy r&b pub gruffness, and actually inspired gtr rave-ups will appeal to those like me who like to linger at the MAN/HELP YOURSELF end of the bar. Half the time they were too MOR to translate well to 2009, but if you listen closely to the other half, you too will see their twin gtr thing was actually quite evolved. Yep inspired, end-of-hippie talent was indeed aboard this flight, and the better live cuts here exhibit true GRATEFUL DEAD/WISHBONE ASH exploratory ambition. Though, it’s precisely that kind of talent that sadly got lost in the wreckage of punk’s ensuing floodwaters.

3. DRAGONFLY – “Space Bound” (from their Dragonfly E.P., no label, 1981) Stumbled upon the sleeve sans record of this megararity in a Hornsey charity shop recently, which got me to search out mp3s of it online. And aside from the singer’s kinda flat voice, I reckon DRAGONFLY rates fairly well in relation to other New Wave of Britsh Heavy Metal obscuros. No this ain’t gonna ever reach the, uh, hallowed NWOBHM heights of DIAMOND HEAD, WITCHFYNDE, or even ANGEL WITCH, but it does pretty well encapsulate what was good/bad about that particular scene: the sometimes awkward mix of late 70s prog and metal cliches, the longing for IRON MAIDEN-like commercial breakthrough, the endearingly rough DIY production, the intimate, warts-and-all performances. Meaning: if you’re a metal lifer this will no doubt make you cry like a little baby, but if you’re anybody else, well . . . you’re gonna probably find yourself shaking your head in confusion. And me? I’m just the guy stuck staring at an empty pic sleeve.

4. SHOCK HEADED PETERS – “The Kissing of Gods” (from Not Born Beautiful, él Records, 1985) – Whenever I have doubts about the current state of UK underground music – this is often – I take solice in the knowledge that Karl Blake still walks alone somewhere on this fair isle. The projects he’s led (LEMON KITTENS, EVIL TWIN, THE UNDERNEATH) are all such eccentrically unique takes on modern outsider music that I’m tempted to call this guy England’s answer to Ohio’s Jim Shepard (VERTICAL SLIT, V3). Karl claims to be inspired by William Blake, BLACK SABBATH, and FAUST in pretty equal amounts, and dammit if he don’t always sound it.

Now all you doom rockers don’t get too excited, the SABBATH influences on his early SHOCK HEADED PETERS were more suggested than explicit – you’d have to wait for Karl’s UNDERNEATH project for a SABBATH tribute proper. But there’s a toughassed basskick at work here that his peers – say, PSYCHIC TV and CURRENT 93 – never knew existed. This is the sound of 80s messthetics maturing down any number of hairy eyeball backalleys, as funneled through a hazy blur of studio mindfuckery. The real weapon though was Karl’s beautiful croon, which I always thought sounded like it was emanating from the head of decapitated nobleman, freshly skewered on a pole. His “Kissing of Gods” – a moment of calm balladry in an otherwise restless sea of disquiet post-industrial confusion – is one of the most heart-wrenching performances ever. And while it ain’t exactly rock ‘n’ roll, it most definitely is wig ‘n’ roll – making your scalp itch every goddamn spin.

Imperial Leather

THE IMPERIAL DOGS – Live in Long Beach (October 30, 1974) DVD.

So: it’s 1974, ok. All across the USA. It’s another year for me and you, another year with nothin’ to do. But there’s an insane South Bay rock band calling themselves THE IMPERIAL DOGS who’ve come to play the student union at a local college campus, promising “an evening of sex, violence and public outrage.” Needless to say, all promises are kept. And somebody brings a video camera to document it.

35 years later, this DVD arrives.

Yep: THE IMPERIAL DOGS were indeed four wildass white guys from the early 70’s who dug gtrs and very loud amplification. Fed up with suburban life, they channelled the Gods of Detroit Heavy Metal and kicked up a racket that sounded like a particularly fun and sloppy night on the BLUE ÖYSTER CULT Secret Treaties tour. Their only claim to fame at the time came when BÖC themselves used an IMPERIAL DOGS song title and refrain (“This Ain’t the Summer of Love”) on their mega-platinum Agents of Fortune LP. But for a few of us, they also remain a vitally important link in the chain that connected 60’s garage rock with early 70’s heavy metal and on into late 70’s punk rock.

Sonically speaking, the music contained on this DVD bests the live stuff waxed on their archival Dog Meat Records LP back in 1989. The fidelity here is equally murky, but the rockin’ is tighter and the song selection superior – check out newly unearthed cuts like “Just Kids”, “Loud, Hard & Fast” and “Sweet Little Strychnine” – vicious little gems, these be. Throughout, gtrist Paul Therrio slashes both rhythm and lead menacingly behind a surfer’s wall of blonde hair, drummer Bill Willett not only plays but looks like the MC5’s Dennis Thompson, and bassist Tim Hilger – dressed in bondage leather, chains, and fur trousers! – keeps it totally cool, and strikes me as the most musical of the bunch.

Visually though, it’s frontman Don Waller who bumps this performance up to a new level. Oh man is he one righteously pissed-off cat. He screams like David Johansen, contorts like Iggy, and stalks this multi-purpose room stage like an crazed S&M biker, hollering more abuse at this polite hippie audience than any sane man oughta. I like that he’s smart enough to keep a sense of humor biting throughout, and that he explicitly acknowledges that hallowed lineage that gave him permission to get this crazy in the first place: Bo Diddley, THE KINKS, Jim Morrison, Lou Reed & THE VELVET UNDERGROUND, MOTT THE HOOPLE. His over the top performance – at various points utilizing a whip, a chain, and a revealing couple of inches of asscrack – renders most of the clueless crowd mute. He does succeed in getting a couple cute girls dancing – which, I suppose, was his not-so hidden agenda all along.

Taken together, this IMPERIAL DOGS performance sounds & looks like what I always imagine Mick Farren’s DEVIANTS must’ve, 5 years earlier: sub-basement primal, burning hot to the touch, and fiercely urgent. It’s four misfits grabbing the time of their lives straight outta the thin, milktoast air in early 70’s suburban Southern California. True, damn near nobody there knew quite what to make of it all. But then such is the fate of so much rock ‘n’ roll greatness, especially that which surfaced before punk made such musical/emotional extremes more socially acceptable. At least now we got the goods to keep their promise alive for generations to come.

Get it here