The Lyres: A Boston Time Warp

The Lyres: A Boston Time Warp

Jeff "Monoman" Conolly is DMZ. He is Lyres. He’s an adequate keyboard player and an adept songwriter. So, the fact that he’s not a house hold name in the way Little Steven is – and yeah, house hold is relative – remains tremendously troublesome. Instead of just lauding garage acts, Conolly plays in one and did for something like three decades. That’s way more impressive than being on the Sopranos after playing with Bruce Springsteen.

Beginning with DMZ and transitioning into Lyres didn’t present too much of a problem seeing as each group trucked in basically the same sounds. After DMZ’ brief tenure with a major label and a dramatically underrated album, which was a commercial flop, Conolly reconstituted his ensemble with the new name. Honestly, that was probably only meant to distance himself from the perceived negative vibes surrounding his earlier group. Whatever the case was, Lyres remained his vehicle, oddly enough, assisting DMZ’ legacy along the way.

With the Real Kids and a handful of other pop cum punk groups kicking around, Conolly wasn’t too detached from the first wave of underground Boston bands. His organ contributed significantly to the band’s personality and might account for renewed interest in recording the band. Of course arriving at an agreement with Ace of Hearts Records and its founder Rick Harte was probably easier than dealing with major label execs – the Boston based imprint had already worked with Mission of Burma.

Either way, the result was AHS 1005. And while the disc can’t be as wild as Lyres’ live shows, it’s not a drastic step away from what DMZ had been paned for a few years prior. The only critical thing that could be levied on the disc would be its inclusion of “What A Girl Can't Do” alongside the seemingly contradictory “She Pays the Rent.” Minor quibble. That latter song, though, is pretty hilarious. And honestly, anyone who can find someone else to pay their rent should count themselves among the lucky ones.

Despite Conolly’s apparently convoluted relationship with women, “Buried Alive” crops up here and should astound punk fans and the garage lot simultaneously. At just under three minutes, everything from the Doors to Nuggets to CBGBs comes flying out of those simply nasty guitar chords and droned on organ sound. Conolly’s vocals don’t quite match the fury of the music, retaining a more genteel sixties’ thing the entire time. But that was the band’s formula. It worked.