Not Worth A Dime: Lester Bangs

If Lester Bangs hadn't died in the spring of 1982, we might not be currently infatuated with him as a whole. He was certainly able to turn a phrase and really piss off the right people during whatever encounter - writerly or otherwise - he had with them. But if that's the extent of his legacy, the reason that he's been remembered should be reexamined. Out of the crop of Creem related out, rock writers of the '60s, '70s and early '80s, Bangs' writing is easily surpassed by Nick Tosches - who may or may not be the most pure writer outta all those guys. But in as much as Bangs will be remembered for his love of the Velvet Underground, pills and punk, his outlook on life should be as heavily examined as anything else

The myth that has sprung up around this writer can be partially explained through the two anthologies of his writings. It can't be said that they aren't good reads - but the theatrics associated with those scribings are as notable as anything else in there. His perspective and interpretation on the cult of fame, though, is pretty interesting. And while bits of that crop up amidst his published - and unpublished - works, a distillation of his thoughts can be found in the song "Life Is Not Worth Living And Suicide Is A Waste Of Time." Coming off of his first batch of recordings with the Delinquents on Jook Savages On The Brazos, it seems that the lyrical content doesn't need too much explanation. He touches on nihilism, sadism and James Dean. But musically, the track includes a bit of banjo at the head of the track and while it shouldn't constitute the beginnings of what people enjoy calling Alt.Country, it probably could be seen that way.

It's gotta be remembered that even as this disc was contrived with players of and in Texas, Bangs was such a part of the New York music scene, that the writer must have seen these performances as an extension of punk. There are musical elements of that - and true experimentation as with that banjo, but the entire disc is given over to some Bob Dylan vocal parody. I suppose, that feeds into the hints of country and folk that sneak into almost every track.

While Jook Savages On The Brazos has achieved a modicum of cult status, the fact that it exists in short supply plays into that. The band of Texans that backs up Bangs here is most certainly adept at plying those repetitive rock beats, but there's a pervasive flatness to the entirety of this disc. It could be blamed on any number of things - Bangs not having his choice of drugs, being uncomfortable or whatever. But it would seem that much in the same way that his writing has gained an aura of mystical otherness, this album has attained the same status for very little reason. Cop it if you can for no other reason than to know it. But Jook Savages, if not including Bangs as a vocalist wouldn't even be a footnote in rock history.