The Haunted Blow My Little Mind To Bits

The general consensus seems to be that the Haunted were remarkable for being an English language band in the heavily Frenched out Canadian city of Montreal. Seems like an easy way to be remembered and one that has little to do with music, covered or original. And of course, since the band wasn’t too much more than a sixties’ styled rave up ensemble, seated near by to the Stones at the Beggar’s Banquet, I suppose it could have been worse.

What’s surprising about the Haunted, though, is the fact that the band was able to toss off a pretty wide swath of rock stances. It’s not all garage styled rockers like the troupe’s best known song “1-2-5.” There’re actually two versions of the song kicking around – both included on The Haunted – one with the band’s original singer and the admittedly more professional latter edition with some other guy on the mic. There’s nothing smooth about either version, but the original rendition is perhaps a bit more engaging thanks simply to the fact that the singer appears to be as displeased with being forced to sing into a mic as kids are pissed about detention. The uncaring attitude aside, “1-2-5” is a pretty traditional garage track.

Either way, a few weird surprises crop up. And while a wealth of sixites’ rock acts attempted to switch up their song’s tenor, “I'm Just Gonna Blow My Little Mind To Bits” sounds like Serge Gainsbourgh being born in Detroit and fronting a Motown studio band after taking a few singing lessons. Despite the song’s title, one that was surely a bit problematic back during the mid-sixties, it’s just another love song as opposed to being a paean to drug culture. If it were the latter, there’s a distinct possibility someone would actually remember the group and the song. But that just wasn’t to be. The guitar solo’s still pretty boss even with that one flubbed note.

Regardless of topicality, songs like this wallow in anonymity, only drudged through every once in a while for rock aficionados to feel enlightened. Some covers fill out the disc’s run time: “Mona,” “Twist,” Shake,” none of them all that notable apart from being cultural detritus then relevant to rock bands. That’s still a pretty variegated play list in there, probably allowing the Haunted to play a few more dances then they would have scored otherwise. As a recording, you could do worse, but better as well.

The Quick - "Pretty Please" (Video)

The funny thing about LA's seventies' punk scene is that it was basically founded as a result of waiting around for the next big thing and then picking up on it. The Quick showed up to buffer glam and punkers a bit. That's clear from the choruses here. It's almost approaching Toronto's Teenage Head, so that's almost a recommendation.

Band of Susans: A Better Band Than Idea

In the wake of all that punk and no wave nonsense, a crop of players in New York emerged, all weaned on the most outrageous of guitar based skronk focused rock stuff. By the time it was the mid eighties there was an established route for these players to follow, not necessarily one leading to radio play, record deals and fame, but there were certainly outlets for aggressive, extreme musics.

Blast First was initially conceived to issue Sonic Youth records to a European audience. Becoming a substantial imprint for noisome rock stuffs may have been the point all along, but after a while the label’s releases began garnering a decent amount of attention, even the ones having nothing to do with Thurston Moore and company. One of the acts Blast First picked up on by 1988 was a triad of guitars called Band of Susans. With such a precious name, one could imagine a girl group replete with lame harmonies and a lack of melodic imagination. Giving the world Page Hamilton, one time Glenn Branca understudy and eventual Helmet front man, might be the Susans’ most recognizable accomplishment. But for a few years, the ensemble sought to work up a clatter of guitars backed by a sensible rhythm section.

For its debut, Hope Against Hope, the five piece composed “Where Have All The Flowers Gone?” and sat the song, an instrumental effort, at the end of the album. An adequate closer with brief moments of guitar glory, reveling in New York’s gnarly squalor, it points to the bands short coming. With all those guitars at work – and here it is actually working, instead of devolving into a pop song with some shards of noise inserted – the Susans’ basser and drummer aren’t really forward thinking enough to do much more than thud out a 1-2-3-4. With eighties’ production values at work, the drums sound all clichéd. But what’s more is that the dumb banging away makes the guitar playing here seem boring instead of enlivening the song with inventive playing.

It’s a bummer, to be sure, but a bummer with at least a bit of redemptive value. And that really goes for the rest of the album as well. No song’s worthy of ire even if a few, like “Throne of Blood,” sound like pointless pop recorded poorly. A few more albums followed this 1988 effort. But by the mid nineties, the Susans figured the same thing as is discussed herein and called it a day.

Hounds: It'd Be Easier to Find an Elton John Record

Looking back at the musics which would actually work at cultivating whatever counted as punk in the seventies, there’s actually a really odd range. Everything from bar bands, to poppy, matching suited acts in addition to the Stooges, the Velvets and both Lou and Iggy’s solo stuff. With the latter pair’s recording during the seventies, though, it’s pretty easy to find at least a slight similarity to a few Elton John songs. Piano workouts weren’t unfamiliar to anyone just mentioned. Iggy’s glittery seventies persona also didn’t seem to veer clear of the British pianist’s either. So, it’s in this atmosphere that bands like Hounds, a Chicago based rock act, can find themselves lumped into the punk thing. The cover to the band’s Unleashed looks like it belongs. But that might be the extent of the bands proper relation to the genre.

Apparently, the lead off track on this 1978 album, “Drugland Weekend,” which does just sound like Elton John, as one of the most requested tunes on local stations in and around ’77. It’s not a surprise since the band apes a good attitude while still tossing in so much pop sucrose as to make anything it recorded digestable. All of this, though, points to the fact that punk as a commodity had already been co-opted by the time the Sex Pistols went and attempted a States’ side tour.

Let’s dismiss the fact that all this dog imagery was clearly a gimmick – just like having some broad wearing a dog collar on the cover of its first album was meant to be edgy and enticing all at once - “Bite the Dog” is just a hard rock track from the period. There’s no way Hounds was unfamiliar with “I Wanna Be Your Dog,” but it’s reworking of Iggy’s concept veered dangerously close to easily outstripped guitar wank and preening vocalizations better suited to spandex a few years later than leather upon its release.

After the band’s two album deal with Columbia was fulfilled it seems that most folks involved with Hounds basically ceased their musical careers. There really wasn’t anywhere to go for these folks anyway. They’d plundered dumb rock to the point that only Meatloaf was fit to carry on this sort of tripe. Of course, the tremendous amount of over production at work on Unleashed, all it’s back-up singers and the like, probably didn’t do Hounds any favors, but still, this was pretty hackey.

Thee Midniters: Don't Eat Trash Off the Sidwalk...Just Peanuts

Honestly, without the word of mouth praise from Kid Congo Powers (the Gun Club, the Cramps, the Bad Seeds), it’s pretty likely Thee Midnighters wouldn’t be appreciating the sort of low-key approval they have over the last few years. Despite Norton Records issuing In Thee Midnite Hour!!!! a few years back in 2006, the East LA based soul cum rock ensemble hadn’t seen it’s second act engorged by a media frenzy. And considering the spate of also-rans being trucked out for a viewing, that’s ludicrous.

If plaudits seem like overkill, just get an earful of Thee Midnighters’ crowd on the live version of “Land of a Thousand Dances.” It’s not a par with a Beatles’ inspired freak out, but whatever dance this Chicano rock dudes were playing sounds like it was a good time. While the aforementioned song counts as the band’s highest ranking chart success, Thee Midnite Hour!!!! sports a number of tracks which wind up being vastly more entertaining given the chance.

Kid Cong made a point of re-recording “I Found a Peanut.” And while his updated version isn’t anything to ignore, Thee Midnighters’ buried horn section peak through the mix just enough to make the song something more than a one off attempt at raving up a dance craze. It didn’t work, apparently, but in the song’s lyrics – and that of the Nightcrawler’s “Little Black Egg” – astute music dweebs can hear where the ridiculous side of the Cramps’ song writing came from.

Regardless of that, Thee Midnighters’ were a formidable big band, counting a sizable horn section. It’s recordings don’t always make the best use of brass, but on punchier numbers, like “Empty Heart,” the main melodic figure’s set out there by horns at first, before reverting to a basic rock sound. The band’s organ played a significant role in staking out changes. And while it never reached psych proportions, there were hints, almost paralleling Kim Fowley’s “The Trip.” “Empty Heart,” though, features a brief key solo, just nipping at the instrument’s potential in such a context.

Persisting through to the seventies, Thee Midnighters eventually turned, lyrically, towards it’s Hispanic roots and rank as one of the first ensembles to openly mention its heritage. Santana and his ilk were performing, but there wasn’t necessarily a Brown Power thing at work. Los Lobos, which would come around a few years even after that and count a Midnighter on its front line, moved to completely expose their collective culture to the world. It worked, but Thee Midnighters were an important part of that scenario being played out.

The Cardiacs: Brit Punkers with Keyboards

Apparently, the Kingston upon Thames based band the Cardiacs made some pop success inroads during the mid eighties after a few years milling around the weirdo, post-punk underground. But that heady latter period has little to do with what makes the ensemble engaging for Brit DIY enthusiasts. Up until a few years ago, the band was still kicking around, mounting a substantial tour back in 2008. But during the seventies, the Cardiacs sought to marry a low rent DIY aesthetic with some spacier and futuristic musical stance. It kinda worked.

Founded in 1979 by brothers Tim and Jim Smith - isn’t it nice that their name’s rhyme – the Cardiacs, or as they were originally known, Cardiac Arrest issued a pair of tapes, the latter being Toy World. With its splotchy cover art and oddly constructed songs, the effort worked to push the band to the forefront of what was eventually to be recast as the darker side of new wave. Such prominent focus on keyboards, though, makes the band’s earliest punk allegiance a bit murky, perhaps necessitating a reappraisal of how proggy psych acts from the early seventies influenced this ensemble.

Anyway, Toy World, mounts more than a couple extended compositions, at times a bit reminiscent of Magazine and Howard Devoto, another Brit who kinda loved keyboards. The Cardiacs’ “Is This The Life” isn’t exactly cut from the same mold as the former Buzzcocker’s second, lesser known band. But with all those keyboard washes functioning as a song’s main melodic figure, it’s difficult to separate the two.

Some quicker, more aggressive songs, though, sit alongside those proggy farces. For the brief moments “Over And Over And Over And Over” picks up the tempo, the song’s punk of the highest order. When it’s wallowing in its keyboard excess, there’s not too much to pick up on and enjoy. At times, even the guitar noodling becomes obsessively shallow, necessitating the skip button. And thank God for that button.

There’s probably less listenable stuff with the Cardiacs name affixed to it. I wouldn’t wish a listening session on my worst enemies. But when the band rallies, even if it’s only for thirty seconds in the middle of a five minute song, there’s a decidedly anxious and necessary feeling to the whole thing. Repeat listens are going to reveal some vague nuances that should please, but the recording qualities shoddy enough to turn off potential listeners. Your call.

Night Kings: A Seattle Garage Stomper

The vagaries of working in garage bands during the eighties may well have its poster boy/child/man in Rob Vasquez. He’s not necessarily even a name modern genre miners are going to be too familiar with. Both his earliest ensembles Nights and Days as well as Night Kings don’t carry the same sort of import as other period acts. Shameful as that is, the music biz is a cruel bitch. But at least they guy’s persistent and released a few singles with that latter group as well as a lone long player through his home town’s sponsor, Sub Pop records.

Increasing Our High, regardless of it not being a grunge record, still bears the marks of the surrounding scene. Between the album itself and Vasquez gruff, grunting growls, figuring the disc, at first glance, for a lost garage treasure would be difficult. Fitting so seamlessly into a modicum of genres, though, makes it all the more bizarre as to why the Night Kings didn’t wind up impacting a wider audience. Life’s tough. And so are these songs, mostly sticking to a mid or up tempo conception of the genre.

“Complaints Department” sports one of the most ferociously tiny and fractious sounding guitar solos ever put to record. There’re antecedents in the no wave scene and all those Back from the Grave bands, but Vasquez inserts the approach to noisome guitar through the guise of garagey song structures (bka pop). And for whatever reason, no one had really been doing that in the late eighties and early nineties. For as good as the Chesterfield Kings and all those Cali paisley bands were, for the most part, all involved stuck to pretty traditional conceptions of what a song should sound like – and more over what a guitar player in a garage band should sound like.

Detroit’s the Gories sit close to where Vasquez and his night marauders were sitting, all half tuned and ready to play as fast as any area-punk band. And while the Michigan staters enjoyed nonsensical guitar solos, Vasquez playing the only six string in his band makes all the difference. Anyway, the guy’s probably still kicking around in Seattle doing as he pleases, not wondering if his works are actually currently impacting listeners. They are. But Night Kings deserved a much wider audience. You can still buy a really cheap vinyl copy of Increasing Our High on the Sub Pop website. Not a bad way to spend seven bucks.

Mark Mothersbaugh x Subliminal Projects (Video)

It's kinda great to see a figure from the seventies' weirdo scene in Ohio remain a vibrant figure. Even if you don't recognize Mark Mothersbaugh, you've heard his music. Now see his art. Do it.

Pauline Murray and The Invisible Girls: Eighties’ Dance as an Extension of Punk...

One of the coolest things about the UK scene, as a result of the island being a relatively small and cloistered set of players, is that connecting any band are a wealth of shared musicians or record labels, bar dates or whatever else. Pauline Murray isn’t a household name in the States. I have no idea if she is in the UK, but her first band dating back to 1977, Penetration, appreciates a healthy and historic place in punk. There really weren’t too many female fronted groups back then – or now, for that matter.

After Penetration fell apart, Murray set about working up a new ensemble to tour and record with. Through serpentine happenings, the Invisible Girls emerged as something of an unwitting usupergroup with players from any number of bands including the Buzzocks, 10cc as well as a producer connected to Joy Division. With all those musical reference points in play, guessing at the ensemble’s sound isn’t too difficult. There’s an austere funk at play, perfect for Murray’s crooning.

Released a year after Penetration called it quits, Pauline Murray and The Invisible Girls sat alongside other early eighties’ albums that effortlessly referenced punk while moving in a vaguely electronic and pop direction. There’re breaks from that – the closing moments on “European Eyes” might be seen as the proper antecedent for Marilyn Manson in addition to the Eurythmics and Annie Lennox. Even with that timely product of various musics makes sense in context, Murray was still able to write more straight pop songs, taking her punky compositions and allowing more room to maneuver vocally.

“Thundertunes,” much in the same way “Shoot You Down” comes off like chart chasing pop, sorts out the most palatable aspects of Murray and here consort’s past while turning in a mid paced, effervescent pop tune. The four minutes comprising “Mr. X,” though serve to separate all involved from its collective musical past and wind up sounding like a band ready to do a stand at Manchester’s Hacienda, even though that club’s peak hadn’t quite been reached at the time of this album’s release.

I’ve tried to restrain my general distaste for this portion of post-punk’s musical lineage. It wasn’t easy. There’s so much blatantly heartless preening at work, it’s hard to palette. But the sort of lame eighties’ dance theater in which Pauline Murray and The Invisible Girls fit maintains a huge audience. With that being the case, Murray becomes an indispensible figure.

Sonic's Rendezvous Band: Detroit City Slang

Yes. Sonic’s Redezvous Band counts not just Fred ‘Sonic’ Smith, of MC5 fame, on guitar and vocals, but former Rationals’ guitarist Scott Morgan, the least famous Asheton, Scott, on drums and the Up’s Gary Rasmussen on bass. It was a sensible, Michigan centered rock ensemble forming in the wake of punk’s relative success and giving an outlet to the nascent scene’s alleged forefathers.

Being broke rock and rollers, though, didn’t allow for the group to record too much – well a few studio tracks survived. “City Slang” was the only track making it out to the world at large. The single didn’t do much, Smith eventually played more with his wife Patti than anything else and the group basically fell into disrepair and then disappeared. As luck would have it, the vampires in the record industry dug up enough stuff by Sonic’s band to issue a handful of posthumous works.

In addition to that six cd box set, a live date called Sweet Nothing, which had nothing to do with the Velvet Underground song of the same name, was released back in 1998. It’s surprisingly well recorded. And as would be expected, the band’s locked into its own brand of hard rock. Of course, coming so late in the decade, one might have expected a few more high-energy tracks – the title song’s mid-paced at best.

Surprisingly, there aren’t any MC5 or Stooges covers tossed in specifically to delight the audience. When material as strong as Morgan’s “Asteroid B-612” is being contributed by folks not fronting the band, though, the decision makes sense. While the second guitarist’s composition isn’t much more than a slowed down MC5 track with less bombastic singing, there’s really nothing listeners can complain about over the course of the disc’s fifty-eight minute run time. And the fact that “City Slang,” the aforementioned single takes up about ten of those minutes says a lot about the bands ability to play off each other.

With Smith’s voice not being Rob Tyner’s the track’s exposition is a bit sparse. But with that stuttered bridge into the chorus, the song winds up being nothing short of staggering and amply explains why Detroit was and will always be rife with musicians. Either way, running the basic melody into the ground, adding solos here and there takes up the rest of the song’s duration. It’s not perfect, but considering the band’s history, the fact that anything this engaging came about is impressive. Cop it well.

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