Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Gash Wednesday


I refuse to believe that there does not exist a hair metal band by that name.

However, as it is Lent and the time for self-denial and restraint, I have decided - that in response to great public outcry - I will for the proceeding forty day period restrict myself solely to posts concerning great records from the great state of Wisconsin.

I'm gonna give YOU the keys to the Lamborghini so hold on tight.

From the town on the Fox River that gave the world manhole covers and one of the greatest wearers of striped shirts and sunglasses ever in the form of Paul Reject, comes Freight with two hot rockers and - GASP! what's this? - tantalizingly stout amounts of info! There's a recording and release date, band names, studio details, cool lil' label logo - EVEN A PHONE NUMBER! Now my question, who will pony up the long-distance courage required to holler at an ex-Freight?

Of the two songs on offer, both win, if in completely different directions. The A-side could be called 'glam' at a stretch with its bump-n-grind rhythms, Dolls-y backing vocals and Motty Motty pee-any plonkin', but is more likely just an attempt at ripping off Aerosmith (there are worse things). The B-side, on the other hand...excuse me, the AA-side is pure grinding shreditude, with a SWAT Team-like assault that fairly reeks of Motor City diesel fumes; the Sonic's Rendezvous of Lake Winnebago? Maybe. Whoever the guitarist was, his attack was deft and true. And really, who can argue against pick slides like that? YOUR HONOR, THE PROSECUTION RESTS!

If any of you so-and-so's do end up calling Freight, please refer them back here as I desperately want to know if female trouble in Neenah was truly as severe as they make it out, as well as the story behind the rear of the picture sleeve. What is going on there? Is that Dracula and, if so, why is he a midget and dressed up as a lounge singer? Also, is the tailor who made those tight satin duds still in business? So many questions, so little time.

Anyway, I'll shut my manhole now and make with the auditory evidence. SPEED KILLS!



Saturday, February 11, 2012

Bring Back The Bring Backers


I think I once heard absurdism defined as viewing the correct path and choosing not to take it: a description which could just as easily double as a summation of my record buying habits.

Over the last weekend, with a friend who was in town for a visit, we hit the stores and thrifts, flipped through tons of worthy titles, both in the bins and on the walls. We held some. But did we deign to buy any of them? Nope.

I don’t really know what it says about me personally or as a conscious consumer that I tend to gravitate towards the bowels of the most boned-out dogshit imaginable (biggest score aside from this 45 was a Hare Krishna disco LP).

Maybe I’m an absurdist? Maybe I’m bored? In any event, to say that maybe I’m amazed at the way Steven Hartley chooses to broadcast his love for Liverpool’s fave foursome would be putting it mildly (the line about their hairstyles being particularly choice). The swansong lounge suicide flip is also pretty rad.

Listen: if this is the sound of the abyss staring back, then I’m more than content to window-shop in the void forever, all the live-a-long day.

David Peel, consider yourself on notice! BRING BACK STEVEN HARTLEY!