Alec James'
The Quiet Party
reviewed by Jim McFoot
Alec James & Co Prepare for CMJ
Blah Update: James is said to have been so pleased with the band's performance at CMJ that he is forsaking solo acoustic performances indefinitely. "Playing solo acoustic sucks. It's depressing, it's pathetic. As Joe Fallon (Bughouse) would say, 'It's for fags.'" [Editor's note: The views of the writers and/or interviewees for the blah do not necessarily reflect those of the Publication. The term 'fag' here is not intended to disparage or discourage homosexuality in any way, shape or form. It is merely meant as an off-the-cuff rejoinder along the lines of 'it's for pussies' or 'it's for losers' or 'it's for pale, psuedo-sensitive, precious, closet ego maniacs." We trust that the gay community is bright enough to recognize this distinction.]
Don't Postpone Reviews: Magnetic Health Factory's Debut CD Rocks The Low-Fi World Despite Rip-Off CD Duplicating Plant's Lame Attempt to Rob the World of these
Rock Gems
by David Antin
Don't Postpone Joy - words of wisdom from Boston's Eric O'Connor, MHF's headmaster in every department. Considering the numerous delays in getting this ambitious CD to press - including paying for having it made more than once and getting the shaft - indie rockers beware! - perhaps the sophmore effort will be entitled Rip Me Off And Waste My Time in an effort to trick the reverse-psychology of Our Lord and Saviour. Anyway.
This album rocks. Eric is a ridiculously prolific songwriter. As he once joked facetiously in the underground documentary of MHF's legendary Mr. T's Bowl show, "I write songs without even thinking about it - all gems." Coming from any other songwriter, you'd think this was a real pompous prick who believed his own hype, deep down. But one listen to DPJ and you know he doesn't have any problem with ego: most of these songs are fearless explorations in self-deprecation and a precise, honest expression of male vulnerability, without a trace of whimpy, whiny, creepy over-sincerity. This is no mean feat.
sometimes you don't have to speak to lie / i just wish you had said so
GBV fans know Eric from the Postal Blowfish mailing list or newsgroup or whatever the fuck it is. These cats have a love of surface noise that knows no bounds, and belief in the natural compression of working a poor little cassette fourtrack to its absolute limits. The result here is multifaceted: all of the songs have the intimacy of the songwriter's bedroom, making the confessions all the more poignant. Furthermore, when you hear an incredible rock anthem like Blood In A Bottle, Airport Conversation, or Happy To Sad, you can't believe that MHF hasn't taken over the world yet. And when you catch the amazing one-liner lyrics that bubble up to the surface from time to time - alot - you find yourself caught in this analogue pleasure dome where you fade in and out of awareness of the details, catching glimpses of things that you only fully realize later. It's called participation, and it's a relief to have a chance to be involved with music again, after all the cookie-cutter studio bullshit we've been spoonfed by the major label geeks.
i told you things that nobody knows / because i thought you could sympathise / and then you went and told everyone / well that's okay it was all lies, all lies
Eric's other major strongpoint is his great sense of the effective power chord groove. A lot of his songs kick off with just that, and when the band kicks in, you're like 'fuck...why didn't I come up with that?' Perfect boxy little rock/pop progressions. That's only one side of the MHF style, though - there are plenty of slower, reflective numbers as well. O'Connor has obviously been around the block enough times to relate his trials concisely and convincingly, and it seems clear that although the bitter sting may have worn off, its echo remains and stands accused with wit and accuracy, not to mention the previously mentioned hearty dose of self-deprecation, keeping the stance from ever becoming overly cynical or judgemental. Sprinkled throughout the record are also primitive samples of television that mock religion, commercials, and the media, which reflect O'Connors sense of humor and determined offhandedness.
you'll never know how good it feels to be unloved
So in the end, what have you got? A wounded animal quality of lyrics that often revolves around what a woman implies and so readily dismisses...nice static droning guitars with a simple, effective bassline providing the movement...a peculiarly East coast sensibility regarding depression, betrayal, reflection, and references to snow...shades of R.E.M. in Posession Reflex...shades of (sorry Eric) Maggie Mae at the end of PR also in the bassline, and the same bittersweet mixture of depression and hope...and ultimately, all of the loneliness, disillusionment, conflict, and lone-wolf antiheroism of one's twenties...an open exploration of post-breakup breakdown. Buy it at your finer Boston-based record stores, or drop an email to: eric@smartlynx.com.
Album Oriented Rock: Mike Enzor's CD
Celebrates, Satirizes Rocknroll Convention
Listen to a sampler
The cover art, by Los Angeles artist Sam Selvaggio, clearly announces one sentiment: if 'Classic Rock' is what you're looking for, please go somewhere else. It depicts an aging hippie, thoroughly planted in an orange beanbag chair, holding a Boston album between his cartoonish hands, smoke rising comically from his headphones, a joint hanging from his lips, while other "classic" rock albums lie strewn about the room.
If anyone mistook this to be a favorable commentary on what rock is all about, the matter should become completely clear when the CD is opened to reveal a quickly dashed off drawing of another ravaged looking hippie, with the words "Fuck you acid freak."
Celebrates, Satirizes Rocknroll Convention
Listen to a sampler
Clearly Enzor has had it with the canonization of sixties rock groups, seventies supergroups, and anyone who won't let go of either.
However, once you put on the disc, it's equally apparent that Enzor has an unabashed love for a number of other forms of rock and pop, ranging from the Farfisa-driven urgency of "Radio X," to the alt-acoustic disillusionment of "My Room," and all manner of digressions along the way. Read on for a full review.
Busface Single In Heavy Rotation
Though originally released in 1990, the Busface single Kid On A Bike has recently found tremendous airplay in certain circles. There is something so essentially rockandroll about the theme of a thirteen-year-old riding his bike at the expense of all else that just seems to communicate to the cogniscenti, apparently.
Hailing from Long Beach, California, Busface seems to have an uncanny knack for what drives the kids crazy: 7" singles; a hand-drawn sleeve of a rural individual riding a bus; white vinyl; and rocknroll attitude to spare, as evidenced by the back cover photo, wherein the band stand beside a big car, wearing sunglasses, looking really tough. These dudes don't need to hide their paunches; they're Busface.
The wonderful thing about this single is what a total lack of a moral message it has. First the kid "steals himself a brand new bike." When he is picked up by the cops, the solution is obvious: he steals his mother's credit card and charges it "all the way to the fucking top!" This is proclaimed as a great achievement to be admired. Lastly, he rides his new ill-begotten bike down to "that old bus station" and, lastly, goes on a "permanent vacation." For a time I thought he was hit by the bus; but I soon realized, when Busface says "vacation," they mean "vacation." That's what makes Busface so totally rock and roll.
It's not every day that a gem like this comes into your life. But then again, this is the sort of quality we've all come to expect and demand from SUPER FIDELITY ENTERTAINMENT.