Returning the Screw

I would like to point your attention to the extended entry Ben Weasel entered in his blog today. Over the years, I haven’t always agreed with his writing but his take on Screeching Weasel’s legacy describes the large chasm that exists between punk’s recent past (and by recent past I’m talking the early ‘90s) and of what punk has become to today in a pointed needed-to-be-said way. It’s so sad to see what punk has become. And soon I plan to write about just exactly what I mean. Just today, for example, I saw an article that referred to Avril Lavigne as a “punk princess.”

Weasel summed it up best himself:

We did succeed, and we did it without selling our asses to the highest bidder, and we did it in spite of having no fucking idea, and even less of a desire, of how to market ourselves and act cool and wear the right clothes and cut our hair the right way, and ingratiate ourselves to the right people, and we did it by being true to ourselves and doing what made sense to us, even when it didn’t make any sense at all, and if you don’t think that’s success, then you don’t know what you’re talking about.

P.S.: Bonus punk points if you can name the song where the title of this post came from.

Jade Tree has recently updated its Jets to Brazil page to note that finally, officially, the band has broken up. This quiet end is a little like the last song on their last release, Perfecting Lonliness. “Rocket Boy”, a quiet contemplative song about resignation and despair, just simply fades away.

There has been no official explanation, but there have been rumours such as leader Blake Schwarzenbach planning to concentrate on his visual art. Also, his battles with depression are well known, and once caused the band to cancel an entire tour just as it was about to begin. Whether that was a cause of the band’s demise is something only the people involved can say. And of course it goes without saying that health matters take precedence over anything else.

But while they were together, they created some brilliant music that really pushed the idea of pop songs as art. Although they only released three records, each one was a giant stylistic leap from the one before it. The band’s debut, “Orange Rhyming Dictionary”, had a mix of songs that felt slightly agitated and uncomfortable. Musically, they were shaking off the residue of their previous bands (Texas is the Reason, Handsome, and particularly, Jawbreaker).

A couple of songs stand out from this release: “I Typed For Miles” and “Sweet Avenue”. The former embodies that discomfort and agitation I was referring to the most, with a writer trying to work through his mental block, battling the voices in his head that questions his ability:

Note to self: no one cares. Your voice is average
In worried piles I typed for miles and no one noticed

Later, he realises that by forcing he’s merely going through the mechanics of creating, not making anything of substance:

I’ve tied my ankles to the table legs with wire
I can’t write so much as type

“Sweet Avenue” is the polar opposite. It’s a statement of contentment, with a sweetly fluid bass line and understated snare drum and acoustic guitar that accompanies Schwarzenbach’s new affirmation of life. At the beginning, he sings about the beauty of flowers and cigarette smoke like he’s discovered them for the first time. And, in fact, in a way he has:

Now all these tastes improve
Through the view that comes with you
Like they handed me my life
For the first time it felt right

The unspecified person that has been instrumental in his new life:

Thank you for making me see there’s a life in me/It was dying to get out

Has made him feel powerful and self-assured, like a “captain of industry” while still comparing his re-birth with the blooming of leaves on a tree:

Looking at all these trees i feel affinity with
Everything’s so soft and still-budding at my fingertips
Touching you I start to bloom

In the end he calls his former life his “monastery”, which suggests self-imposed isolation, perhaps created from self-doubt, feeling inadequate and guilty, much like the writer in “I Typed For Miles”, but the redemption coming from true love has freed him from that trap, finally singing “like they handed me my life/for the first time it felt worth it/like I deserved it.”

This was a new side for the ex-Jawbreaker singer. “Orange Rhyming Dictionary” closed on a peaceful note, which may or may not have been intentional, but it did show a leap in terms of self-reflection and musical restraint.

And it was only the beginning,

Next: Four Cornered Night

NXNE is always a lot of fun. Having moved down to Queen St. a couple of months ago, I got lazy and kept to the neighborhood for this year’s festival, unlike in years past, where I would trek all over the city depending on who was playing.

I neglected to make notes over the weekend so I don’t remember enough of all who I saw to really make a balanced assessment, but here is a quick run down of some highlights:

Thursday:

• Sylvie. 9 p.m. Reverb. From Saskatchewan, Sylvie contains ex members of Despistado, and do noodle a bit the way Despistado used to, but had a bit more noise and melody, rather than the Dischord-ish ramblings of the former band.
• The Tunahelpers. 10 p.m. Cameron House. Some guy near me kept trying to make sense of the Tunahelper’s set: “Is this cabaret? I think this is Cabaret.” Their thing was quirky little songs that lasted no more than a minute or two that, more often than not, was accompanied by a puppet show. I thought this is what a children’s television show would look like after taking some really bad acid.

Friday:

• Valery Gore. 8 p.m. Holy Joe’s. Valery Gore is going to be huge some day. Her songs and performance had a depth that stood above most other acts that I saw at the festival – and that’s saying something. From her accomplished piano playing to her songwriting that incorporated elements of jazz, pop, and a little bit of ‘70s singer-songwriter rock that recalls artists like Joni Mitchell, Cat Stevens, and early Tom Waits, the totality of her performance reveals an artist that will definitely receive more attention in the very near future.
• Snowdogs. 10 p.m. El Mocambo. I apparently missed the memo that said that New York’s The Exit cancelled so we made it down to the Elmo only to be confronted with Ireland’s Snowdogs. And, to be honest, I felt bad for them because they came all that way and no one was that into them. They must have walked out of a time warp from 1995 because they had that alternative rock thing down cold. Actually, they had it down the same way most metal bands of the time did when they decided to cash in and go grunge. Their singer even danced around with his mic stand like Stephen Tyler before giving us his best falsetto. So sad.
• Mikabomb Midnight Sneaky Dee’s. From London by way of Hong Kong, Mikabomb blasted through a quick set of fast and melodic punk rock with obvious Ramones overtones that resulted in the first act I saw be openly asked for an encore. Lotsa fun.

Saturday

• Whitey Houston. Reverb. 10 p.m. Ok, usually I hate most ska but I did see JFK and the Conspirators a couple of years ago and really liked them so I checked them out at the Kathedral but got bored so I made my way upstairs to see Whitey Houston, who I heard a lot about but their name makes them sound like a generic hardcore band so I placed them on the “Check them out if I can” list. And I wish I saw their whole set, man they were tight. You can compare them to other duos like The White Stripes and Death From Above 1979, but really, they’re somewhere between the two. Like those two bands, Whitey Houston understand musical legacy of the bands before them and approach the ‘70’s FM rock aspect of their sound with reverence rather than irony. A highlight.
• Sex Slaves. Midnight. The Vatikan. After an energizing raucous set by NYC’s Temptress, the Sex Slaves kept the energy going with a loud fun set that was a reminder of how good pure rock n roll can be.