Thursday, February 10, 2011
the trashies
space jam cd-r
[2011, self-released]
yaay! or more appropriately, fuck yeah! the trashies are back. shortly after reviewing their excellent blue tarp 7" back in 2008 i was informed that the seattle-based band was breaking up (and breaking my heart) so imagine my surprise when i passed by the funhouse not too long and saw that they were playing a show with nobunny. to make good news even better, the recentlyish reformed four-piece of (drummer) ricky, (singer/bassist) andrew sullivan (also of unnatural helpers), (guitarist) ron "wolfman" (also of tacocat) and (singer/keyboardist) maxwell, have a new album out. well, kind of. the disc that i got at the show is a cd-r, which i assume is
only available from the band at this point, but they're working on getting it released on vinyl and cassette in the near future.
despite their lengthy hiatus, the trashies show no signs of rust on the rad sci-fi b-movie pandering opener, white mold. beginning with a nice little bassline, andrew and wolfman have a terrific call and response with the latter shouting out "white mold" while the reverbed sullivan lists all of the places that it's taken over. there's a real (and subsequently humorous) sense of urgency with the music, as the guitars propel forward, but it's the constant stop/start dynamic throughout this woefully short track that really sticks with me. the lyrics, in addition to the shared vocals, are goddamn catchy, too, especially when the chorus of "white mold comes from outer space through a black hole" syncs up perfectly with those driving chords.
maxwell will handle the vocals on schultz mask replica and, wow, it's a staggering departure not only after following white mold, but really, for these guys in general... it's... twangy. man, for a band with this name who have quite a few songs about boners and getting wasted, they have a way with words that you wouldn't expect; as evidenced early on in this one: "back in old milwaukee there's a face without a mask, there's a white knuckled freak gripping an empty flask... we laid in wide-eyed worship at a schultz mask replica!" the trashies are one of those seemingly rare garage rock bands where, most of the time, they actually seem to give a shit about making songs that are as lyrically interesting as they are musically good. schultz plays out like a humorous story (about god knows what) set to a sauntering cowpunk (that's a thing, right?) backdrop with maxwell's nasally excitability really tying all of the pieces together well.
at first, negative zero would seem to officially start to imply a space / science theme, after beginning with "negative zero, less than none, smashin' atoms just for fun" but maxwell takes a detour and instead draws parallels between a negative zero and his own life, chiefly by chronicling his issues with fiscal responsibility, "bank account means less than done", as well as troubles with math, best summed up by "numbers are a stupid thing". the repetitive driving looped feel of the bass and guitar, punctuated by continual keyboard stabs, as well as the cold mechanical issuance of the title during the chorus, lends the cut a spatial feel even if the lyrics cleverly malign it. clearly the trashies are never ones to shy away from self-deprecation and maxwell's (ironically) proudly parading his disdain for himself on the wonderfully named penultimate betrayalblazer. the upbeat tone and sound of this is more in line with what this group has churned out in the past and the whiny vocal delivery makes lines like "...i eat all the resin and i smell like tripe" even better.
space jam hits a bit of a mid-album road-bump starting with paved reality, which isn't a bad song at all, just not that memorable, either musically or lyrically, and when compared to the tracks which precede it, it comes across as being a little flat. bugsmoker is the album's weakest offering and the title pretty much gives this one away. the dual staccato panned chorus "smoke, bugs, new, drugs" seems to channel a naked lunch kind of vibe and, actually, i mostly just feel indifferent to the actual music, but when bugsmoker devolves into a cheesy faux-reggae stream of consciousness jam (can three minute songs be considered jams? in this case, yes) that's when i remember why i choose to skip past this song on casual listens.
the trashies will gracefully transition out of that with sippin on acoolie; a seventy-six second gang sung tribal chant which merely recites and repeats the title. ricky's jungle percussion in combination with the affected mannerisms taken by the vocalists establishes a terrific atmosphere. by itself it's somewhat odd, and endearing, but it really works better as an intro for the next track, destroy. as soon as you hear wolfman's solo lead-in you just know that this isn't your average trashies song, and you'd be correct. the tribal-esque percussion is fucking rad (and includes hand claps!), the guitar riffs are anthemic and grandiose, andrew's bassline is fun and bouncy and the band nicely compliments that with a harmoniously group sung effort. i think the last time they did a sing-along thing like this, the results weren't quite as sunny sounding, with the gg allin tribute, i h8 u motherfuckers. the best part is they'll use a song that sounds so fucking positive to say "i wanna destroy.... i wanna destroy.. i wanna destroy... there's nothing to destroy anymore". i love how destroy stands out so starkly in the group's oeuvre but still makes perfect sense. these guys have done rousing anthems in the past, but never quite like this. it's definitely impressive.
they'll stay on a roll with eat where u shit, though i'm not so much a fan of the scatological lyrics, the musical content sustains repeated listens, specifically the chemistry between the bass and guitar. freeform war falls into paved reality territory for me, again, not shitty, but it doesn't grab my attention.
the scant twenty-three and a half minutes of this album will come to a close with... uh, not quite what this is named because they ran out of room on the back of the cover for it.. mongo jumanji chill.. er, something that starts with a w and ends in ger... mongo jumanji chill wigger? holy shit it is chill wigger i just heard them say it. despite the ridiculousness (awesomeness?) of this song's title, good god, it has quickly become one of my favorite trashies songs. yet again the music is pulling itself out of the gutter and aspiring to do better things, even if the lyrics aren't quite ready to make that commitment. the balance of the musicianship, which is far removed from the garage punk of even this album's first track, in corroboration with the band's own lyrical identity, is a wonderful thing and, i feel, offers some great insight into (yet) another direction in which the band might be headed, and i'm excited about the possibilities. mongo starts out a little unassumingly; on the slower side (in the context of this album) but rides some good, bouncy distorted guitar chords. what initially make the greatest impression are the multi-tracked vocals, which are isolated, panned and vary not only in their depth in the mix but in tone as well; one is a little more frenzied and pushed down, the other's in the foreground and plaintive. having two separate tracks of maxwell's vocals really pays off in the killer chorus.. i hope they print lyric sheets for the proper versions of this album because there's a lot of good shit that i can't quite make out, such as what follows "mongo jumanji fantasy payday"... i think it's "mj only does hj's on wednesdays". if that's right, that fucking rules, ha. as does the sick change in guitar tone and having the keyboard mirror that melody in the chorus. everything they did on this song is absolutely perfect and totally makes up for the couple of tracks here that i thought were lesser efforts.
under normal circumstances, following up an album as terrific as 2007's what makes a man get trashed? would be difficult, but when you add to that the (roughly) three years that divide that album from this one, well, i was a bit anxious about firing this disc up; thankfully, space jam does not disappoint. while it's not a perfect effort, it definitely met, and probably exceeded my expectations, honestly. its strongest tracks, white mold, destroy and mongo jumanji not only stand up to their best, but also drop of hints of great things (hopefully) to come. i say hopefully because in the time that the group was on break, maxwell relocated to oakland (i've been to oakland and ... really, man?), so the band's future remains to be seen, but here's hoping they continue to make it work. long live the trashies!
white mold
ricky don't feel (from the blue tarp 7")
[2011, self-released]
yaay! or more appropriately, fuck yeah! the trashies are back. shortly after reviewing their excellent blue tarp 7" back in 2008 i was informed that the seattle-based band was breaking up (and breaking my heart) so imagine my surprise when i passed by the funhouse not too long and saw that they were playing a show with nobunny. to make good news even better, the recentlyish reformed four-piece of (drummer) ricky, (singer/bassist) andrew sullivan (also of unnatural helpers), (guitarist) ron "wolfman" (also of tacocat) and (singer/keyboardist) maxwell, have a new album out. well, kind of. the disc that i got at the show is a cd-r, which i assume is
only available from the band at this point, but they're working on getting it released on vinyl and cassette in the near future.despite their lengthy hiatus, the trashies show no signs of rust on the rad sci-fi b-movie pandering opener, white mold. beginning with a nice little bassline, andrew and wolfman have a terrific call and response with the latter shouting out "white mold" while the reverbed sullivan lists all of the places that it's taken over. there's a real (and subsequently humorous) sense of urgency with the music, as the guitars propel forward, but it's the constant stop/start dynamic throughout this woefully short track that really sticks with me. the lyrics, in addition to the shared vocals, are goddamn catchy, too, especially when the chorus of "white mold comes from outer space through a black hole" syncs up perfectly with those driving chords.
maxwell will handle the vocals on schultz mask replica and, wow, it's a staggering departure not only after following white mold, but really, for these guys in general... it's... twangy. man, for a band with this name who have quite a few songs about boners and getting wasted, they have a way with words that you wouldn't expect; as evidenced early on in this one: "back in old milwaukee there's a face without a mask, there's a white knuckled freak gripping an empty flask... we laid in wide-eyed worship at a schultz mask replica!" the trashies are one of those seemingly rare garage rock bands where, most of the time, they actually seem to give a shit about making songs that are as lyrically interesting as they are musically good. schultz plays out like a humorous story (about god knows what) set to a sauntering cowpunk (that's a thing, right?) backdrop with maxwell's nasally excitability really tying all of the pieces together well.
at first, negative zero would seem to officially start to imply a space / science theme, after beginning with "negative zero, less than none, smashin' atoms just for fun" but maxwell takes a detour and instead draws parallels between a negative zero and his own life, chiefly by chronicling his issues with fiscal responsibility, "bank account means less than done", as well as troubles with math, best summed up by "numbers are a stupid thing". the repetitive driving looped feel of the bass and guitar, punctuated by continual keyboard stabs, as well as the cold mechanical issuance of the title during the chorus, lends the cut a spatial feel even if the lyrics cleverly malign it. clearly the trashies are never ones to shy away from self-deprecation and maxwell's (ironically) proudly parading his disdain for himself on the wonderfully named penultimate betrayalblazer. the upbeat tone and sound of this is more in line with what this group has churned out in the past and the whiny vocal delivery makes lines like "...i eat all the resin and i smell like tripe" even better.
space jam hits a bit of a mid-album road-bump starting with paved reality, which isn't a bad song at all, just not that memorable, either musically or lyrically, and when compared to the tracks which precede it, it comes across as being a little flat. bugsmoker is the album's weakest offering and the title pretty much gives this one away. the dual staccato panned chorus "smoke, bugs, new, drugs" seems to channel a naked lunch kind of vibe and, actually, i mostly just feel indifferent to the actual music, but when bugsmoker devolves into a cheesy faux-reggae stream of consciousness jam (can three minute songs be considered jams? in this case, yes) that's when i remember why i choose to skip past this song on casual listens.
the trashies will gracefully transition out of that with sippin on acoolie; a seventy-six second gang sung tribal chant which merely recites and repeats the title. ricky's jungle percussion in combination with the affected mannerisms taken by the vocalists establishes a terrific atmosphere. by itself it's somewhat odd, and endearing, but it really works better as an intro for the next track, destroy. as soon as you hear wolfman's solo lead-in you just know that this isn't your average trashies song, and you'd be correct. the tribal-esque percussion is fucking rad (and includes hand claps!), the guitar riffs are anthemic and grandiose, andrew's bassline is fun and bouncy and the band nicely compliments that with a harmoniously group sung effort. i think the last time they did a sing-along thing like this, the results weren't quite as sunny sounding, with the gg allin tribute, i h8 u motherfuckers. the best part is they'll use a song that sounds so fucking positive to say "i wanna destroy.... i wanna destroy.. i wanna destroy... there's nothing to destroy anymore". i love how destroy stands out so starkly in the group's oeuvre but still makes perfect sense. these guys have done rousing anthems in the past, but never quite like this. it's definitely impressive.they'll stay on a roll with eat where u shit, though i'm not so much a fan of the scatological lyrics, the musical content sustains repeated listens, specifically the chemistry between the bass and guitar. freeform war falls into paved reality territory for me, again, not shitty, but it doesn't grab my attention.
the scant twenty-three and a half minutes of this album will come to a close with... uh, not quite what this is named because they ran out of room on the back of the cover for it.. mongo jumanji chill.. er, something that starts with a w and ends in ger... mongo jumanji chill wigger? holy shit it is chill wigger i just heard them say it. despite the ridiculousness (awesomeness?) of this song's title, good god, it has quickly become one of my favorite trashies songs. yet again the music is pulling itself out of the gutter and aspiring to do better things, even if the lyrics aren't quite ready to make that commitment. the balance of the musicianship, which is far removed from the garage punk of even this album's first track, in corroboration with the band's own lyrical identity, is a wonderful thing and, i feel, offers some great insight into (yet) another direction in which the band might be headed, and i'm excited about the possibilities. mongo starts out a little unassumingly; on the slower side (in the context of this album) but rides some good, bouncy distorted guitar chords. what initially make the greatest impression are the multi-tracked vocals, which are isolated, panned and vary not only in their depth in the mix but in tone as well; one is a little more frenzied and pushed down, the other's in the foreground and plaintive. having two separate tracks of maxwell's vocals really pays off in the killer chorus.. i hope they print lyric sheets for the proper versions of this album because there's a lot of good shit that i can't quite make out, such as what follows "mongo jumanji fantasy payday"... i think it's "mj only does hj's on wednesdays". if that's right, that fucking rules, ha. as does the sick change in guitar tone and having the keyboard mirror that melody in the chorus. everything they did on this song is absolutely perfect and totally makes up for the couple of tracks here that i thought were lesser efforts.
under normal circumstances, following up an album as terrific as 2007's what makes a man get trashed? would be difficult, but when you add to that the (roughly) three years that divide that album from this one, well, i was a bit anxious about firing this disc up; thankfully, space jam does not disappoint. while it's not a perfect effort, it definitely met, and probably exceeded my expectations, honestly. its strongest tracks, white mold, destroy and mongo jumanji not only stand up to their best, but also drop of hints of great things (hopefully) to come. i say hopefully because in the time that the group was on break, maxwell relocated to oakland (i've been to oakland and ... really, man?), so the band's future remains to be seen, but here's hoping they continue to make it work. long live the trashies!
white mold
:: posted by apc, 10:53 PM