Deceptive TANK All About Nostalgic Slack And Minds On One Track

Bands choosing simplistic monikers to disappear in a Google camouflage is a double edged sword. On the one hand it means you aren't pandering to the man. Yet for those genuinely interested in finding more, it's a massive flipping of the bird. Brooklyn band TANK certainly stay under the radar, but this is an absolute shame as their six-track self-titled EP is pretty killer, and deserves to be picked up by all and sundry.

Let's start off with 'Assorted Reactors.' TANK cast their Pavement pogs into the ring from the get go. Yet there are other connections here that Im sure these dudes didn't even see coming. Second track 'One Track Mind' reminds me so much about the jangly guitar pop of underrated 90s Aussie heroes Gaslight Radio (or any number of Aussie bands from the mid to late 90s) as well as some of those Flying Nun gurus that it spins me into a nostalgic whirl everytime I hear it. There are GBV vibes throughout this EP too - Robert Pollard's essence runs deep on a track like 'Donna', that's for sure. It's loud yet incredibly melodic, just as the slacker gods proclaim it should be. Pick it up for free over here.

TANK - Assorted Reactors
TANK - One Track Mind

Return Not So Yucky

2011 has been a Yucky year. The quintet from London have really come into their own, dominating most festival stages, being at the pinnacle of the hip as fuck blogosphere intelligentsia, and raping the slacker rock songbook writ large.

As you can see from the above, I don't have the biggest love.

It stems from the only time I have seen them play, as a support for another massive band that I don't "get", Real Estate, back in January last year. Real Estate I found to be incredibly boring - I spent most of their set standing at the downstairs bar at the Lexington drinking Jagerbombs and talking shit to my sister and some other person to this day I cannot remember. Yuck and Colours supported, and whilst both acts exploited the Pavement MO, it was actually Colours who came away with the most points in my opinion that night.

Yet the release of Yuck has gone gangbusters for the Londoners, and although im happy for them, I haven't really given them the time of day (except for Mogwai's ace remix of 'Rubber'...). It seemed that they filled out the right questionnaire or application form, for, like Colours, there seemed to be many bands mining the 90s penchant for noodling guitars and haphazard pop hooks yet they remained on the periphery, whilst Yuck conquered the US and jammed with Jools.

Now Fat Possum is re-releasing Yuck as a double LP stacked with B-sdies and rarities. The editor at Time Off magazine in Brisbane implored me to listen, to be more forgiving (as he has seen millions of bands on many different continents, it kills him to know that he hasn't seen Yuck, an employee has, and said employee slags off his favourite new band on regular intervals).

TRACKLISTING

Get Away
The Wall
Shook Down
Holing Out
Suicide Policeman
Georgia
Suck
Stutter
Operation
Sunday
Rose Gives a Lily
Rubber
Milkshake (previously available on limited vinyl only, streamed digitally)
The Base of a Dream is Empty (vinyl and digital B-Side to Rubber)
Cousin Corona (iTunes bonus)
Soothe Me (brand new)
Coconut Bible (B-side to Holing Out)
Doctors In My Bed (vinyl B-side to Get Away, only streamed digitally)

So I have. And it's...pretty good. Im not changing my tune too much - I really don't get hooked on these tracks at all enough to spin the record on frequent occasions - but it's ok. Right place, right time perhaps? 2012 will tell...

Below are two of those "new" cuts. Believe me, there is substance here. 'Soothe Me' has seen a lot of press due to the blatant Kevin Shields stealing, but who doesn't in this day and age? It is also a sound that is stolen precisely because its a style that can go with almost any other genre, and its cool as fuck. And it probably isnt their fault that they have been lauded so hard. AND, as seen by my intermittent Real Estate posts, I will give bands a second chance if it's deemed warranted. And on the strength of these two tracks alone, I may still be bemused at the level of hype and adulation, but it has me soothing the previously held rage. These kids seem ok. Bring on LP #2.





Before the band retreat into the studio however, they are slamming the UK in one final jaunt - although the London show is already sold out (again, THAT confuses me...)



UPCOMING LIVE DATES

November
14 – Rescue Rooms, Nottingham
15 – Academy 3, Manchester
16 – Leadmill, Sheffield
18 – Academy 2, Newcastle
19 – Cabaret Voltaire, Edinburgh
20 – King Tuts, Glasgow
21 – 53 Degrees, Preston
22 – Wedgwood Rooms, Portsmouth
23 – Waterfront, Norwich
24 – Electric Ballroom, London
26 – The Button Factory, Dublin
27 – Speakeasy Bar, Belfast

Sending Another Text Message

I can't claim to know much about Text Message, a four-piece outta Washington DC. They have just completed a record, self-titled, that Sleep Attic Records is putting out, and first impressions are that its a fun little indie number, lots of Pavement correlations are bound to be made, with more attitude via way of 60s guitar pop and Ben Kweller perhaps? Its that youthful exuberance that really shines through, especially on tracks such as 'Pocket' or 'I've Got Wheels' - its really lighted up my day. Well worth checking out, you can catch Text Message at the band's Bandcamp for free.

PAVEMENT – WOWEE ZOWEE (BIG CAT)

PAVEMENT – WOWEE ZOWEE (BIG CAT)

The third full album from Pavement is easily their best. It is a truly expansive effort covering many bases and ticking several boxes. I know people that wrote this off as country rock but is a very feeble and glib description, one the individual later subsequently ate in a word sandwich.

This is one of the most versatile and durable records of the grunge-era. Most would say that by the time this album came out the alternative nation had long since died and returned underground but unlike those who fell Pavement stayed in the game longer than most.

A deceptively intricate album, Wowee Zowee is eighteen tracks of blissed out weird that I always pretty coherent until the day that I listened to it in the changed context of over the office stereo at the studio Trevor Horn owns (Sarm) and suddenly it sounded like the weirdest thing ever held up against such generic pop music. For some reason that stereo made the record sound like the strangest set/collection of songs in history, playing out like somebody’s decent into madness. This served as a timely reminder of how goofy and oddball the most celebrated of music tastes in my life could and would be viewed by a bland white outsider. Ultimately though this shouldn’t have been too much of a shock to the system after reading an account by Paul Morley of the time he suggested The Fall to Horn for ZTT.

Staring out with “We Dance” it is immediately obvious that Malkmus is confident that he is on to something. The loser mentality of the lyrics come as a celebration of the rejected odd and as the words touch many nerves of the listener the lyrics find themselves naturally imprinted on the psyche and the scene is set.

“Rattled By The Rush” echoes a similar selection of sentiments with a slacker mentality and summertime breeze, which cripples the listener, dragging them away from tidying their room and combing their hair. Filled with resignation and some wonderful rhyming schemes this is perhaps the only song to ever effectively and efficiently employ a car horn as a key central instrument.

Track three “Black Out” establishes the seasonal feel of the record with the opening declaration of “Sunday drive….” and suddenly you begin to question the age of the author, considering premature dementia. Fortunately though as the song takes off it leaves the ground and never comes back.

With the mantra of “We’ve got the money” Pavement almost appear to be setting out to offend with “Brinx Job” as a smug sarcastic tone of wealth rears itself as a aural smile. With its rubberband jibes the hopefully faux (and not faux pas) mockery makes the song feel like the song equivalent of The Idiots.

“Grounded” is the first truly great song on Wowee Zowee. As delicate teardrop guitar licks open the song a Wintery and Christmas atmosphere is born from the opening lines of “doctors leaving for the holiday season, got crystal ice picks, no gift for the gab”, whatever that actually means. The song eventually builds to breaking point at which time the wash of guitars comes over drowns the audience in the most drenching manner. This marks the album’s true arrival.

An incendiary agenda next takes over as an angry rant against the industry caked in vicious distortion rallies in the two odd minutes of “Serpentine Pad” that literally rips through any possible lethargy on the part of the listener.

Generally considered the finest track on the album “Father To A Sister Of Thought” is indeed an emotive swoon that plays on elements of horse riding subtly in the wild western. This was the record that once soundtracked my worst car accident/incident but that is another story for another time.

Closing side A comes “Extradition” which is a question mess of a song that purposely falls apart halfway through as an invisible set of credits trickle down a non-existent screen in the hot and stuffy hotel room of some seedy Asian control. When the song resumes it sounds like the aftermath of bad sex and an argument.

In a contrary manner side B opens a frenzied attacked in the form of “Best Friends Arm” and (sordid) sentiments that could be taken (mistaken) for affection. It is perhaps as loose as the album gets and capped with a trademark Pavement break.

The words “come on in” resound as “Grave Architecture” takes to the podium in the jerkiest of manner. This is the track on the album that most resembles an epileptic fit and the sound of a band struggling to get out just what is on its mind. The frustration is tangible. You suspect that this is Prince Charles’ favourite track on the record.

“At & T” opens deceptively calmly until some crazed maniac (Spiral!) begins playing a line that appears to send Malkmus into swings of insania and it would appear a very accusatory frame. As he talks of room service and ends with the mantra of “whatever” you can’t quite fathom what kind of person is being addressed with this tome. By the end he is screaming and not for joy it would seem.

Bouncing ball near hardcore becomes the subject of the day with “Flux = Rad” as its frenzied attack on the senses experiences crazed drumming akin to Animal from The Muppets and a busted up guitar sound as impressive as the most overloaded four track while the lyrical content is the stuff of a true control freak.

In stark contrast “Fight This Generation” immediately follows in a much less passive aggressive and more submissive almost depressed tone that facially urges the listener to accept their lot while also rejecting all that is buying sold by the maniacs in control. The message to “fight this generation” then “fuck this generation” is not a nod to nihilism more a warning to be suspicious of those making a buck off the back of our bowel movements. In a way this could even be aimed at Douglas Coupland and all those chancers that were found cashing in on our misery during the final decade of the 20th century.

Thankfully the mood returns to something somewhat more upbeat as “Kennel District” offers some kind of fuzzy optimism despite asking the question “what didn’t I ask?” on our collective behalf. This feels like a love song even if it isn’t one. A wounded aftermath ensues like a burnt day at the beach.

As things begin to head towards an end and climax the record slows down to its most subdued as delicate chimes dominate proceedings with Malkmus holding court and sending out an apparent warning of stifling elements that will ultimately serve to undo. The song plays out like a firework display as it dies down before sporadically exploding and building to the heartiest of conclusions.

The drunk sounding six minute opus of “Half A Canyon” is the finale of Wowee Zowee as it encompasses all the prime aspects of what has just come before it, playing out like an overture of “Pavement: The Musical”. As the direction swings and changes halfway through the band begins to growl as the threatened epic horror ending occurs and the screams are to be taken literally and once through on the other side there will be slacker blood.

Coherence rains as once more pretend closing credits accompany the rather jointed pop effort of “Western Homes” that sits at track 18 with its acknowledgement that times have a changed (not necessarily for the best).

There is not a more solid collection of eighteen songs in the history of music. The alternative rock era never managed to spew out and make a more era defining statement in such a vague manner. If you do not own this album you do not like music.

Thesaurus moment: wonky.

Pavement
Big Cat

PAVEMENT – RATTLED BY LA RUSH EP (BIG CAT)

PAVEMENT – RATTLED BY LA RUSH EP (BIG CAT)

You can only but admire the lack of effort put into this package. The artwork looks like a Pritt Stick collage of shit, the Pavement name and release title is nowhere to be seen on the cover and the tracklisting contains on three song titles when there are actually four songs on the release. This is truly what it is to be a slacker. Oh yeah, they’ve misspelled the title of single also.

“Rattled By The Rush” is an endearing romp through the inner recesses of the mind of Stephen Malkmus. It is with a lumbering delivery that almost sounds like it is being delivery by the Forrest Gump of lo-fi indie rock with its explicit description of simple gestures. Soon the playing takes over as it appears lyrics and vocals have all but been forgotten about. Olympic level slackness closes proceedings as the most beautiful of wonky objects steals the listener’s heart providing its own rush to induce a rattle.

“Brink Of The Clouds” is a real pleasure of a skreamer, a loose and brief fuck about of pretending to be a real song benefiting from silliness and yelping. Away from the intricate structures of Wowee Zowee this is prime return to the early helpings of their scrappy EPs.

Things slow down with “False Skorpion” which structures in a moor coherent manner but inevitably falls to pieces about two thirds of the way in.

The closure is haunted. Like the end of a drunken night at a fairground the journey is consumed with a disorienting climax and one that should be valued in such times of nasty slickness and impressionable oldsters influencing impressionable youngsters. For this on “Easily Fooled” I thank you.

Thesaurus moment: round.

Pavement
Big Cat

PAVEMENT – FATHER TO A SISTER OF THOUGHT (BIG CAT)

PAVEMENT – FATHER TO A SISTER OF THOUGHT (BIG CAT)

I once crashed my first car while listening to “Father To A Sister Of Thought” on the stereo. I mean totally smashed the fucking thing up. In the end it came within a cunt’s hair of being written off and for years I found myself unable to listen to “Wowee Zowee” in the/a car.

The accident occurred one week before Christmas as I sped up town to meet up with a girl called Jackie for some kind of feeble date. It had been a few months since I had last seen her and to be honest neither of us really wanted to see each other although times were desperate and as things quickly head to the festive season I couldn’t imagine anything better than to have snagged a girlfriend just in time to gain an “in” on various seasonal happenings.

Despite smashing my car to smithereens due to a lack of brake pads that I had been ensured would “see you through” I still headed into town to meet up with Jackie. Feeling stunned and scared, meeting up with her should/would hopefully serve to make things feel/sense better and put them into perspective. As I waited outside the dodgy nightclub on Colchester High Street she never arrived, never turned up. These were the days before mobile phones and I wasn’t able to call her up and ask her where she was. She had already blown me out the previous year for a date to go see Forrest Gump and once again history was repeating itself. As I sunk and fell low the only person I had to speak to was the guy at our local record store who in his distinct state of arrested development was only able to lend minimal input onto proceedings. From there I got into my wrecked car and carefully drove the death-trap home. For this in a way I had Pavement to blame.

“Father To A Sister Of Thought” is a beautiful song, the real centrepiece of a wickedly fantastic album (“Wowee Zowee”), which is easily the best in their catalogue. The lyrics are so immediate and I swear after a couple of listens they are imprinted on your mind and soul making it an infinitely simple song to sing along to and fall in love with. Who needs girls to blow you out when there are songs such as this in your life?

This is the pinnacle of the country tinged Pavement songs. A real departure from the fuzzy Fall-esqe noise fests of their initial output it remains a mystery to me as to why other bands aping the country genre just cannot pull songs of this standard off. Perhaps they are too earnest, especially when considering the incoherent lack of concern that is apparent in these words. Also despite being country (tinged) it remains slacker to the end.

By the end of the song things begin to get philosophical as thoughts battle against a slide guitar it adds a real melancholic sense of nostalgia to the climax.

Backing the main track comes “Kris Kraft” and “Muscle Rock (Is A Horse In Transition)” two more (dare I say) generic Pavement recordings high on noodles and heavy on the plod with a playful air to proceedings. Even though they are b-sides and throwaways they are so indicative of a time and place for a specific moment of music when it felt like you could triumph without necessarily trying.

Thesaurus moment: concrete.

Pavement
Big Cat