Saturday, 31 October 2009
The Meat Puppets * Those Darlins * Nasty 'Stache
In 2007, with the wayward absence of bassist Cris Kirkwood a hiccup since passed, the Meat Puppets simultaneously reformed and pledged a singular fervent purpose. Complete resurrection. That’s no small order. This is, after all, a band that stands out as one of the most illuminous sparks highlighting the first, and most overtly accomplished, coming of American indie rock, those golden and precious years lying roughly between 1979 and 1985. An era so filled with purity, it reigns supreme to this day with an embarrassment of musical riches. Many of them straight from the fingers of Kirkwood/Kirkwood/ Bostrom. Always recognized as an extremely dexterous and deft live act, the Puppets used 2008 to continue to stretch out the new line up (with Ted Marcus now a full time replacement for founding drummer Derrick Bostrom). The band joined Built to Spill, and later, Stone Temple Pilots, for well received jaunts across the U.S. The Puppets also toured Europe, and took part in each of the 2008 All Tomorrow’s Parties festivals, performing Meat Puppets II as part of ATP's Dont Look Back series. By year's end, the shows were "almost" 100% acoustic. "Almost" because Curt was playing a Gibson Hummingbird plugged into his pedal board, allowing him to work his effects just like an electric guitar. The simplicity of the set up belied the sort of arresting dynamics that Muse and Radiohead aim to capture, albeit by spending tens of thousands of quid in arena production. Signed in early 2008 to ultra-artist friendly Mega Force Records, the Puppets found themselves once again at work exploring the vast creative landscape that has defined the band since it burst forth with its majestic debut for SST, Meat Puppets. In between '08 tours, the Puppets wrote and recorded a new album, “Sewn Together”, the trio’s second full length since 2007. “Sewn Together” began with the band laboring under all sorts of questions as to what artistic and sonic direction it would strike. Afterall, band leader Curt Kirkwood openly acknowledged the rather brusque approach he chose in crafting the one-off made for Anodyne Records, “Rise To Your Knees”: “In the ‘80s, we used to just crap this stuff out,” he notes. “Those SST records cost, like, five grand apiece, if that much, and those are the records that made people like us. Later, when we got into a position to work in bigger studios with outside people, we’d wind up spending a whole bunch of money and having to satisfy the people who gave us that money. We did that all through the ‘90s, and I’m just not interested in doing that anymore.” “Now, if I can get away with it, I’ll make a record as cheap as I can and put as little work as I can into it, which is what we did with this one. I don’t like putting a lot time into it. We cut a track, and if we’ve played it halfway right, we’re done with it.” Of course, none of Curt's ideas about how to effectively make a record degrade the music he crafts. Integrity grips him as if a Viking vise. Like Dylan, he is merely determined to streamline, to avoid overthinking and obsessing with studio elements. He has delivered a living catalogue of historical records, using close to primitive tools. It is a lesson in technique that today's too-pimped up pop "artists" ought to study, and thankfully, there are a few bands that do. In the case of the new album, Curt and Cris chose a home town studio that offered analog process. To help add purity. And with production helmed by Curt, creative freedom arrived du jour. With no contrived map to follow, the best friend of artistry -spontaneity- governed. Indeed, going into the studio, only Curt knew what songs he planned to cut. The label didn’t ask and neither did the band. When the guiding minstrel is as honed and proven as Curt, it is both easy and incumbent to roll with the pitch. True to his vows not to beat down a session, in less than two weeks’ time Curt had effectively corralled his necessary and sufficient musical elements: the songs, the band, his son Elmo, the compatible recording team at the Salt Mine Studio in Mesa, and Phoenix-based pianist William Joseph. Joseph's role illustrates how spontaneity is a giving gift. He was initially invited into the studio to help with some fills, yet by day’s end, was contributing a bounty of beautiful passages that bespeak a mature flushing out of Curt’s deeply embedded genetic sense of melody. Witness “Sapphire”, “Clone”, and “Smoke”. At first listen, one is tempted with an impression of experimental Pink Floyd "Wall" like channeling here, but accuracy’s sake will note that the operatic idiom behind these songs has been exhibited at least as far back as 1995’s “No Joke”, and subsequent trials from Curt’s solo master piece, “Snow”, and the texturally generous “Rise To Your Knees”. Now, however, the breadth of instrumentation is no longer in the back seat. It’s right there in the guts of the entire record. And while it is not overstatement to declare a connection here to the heights of the E Street Band, the results from last summer’s sessions clearly continue the Puppets’ trademark forging of subtle yet iconoclastic lyrical sweetness and remarkable musicianship. Were a short description required, confidence is the defining term and attitude. This is a record that is brilliantly framed by the band’s sometimes folksy, always fluid wanderings. The Puppets gladly let the material step out as first fiddle, content with understanding songs this strong only come along once in a great while, and better to serve them than the other way around. It is what makes the Puppets musings so difficult to classify. They ambitiously dart the melodic spectrum between buoyant pop structure like album-opener “Sewn Together” and the grand sweep of “Clone”, two of the precision-perfect gems that will come to represent this record as a keeper. The album rides to close in pure pop fashion. The infectious “Love Mountain”, a song that harkens back better than a decade, at last weaving itself free of Curt’s inner awareness, emerges taut yet jangly enough to please George Harrison and George Martin. That’s no exaggeration, either. Sure, absolutely, Springsteen and the Beatles and Pink Floyd are mighty comparisons, but let’s face it, what is due is due. Looking ahead, to May ’09, the Puppets start the first leg of extensive road work celebrating the new record, but as with every Puppets’ tour, the show will be certain to range over the course of performance afforded it by the Puppets’ endearingly adventurous career . The “Sewn Together” tour kicks off May 12th in Los Angeles at the Mint. |
The musicians in question are Kelley Darlin, the group's bassist, Jessi Darlin, who plays guitar, and Nikki Darlin, on baritone ukulele. Everyone sings. Everyone writes. Those Darlins went live in 2006; the ladies lined up side-by-side on stage and just let it rip. The band attracted immediate attention for their rowdy, cheerfully sarcastic, and sometimes booze-fueled live show and the unique interplay of their distinct personalities. Since then, Those Darlins have been engaged in the time-honored practice of extensive touring, rock 'n' roll-style. 2008 saw them perform with Boss Hog, Ida Maria, O'Death, Deer Tick and Heartless Bastards, and 2009 got under way with a headlining tour that garnished a New York Times Pick, a Boston Globe "Band to Break in '09" nod, and coverage in Bust and American Songwriter. Most recently, they accompanied garage-blues conceptualist Dan Auerbach (The Black Keys) a nationwide ten-city jaunt, capping off the trip with an explosive buzz-band debut at South by Southwest. They've charmed audiences all over the country and, in return, have gotten the kind of press befitting a powerhouse phenomenon. Pitchfork's, Amy Granzin praised their "nimble rockabilly swing." Writing about one of the Darlins' seven raucous, confident performances at SxSW, Billboard's Bill Werde dubbed them "Best Band I Didn't Really Know Before I Got to SXSW," and went on to describe them as "Patsy Cline for the punk era," and in the New York Times, veteran journalist David Carr reported, "In a world of emo-boys and reluctant band leaders, Those Darlins, country-punk pals from Murfreesboro, Tenn., had a comically leering sexuality and the kind of abandon that seems scarce these days." Paste and USA Today, among others, listed the Darlins among their favorites of the entire festival. In the great rock tradition, their debut album is self-titled and self-penned. Those Darlins was cut at Curtin's Brooklyn studio, Treefort, and his basement studio, 222 (also home to Pitchfork TV's "Juan's Basement"). It gives new life to crowd-pleasers they've perfected over the last three years, like "The Whole Damn Thing," "Wild One" and "Snaggletooth Mama." When it comes to their music, what results from Those Darlins' combination of unique influences—they mention everything from The Black Lips to Ernest Tubb to Tav Falco as touchstones—is a flair for concise, unforgettable pop tunes and a completely non-doctrinaire take on the more deadpan aspects of hickdom. The Darlins have a genius for catchy titles, and are expertly lay out their ethos in lyrics, reminding the listener that these women are tough, sexy and vulnerable. As New Yorker pop critic Sasha Frere-Jones notes, they deftly balance sweetness and grit... and there most definitely are strings attached. Those Darlins are rock 'n' roll at two-and-a-half minutes, minimalists to be reckoned with. The band makes a good joke out of rural isolation and provincial idiocy in a way that goes well beyond ironic - proof the ladies can't be pegged as indie. But what makes their songs exceptionally compelling is the reality principle to which Those Darlins adhere: Nikki and Jessi spent portions of their childhoods in places without electricity or plumbing, and the Flatwood Mall they write about in "Snaggletooth Mama" is a real place. Those Darlins don't romanticize poverty or rural life; they understand it. Those Darlins incorporates everything that has made the quartet (the trio, plus drummer Linwood Regensberg, otherwise known as "Sheriff Lin") a fresh force. "Red Light Love," the first single, is about not losing the simplest joys of being in love, complete with distorted guitars and a classic rockin' bass line. Their version of A.P. Carter's "Cannonball Blues" throws in backwards guitars straight out of the Beatles' blue period, while "DUI or Die" is as catchy as Nick Lowe tune: "Better find a boy to take you home for the night," they alternatively suggest to female drinkers everywhere. The forthcoming album is grounded in the old-time country they started out emulating, but its public face is pop with interludes, psychedelic guitars, and sly tales of triumph. And their live show is part grit, part glamour. They're aware of image and flash, of the need for speed and good-humored insurgency. In that regard, they're more Stiff Records than Carter Family, more pop experimentalists than google-eyed revivalists. Like their punk predecessors, Those Darlins are partly about screwing around with established forms. This doesn't make them a girl band—a term to which they seem resigned, but don't especially embrace. For all that, they're post-punk in the sense that they come from families that slightly subverted the idea of the American nuclear family. Their music—and their presentation—might not be explicitly feminist, but Those Darlins pay tribute to what Kelley calls "the really strong women in our lives." Nikki gets typically to the point when she says, "There are fucking tons of dude bands out there and they're not described as an all-male band." Spoken like a true rock 'n' roller. -- EDD HURT |
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Last Update Tuesday 29 September, 2009