Our Band Could Be Your Life: Scenes from the American Indie Underground - Michael Azerrad (2001)

Published in the waning years of nu-metal and the TRL teen pop revolution, and shortly before the NYC rock renaissance, Our Band Could Be Your Life charts the progression of 13 legendary, lesser-known bands in the US in the 80's. It's one of my favorite books and I hadn't read it since the mid-2000's. A lot of it was memorable, a couple minor paragraphs revealed themselves anew, and overall it cemented itself into its rightful position on the Best Books list. [Ed.-Or maybe not?]

It is pretty much impossible to write a thorough review of this book without skirting over a few of the bands, so it will be the subject of one of our first (and hopefully not only) podcast episodes. For now, it will suffice to mention a few quotable paragraphs and briefly run through the subjects.

Black Flag

Greg Ginn founded Black Flag in the late 70's and they cycled through a few different singers until Henry Rollins emerged and recorded their landmark debut LP Damaged. Damaged is definitely in the top 100 albums of all time and is frequently cited as the essential hardcore document...I'll just excerpt it:

"Released in January '82, Damaged is a key hardcore document, perhaps the key hardcore document.  It boiled over with rage on several fronts: police harassment, materialism, alcohol abuse, the stultifying effects of consumer culture, and, on just about every track on the album, a particularly virulent strain of self-lacerating angst--all against a savage, brutal backdrop that welded apoplectic punk rock to the anomie of dark Seventies metal like Black Sabbath." (33)

Ginn and Rollins are polarizing figures but time has been more kind to Rollins. Ginn has reformed Black Flag and released an execrable comeback. Even though What the....is terrible, it's still worth hearing. Ginn is a guitar virtuoso, probably the 2nd most iconic featured in the book after J. Mascis.  His best work is in the past, but there are still moments on the new album where he unloads that same vicious squall. 

Ginn also founded SST records which is probably the only entity that pops up in every single chapter. Apparently, he is kind of an asshole. Regrettably, Henry Rollins cannot bring himself to sing with them again, because it would undoubtedly be one of the best reunion shows out there. Rollins is loaded and has become an almost saintly figure. Everybody loves him now but he was definitely an asshole too at one point, as this chapter conveys. Ginn probably comes off more sympathetically back in 2000.

The Minutemen

The Minutemen are the 2nd weirdest band profiled in terms of sound. They're not a punk band, but they are. They're a jazz band with really short songs. They are pretty out there. Their philosophy is righteous, however, and they cut inspiring historical figures. D. Boon unfortunately left us all far too long ago in an accident that appears to have been unnecessary and preventable, but what a mark he left on this world. Mike Watt continues on with their legend and retains cache as one of the leading elder statesmen (dinosaurs?) of the scene. Of course he later played with the Stooges and Iggy is the ultimate dinosaur (after the Rolling Stones front duo). 

Double Nickels on the Dime is another SST classic album. It's not as tight as Damaged though. The Minutemen probably have some of the best lyrics of any of these bands but they also have the most threadbare sound. That may be intentional. They're not one of my favorites but they're worth a listen. "This Ain't No Picnic" is amazing, as are at least a dozen others. It's also very amusing to hear their first couple albums when they do like 10 songs in 7 minutes (Paranoid Time or The Punch Line, see "Fanatics" off the latter).

Mission of Burma

Founded in the late 1970s by the same trio that would never shift (their "fourth member" Martin Swope would eventually get replaced by Bob Weston), this band came out of Boston and was never "big." They're noteworthy in that when their story ends in this book, basically no one still knows who they are--a final tour stop in Chicago yields an audience of six. 

And yet they were one of the very first to reform, almost immediately after the publication of this book (some 17 years after their demise due to Roger Miller's hearing loss). They are Next Level, but I think their post-2000's albums are weaker than their first two (Signals, Calls and Marches and Vs. are pretty much impossible to top, in their defense). They're not the most interesting personalities. Roger Miller had tinnitus and Clint Conley had a slight drinking problem and Peter Prescott just seemed rambunctious.  Azerrad refers to Prescott screaming like a "traumatized drill sergeant." (106) This is not the only time he compares a punk vocalist to a drill sergeant, but there's a different adjective the second time.  Conley's comments on how he doesn't like talking about his own lyrics are most interesting.  But overall this is just kind of an encyclopedia entry about a band that more people should hear and know.

Minor Threat

Re-reading this book led me to revisit a lot of this music, and Minor Threat's first two 7''s (15 songs) are, I think, perfect. Damian Abraham recently commented that the Bad Brains were "uncoverable" (because no band could do a better version of their songs) and maybe that's the case for Minor Threat, but it doesn't stop me from wanting to start my own tribute band, Mid-Age Threat. 

Ian Mackaye reappears in the Fugazi chapter, but that is probably the least necessary in this book because the whole story is here. Fugazi is about doing things their own way. Minor Threat is about DC hardcore and straight edge. Also, "Straight Edge" is awesome.

Husker Du

When I first read this book, Husker Du were one of the bands that I hadn't heard, that I got turned onto, and that I loved instantly. Zen Arcade is another classic SST album (actually released on the exact same day as Double Nickels). They were heavily referenced in Try, which I had read in Fall 2003, and I came to them with some expectation of their grandeur. 

They're 1/2 of the Minneapolis scene detailed here (I would say 1/3 but Prince is only mentioned in an aside or two). They're the less accessible, more serious and visionary band of the two. I liked them a lot more before but I kind of got worn out after a while. Also Michael Azerrad wrote Bob Mould's memoir with him so this chapter sort of eventually became it's own book.  

Sadly, Grant Hart died last year, so there cannot be an actual reunion, but it seemed like there was plenty of time to do one, and who knows why they didn't. Maybe Bob Mould was like, "just see us solo, we'll play a few old hits." His new stuff is very good in its own way too, and his band can execute the old ones well too, but it's just not the same.  I hadn't heard "Eight Miles High" or "Sorry Somehow" until after I read Mould's book and my life is more complete because of them.

The Replacements 

The other Minneapolis 1/2 is probably the most accessible band in the book (or "most mainstream-sounding"). Not the case for their early work, but Azerrad notably gets off the train when they go major.  I'm reading Trouble Boys right now so I'll have more to say about the Replacements later. Suffice to say this is a good quick primer on them. An argument can be made that all of their work, save perhaps their last two albums, is almost perfect (in a very imperfect way). Let it Be is classic, but for me, "Kids Don't Follow" is their best song. 

Sonic Youth

Here we get to one of my favorite bands of all time. Admittedly, I haven't listened to them very much since their demise, and I had plenty of material to explore in the post on Kim Gordon's memoir, Girl in a Band. Who would know what the future had in store for SY back in 2000?

No one! They hit a low point with NYC Ghosts and Flowers and only went up from there, eventually imploding in divorce and sad vibes. THEY COULD STILL GET BACK TOGETHER, but I don't think anyone would find that necessary. I saw them more than any other of the bands featured here, and they played enough shows over their 30-year history to satisfy most of the listening public.

This is actually one of the most boring chapters because none of them have drug problems and though they are avant-garde and outre and experimental and no-wave and "pigfuck," this does not always translate into a compelling story. I think an argument can be made that they're "boring" musically also. Anybody who has seen them live knows that seeing them drone on a feedback jam for 10 or 30 minutes is essentially witnessing experimental free jazz-induced aural torture. Yet their power cannot be denied and they will always be one of my favorite bands, as well as one of the greatest of all time.

Butthole Surfers

Not really sure what to say about this group.  I got Locust Abortion Technician on something of a whim a long time ago, and it's okay.  They're more of a performance art experiment than a rock band.  Musicianship sounds rudimentary, and seems to take a backseat to the lyrics and overall message of the sensory experience conveyed by the songs.  They really do seem more like a traveling circus or freak-show than an indie band, and this chapter is consequently an outlier.  It is undoubtedly the most outrageous part of the book, and occasionally compelling.  

It seems like drugs are a pretty essential accoutrement to consumption of the Butthole Surfers music.  Moreover, like many of the bands in this book, their full majesty may only be adequately understood by those that saw them live.  Without getting too deeply into their personal mythologies, Gibby Haynes is their front man and his professional situation imbues their narrative with a sharp philosophical bent:

"'I can't believe we lived through that,' Leary [co-founder] continues.  'Man, I'll tell you what, I'm glad to be alive--it kind of seemed like we were in a constant state of suicide the whole time.  It wasn't like, "Gee, we're going to become successful and make a lot of money."  It was more like, "Man, we're going to have a lot of fun before the end comes and we all hit the can." I didn't think there was any way out.'
They were eventually reduced to scavenging for cans and bottles so they could turn them in for the nickel deposit.  It was quite a comedown for Haynes, who was all set to be a successful accountant just a couple of years before.  One day some prankster ran up and kicked all the bottles out of Haynes's bag.  'Gibby and the rest of us were on our knees, scurrying to collect the bottles again,' says Coffey [drummer].  'And I looked in Gibby's eyes, and he was about to cry.  It was just so pitiful--this big, strong guy like Gibby being reduced to tears because here he was on the streets of New York, groveling for bottles.  But good god, we needed those bottles.'" (287)

They do go on to command a pretty sizable fee for their concerts, and it is amazing they are one of the bands whose latter history is not covered because they got signed to a major label.  They're a curiosity for sure, and we all probably need a good dose of them given how "safe" so much artistic expression has become in recent years.

Big Black

Along with the Butthole Surfers, Big Black explored dark lyrical territory with an added dose of meanness.  Musically, however, they are much more listenable.  Big Black is basically Steve Albini, who is an island unto himself.  It is also Santiago Durango, who played in Naked Raygun and later went to law school and now works as an appellate defender in Ottawa, IL (once I used his name as a pseudonym for a legal writing assignment).  Jeff Pezzati and Dave Riley each did stints on bass. "Roland" (the drum machine) supplied the beat.  Notably this is the only Chicago band in the book.  

Most people know Albini without knowing they know Albini by virtue of the albums he's produced for other bands over the past 30 years.  The rest of us know him for his way with words and the sound he can wring out of his guitar.  I never got into Big Black until I had a friend play me his vinyl copy of Atomizer.  Atomizer is probably universally-recognized as their high watermark, but it's far from accessible.  Their first EP, Lungs, is weaker, but if you listen to Pigpile, their posthumous live album, the songs are given a new life.  Pigpile is probably their most accessible release and serves as a kind of greatest hits collection.  Its versions of "Passing Complexion" and "Cables" are highlights.

I saw Big Black play four songs back in September 2006, I think, at the Touch and Go block party.  They played last, and then segued straight into a Shellac set.  I don't remember much about it.  I go through periods of rediscovering old bands I used to like.  This happened with me for Shellac in 2014 when they came out with Dude Incredible.  I think a lot of the characters from this book have changed over the years, not just from the early 80's to 2000, but also from 2000 to 2018.  Albini is just as intimidating as ever, but he seems to have toned it down.  He still clearly does not care if you like him or not, but appears less outwardly confrontational.  He and his wife do amazing work for the homeless.  If I had to point to examples of lives well-lived, his would be up there. 

For what it's worth, of the book Albini said, "It was written by a guy who wasn't there when any of it happened.  I naturally think Azerrad's perspective is skewed by hype, publicity, and reputation, and he swallows some pretty burnished bullshit regarding motives for various embarrassing episodes.  A lot of what he says sounds like mistaken critical perspective to me, but that's inevitable given the sentences I typed right there.  It's never taken well when somebody tries to school a monkey about bananas."    

Dinosaur Jr

This is one of the few bands I knew pretty well going into the first reading.  They are just J. Mascis, Lou Barlow and Murph (Lou Barlow gets fired after Bug and Azerrad skirts over pretty much everything after Green Mind).  Lou Barlow started Sebadoh pretty early on, and they had their own impressive run of albums, but they were not exactly primed for arena rock in the same way as Dinosaur.  I saw Sebadoh in 2004 at Maxwell's and interviewed Lou Barlow for an imaginary zine that I would never put out and I asked him about reforming Dinosaur and he said they had a friend that was trying to make it happen.  SO I KNEW.  It didn't happen for another year or so, but I would get to see them at Lollapalooza in 2005 and several other times over the next ten years.  

I thought this was a kind of boring chapter on previous readings, but this time it struck me for the inter-band tension.  In view of their reformation, the anecdotes seem almost quaint.  Dinosaur stand out musically in this book because of J. Mascis and his guitar pedals: 

"And after Dinosaur's tour, a whole wave of English groups, dubbed 'shoegazer bands,' sprang up in their wake, playing folk chords through phalanxes of effects pedals to make swirling, deafening music; they uniformly adopted a nonchalant demeanor and paid lip service to Neil Young and Dinosaur Jr." (366)

I think My Bloody Valentine had been formed around the same time as Dinosaur, but their sound did evolve, and it is not unlikely that Dinosaur were an influence.  Mascis is the #1 guitarist featured in the book (and there are many great guitarists in this book).  You're Living All Over Me is classic, and Bug is pretty good, but Mascis admitted that it was the album he was least happy with.  Now, everybody says their later albums are good (Pitchfork has gone 8.4 on Beyond, 8.5 on Farm, 7.9 on I Bet on Sky, and 7.5 on Give a Glimpse of What Yer Not) and while I agree they are good, I don't think they're quite as good as those two.  I think they are better than their debut, but they're not better than Where You Been.  I think they're on par with Green Mind and Without a Sound and Hand It Over.  Then again, Barlow's presence as a songwriter elevates them into higher territory.

It's also worth noting that they are featured in The Year Punk Broke, but post-Barlow.  Their two songs were always the highlight for me.

Fugazi  

Somehow I hadn't realized that Guy Picciotto had another band besides Fugazi and Rites of Spring.  This reading turned me onto the pleasant curiosity that was Happy Go Licky.  Apart from that, it was much of the same, and not much of a revelation for a person who owned the Instrument DVD.  Fugazi certainly belong in this category, yet this chapter seems about half as long as most of the others, probably because we already know all about Ian Mackaye.  It seems to end rather abruptly.  Most of the chapters end when the band signs a major label deal or break up.  Fugazi released their last album in 2001, and there may or may not have been intimations of that experienced by Azerrad during his interviews (it feels like there were not).  This is the way the chapter ends:

"Despite the alternative gold rush, Fugazi didn't release a follow-up to Steady Diet of Nothing until June '93, when they released In on the Kill Taker, which actually made the lower rungs of the Billboard Top 200 album chart.  
Although Fugazi's legend grew even larger in the Nineties, Brendan Canty feels the band's early days tell its truest story.  'People might look at us and think we're this icon,' he says, 'but at the time there was just a couple hundred people coming to the shows and it wasn't huge and nothing had potential.  It was just important to do it.  And the fact that we all wanted to go on the road and work as hard as possible, and that we were able to, is in itself its own success story.  It doesn't necessarily have to be about getting anywhere, but about getting through the process of fulfilling your own possibilities.'" (409-410)

Way to skirt over Red Medicine, End Hits, and the current state of the band (The Argument) as of 2000.  Okay, this is definitely one of the best books, but that doesn't mean I don't have criticisms, or think maybe the writing's a little clunky at times and it's purely in the Best Books category just because it's a bunch of great anecdotes.  It reads like it should be an oral history.  Azerrad's exposition is often stark and humorous.  Sometimes he sounds like an imitation Lester Bangs when describing the particular feeling a certain song can make.  At times, these are perfectly on point.  Take this description of the guitar sound in Black Flag's "Depression":

"The songs took fleeting but intense feelings and impulses and exploded them into entire all-consuming realities.  So when Ginn wrote a chorus like 'Depression's got a hold of me / Depression's gonna kill me,' it sounded like the whole world was going to end.  'That was Black Flag: when you lose your shit,' says Rollins.  The music was the same way--blitzkrieg assaults so completely overwhelming, so consuming and intense that for the duration of the song, it's hard to imagine ever listening to anything else."  (33)

Other times, they sound obtuse, such as this description of Flip Your Wig:

"Except for the two instrumentals tacked on to the end, every song sounds like a hit in some alternate world where the rivers run with an equal mixture of battery acid and honey." (189)

What?  I digress.  Anyways, late era Fugazi is great.  Still this gives the feeling that they're a boring band that didn't really change because they're pretty much all stable, upstanding, principled and sober individuals.  

I wrote a paper in college for a Writing about Popular Music class about Ian Mackaye and Calvin Johnson and read it out loud to the class.  They all seemed to like it (it drew from material in Our Band Could Be Your Life and other things in its bibliography).  However, one or two of them suggested that Ian Mackaye was no longer straight edge, that he had allowed himself to drink alcohol.  It's pretty amazing that we still don't really know.  Ian Mackaye and Guy Picciotto today are mysterious figures that have laid low, though I believe the Evens are still active and Guy has been spotted at a Washington Wizards game.  Everyone wants them to play together again (even if it was just like what the Replacements did), and it feels almost a little bit cruel, like they don't want to capitalize, or they think it's boring and regressive to play old songs.  Maybe there's another reason.  In any case, they are notable in that they stopped pretty much when the book was published and haven't done anything since.  Almost every other band had some sort of life after 2001.  The Fugazi Live series of bootlegs perhaps counts.       

Mudhoney

Mudhoney might as well be considered a chapter on Sub-Pop.  This chapter is as much (or more) about Sub-Pop as it is the band.  Mudhoney is Mark Arm and Steve Turner, and others.  The chapter starts off being about Green River.  A lot of people talk about Green River because Jeff Ament was in it and later in Pearl Jam.  Mudhoney is framed as the precursor to Nirvana.  

The chapter is as much about Mark Arm and Steven Turner as it is Bruce Pavitt and Jonathan Poneman.  Actually the most dramatic moments involve the label and not the band.  They are treated as the sort of flagship Sub Pop band.  There is high drama in their relationship:

"'I remember seeing Steve the next day and trying to talk to him and being so at the end of my rope that I broke down and started crying,' says Pavitt.  'What hurt me more than anything was that he felt like I didn't respect him.  I didn't care if they went to a major--whatever.  But the fact that he would misread what I was trying to communicate...I was simply trying to be honest.  It was such a low point for me, just standing there crying in front of this guy.  I just said, "I'm sorry"'" (450)

At the end, Mark Arm remarks that Mudhoney may be regarded as a footnote in history.  They're probably the only band in the book that has remained active all this time.  The Lucky Ones is one of the earliest posts on this blog.   So perhaps that estimation has changed as their longevity has shown, yet they are still probably best known for "Touch Me I'm Sick."  In an interview a couple years ago, when asked how it felt to have inspired a generation of up-and-coming bands, Arm replied, "I think it would be presumptuous of me to claim that we inspired anyone."

Beat Happening

The last band in the book is one of the strangest and most influential.  Beat Happening is Calvin Johnson, Heather Lewis and Bret Lunsford.  This chapter is mostly about Johnson and K Records.  They have a lot in common with Dischord, but their bands tend to have more of a twee sound.  None of them really knew how to play their instruments very well and they rarely rehearsed.  

I used to listen to Beat Happening a lot and I don't as much anymore.  Johnson's style is confrontational and magnetic.  I was luckily able to see him once solo in a showcase of K bands.  I think I bought a copy of a Halo Benders album from Phil Elverum.

Because Beat Happening prove that you just need passion to start a band, not talent, they are one of the most inspiring bands featured.  Several of their songs are sung acapella, and Johnson once recorded an album of a bunch of random people around Olympia, WA singing.  Their musical skills were rudimentary, yet they managed to record several classic albums that became increasingly complex.  By the end of their run at You Turn Me On in 1992, they hit a musical peak and sound almost like masters of their style.

So that's it.  I really love this book.  However, I just finished reading Trouble Boys.  That is going on the Best Books list.  This took Azerrad three years of nonstop work.  Trouble Boys took Bob Mehr eight years, though he must have been doing other things too.  This is more of an overview than a deep dive, and it will be as educational to most readers as it will be entertaining.

  

The Portable Henry Rollins - Henry Rollins (1997)

My first exposure to Henry Rollins came in March of 2001, when I went to New Orleans with a couple friends and we saw that he was playing at the House of Blues there.  We considered going, but none of us were really fans.  About a year later, I was watching a rerun of SNL with a few friends in my NYU dorm room.  Rollins was the musical guest, and he gyrated in place like a maniac with his shirt off.  We all laughed at the performance.  He seemed like a show-off.

A year or two after that, I read Our Band Could Be Your Life for the first time, and a couple years after that, I started listening to Black Flag.  I guess it took me so long because I never really identified with the "message" of their music until I finished college and realized how much life sucks as an adult.  This may sound weird because they seem more like a band that appeals to teenagers - but I believe one can only fully appreciate Black Flag if they have experienced personal rejection so many times that they have abandoned hope for a better result.  Of course you can be a depressed teenager and listen to Black Flag, but eventually you may grow into a happy and successful person.  Only after going through a prolonged period of psychological pain may a person fully understand the gravity of their music.  Perhaps this makes the prospect of appreciating Black Flag an unpleasant idea.  Certainly, their recent iterations are a joke, and while I'm sure Greg Ginn still has his number of demons to exorcise, the band has never been the same without Henry.  He's not the type of person to be in it for the money (and he kind of reminds me of Morrissey in this regard) but if he ever did reunite with them and played small clubs (such as Reggie's Rock Club, where Black Flag recently played a show for children), no one would complain.  Keith Morris has shown that age should not be a factor in the type of music you play, but I have to believe that Rollins has stopped recording and performing music because he no longer enjoys it.  Or because he has seen and done everything.

There are a lot of problems with The Portable Henry Rollins, and the primary one may be the author's personality.  This book is a collection of excerpts from many others books that Rollins has published through his own literary press 2/13/61, and they often read like diary entries.  I am not sure of the exact length of the longest excerpt, but it is probably the first of the three "previously unreleased" short stories that conclude the book--and that is about three pages long.  The book is a compilation of fits and starts, and while a few of them get at the kind of truth found in the best literary fiction or poetry, it is much more often "miss" than "hit."  It is very repetitive and Rollins mostly comes off as a jerk who hates everyone (except Joe Cole and Ian Mackaye), including himself.  I hate a lot of people and have written my fair share of depressing prose, but I always try to end on something very vaguely life-affirming.  I highly doubt that reading this book will give you a more positive outlook on anything other than the idea of suicide.

It is ironic, then, that Rollins has most recently been in the news for his op-eds in the L.A. Weekly criticizing Robin Williams for ending his own life.  In the first essay blithely titled "Fuck Suicide," Rollins wrote that Williams had performed for troops overseas at some of the same events as himself, and that he considered him a talented and good man.  But he had just proved himself to be the biggest coward in the world because he had abandoned his family and failed to become a master over himself.  Many readers took issue and wrote angry letters to Rollins, and his second essay effectively recanted the first, admitting that he could not defend the views he expressed.

Personally, I agree with his statement that once you have children, you waive your right to take your own life, and that your utmost goal should be not to traumatize them.  After that statement, I can understand where he is coming from, excoriating the weak individuals that would rather die than deal with their problems--but it is a very fine distinction, and miles away from the tenor of the writings collected in this book.  Rollins writes about suicide a lot in these pages (and he does reference Robin Williams once in the late 1980's, oddly connecting him to the fashion choices of a yuppie college town coffee house crowd), and it almost always sounds preferable to the depressing chaos of existence.

This book is Controversial.  Rollins flirts with misogyny, then unabashedly adopts it.  2014 readers will find this aspect of the book troubling and unacceptable.  Perhaps the balance will be struck by his overt hatred of police officers.  But I don't think so.  Rollins wasn't writing this material to impress anyone, and the vast majority of readers will probably make it through the first 50 pages before putting it down.  Most of this was written when he was maybe somewhere between the ages of 17 and 25, and it shows: this is really personal, unedited stuff.  I am reminded of the Kurt Cobain coffee table book of diary entries that I never read.  Except this doesn't carry the mystique of the "voice from beyond the grave."  Rollins may have disavowed a lot of this writing, but I don't know for sure.  At the end of the day, it is completely honest, and it shows that the world inside his mind is a dark, dark place.  For this act of bravery--boldly admitting that he is a completely twisted motherfucker--he deserves praise.  But as a book that really adds nothing new to his oeuvre, and appears to serve as a mere "sampler" to casual fans considering a deeper dive, it comes off like a money grab--a greatest hits collection that lacks the immediacy and punch of an original release.

Probably the most valuable portion is the excerpt from Get in the Van, which is a book of diary entries Rollins wrote while on tour with Black Flag in the early-to-mid 1980's.  I have wanted to read Get in the Van in the past, and have unsuccessfully searched for it in various public library systems.  My current office roommate gave me his copy to borrow, along with a number of spoken word albums by Rollins.  Get in the Van, the album, was one of them.  I do think this is the most succinct and entertaining portion of the collection, and I think the entire book would make a good read.  I have mixed feelings about the album, mainly the way Rollins reads so fast that you really can't be distracted while listening, and also the way it is only broken up into two long tracks (disc 1 and disc 2).  It's all about your preferred mode of consumption, as I don't believe the album encompasses the entirety of the text, but as a part of the collection, the parts from Get in the Van are probably the most essential.  I would also like to add that my office roommate is a police officer.  He would not be the type of "pig" that Rollins loves to hate, but then again Rollins seems to want to make the blanket statement that he hates all pigs.  It's a pretty immature viewpoint, though obviously at least partially a result of the many Black Flag shows that were shut down by the police, and I would be curious to know if Rollins took a less drastically hateful view once he got into his 30's:

"After the show I'm sitting in a place eating and a woman sits down and tells me that she likes what I do but the only thing she didn't like was what I said about pigs.  She's a pig herself, and she says that she's an individual.  I tell the pig cunt that when she puts a uniform on she loses all individuality.  I told her that I party down when I hear that a pig has gotten wasted.  I hope she goes out and gets shot in the knees by some low-rent motherfucker who laughs in her face.  She really thought that she was a human being.  I don't know how they brainwash these shitheads into being so self-righteous about being a bag of shit that should be taken out and shot in the face.  Fuck these people.  You never know when they are pigs in disguise.  Fuck you, you stupid pig bitch.  I hope you get Magic Johnson disease and die in some ward.  I wonder how long I have left with this shit."  (167)

Perhaps the vitriol was at its peak, as Rollins had just witnessed the murder of his best friend and roommate Joe Cole.  This entry comes from Now Watch Him Die and is dated June 30 in Columbia, MO.  One presumes it was June 30, 1992.  Maybe this female cop had a certain attitude that really rubbed him the wrong way, but from the way it's written, Rollins appears to be the more inhuman party.  And he would never deny that he is inhuman, which is a frustrating part of the book.  He doesn't make apologies or rationalize his thought process, and it can be a bit alienating for the reader.

The death of Joe Cole looms large throughout these pages, and I wish that Rollins had written a more formal essay about their friendship and maybe how he went on Unsolved Mysteries to try to find the shooter.  But his writings on the subject are more impressionistic:

"The detectives went through my house for hours
I was at the pig station
I didn't know until later
They went through the food in the kitchen
I got back to the house and all kinds of shit was turned over
My best friend's blood was all over the front walk
They're looking for something to bust us for
The pieces of shit even went through the attic
They were curious as to why I had so many tapes
He talks to me and makes me think he's my friend
I look at him and know he thinks I'm scum
If I give these pieces of shit the time of day then they win
You know
There's so many pieces of shit in the world
It's amazing anyone gets by
The pigs asked if me and Joe were faggots
They were so relieved when they found out we weren't
Fuck you pig
Like I have to prove myself to you
I can't think of a more fucked-up situation
I have to talk to these shitheads all the time now
They still ask other people about me
Like I might have been up to something
I'm some kind of suspect?
Nah, but you sure are some kind of pig." (148-149)

Ultimately, it may appear that I really didn't like this book.  And truthfully, on the whole, I'll take Lexicon Devil or The Hacienda: How Not to Run a Club over it.  But as mentioned, occasionally Rollins will bust out with a few sentences of truth, and the power of such moments cannot be denied:

"Reality has become a fear trip.  Something to choke on.  One in every three women in America will be raped.  This is science friction.  I see it from all sides.  I see the direction of the infection.  The facts are stacked and packed into your head.  You need the two-hour vacation twelve times a day.  Spark the joint and park the car.  Look up at the stars.  Think about it, you're in the hot seat.  You're in a huge shark tank.  If you want to beat them, you have to join them somehow.  The bad guys kill the bad guys.  The bad guys kill the good guys.  If you want to survive the bad guys, you have to have some bad in you--a lot, actually.  You have to know what they know." (230)

And there is also the occasional bit of indie celebrity gossip that will titillate scenesters:

"November 1. Chicago, IL:...Steve Albini is at the show tonight hanging out with the opening band I guess.  I never met the guy before but once read an article he wrote that put me down.  I am considering breaking his face up for him, but when I move in on him I see that he's just a skinny punk.  It wouldn't have been a good kill, so I let it slide.  He'll never know how close he came to getting his face fucked up in front of his friends." (177)

I doubt Henry will ever read this, see me, or recognize me, but on the off chance that it happens, I hope he wants to have a constructive conversation about writing (and not want to introduce his fist to my face).  I like some of his work very much, but this collection is so random that it left me feeling cold.

Negligent Infliction of Emotional Distress: Not in Love (Legally)

                 I have observed an interesting phenomenon in law schools generally: students that arrive single will often meet their spouse during the course of the three years they are here.

                This happened with several friends of mine which will remain unnamed—one of them met their spouse through membership on a journal, and another through placement in the same first year section.  It would seem as if these are the two most common “places” within law school where future spouses meet, but I would imagine a similar concept holds true for Moot Court, or certain classmates on the same career path that end up in more than a few of the same courses. 

                There are basic assumptions about what it means to be a law student and a lawyer.  One of those assumptions is that, one day (perhaps) we will have money, and since we will have money, we will be in the “right” position to start a family.   If you fail to take the right first steps, you may graduate alone, and you may then be afraid of dying alone.  To paraphrase one of our career counselors, compare walking down the street alone, to walking down the street with a girlfriend or boyfriend—more people check you out in the latter situation, no?  This is a metaphor for presenting an effective case for yourself as a job applicant – but the purported truth of such a hypothetical is troubling.   (Not to mention the inference that, those are who are in stable, happy relationships are more likely to get a job.)

Interviewing is only like dating to a degree—you interview in the hopes of a job that will last more than a year or two—but it is unlikely to expect lifetime employment.  Rapid-fire dating and one night stands may be fun up to a point – but once that point is reached, more “practical” dating becomes the rule.  A lifetime relationship is sought.

Law students are probably not the most physically attractive (or morally attractive) people out there.  However, law students are picky because they don’t have much time—they only want to spend time with someone they could actually see themselves marrying.  It follows that, when work and companionship are combined, the stress of dating subsides, a partner is found, and no time is lost.  If that is the only proof to my theory, so be it.  You may ignore what I say, and that is fine, but when you go out into that cold place known as reality and you lack the benefit of an immediate mutual interest, have fun trying to convince other bar patrons about the awesomeness of the automatic stay. 

On the other hand, claiming that one day you will win a $100 million toxic torts judgment may potentially be an effective hook.  We know we have plenty of interesting things to talk about, and some are more talented than others when it comes to engaging “outsiders” in that interest, but generally, “bar scoping” is limited to what you look like, what you do and how much you make.  Nobody cares about whether you are a proponent of judicial activism.  Other lawyers may scoff at such bar conversation – but if not, you may have a winner.

So maybe, when I graduate single, it will be different from the five years I spent in between college and law school, going out to bars, trying to meet someone, anyone, to place a succor on the loneliness of existence.  More likely is that I will continue to be cheap, claim that bars are exploitive, and write similar op-ed pieces until I die.  Only they will be published on my blog and not BLS advocate. 

The moral of the story is this: treasure what time you have left and don’t waste it by sitting alone in your room drinking and smoking.  It is unfortunate that I cannot practice what I preach.  I can’t change society and I can only change myself—but, with limited exceptions, I’m not open to changing myself to “fit in.”  There is a Black Flag song called “Society’s Tease” whose lyrics I will now appropriate to drive home my point:

    Always
                Wherever I go
                Playing some stupid role
                Sometimes I look at the world
                And I just want to say,
                “NOOOOOOOOOOO.”
               
                Somewhere
                Something went wrong
                Where love plays stupid tricks
                But I’ve got a plan
                The world will finally be saved.

                Christopher J. Knorps is a 2L at Brooklyn Law School.  He enjoys studying bankruptcy law.  You may find his other work at flyinghouses.blogspot.com.  He also invites you to the electrifying conclusion to this week (Sex & the Law Week)—the HLPA Open Mic!  Please sign up on posted fliers to perform “a” Vagina Monologue, or your own original performance. If you are too shy to read, please come to watch the action, as a voluntary $5 donation will get you complimentary dinner and drinks.  

Mudhoney - The Lucky Ones

Okay, just for the fun of it, let's look back at the 12 bands featured in Our Band Could Be Your Life.
-Black Flag
-Minutemen
-Mission of Burma
-Minor Threat
-Husker Du
-The Replacements
-Big Black
-Butthole Surfers
-Sonic Youth
-Dinosaur Jr.
-Mudhoney
-Beat Happening

Of those 12, 4 of those bands are still operating with all their original members intact (though 2 of them underwent extremely long hiatuses). Of those 12, all but one or two have principal members still actively working under whatever moniker(mostly going solo...Henry Rollins (on IFC), the Stooges, Bob Mould, Paul Westerberg, Shellac, Calvin Johnson). This is really starting to be amazing as most of these bands earliest seeds were sown nearly thirty years ago. Thus, the only 2 bands to survive an extremely long haul with only slightly varied original units--Sonic Youth and Mudhoney--and of those two, it seems incredible that one of them goes on regardless, when it would appear that 90% of the population might recognize the name Sonic Youth and less than 10% might recognize the name Mudhoney, but that is probably also the case for the Melvins, and they are probably a better comparison to make here. But in any case, Mudhoney is arguably as strong a band as they have ever been, despite their advancing age, and their newest album The Lucky Ones could serve as some sort of career-defining final album--of course that would be sad, but one look at the inside of the CD and one listen to the title track makes it seem all too apropos.

Opener "I'm Now" is amazing for how it can make one feel that the last eighteen years haven't really happened. Except the subject matter is very focused on the aspect of timekeeping. There are a couple instrumental flourishes that maybe Mudhoney wouldn't have used in the early 90's (keyboards here). "The past made no sense/The future looks tense/I'm now" is the chorus, and Mark Arm sells it the way he typically can. "Inside Out Over You," I can only describe as saying it sounds like "Sweet Young Thing Ain't Sweet No More" and I'm probably only saying that because Superfuzz Bigmuff was reissued the same day The Lucky Ones was released. And with the 1-2-3 punch of this album approaching the 1-2-3 punch of that album, it's almost as if Mudhoney is saying, "See, we're just as good as ever."

Title track, third track, is a radio-ready single for any alternative rock radio station, but they're probably all too fucking dumb to play Mudhoney. It could be a #1 single in the same way grunge could chart in 1992. Styles have changed, but "The Lucky Ones," I can hardly see as anything but an elegy for Kurt Cobain, and perhaps a few others--though who really knows who Mark Arm could be referencing in this song? "The lucky ones have already gone down/the lucky ones are lucky they're not around," again, another simplistically worded chorus that Arm, and probably only Arm, is able to pull off. (Could anyone make "Fuck You!" sound so awkward and awesome at the same time as he does on "You Got It (Keep It Outta My Face)"?) This is the longest song on the album, and it reminds me a lot of everything on Superfuzz Bigmuff, especially "In N Out of Grace," for some reason. But the subject matter is brutally depressing, and potentially dangerous for teens with suicidal thoughts (!), so obviously it's very deep and meaningful.

Unfortunately, the rest of the album begins to seem tedious when "Next Time" arrives with its plodding, repetitive, dirgey, drum-bass-guitar. Now, I can stand repetitive, simple music, if Mark E. Smith is providing the lyrics. However, Arm sounds more like Iggy Pop than MES, or he has more similar energy. He wants to play loud punk rock still. And that is very endearing, when someone such as myself is able to see Mudhoney play Chicago (September 1, 2006) and have a beer bottle land on his head (damn drunk Chicago assholes) and emerge from the pit drenched in sweat, as if he had been through a washing machine or bathtub or shower or lake or ocean or pond or similar body of water and see Mark Arm go totally nuts on stage (doing "Hate the Police" as an encore sans guitar, leaning into the over-frenzied crowd) and have his ears ring for 24 hours and have one of the best concert experiences of his life despite not knowing 70% of the 30 or 40 songs they must have played.

They're in the same class as Sonic Youth from that original book lineup because they've had years and years of practice. They haven't rested on their laurels because they haven't necessarily been able to--they're a real, working, very long-running punk rock band, and one of the last existing ones that continue to be vital in the scene. The rest of the album is not as sweet as the beginning, and only the title track could be considered as good as the best work in their career, but it is not a "phoned-in" performance, and understanding how hard Mudhoney partied, it is surprising they lasted longer than most of those other units. If anything, it's from sheer determination and a punishing live experience. Thank God Mudhoney do not want to hang up their jerseys yet. I would love to see them again. Ideally, doing a Don't Look Back performance of Superfuzz Bigmuff and then playing "The Lucky Ones" and "Touch Me I'm Sick" as encores. Maybe a Meat Puppets comparison would be more apt than the Melvins or Sonic Youth or Iggy Pop ones were.

Superchunk - S/T

There are very few bands like Superchunk.
The closest ones: Black Flag, Beat Happening, Minor Threat, Dead Kennedys.
The connection? Each band started their own label.
The difference? Merge is bigger than SST, K, Dischord or Alternative Tentacles years after its founding band's heyday.
The reason? Merge has legitimately been after talent since they opened their books--Dischord and K skewed regional, Alternative Tentacles seems like more of a hobby than a business, and SST is just a clusterfuck historically. SST may have been the coolest label in the mid-80's, but they probably did not take as good care of their artists as Merge does in the late 00's. And they even have some of the same bands (i.e. Dinosaur), not to mention Spoon and the Arcade Fire, and, to bring us back to our main point, Superchunk.

I do not want to get into all the specific details of how Mac McCaughan started this label with his girlfriend when they were in their early 20's or any of that, because to be honest the chronology is rather difficult to place, since I believe Superchunk's self-titled debut is actually the third or fourth record to be released on the then-young Matador label. It is clear that a few wildly influential personalities intersect in this band's infant years, and so it is not surprising that they would reach the heights they later did (Nirvana opened for them once; they sell out anytime they play post-2004). Still, Superchunk is mainly familiar to the masses through vague name recognition. A while ago they were talked about when Emo became mainstream, but besides their style being aped beyond recognition and stupidity, there is not much reason for anyone to talk about them. Their last album was 2001's Here's to Shutting Up. Portastatic is a significantly more active presence in the music industry than Superchunk at the moment. And in a way, the last 2 Portastatic records were like "Superchunk-lite," as I heard them described as by a fan at their show. But this is about before any of that. This is before Nirvana, before Pavement, when Sonic Youth was writing Goo, and NIN was putting out Pretty Hate Machine and the Smashing Pumpkins were putting out Gish. This is before Steve Albini became their producer and before the words "indie" and "Chapel Hill" went together. I.e. This is when "Slack Motherfucker" was written.

Oeuvre rule before we start: I know all Superchunk. I would write a book about them if Mac would let me. But that's probably not necessary, given how well they document themselves on the insides of their CDs, on their website, and in various liner notes. At least everything's known about the process of making each of their albums--the gossip about the band remains largely under wraps and would not be prudent to uncover. The mystery of their lyrics adds a great deal of interpretative possibilities to their music as a whole. On the surface, Mccaughan screams like a frustrated teenager and everything's usually really fast and loud. It's punk, in fact it's pop-punk, and it's really the closest thing there ever was for providing a blueprint to Emo. The Get Up Kids would not exist without Superchunk. Neither would Saves the Day. Nor would Chris Carraba ever have come into prominence. Don't even talk about New Found Glory. Or even the Alkaline Trio. Or Fall Out Boy. Even Weezer!

But it is not fair to compare Mac to Rivers, because Rivers is interested in super-popular pop-radio-gem hits, and Mac is interested in consistent, quality albums. To get to the point, Superchunk's debut is the last album I bought by them, the last one to complete my total possession of their catalog (minus a few random b-sides and special charity compilation songs--i.e. I really want "mistakes and misfits" or whatever their newest song is called, I heard them play it twice in 2007 and it rules.). Situating their self-titled amongst No Pocky for Kitty, On the Mouth, Foolish, Incidental Music, Here's Where the Strings Come In, Indoor Living, Come Pick Me Up, Here's to Shutting Up, and Cup of Sand (not to mention Tossing Seeds, which covers most of the same period as S/T), it unfortunately comes in dead last. All the other albums are consistently better from beginning to end. That said, No Pocky for Kitty is often heralded as their essential release, and while the first 5 songs are just about perfect on that album, for me On the Mouth is their masterpiece. But I've listened to that album so many times that I think Here's Where the Strings Come In might actually have better songs on it. Foolish is usually mentioned for being "slower" than their other albums, but I really don't think that's a fair representation of it at all. Incidental Music and Cup of Sand may contain the most exciting songs by the band, and they are B-Sides. Indoor Living is very solid and so is Come Pick Me Up and if anything Here's to Shutting Up is their "different" album, and each of the three shows a steady progression of Superchunk "maturing" and sounding more like adult-contemporary than underground-punk. Regardless in 2007 they showed no signs of slowing their performance speed, even as they all turn into forty-somethings. On further review however I would have to admit that I do enjoy the very first album more than their very last album (and here is hoping that they haven't made that yet, and that I'll have to revise my post a year from now).

The first track "Sick to Move" sets the bar impossibly high not only for the album, but for the rest of Superchunk's future song catalog. Later in their career Mac would mention the formula for a Superchunk song, and 95% of their material nearly matches the model without detour. The songs that don't are notable. On S/T, "Slow" is the closest thing that DOESN'T match. On NPFK, "Tower" does not necessarily match. OTM has "Swallow That" which is definitely notable in their catalog, but this is not a survey of all the songs that don't match, and it shouldn't turn into that.

Still, "Sick to Move" is an amazing opening song for the album, and an excellent introduction to the band. It's hard to say what it's about beyond being sick to do anything, even look in the mirror.

"My Noise" is also on Tossing Seeds, but the version on the album is better and has a fuller sound.

"Let It Go" is the weirdest song on the album, definitely an anomaly for the band. It sounds almost like metal or something. I think they played it the first time I saw them live and I didn't know what it was and it didn't really affect me much except for being a little bored. This is probably the weakest song on the album.

"Swinging" is a basic Superchunk song, nothing that sets it apart and places it on the level of classic Superchunk song. "Slow" could be classic, as it is the first time they veer from their formula, and it still works pretty well.

"Slack Motherfucker" was (legend has it) written as a vituperative against a lazy co-worker at Kinko's. No one will miss its message, but it is easy to misinterpret from the other side. On the one hand, it could be taken as a song that glorifies slacking, i.e. thematic element of early 90's indie rock, pot smoking, etc. However, it is easy to see that the song is as much about the band themselves as any outside circumstance, or rather, could be taken as a mission statement. Regardless of what it means (and it means that you will always have co-workers who are lazy and who end up asking you to do all the work for them while they hide out in their little comfort zone where no one bothers them), the song is an absolute classic and deserves to be listed in the top 10 songs of the 90's (except there's no video to play on VHI Classic, so "Black Hole Sun" probably outtrumps it).

"Binding," like "Swinging" is a basic Superchunk song that is neither offensive nor particularly memorable. No slight on it, as "Down the Hall" follows. "Down the Hall," like "Sick to Move" or "Slow" is another surprisingly good song off this debut, as is its follow up, "Half a Life." "Not Tomorrow" ends the album on a very strong note, emphasizing the very immediate, very present, very prescient nature of the band's music. This is much better than Here to Shutting Up and it is probably better than Come Pick Me Up and it is a toss-up whether Indoor Living is better or not, but it cannot lay claim to being as strong an album as anything in their "blue" period (NPFK through HWTSCI). In any case all Superchunk albums are essential. They should be boxed together a la Beat Happening's catalog, and Black Flag should follow suit (only they won't because they'd rather charge $17 per album). But still, their music is not for everyone. My friend that got me into most indie rock our senior year in high school told me not to play Superchunk for him because he found them annoying. That is the biggest criticism you can make of their band. They sound like a bunch of annoying kids.

It is interesting to compare this debut with Vampire Weekend's (I am not even going to go there in terms of Funeral). In the fight between "A-Punk" vs. "Slack Motherfucker," who do you think wins? What about in terms of originality of sound? Yes, Vampire Weekend sounds relatively unique, but what did Superchunk sound like to everyone in 1989? The Ramones? The Smoking Popes, maybe? I don't know. Descendents maybe? X? Germs? The point is, they made all of those dirty, inaccesible punk bands a dot on every emo kid's radar. Someone who likes the Get Up Kids better not be an idiot and think they are the bread and wine, body and blood of indie rock, no, they would be smarter to go back further, to see who came before them, to see who succeeded where they failed, to see who lasted when they broke up, to see what was possible before the Internet and Pitchfork and the Blogosphere and MP3 Encoding changed the way music was heard forever.