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New York City's Fires of Rome carry the post punk torch, adding a heavy does of glam rock to create catchy riffs and big, sweeping choruses. Their 2009 debut, You Kingdom You, may very well end up on some best-of lists by the end of the year. It's that good.
Of course, there is nothing entirely new in plundering Bowie and adding some darker vibes for good measure; still, the band effort here is remarkable. Drummer Gunner is the unlikely star, shifting tempos easily from glitter-stomp to slithery funk and setting the tone for terrific songs like "Set in Stone" and the Joy Divisional "Handgrenade." "Dawn Lament" struts like "Love is the Drug"-era Roxy Music. There is no shortage of riffs or good ideas here.
Perhaps You Kingdom You's best track is "Love Is a Burning Thing," a jittery burst of melodic noise that is so forceful that the listener is virtually riveted until the blustery, abrupt end.
Fires of Rome have potential to be a great band. They are already quite adept at turning their impeccable influences into drama-filled songs. I'm eager to see what they can do on stage...and I'm already awaiting their next outstanding record.
Perhaps no other post punk band was able to break out of the austere pack more than The Mekons. Through synth-noise and funk workouts to esoteric Anglo-country and western, the Leeds band were--and remain--nonconformists of the first degree.
After their 1979 debut, The Quality of Mercy is not Strnen, The Mekons quickly ditched Fall-inspired punk for a more experimental, everything but the kitchen sink-brand of rock. Things came together quickly; on 1980s Devils, Rats and Piggies group leaders Jon Langford and Tom Greenhalgh guide The Mekons through a menagerie of styles. Kraftwerk robotics ("Snow"), pub singalongs ("The Institution"), and minimalist storytelling ("Chopper Squad") are all tried successfully then quickly discarded before the next pop experiment. It's a winning approach. There seems to be nothing that the band can't do, even embracing noise on the stunning, horn-laden stream-of-thought "St. Patrick's Day."
Nothing could have prepared listeners, then, for the next detour. Fear and Whiskey (1985) would find The Mekons playing country music--albeit with remnants of punk attitude. Still, the record worked. Langford and his pals were so enthused with their new direction, anyone else along for the ride can't help but be swept along. Fear and Whiskey includes some simple songs ("Country") but also some enigmatic ones: "Trouble Down South" sounds like it belongs in some bizarro update of Oklahoma!
If The Mekons are one of the longest-lived post punk bands, its likely because they are also musicians that continue to follow an elusive, collective muse. Being willing to break with early, established post punk convention allowed the band to transcend all 80s microgenres and create some of the best rock music of the decade.
Like the Nabokov novel of the same name, the Fall's Bend Sinister (1986) is dark and harrowing, full of characters seemingly caught in untenable positions. It is one of the band's most accessible records; by this fourth outing with guitarist/punk sex symbol Brix Smith, Fall leader Mark E. Smith had figured out ways to use Brix's alluring vocals and jangling riffs to augment his own artier tendencies.
Brix had, from the very begining, brought a pop sensibility to the Fall. This Nation's Saving Grace, released a year earlier, is the better LP (probably), due to its wide variety of styles from tongue-in-cheek folk ("Paintwork") to krautrock experimentalism ("I Am Damo Suzuki"). But Bend Sinister is more cohesive. Dark and sinewy, yet melodic, songs like "R.O.D." and "Riddler!" bear closer to post punk breathren like Bauhaus or Joy Division then the Fall's normal art collages. The band hadn't given up crazed repitition quite yet, though: "U.S. 80s-90s" is a wonderfully silly and hummable mantra.
The best tracks on Bend Sinister incorporate Brix to her full powers. "DKTR Faustus" finds her cooing the names of random fruits and howling delightedly over Mark's straight lyrical reading. "Should Pads #1" combines all the best elements of Brix-era Fall, with Mark disparaging punk poseurs ("couldn't tell Lou Reed from Doug Yule") while Brix busts a Rickenbacker riff that can stick in your head for days.
For the neophyte, you can--and should--start your Fall collection with Hex Enduction Hour and This Nation's Saving Grace. Once you get around to Bend Sinister, however, don't be surprised if it ends up your favorite Fall of all.
Joy Division's brief and brilliant career ended with Ian Curtis' death and the release of 1981's Still, a live and b-sides collection meant to put the finishing touch on the band's output. While critics rightly balked at Still's shoddy live half, purists recognize the double LP as a must-have; the non-album tracks are heavier and (almost unbelievably) even darker than much of Joy Division's previous canon.
"Exercise One" opens Still with Curtis intimating a then-prophetic line: "Time for one last ride before the end of it all." Elsewhere, the band addresses cataclysm (the hyper "Ice Age") and Gogol references ("Dead Souls," a standout track) with equal aplomb. These songs are brutal and metallic. "I can't see life getting better," Curtis screams on "The Sound of Music," its title a pointedly ironic allusion to the sweetness and light that is unattainable for the lost and the lonely
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Standing as a plateau of the post punk era, Echo and the Bunnymen's Ocean Rain is also the group's high-water mark. Released in 1984, Ocean Rain is lush and stately; without the Bunnymen's turn to dramatic productions like this, it is safe to say Stone Roses would have lacked a template for their own epic debut.
"Man has to be his own savior," Ian McCulloch sings on the LP-opening "Silver," setting the bold tone. While other indie-underground bands were murmuring politely about flowers or girls, McCulloch and the rest of the Bunnymen were making definitive, brash statements like "My Kingdom," or sailing the psychedelica of "Seven Seas." Kissing a tortoise shell never sounded so appealing
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Brix Smith couldn't have been more different than the other members of the Fall. Officially joining the band in 1983, the beautiful blonde American bassist-turned-guitar player brought pop sensibility to Mark E. Smith's angular songs, making the Fall something no one ever thought they would be: hit-makers.
As Mark E.'s wife and muse, Brix was the catalyst for the Fall's best albums; peaking with the three-album period from 1984-1986, Brix's rockabilly riffs and punkish-pop vocals modernized the Fall. The urgency was palpable. The band now looked and sounded the best they ever had
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Formed in 1976 in England as the Easy Cure, Robert Smith's band has endured for three decades. As one of the original post punk groups, Smith and company had a chance to make their mark. Sadly, the Cure have never lived up to their initial promise; their legacy will forever be saddled with half-baked albums and a revolving door of faceless members-- popularity in America aside
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Emerging from Manchester circa 1982, The Smiths were the saviors of British guitar rock. The pairing of singer Morrissey with guitarist Johnny Marr provided a nose-thumbing to the synthesizer sounds of the day; instead, The Smiths combined Brill Building pop song structure with ringing guitars and Morrissey's literate sarcasm to create one of post punk's most daring bands
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Often compared to Joy Division, Interpol is a modern day purveyor of post punk rock. Yet rather than sounding identical to the legendary Manchester band, Interpol, from New York City, fuse Ian Curtis' sense of glorious gloom into a tension-filled mix that is just as influenced by bands like Sonic Youth and Yo La Tengo.
Antics is the second, perfect album from Interpol. The opener, "Next Exit,", finds singer Paul Banks in weary resign, yet trying to inspire a would-be co-conspirator: "So do this thing with me instead of tying on a tight one tonight." More than the debut, Antics shows Interpol's unease with rock and roll fame, trying desperately to balance the lifestyle with the group's own often delicate sensibilities
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Bauhaus are the founding fathers of Goth. Yet from the beginning, their music has defied categorization. Even their darkest, most vampiric LP, 1980's In the Flat Field, contains moments of spazzed-out glam, as in "St. Vitus Dance."
Elsewhere, there is little doubt that Bauhaus are into gloom and the metaphysical. "Stigmata Martyr" explores religious anomoly with creepy Latin intonations, while the title track crams panicked, sometimes nonsensical phrases over a careening lick by guitarist Daniel Ash. "Where is the string that Theseus laid? / Find me out this labyrinth place," Peter Murphy howls, searching for respite from this self-induced horrow show
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