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“That’s When I Reach for My Revolver” – Mission of Burma 
(Words/music: Clint Conley, available on Signals, Calls, and Marches, Ace of Hearts 1981)

I saw Mission of Burma a few years ago shortly after they reunited.  I had been a fan of the records Rykodisc put out (all of which Matador has reissued over the last couple years and are probably worth some of my eMusic credits at some point) and it was around the time that wiry and spry post-punk caught my ear.  I can’t place it exactly, but I want to say that I saw them either right before or right after their first post-reunion album came out; in either case, I hoped that the balance of old and new would be decent enough so that I knew at least a handful of songs.

They played “That’s When I Reach for My Revolver” that night and a few others that I knew, but now when I look back and think about seeing Mission of Burma, I fixate on the surprisingly visceral sound.  I got the sense of their volume from the Horrible Truth About Burma live album (and from reading about Roger Miller’s tinnitus), but didn’t really expect the band to carry as much of a wallop a couple decades later.  I guess seeing the sound barriers set up around the drum set should have been the first tip for what was to come.  The guitars felt deeper, giving the song’s riff a lurching feeling and the bass and drums felt like gut punches.  Thankfully, this was also roughly the same time I started wearing earplugs to shows.  Otherwise, I might still be hearing “Revolver” rattle around in my brain today.

More on Mission of Burma: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

TAGGED UNDER: mission of burma | 1981 | 1980s | post-punk | ace of hearts |
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“Crazy” – Pylon
(Words/music: Pylon, available on Hits, DB Records 1989)

I know the music of Pylon for two distinct reasons.  The first was hearing R.E.M.’s cover of “Crazy” on their Dead Letter Office collection when I first got into R.E.M..  I remember loving the collection of B-Sides, in part because it contained the 1981 Chronic Town EP (which I also had on cassette tape from a department store’s going out of business sale, not know the scarcity of the artifact), but also that it contained a lot of really catchy songs – in particular, the track “Burning Hell” and a lot of the cover songs.  I knew that “Crazy” was a cover only through reading the track notes in the CD (and, also, from reading a bit about Pylon in the R.E.M. oral history Talk About the Passion).  Otherwise, it seemed like a more upbeat version of an early R.E.M. song – a mysterious sounding verse in Stipe’s trademark mumble, and the catchy chorus sounding out through Peter Buck’s jangling guitar.  I can remember making a R.E.M. mix tape for friends and putting this song at a prominent position early in the tape.

I finally heard some of Pylon’s music directly when the DFA reissued their Gyrate album (I was also able to pit up the Hits collection – essential listening in my book).  Of course, I immediately went to “Crazy” so that I could hear the original version of this song that I loved.  I was struck at how faithful the cover was – the same riff runs through the song, granted it’s played by late guitarist Randy Bewley darker and with less reverb.  Vocalist Vanessa Briscoe sings in a more confident manner than Stipe (perhaps because Stipe made up some of the words, according to Pylon’s drummer Curtis Crowe).  Throughout the music collected on Hits, Briscoe toes the line between letting her band take center stage and becoming the focal point in the songs.  She commands a strong presence (in a way that the Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ Karen O does) but is content enough to share her spotlight with her bandmates by disappearing behind their taut rhythms and focused songs, only to storm back to center stage moments later.  It’s the kind of music that makes me simultaneously happy and sad – I’m glad that I’ve discovered one of the true American post-punk gems, even if I kick myself a bit for waiting the better part of a decade before seeking it out.

More on Pylon: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

TAGGED UNDER: pylon | 1989 | 1980s | post-punk | DB records | R.E.M. | track comparison | cover song - original |
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“I Found that Essence Rare” – Gang of Four
(Words/music: Gang of Four, available on Entertainment!, EMI 1979)

A lot of music, especially in the punk/post-punk vein, revolves around a cycle of tension and release.  Sometimes, the music creates the tension with fast, pounding rhythms that implore the audience to find release through relentless pogo-ing or slam dancing.  Sometimes, the music itself builds in tension throughout the song, waiting for that moment of release.  This isn’t unique to punk, though, as even my basic recollection of music theory remembers talking about resolving chords back to the tonic – the home base where the tones are exactly what the ear expects to hear.  Perhaps we’re drawn to tension-filled music because it makes us appreciate the resolution that much more.  Maybe we just like being wound up sometimes.

On “I Found that Essence Rare,” Gang of Four winds everything so tight that there’s little room for anything else.  The guitars forge ahead devoid of any reverb; rather than letting the notes ring out and dissolve, they quickly forge ahead like knives chipping away piece by piece.  Jon King’s words take a similar action, cutting into bourgeoisie culture of politics, tabloids, and fashion with direct, focused observations.  Something strange happens amidst this tension – a groove develops.  While funk musicians like to talk about getting “loose” when laying down a groove, Gang of Four achieves their unique groove as a sort of nervous twitch, like muscles that spasm slightly when held tense long enough.  It’s a sort of claustrophobic, paranoid trance that manages to have some spring in it.  There’s even a drum break in the bridge (granted, it’s more Mission of Burma than Parliament)

The only glimmer of release from this tightly-wound dissection of consumer culture comes in the chorus.  Appropriately, the chorus shifts from observations of the outside world to a first person statement – there’s refuge from the demonic outside world within oneself, but it’s fleeting at best.  Those same guitars come crashing through and bring back more images of hollow politicians and trash journalism.  Then, it’s back to the nerves.

Finally, the onslaught stops, but there’s no real resolution.  We’re wound up and dancing (twitching?) along, only to have the groove swept out from under our feet.  Granted, it seems appropriate from a song with such a skeptical view of the world.

More on Gang of Four: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

TAGGED UNDER: 1970s | 1979 | emi | gang of four | post-punk | track analysis | mission of burma |
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