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My Pain and Sadness Is More Sad and Painful Than Yours (2000)
5.5
Joy / Friends Stoning Friends / Whiteliberalonwhiteliberalaction /
Rice Is Nice / Flysmoke / Rock vs. Single Parents / She Comes in Pieces
/ (Sometimes) I Have to Concentrate / When They Come Tell Them No /
You Are My Sun / Rods on Crutches / Problems Posing as Solutions /
Mi-O-Mai / Medium Is the Message / World Cup Drumming
This
debut album by obnoxious Welshmen Mclusky obviously contains the seeds of
what would turn the explosive Mclusky Do Dallas into such a great album
to trash your place to, but it's not nearly as entertaining, consistent or
asskicking-for the simple reason they hadn't complete control over their music
yet. While a small budget can be held responsible for the occasionally under-produced
sound (I mean, it's okay to have a guitar sound not unlike a swarm of bees
- "Joy," "Rice Is Nice," etc -, but it's not when it's as if you're
listening with Brussels sprouts stuffed in your ears. The nasty attitude is
there of course, but that only gets you (them) so far. Also, this album makes
it obvious where all the Pixies-comparisons come from: the occasional male/female
contrasts are essential Introductory Pixies Course 101, as are the
bass-lines (and squealing guitars) in "When They Come Tell Them No" and "Medium
Is the Message" and the entirety of "You Are My Sun," which seems a lo-fi
Trompe Le Monde-outtake. All this wouldn't have been a problem if the
band had come up with consistently appealing variations on that legacy, alas
it's not the case. There's exactly one song aspiring at greatness:
the instantly catchy nonsense of "Rock vs. Single Parents" that gets its punch,
charm and balls from one and the same idiotic guitar riff. Apart from that,
there's also "(Sometimes) I Have to Concentrate," in which space is used to
fine effect; and there's the lazy acoustic strum of "Rods on Crutches" (that
really is unlike anything else on the album). The least impressive songs this
time around are weirdly enough the short punk/noise-blasts that would make
the sophomore album such an exhilarating release: "Joy" is ruined by the overly
dominant vocals, "She Come in Pieces" tries to unite the Pixes with the Melvins
and fails, "Mi-O-Mai" is spineless punk-rock and "Rice Is Nice" simply annoying.
Throughout My Pain and Sadness… enough ideas pop up to suggest Mclusky
had a worthwhile album in them, but it doesn't suggest they had Do Dallas
in them. Luckily, they improved immensely, tightened up considerably and found
the producer a band like them could only hope for. This one remains for completists
and other geeks.
McLusky Do Dallas (2002)
8.5
Lightsabre Cocksucking Blues / No New Wave No Fun / Collagen Rock /
What We’ve Learned / Day of the Deadringers / Dethink to Survive
/ Fuck This Band / To Hell with Good Intentions / Clique Application
Form / The World Loves Us and Is Our Bitch / Alan Is a Cowboy Killer
/ Gareth Brown Says / Chases / Whoyouknow
Does
the world need another nasty noise band? “Fuck this band, cos they swear
too much” is what the guys in Mclusky would answer, but if I were to
decide, each family would get its own Mclusky. Even though they’re a
trio with Welsh roots, they’re the kind of band that alternately sounds
dangerous, obnoxious or like an insult. Combining the spastic, overexcited
energy of Refused with Shellac’s abrasiveness and a well-hidden dose
of pop melodies that led to countless comparisons to the Pixies, they manage
to sound semi-deranged and intense as fuck. Critics also compared them to
The Jesus Lizard (guitarist/vocalist Andy Falkous does come off as
David Yow’s demented brother once in a while), Nirvana (I don’t
get this one, except for maybe the silent/loud-dynamics) and about every other
band that employs atonality, ultra-tight riffs and explosive outbursts, but
on Mclusky Do Dallas, you find a band with an identity of its own
and a sneering attitude to match it. That’s right, these guys are offensive
as hell if you’re a hardcore Sarah McLachlan/Tracy Chapman/Joss Stone-fan,
but it becomes obvious pretty soon that lines like “We take more drugs
than a touring funk band” and “We had crazy fucking times, ‘til
her visa card expired” are something different from the basic “fuck
you if you’re not like us”-attitude of say, the average stupid
Oi!-band out there.
If there’s a band that makes pretty similar noise, it must be Belgian band Vandal X, which isn’t surprising since they also recorded with Steve Albini. The producer’s stamp is all over the album. I don’t know what his recipe is, but he makes each band he produces sound like a relentlessly brutal and tight outfit. Opening song “Lightsabre Cocksucking Blues” (what a great title, by the way) immediately introduces the band with a blistering bang, as Falkous howls his nonsensical vocals over an incredible taut riff and a punishing rhythm section that soon transforms into a merciless sound burst. If you’d expect one long sonic blitzkrieg after this red-hot start, you’re wrong (there is some variation over the course of 35 minutes), but you can hardly call this your average conformist rock either. In the case of “Collagen Rock” and “Day of the Deadringers,” the Pixies-comparison actually makes sense, as the basic drumming and simple guitar lines are something you could find on that band’s earlier releases. It also shows Mclusky at their artiest, since they’re usually much more brutal and straightforward than the heralded Bostonians. Just try to listen to “No New Wave No Fun” and “Chases” without bursting out in a “What the fuck are those guys up to?” I heard that Welshmen are often called sheepshaggers by other Brits, but these guys suggest they’d shove their instruments up your hole if you’d go as far as to mutter the word in their vicinity.
Anyway, there’s a bunch of first-rate songs: “What We’ve Learned,” for instance, is a terrific, dissonant rocker that proves they’re familiar with the basic rules of how to create a good song (and just check out those wailing guitars), while “To Hell with Good Intentions” is so dense, intense and nasty you’ll be infected by the band’s venom. “Gareth Brown Says” (with another opening winner: “All of your friends are cunts, your mother is a ball-point pen thief”) is another perversion of a traditional pop song, while the brooding “Fuck This Band,” which is made by that lazy bass line, is the album’s lone rest stop. I could go on like that, and mention those silly falsetto vocals in the brilliantly titled “The World Loves Us and Is Our Bitch,” and point out how “Dethink to Survive” is basically straightforward punk, but it should be clear by now. Mclusky Do Dallas is one hell of an invigorating blast, a 35-minute adrenalin bomb. Granted, two or three cuts are rather slight (“Clique Application Form” being the most obvious example), but they’re redeemed for by the exciting distorto-rock of “Whoyouknow” (“YOUR HEART’S GONE THE COLOUR OF COCA-COLA!”) and the majority of the other songs. Mclusky helps putting the balls back into rock ‘n’ roll. Somewhere during “Fuck This Band,” Falkous mumbles “if they split up, you’re responsible,” but it needn’t come that far. You could start by buying their upcoming album, for instance.
Reader comments: Nathaniel Schaffer
(USA): |
The Difference Between Me and You Is That I'm Not on Fire (2004)
8
Without MSG I Am Nothing / That Man Will Not Hang / She Will Only Bring You Happiness / KKKitchens, What Were You Thinking? / Your Children Are Waiting for You to Die / Icarus Smicarus / Slay! / You Should Be Ashamed, Seamus / Lucky Jim / Forget About Him, I'm Mint / 1956 and All That / Falco vs. the Young Canoeist / Support Systems
Well,
what can I say? Fuck this band for having such an attitude. Fuck this band
for being such cynical bastards. Fuck this band for making their debut with
a mediocre noise album and following it up with the angriest, dirtiest, fiercest,
bad-assest, nuttiest, tightest, in-your-facest, insanest and - especially
- excitingest sophomore album that any Welsh band has ever provided. Fuck
this band for making me realize that I've been too cynical with the 8.5-rating.
Fuck this band for playing a gig in Brussels that almost resembled the short,
but all-destructing visit of a tornado that totally ridiculed the headlining
acts, The Blood Brothers and The Liars. Fuck this band because they could
fucking slay those two bands with their fingers up their noses. Fuck this
band for coming up with some of the most hilarious song titles. Fuck this
band and their long album titles (two out of three ain't bad). Fuck this band
for raising the bar for contemporary rock bands with an attitude. Fuck this
band for making their third album considerably less frantic and explosive
than Mclusky Do Dallas. Fuck this band for calling their third album
The Difference Between Me and You Is That I'm Not on Fire. Fuck this
band for making an album that's too long. Fuck this band for jumping the bandwagon
and cramming too many good songs in the first half and not enough in the second.
Fuck this band for naming a song after a novel by Kingley Amis. Fuck this
band for not naming a song after a novel by Martin Amis (who's a better writer
than his dad was). Fuck this band for being a three-piece that had more guts
and decibels than the average death metal or Hell's Angels-meeting. Fuck this
band for coupling quirky Pixies-styled weirdness to brash 80s noise experimentalism.
Fuck this band for combining the catchy and the oppressive. Fuck this band
for including short motherfuckers like "KKKitchens, What Were You Thinking,"
"Icarus Smicarus" and "Falco vs. the Young Canoeist" on their third album.
Fuck this band for starting off that album with a song as awesome as "Without
MSG I Am Nothing." Fuck this band for succeeding in making "That Man Will
Not Hang" sound exactly as cool as it suggests. Fuck this band for not selling
out and deliver this dark beast and not the crossover success so many people
predicted or expected. Fuck this band for never making it big. Fuck this band
for being so funny. Also, fuck 'em for being so rude, unpredictable and cool.
And more than anything else: fuck this band for suddenly breaking up in the first week of 2005. They broke my fuckin' heart.
Read album reviews of similar or related artists: Vandal X