The Jam “Going Underground” / “The Dreams of Children”

Here’s an odd bit of business: I was recently going back to some of my favorite music from 40 and 50 years ago and finding that some of it doesn’t hold up for me. It’s hard to believe I liked it so much. But there’s a good side to that, too: Sometimes I can “discover” music that I once totally dismissed and despised—and hearing it now—I’m surprised to find it compelling. Not totally unrelated: Today’s random selection—two three-minute songs from The Jam on a 1980 promo 45—where’d I get it? Who knows—but since today’s fickle pointer descended on it, I’m going to do an experiment and predict my reaction before hearing it. One word: Lukewarm. For most punk bands, it was over by 1980—already planning their county fair reunion tours. Not that The Jam were a punk band, really—they were a really good pop band—but they played faster and with more energy than anyone—or were right up there. (There were some real coffee drinkers back then.) I remembered writing about—in the early days of this site—four The Jam LPs I used to have—so I went back and looked over those reviews. Interesting—I was expecting to hate them, by then, but found myself loving those records. So… weird. This single dates just after that—what will it sound like?

I wish I could say I was wrong, but both songs sound about like I expected—like The Jam—high energy pop songs with good jangly guitar and expressive bass—lyrics-wise what we used to call “political” songs—about social issues, etc., which is nice. But music-wise, I’m not feeling it. I don’t particularly like “Going Underground,” and I don’t think it’s gonna grow on me. There’s way too much happening, structurally, musically—it could have ended in several places before it did. They managed to make three minutes feel like 30. Too much going on for a pop song—or, really, for a mini-series. “The Dreams of Children” is more interesting, at least on first listen. But it grows old fast—again, overly complicated for what it is. Both of these songs could benefit by being, each, half as long. Oh well, now it seems a little ironic that the last The Jam record I own is this one—that I don’t even like—and I wish I had those first four LPs that I lost. Some advice to the kids—try to hang onto your old records for as long as you can (or whatever equivalent objects of importance from your younger days might be). There may come a time when you’re glad to dust them off and rediscover them.

The Cowboys “Supermarket” / “Teenage Life”

Not to be confused with The Clash’s “Lost in the Supermarket”—which came out a year earlier on the London Calling record, and is one of the wimpier Clash songs I remember—kind of a disappointment from “the only band that matters.” I don’t mean to always pick on The Clash—they were a great band (my fav at one point)… but their name is dumb. Now, The Cowboys—that’s a fucked up punk rock band name—a very good one. And The Cowboys’ “Supermarket” song is better—it’s a pretty great song—I probably like it better now than back then—this is a song that’s aged well (unlike the other side, “Teenage Life”—which is nonetheless nostalgic). It’s a reggae-tinged pop punk song about the middle-American middle-class dream—Ohio, the middle of the country—1980, when things were looking grim (had we only known…). Malls were still thriving, and rebellion might have been choosing not to get a “square” job, and not watch the TV shows on the three major networks. It’s kind of a weird song, really. “Up top in a supermarket”—what’s that mean? Am I hearing that right? I never thought about it. Is it from the point of view of the little kid in the grocery cart—those funny little seats? I remember riding in the grocery cart—pulling things off the shelf. My mom would keep me quiet with a Mad Magazine. I probably rode in those things up to an inappropriately old age—but I’ve never heard a song about it before. It’s got some great lines: “Beautiful music is everywhere, hey, hey I’m lost in space,” then, later, “You can’t learn until you learn to listen, but I can’t sit still, is that real?”

It’s funny how we don’t use that term, “Supermarket,” anymore—even though some of those big ones are bigger than ever. Though—maybe I’m wrong—maybe it’s a regional term, and in some places they use it. Or maybe it’s what people say in the suburbs. But I can’t remember the last time I heard someone say, “I’m going to the supermarket.” These days, it’s nothing to celebrate—I usually face it like a grim task—I go to the “grocery store,” and generally it’s a nightmarish hell. I used to know a couple of guys who worked at grocery stores (back around when this record came out), and I like to remind people (particularly younger people) how that used to be a really good job. Supermarket jobs were union jobs—and you could get married, have kids, buy a house and a car. Or you could work third shift, overtime, sleep all day, and save enough money to start your own recording studio—or buy an island with a lighthouse.

The other side, “Teenage Life,” is a pretty typical sounding punk song from the time—it’s fast, noisy, guitars wailing, and it sounds like it’s running downhill into oblivion—one of those end of the world punk songs. “I sit home and watch TV, nothing satisfies me.” Even if you’ve never heard this, if you’ve heard punk rock, you’ve heard it. It’s got a dropped in guitar solo, and it wears out its welcome quick enough. But like I said, nostalgic. It’s funny to hear non-teens doing a song about “teenage life”—though I don’t suppose they were far removed from being teens. I believe these guys were all a year or two older than me, and I was 20 when the record came out—on Tet Offensive label, which was the record label of The Offense zine (which I used to read all the time and write asinine letters to). It’s got a seven-inch paper sleeve with a degraded pink square on the cover (like it was some unknown red object, photographed and blown up a million times). Plus, some typed info, from a broken typewriter, that’s purposely illegible. It’s non-self-congratulatory and very punk rock.

I eventually knew a few members of this band, in Columbus, Ohio, who were all very nice—very cool guys—including Pete Stackelberg, who passed away in the Nineties. Brian Emch may or may not have played on this record, but he was in The Cowboys at some point, and later played with the Royal Crescent Mob—another great band from Columbus. The singer, Billy Lee Buckeye, used to write for The Offense (very good, funny stuff)—I’d seen him play acoustic at one of the local “Nowhere” music festivals—pre-Cowboys, I believe, and I was instantly a big fan. Later, using his real name, Mark Eitzel, he played with the Naked Skinnies (their record, reviewed in these pages, was also put out by Tim Anstaett/Offense Magazine), and that band moved out to San Francisco. Later Mark Eitzel started American Music Club—one of my favorite bands ever—and I saw them play, and him play, over the years, approximately once a decade. Lately, I’ve seen him play twice in Milwaukee (pre and post pandemic) in those intimate living room shows (most recently about a month ago). Of all the punk rock people I knew (or kind of knew) I feel like he went the furthest—into other realms of music, I mean—not just success. But in some ways—say, seeing that recent, live, solo show—and now he’s maybe 64—and he’s still punk rock in the best way—and he continues to be inspiring.

Lou Miami and the Kozmetix “Fascist Lover” / “To Sir with Love”

I’m happy I somehow held onto this 45 since 1982—it’s the kind of thing people steal from you. Plus, I’ve moved at least 30 times since then. It’s on Final Vinyl records and it came in a white plastic bag with pink print—meant to look like a cosmetics bag, I guess. It’s funny and clever—same as the songs. “Fascist Lover” is a fast, poppy punk song—possibly autobiographically about Lou Miami’s origins. Then one of my all-time favorite B-sides, a cover of “To Sir with Love”—which is one of my favorite songs, the Lulu version—and this is even better. I love this recording because it’s both making fun of the song while genuinely in love with it—that’s my take anyway—it’s both campy and heartbreaking. His singing is an irreverent style, but he’s fully committed, and the band is great. The reason I had a copy of this, and even heard of Lou Miami, is because they played in Kent in 1982. They were from the Boston area, and I guess played a lot there—and apparently went on tour. I was out of town, myself, on sabbatical, and I happened to hitchhike to Kent, went to a party after the show in Akron, I think, and passed out, and then my friend Keith told people that I was Lou Miami. I’m not sure if anyone bought it. I either picked up the record at that time, or we still had copies in our record store when I returned to Kent a year later. Lou Miami passed away in 1995, according to his way brief Wikipedia page—but some easy searching will reveal some music (including these songs), some live stuff, videos, and an interview—maybe more. It’s all worth checking out—he and his collaborators had a fun, trashy, weird aesthetic—I like all I’ve seen—and maybe I’ll find more.

Pere Ubu “Dub Housing”

This is one of those records that—when I’m forced, at gunpoint, to make a list of my TEN favorite records—I don’t have to think twice about. If I had any hesitation at all, it would be to maybe include Pere Ubu’s first LP, The Modern Dance, instead—it’s almost a tossup between these two—this being their second LP. Both came out in 1978. But this was the first one I heard—maybe the first time I heard Pere Ubu at all. I probably bought it not long after it came out, and it warped my mind forever. I saw them live, then, in Cleveland, around 1980 or so—with this lineup. They are still an active band—though only David Thomas, from this record, remains in the band. It’s funny—this was the brief period they were on a major label—Chrysalis—and when you look at the other artists advertised on the inner sleeve (from The Babys to Trevor Rabin to UFO) (the hairstyles!) you realize just how NOT dated this record is. Listening to this now brings back the feeling of hearing it for the first time—and it always has—and the record never gets old, never sounds dated—and it’ll keep giving you some surprises if you listen closely enough.

I have not heard all the recorded Pere Ubu over the years (though, really, as much as I love this band, I should have) but I know they veered to quite a bit more experimental, out there, harder-to-take for-the-average-listener. This record is in a lot of ways fairly conventional—guitar, bass, drums, synthesizer—at least on some of the songs—yet it sounds nothing like a conventional rock record from this or any other time. For one thing, as a rock record, it’s more punk rock than most punk rock (as most punk rock is sadly not punk rock). But also, some of the songs are great, catchy pop songs. And even if you add up all the insane singers out there, no one is quite like David Thomas—his wailing, high-pitched voice and bizarre lyrics. You can’t separate the lyrics from the singing, here—but I’m resisting the temptation to paraphrase—you have to hear it sung. And then, Allen Ravenstine’s synthesizer—it’s like nothing you’ve ever heard—but also, never dominates—it always fits in with the songs. As a “rock” band, they’re a just a great rock band—and it’s worth mentioning, for this record, they have the essentials of the best bands: an excellent rhythm section—Tony Maimone, bass and Scott Krauss, drums. Also a fine guitarist, Tom Herman, who masters the most herculean of rock guitar feats—to not overplay. And on the more experimental-like, noise-like songs—whoever’s playing what—they do it with subtlety and color. They are also always fun—but at the same time also always sound dangerous—on the edge, or verge of destruction, or leaving the Earth.

I don’t like isolating any of the songs—it works best as an album—you play side one, and play side two (recover, and do it again)—but if you, say, have never heard Pere Ubu, and feel like listening to one of the more accessible songs on the internet, try: “(Pa) Ubu Dance Party”—it’s catchy and fun, and still plenty weird. It IS a dance party, in a single song, or maybe a TV show about Cleveland in the Seventies. Both the front and back cover are Cleveland cityscapes—the back a particularly nostalgic and lonely feeling sunset (or even lonelier sunrise). I’ve read that the front is a building in downtown Cleveland where band members lived. I remember driving down Prospect Ave, late at night, in the Seventies, maybe after some music show, and there would be prostitutes leaning out of opened windows, soliciting passing traffic—which is what the cover always makes me think of. But the music doesn’t really evoke a hardcore urban feeling, or anything, really of the time. It’s something else—I guess I’ve always considered it some kind of fiction—an interior landscape—maybe part insanity, part reality, part detective novel or film noir, part science fiction—but really only its own thing—and intricately connected with Cleveland. I guess when people think of Cleveland and rock’n’roll, maybe they think of Alan Freed, or WMMS “Home of the Buzzard”—and, now, the R’n’R Hall of Fame. So in that sense, I guess you could say Pere Ubu are the anti-Cleveland band—which makes them (in the spirit of Ghoulardi and Harvey Pekar and the cursed sports teams and the burning river) the most Cleveland of all Cleveland bands.

Gibson Bros. “The Man Who Loved Couch Dancing”

There was a time (in the late 1980s, I guess) when the Gibson Bros were my very favorite band, and I suppose one moves on, but I’m still quite fond of them. I have a number of their records on vinyl, CD, and cassette. This 1990 release might be their most bizarre record, and funniest. It’s all over the place, from an intro by a radio DJ that sounds kind of manufactured, but might be real—as well as some other collage songs that seem to be constructed from roughly recorded bits, and found sound pieces. I’m not going to try to explain the Gibson Bros for people who aren’t familiar with them—it would be too daunting of a task, and I’d get it wrong and just confuse you. You’d be better off getting confused directly from the source—that is if you can find this record (there’s always the internet). It’s a great record, at any rate, and would be the perfect one to clear the room at parties—I’d be all about that if I was still going to, or throwing, parties. You put this on to find out what people are made of.

The two “Bros”—at this point—are Jeff Evans and Don Howland (who both have gone on since to similarly hard core, country blues roots music that is seriously informed by punk rock—apart from each other). They are pictured on the hilarious album cover, sitting with 40s of Colt 45 and Olde English 800, looking through the legs of a stripper, who is looming over them. It looks exactly like a low-budget imagining of a stripper bar scene, which it is—meant to illustrate the title song, which is nearly as funny as the cover. The two sides are subtitled “Homes” and “Abroad”—the latter being live recordings (though I think the first side also has live tracks, or who knows what). Anyway, taken as a whole, this album really captures the essence of the Gibson Bros—especially the more bizarre and inscrutable spectrum of their art. I can’t really pick out a favorite track on this record—I find it works best as a whole. Also, of note, Jon Spencer plays on the live side. Between the three of those guys, you’ve got a lot of bands and almost-band projects that approach the blues in a way that some purists find offensive or annoying—but I really appreciate, as I think their their take on the music is to get at the essence of it by finding the insanity at the heart of the best of what’s out there—with equal parts dumbness and intelligence, and never too far from humor.

The Cramps “Psychedelic Jungle”

I use a random number generator to pick what record to write about next, and today it landed on this one, which is highly appropriate for Halloween! (I don’t make this stuff up, as much as it might sound like it. Alphabetical, right there between Crabby Appleton and David Crosby.) Actually, I was surprised I hadn’t written about it yet—well, I have, but not on this site. It is one of my 10 favorite records of all time, and I don’t mean the 100 that I say are my top 10. It’s definitely the best LP to come out in the wasteland of the Eighties (1981). The album cover is just a fisheye photograph of the band in a spooky attic (or your mind) but it’s just kind of the perfect album cover. The first time I saw The Cramps (can’t remember the year or where!) is one of the best live shows I’ve ever seen. As a band, they’re basic and inevitable, as if they have always existed, generation after generation after generation. It’s hard to describe the position they occupy in my brain. It’s like they are extreme at the edges, and there’s no middle ground. On a scale from 1 to 10 (1 and 10 being both the best and worst) they get all 1’s and 10’s. Not for the squares.

This is their second LP, but it was the first one I heard, and I remember when—it was one of those experiences that are rare—when you hear something and can’t believe what you’re hearing—it makes no sense based on previous knowledge. Ron Metz (drummer for The Human Switchboard) played it for us in his apartment in Kent, Ohio, summer of 1981. He found it baffling—this is when punk and new wave was getting faster and poppier and louder—and this was the slowest, most droning, most minimal thing I’d ever heard. Ron put the record on at 45 RPM, just to try it, and at that speed it sounded like normal music. But it’s not normal, and that’s what makes it great. You don’t want to get to know these people. They sound like they might legitimately drink your blood—they must be either a cult, on drugs, or some form of un-human—likely all of those, to some degree. Or maybe it’s all an act, in which case, it’s more fun to just be scared.

There are 14 songs on this record and they’re all excellent. Half originals, and half covers—by people (until I heard this) I’d never heard of. I couldn’t tell which were which, and for years paid no attention to that. It all sound like The Cramps, and no one else. The originals are by Poison Ivy Rorschach and Lux Interior. She chews gum while playing guitar, and I maintain is the coolest person in the history of rock’n’roll. Lux Interior was a local guy, from near Kent, apparently from a normal family, if such a thing exists. He definitely went over to some version of the other side—that shadowy, depraved region of no return. Nick Knox was the most minimally extreme drummer I’ve ever heard. And then, on this record, Kid Congo Powers joined them—the only person to ever play guitar with The Cramps and The Gun Club and Nick Cave (the Rolling Stones probably should have hired him).

“Caveman” and “Can’t Find My Mind” were always my favorites—two of the most druggy extreme songs you’ll ever hear. “The Natives Are Restless” is almost shocking in how upbeat it is—the most danceable song about cannibalism I’ve ever heard. I think ultimately my my favorite part of this record are the first two songs, which—both fit the whole perfectly—and sound like nothing else on the album. It starts with “Green Fuz” (a cover, originally by Green Fuz, naturally). And then “Goo Goo Muck” (Ronnie Cook and the Gaylads—it’s very much worth finding that version!), which has my favorite guitar solo of all time. The way those two songs work together, the atmosphere they create, and the world they introduce you to, and the way it sets up the rest of the record… It’s kind of like reliving, all at once, the first time you did all those bad things that are going to send you straight to hell.

Agnostic Front “Victim In Pain”

By the time this record came out in 1984 I had rejected hardcore completely, as well as most types of current music other than what I was playing myself. I was aware of this band, but never gave them a chance, because by this time I thought it was all over, and hardcore punk was pretty much music for frat houses and sweaty weightlifter guys. So I listened to this record, now,  expecting to cringe, and I was surprised at how much I like it. On a technical level, it strikes me as a pretty great example of this type of music from this time period. It’s lean, energetic, and, of course, angry, but also really pleasing musically, with compelling songs and playing. I mean you hear the inspiration, and a certain joy of making music. They do a lot of that usual hardcore thing, extremely fast tempo that then shifts into a slower, more human scale, compelling tempo. It’s like the hardcore song “hook.” It might be overused, but it works extremely well. Really, a lot of this record reminds me of punk rock when I really liked it, early Black Flag, and Minor Threat, and bands from Ohio that I really liked. I’d say it was nostalgia, though I didn’t think I was nostalgic about hardcore. But listening to this kind of transports me to a bar in the Cleveland Flats, it’s a sweaty summer night, and I’m drinking a bottle of Night Train, and generally things feel pretty edgy but good.

There’s a nice black and white live show photo on the inside of the album cover (which opens, and contains the lyrics). They’re young, have shaved heads, and lots of tattoos, but look like nice guys. I looked them up on the internet, and they’re still together, and still playing, like a lot of bands are, which always surprises me, because I can’t even imagine still being in a band that I was in that many years ago. Or maybe I can. Their website and MySpace page has pictures of them, older of course, more tattoos, and it looks like they’ve gone through a lot of band members over the years, but they’re still doing what they believe in, which is inspiring enough. The art on these sites makes it look like it’s an ad for a video game with lots of weaponry and blood imagery, but this might be mostly due to promoting their newest record, called “Warriors.” But, I mean, when your band is together for over 25 years, imagine the spectrum of fans you must have. You could literally have three generations attending an all-ages show!

Aerosmith “Draw The Line”

I guess this is Aerosmith’s 5th album, and when it came out in 1977 I had already decided that they sucked– I don’t remember why exactly, because I never DIDN’T like the two earlier records I had– though I never liked “Dream On” from their first record. I remember when “Rocks” came out, I just hated it– I don’t remember why– just because of the cover with the diamonds. Or did I actually hear it? Anyway, I don’t recall ever hearing any of this record, or ever being much aware of its existence. I think when I got into punk rock I just really cut a lot of stuff out of my world.

It starts out almost sounding like the Aerosmith I remember and liked so much. The second song, “I Wanna Know Why” is pretty good– it actually sounds a lot like something from the first solo David Johansen record from almost the same time. It goes on for too long, though, and has too many elements– and the record just goes downhill from there. Though the Joe Perry song is kind of weird; it really reminds me of that Klark Kent (Steward Copeland) song, “Don’t Care” which came out about the same time.

The first song on side two, “Kings and Queens” just totally reminds me of everything that went wrong with rock music in the 1970s and why we (punk rockers) rejected all of it. Steven Tyler and Joe Perry will be the first ones to tell you that they did too many drugs, but I don’t want to presume that drugs are the reason this sounds so bad. Maybe it was too much touring, or too much eating at Taco Bell. At any rate, most of this record is like an aural representation of constipation.

The cover, a pathetic caricature of the band by Al Hirschfeld is just really… sad. It pretty much says “end of the line.” They probably should have called this record “End Of The Line,” or R.I.P. But I love Aerosmith! I’m glad they didn’t OD and die, and I’m even glad they kept playing and recording. I just never want to see or hear this record again.