Call me obsessive, but witnessing The Jesus Lizard perform live three nights consecutively in early January was an experience that redefined my expectations for live music. It’s a benchmark so high, it feels like the musical year has already peaked, a sentiment unlikely to be swayed even by a Black Sabbath project helmed by an Audioslave guitarist.
To other bands: good luck. You mere mortals. Perhaps it’s time to consider storing your gear, returning to the drawing board, and seriously contemplating how you might even begin to approach the level of The Jesus Lizard.
The memories are vivid. David Yow at Glasgow’s Queen Margaret Union, clad in a large Billie Eilish t-shirt, a sliver of his zebra-print G-string and… well, let’s just say unexpected anatomy, adding to the surreal spectacle. Nutty? Maybe. Unforgettable? Absolutely.
Historically, I’ve been wary of investing excessive time and money into seeing the same band multiple times. The performances of most bands tend to be consistent night after night. Attempting such repeat attendance with a band like The Pretenders might even provoke Chrissie Hynde’s legendary ire.
But The Jesus Lizard defy categorization. They certainly aren’t The Pretenders. The anticipation lies in the unknown: Yow’s attire for the evening, the degree of undress, the timing of his stage dives, and the potential for self-inflicted injury. Will he launch himself into the crowd from the outset, or wait until sufficiently beer-lubricated? Will tonight be the night of permanent injury? Will he crowd surf to the sound desk in Manchester, mic in hand, without missing a lyric? Or in Leeds, will he land on an unsuspecting bespectacled fan? (“That was kinda funny.”) What fresh profanities will he hurl at his devoted audience? Will a track from 1998’s BLUE miraculously appear in the setlist? (Still no.) The essence of a Jesus Lizard show is the exhilarating unpredictability, the feeling that anything could happen—the hallmark of truly captivating live bands. Think back to the chaotic brilliance of The Fall, if you dare.
Committing to this trio of dates was a simple choice. January is typically a barren month, entertainment-wise. Plus, The Jesus Lizard had already claimed the title of the best live band I’d ever witnessed, a title cemented at All Tomorrow’s Parties in 2009. Yow, shirtless from song one, spotted a beckoning hand in the crowd, acknowledged it with a nod, and launched himself into the audience. Now at 64, Yow’s disregard for personal safety and decorum remains admirably intact.
Yow is undeniably the focal point, yet the musicianship is crucial. Duane Denison’s sharp, deceptively complex riffs (a classically trained guitarist, no less). David Wm. Sims, the steadfast bassist, laying down authoritative, almost funky grooves. Mac McNeilly, the seemingly tireless drummer, whose relentless energy is visibly fueled by sheer effort.
Good luck to other bands striving for such impact from your drawing boards. Attempting similar antics would likely appear forced, even ridiculous.
In the close-knit circles of northern music venues and independent record stores, The Illness are jokingly dubbed “York La Tengo.” While I can’t vouch for personally hearing this moniker, it’s apt. Why not? Perhaps the Liverpool element within their rotating lineup and their larger number of members complicate the comparison. Still, it hints at The Illness’s indie-rock spectrum, their knack for blending melody with rawness and repetition, and their skill in crafting albums rich in diverse styles, shifts, and vocalists, yet maintaining a cohesive flow. Their connections are notable too. A 2020 EP featured contributions from Pavement’s Bob and Steve, and this latest release includes David Pajo, lending lead vocals to ‘Speedway Star’ and guitar on another track. This is prime blog fodder, yet the album’s quality remains consistently high. It traverses lo-fi scratchiness, baritone synth-pop, dilated-pupil freak folk, ambient interludes, polyphonic orchestration, casual rock shambles, echoes of Super Furry Animals’ eclecticism, and a cathartic alt-rock climax. A commendable collaborative effort.
Denude, a Chicago and Milwaukee trio making waves in the underground scene, present their debut LP. Expect “angular” math-rock structures (a critic’s cliché, yet fitting) and a near-spoken vocal delivery, instantly appealing to fans of Slint, Lungfish, Enablers, The Unit Ama, and similar innovative organic rock acts. ‘Animal Tracks’ evokes Shellac fronted by Bob Weston, while ‘12th Battle On The Isonzo’ could easily feature Steve Albini on lead vocals (may he rest in sardonic peace). The record feels quickly recorded, capturing the intense energy of musicians honed to a sweaty, aching precision. Guitar parts interlock intricately, drums chase and tumble, reminiscent of Keith Moon’s chaotic brilliance, rather than leading with conventional rhythm.
Expose’s earlier sound was described as “hardcore falling down a mountain.” Their second LP shifts away from this. ‘Speed Dial’ is a sub-two-minute punk rock burst, stylistically closer to Oneida in a hurry. ‘The Constant’ ventures into psychedelic territories with its alluring lead lick and swirling pedal effects. Elsewhere, expect synth squelches meeting free jazz, and trippy spins on Spiderland-esque post-rock. ‘Description’ carries an OSEES-like garage rattle, and ‘Self Terror’ recalls Pavement’s Sonic Youth-wannabe early days. Not hardcore, downhill or otherwise, but brimming with noisy invention. This album demonstrates how diverse and expansive rock music, particularly subgenres branching from Psych Rock influences, can be.
Bikini Beach, a name that might suggest 80s softcore VHS, is actually a trio from Lake Constance, straddling Germany, Austria, and Switzerland. “Fuzzy riffs” is an understatement. They likely consulted Fu Manchu’s gear lists and ordered everything. The distortion is monumental. Tempo and energy exceed Fu Manchu, bordering on punk hyperactivity. Surf licks occasionally surface, but dense, distorted passages dominate. The album, titled with a nod to their “gloomier than ever” lyrical themes of personal and global negativity, ironically delivers a sound that’s fun, warm, and intensely energetic. The juxtaposition of heavy, distorted soundscapes with underlying energy is a hallmark that can be found even in certain strands of psych rock, where sonic heaviness doesn’t necessarily equate to musical darkness.
Toru, an instrumental power trio, could soundtrack the apocalypse. Perhaps they are, given current global trends. Their music is a vigorous, jarring experience. Hard-prog undercurrents and confrontational noise hint at Ruins, the Japanese noise pioneers. Think Merzbow’s fascination with Hendrix feedback, amplified and extended into full compositions. Toru might similarly fixate on Nirvana’s hidden tracks, finding buried gold in sonic extremes. ‘Volutes’ briefly tempers the chaos, suggesting a jazzier Godspeed You! Black Emperor vibe. Then, it’s back to thrashing, a sonic tumble down stairs. Song titles all start with “V,” perhaps a defiant gesture against “nice” music. This raw, instrumental power and experimental approach aligns with the adventurous spirit often found within psych rock, pushing boundaries and challenging conventions.
Splitterzelle, a duo of Pedro Pestana (10000 Russos) and Sidney Jaffe (Arcane Allies), launch their record with breakneck cosmic krautrock, synth-heavy and intense. ‘Disciple’ turns darker, throbbing, industrial, perfect for a seedy cyberpunk movie scene. ‘Periphery’ merges space rock and drone into an immersive experience. Vocals in ‘Resilience’ are fragmented, abstract wails. ‘Shield’ could be Cut Hands meets Robert Fripp. Much of the album’s beat-driven electronica would suit both dance floors and Hawkwind-esque “happenings.” Avoid raving to that high-BPM opener, unless injury is your aim. This blend of krautrock, space rock, and electronic elements showcases the diverse influences that can converge, sometimes even within the broader spectrum of psych rock and its experimental offshoots.
“We love Indiana Jones, so we wrote a track about Indy fighting bad guys and winning,” says Rome’s FVZZ POPVLI. “It’s our hope for the world.” Fair enough. Inspiration is where you find it. That’s ‘Temple Of Doom,’ sounding like Mudhoney if Sabbath had been their Seattle muse, rather than The Stooges. Another track tackles smartphone omnipresence, “our partners in fun and sadness.” Then, ‘Salty Biscuits,’ a seemingly invented food. Later, they revisit Commando. Singer “Poochie” has a distinct, unhinged voice, worn with pride. Their style? “Not stoner, not garage, not punk, not psych,” FVZZ POPVLI insist. It’s arguably all of those, and more, hinting at the album title’s layered meaning. While they deny being strictly “psych,” their eclectic blend and willingness to experiment with genres echoes the genre-bending spirit that is often at the heart of psych rock, even if indirectly.
JR Moores’ latest book, Off The Ground: Paul McCartney In The 1990s, is available now, subtly weaving in noise-rock references.
