Here is the exciting conclusion to the list of records that can be found in my DNA. Part one can be found here.
I put all ten records in a playlist while trying to put the words into some sort of shape and doing things around the house. It is a bruising seven hours and forty-four minutes that is definitely helping me get through the hours of solitude while in quarantine. Spending more time with these records has brought back memories of the nights of my youth that I spent in my room listening to music, writing and reading while trying to forget the world outside. I guess not much has changed after all these years. These ten albums have been a salve to new wounds but also a reminder of those from the past. Again, I might be putting too much thought into these things.
. . .
Iggy & The Stooges—Raw Power
I am referring to the late 90s mix of Raw Power that Iggy Pop worked on himself. This is the version of the record where the engineers that worked on it with him had to point out that not all of the levels needed to be in the red. This thing could turn speakers into flamethrowers it was mixed so hot.
After decades of the tame and distracted mix that David Bowie initially gave Raw Power, Iggy thought it was time to revisit the tapes and uncage the full potential of this beast. This was my first exposure to The Stooges and I was taken aback.
This record first saw the light of day in 1973 and I was confused as to why the rest of rock music hadn't always sounded like Raw Power ever since then. The album sounded like one of those history changing moments where everything going forward would need to try to live up to it. I couldn't figure out why there weren't monuments and plaques on every street corner honoring this monster of a record. “I'm a street walking cheetah with a heart full of napalm,” should have been our national motto and printed on our money by the time I was born.
Funhouse may be my favorite Stooges album but Raw Power was my introduction to the true King of Rock 'n' Roll, Mr. Iggy Pop. Damn near every time I hear the man's voice I stand and salute.
Submachine—Sawed Off Shotglass
After seeing the band name on fliers all over Oakland and the South Side while riding the 54C to and from school and then work I had finally started picking up every Submachine single I laid eyes on when I stopped into my friendly neighborhood record store, Brave New World. The catch was the turntable that I had inherited from a relative was less than reliable and had already damaged a few records that I tried to play on it so I was wary of putting any other records on it. So I ended up with this stack of singles and no way to listen to them.
This is when Sawed Off Shotglass came to my rescue. This CD collected all of the early Submachine singles, 10” That Hurt and Now That I Have Given Up Hope, I Feel Much Better. Thirty-six tracks that spanned an hour and six minutes. By this time, I had plunked down the cash for a Discman and would be able to listen this CD all the way through from the time I would leave the sandwich shop, hopefully catch the bus, rot in crosstown traffic and then make the long walk home.
To be able to listen an hour's worth of music from a punk band that came from my own town did wonders for me. It showed me that molds could be broken and that things didn't have to turn out the way everyone around me said they had to. For better or worse, there were a bunch of guys out there trying to do something out of the ordinary regardless of the outcome.
Fugazi—In On The Kill Taker
This was the first Fugazi record that I ever purchased and is still my favorite. By the time I got to “Great Cop,” I knew I would be a fan for life. In On The Kill Taker has an ebb and flow to it from aggressive to quiet that caught my ear and the movement of the album still speaks to me after all these years.
Much like with Black Flag, Minor Threat broke up in 1983 when I was all of five years old so I had no real attachment to that band. Those Minor Threat records are great but because of time and place Fugazi was the band for me.
I still remember the day I bought In On The Kill Taker. I had a day off from slinging ham on rye so I went on a CD buying expedition. In the days before the internet and everyone putting their unwanted music on eBay or Discogs, stores used to have a few hidden gems in their bins. Instead of wandering into Brave New World as I usually did, I took the bus around town and hit stores that I wouldn't normally go to. That day was one of the most lucrative trips that I had ever made. I came home with the self-titled Body Count CD that still had the song “Cop Killer” on it, Electro Convulsive Therapy which was a Japanese import live album from the Rollins Band and an out of print Veruca Salt EP. I picked up In On The Kill Taker at Randy's Alternative Music on Carson St. which later became Dave's Music Mine and the spot will probably become a douche bar in the near future since Dave's will be closing up shop, if they haven't already.
There is a very interesting book on In On The Kill Taker in the 33 1/3 series. There's a story about how Steve Albini practically ruined the initial recording and the band had to rerecord the whole thing. Which is not surprising to me and what's even less surprising is that Albini tried to trade on Fugazi's name when making his sales pitch to Nirvana to record In Utero with him.
Jets To Brazil—Orange Rhyming Dictionary
There are those times when the chemicals in the brain just don't get to where they need to go for me to be a functional human being. It's on those days that Orange Rhyming Dictionary comes in handy. Every song on that record feels like it was written through the prism of my depression's worst days. It's the musical equivalent of the oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants that go on when I know that today just won't work out so I'll try again tomorrow.
I had somehow come in contact with Jets To Brazil before I learned of the juggernaut that is Jawbreaker. Again, it was the pre-internet times so there was no real way to do research unless you knew a guy that knew a guy so my introduction to Blake Schwarzenbach was Jets To Brazil and not Jawbreaker, unlike everyone else on the planet.
The name of the band and the album cover, with it's orange square and lyrics to the first song and a half going sideways across it, were enough to raise my curiosity. There was something about the layout that looked off kilter and that was enough to convince me to take it home.
Over the years, the song “I Typed For Miles” has changed meaning for me. It used to be that Blake screaming, “You keep fucking up my life,” could be pointed outward in the general direction of someone else. Nowadays, that line feels like a mirror that I can't look away from. I'm the one that got me into the position that I'm in, no one else did. So it might be time to take responsibility for that.
Orange Rhyming Dictionary is the stylistic curveball amongst all of the other agro albums that ended up here.
Killer Of Sheep—Scorned
A few years ago, I was heading down a bad road. I was stuck in the work/eat/sleep/repeat cycle and could feel myself falling apart physically and mentally. I had no creative outlet and no way to decompress from the endless stupidity of my day job.
I had sworn off going to most shows because I couldn't deal with the crowds without having some sort of anxiety issue. Things were getting dark.
Instead of falling into some sort midlife crisis trap or starting to drink until I forgot where it all went wrong, I decided to get to work and start writing again. In order to have something to write about, I forced myself off of the couch and out the door to more shows, humans be damned.
It was shortly before all of this that Killer Of Sheep released Scorned. I had been waiting for this record to come out ever since I first saw the band open for Flag a few years before and it did not disappoint. For a record with that sound to come out of this town, I couldn't get over it.
I made it a point to see Killer Of Sheep every chance I got because the songs that band was playing felt like they were grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me out of the funk that I was in. It felt like they were giving me back my will to live.
Eventually, I picked up a camera so I could use pictures to help supplement the writing. To justify the expense of the camera to myself, I figured that I needed to go to more shows and take more pictures.
Soon I found myself lending a hand at both Killer Of Sheep and Submachine shows. It was a definite change of pace from my usual spot near the closest exit to being down front and sticking a lens in someone's face and then helping to pack up after it was all over.
I will forever be grateful to both Killer Of Sheep and Submachine for letting me into their circles. Working with those bands in any capacity makes me feel like I was given a new lease on life instead of sitting around and wondering how I ended up in a dead end life of stagnation that was killing me.
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